Bea's Seductive Night With Three Strangers - Part 1

The sleek black dress clung to Bea’s every curve, a whisper of silk against skin that hadn’t felt this alive in years. The text from David had been specific, a deliciously mysterious command that sent a familiar thrill straight through her.

Be at the bar at 9. Dress to enthrall. Short, silk, stockings, heels. A table is reserved.

She’d obeyed, a flutter of nervous excitement in her stomach as she now stood in the dim, pulsating heart of the lounge. The air hummed with low music and the murmur of anonymous conversations. She found the reserved table, a small placard with a single, typed letter: ‘B’. Her heart beat a little faster. He’d thought of everything.

But David was nowhere to be seen.

Instead, three men sat at the round, low-lit booth. They were all attractive, each in his own way—one dark and brooding, one with a charming smile and sharp suit, another with the rugged build of someone who worked with his hands. They looked up in unison as she approached, three pairs of eyes appraising her with an intensity that was both unnerving and utterly intoxicating.

“Bea, I presume?” the one in the suit said, his voice a smooth, warm baritone. He stood, a perfect gentleman, and gestured to the empty seat. “David sends his apologies. A last-minute emergency. He asked us to ensure you didn’t spend the evening alone.”

She slid into the plush velvet booth, the slip of her dress riding high on her thighs. “And you are?”

“Friends of a friend who appreciates exquisite beauty,” the darker one said, his gaze lingering on the delicate strap of her stocking where it met her bare thigh. “I’m Lars.” He gestured to the others. “This is Thomas,”—the man in the suit nodded—“and Stefan.”

Stefan, the rugged one, simply offered a slow, appreciative smile that made her skin prickle with heat. A bottle of chilled champagne already sat in an ice bucket beside the table. Thomas filled a flute and handed it to her. Their fingers brushed, and a jolt, sharp and electric, passed between them.

“So, Bea,” Thomas began, leaning in slightly. The scent of his cologne, something spicy and expensive, washed over her. “David tells us you’re a woman who… appreciates new experiences.”

She took a sip of the crisp, bubbling wine, the cold a stark contrast to the warmth spreading through her core. “I’m open to suggestion,” she said, her voice lower, huskier than she intended.

It was Lars whose hand moved first. It was just a light, almost casual touch, his fingertips tracing the line of her shoulder, from the delicate cap of her sleeve down to her elbow. A shiver, involuntary and delicious, raced down her spine.

“This is a wonderful dress,” he murmured, his touch feather-light. “The way it feels… it begs to be touched.”

She didn’t pull away. She leaned into it, a soft sigh escaping her lips. This was why she was here. This was the promise of the text, the reason she’d chosen the sheer stockings and the dangerously high heels.

Thomas’s hand joined next, his touch more deliberate. He let his palm rest on her knee, the heat of it searing through the thin silk of her dress. “He also said you enjoy being the center of attention.”

His fingers began a slow, kneading massage on her knee, gradually inching the hem of her dress higher. She watched, mesmerized, as more of her thigh was exposed, the black lace top of her stocking now fully visible. Stefan’s eyes darkened as he watched the progression, his own hand coming to rest on the small of her back, a solid, possessive weight.

Lars’s fingers trailed up her neck, tilting her chin gently toward him. “You have stunning eyes. They’re practically sparkling.”

“It’s the champagne,” she breathed, though they all knew it was a lie.

“Is it?” Thomas asked, his voice a low rumble. His fingers had reached the bare skin of her inner thigh now, just above the stocking. He traced slow, idle circles there, each one sending a bolt of pure need straight to her core. She could feel herself growing damp, the slick evidence of her arousal beginning to bloom.

She was surrounded, engulfed by them. Their scents, their heat, their intent. Stefan’s large hand slid from her back to her hip, his thumb pressing into the delicate curve. Lars leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear.

“They’re watching us, you know,” he whispered, his lips barely touching her lobe. “Everyone in this bar is watching the beautiful woman being pleasured by three admirers. They’re wondering what it feels like. They’re envious.”

The thought, instead of shaming her, ignited a fresh wave of heat across her chest. Her nipples tightened into hard peaks against the silk of her dress, a fact Thomas immediately noticed. His eyes dropped to her chest and a wicked smile played on his lips.

“It seems the lady enjoys an audience,” he said, his circling fingers venturing higher, brushing against the dampening silk between her legs. A low, needy moan escaped her before she could stop it.

This was it. This was the precipice. The polite pretense of conversation was gone, burned away by the raw, physical electricity crackling between the four of them. The world had shrunk to this booth, to the three pairs of skilled hands mapping her body, claiming her for their pleasure and hers.

Thomas’s finger pressed down more firmly, applying a perfect, rhythmic pressure through the silk right against her swollen clit. Her hips bucked involuntarily, a silent plea for more.

Stefan’s gruff voice was the last thing she heard before she completely lost herself. “I think it’s time we found a more private place to continue this conversation. Don’t you agree, beautiful?”

Lars’s mouth was at her ear again, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin. “The car is just outside. We can be there in thirty seconds. Just say yes.”