One slip, and your doddering old host would have you run out of town.
Hiding behind the draperies with a ladyfriend is hardly an unusual occurrence at these dull parties, and staying as silent as possible is always wise. But you are barely welcome here, as is your partner - old money doesn't mix well with the newly-minted funds of an upstart businessman and his dashing engineer partner. You are here because you have something the old man wants, something that outweighs his distaste. Huddling behind these heavy red curtains with Daryl, her hands under your shirt and her mouth hot on yours, is terribly foolish - one arm out of place, one stray cry, and you'll be discovered.
You try to catch her wrist - gently! - and pull her close enough to whisper in her ear. "We should save this for later," you say, barely making a sound. "My ship will be more comfortable."
She pulls back, and you can see the devilish grin on her face. "To hell with comfort," she mouths. "I'm bored."
Then she leans in again, nips your neck gently through your high collar, and if your thin silk trousers had not already been feeling unbearably tight they certainly are now. You grit your teeth, hold in a gasp - the old man is half-deaf and too busy droning on to some society maven about his grandfather's stories in an attempt to coax her into his own bed. Still, you can't take any chances.
She pulls back again and takes your face in both hands - carefully, elbows in - and turns your face to hers. "A wager," she mouths again, the motions slow and exaggerated so that you will have no problem reading her lips. "First to make a sound does whatever the winner wants for the rest of the party."
You catch your breath, feeling yourself strain against your loincloth and trousers - you'd be completely compromised if someone were to decided they wanted more light and pulled back that the curtains, face flushed and hair askew and erection straining against your clothes. Just the way she likes you, you think offhandedly - more fuel for the fire. "Oh, Daryl," you whisper into her ear. "Must everything be a competition with you, love?"
"Yes," she says, reaching down to first undo your trousers and then to cup your eager cock. "And I am going to keep winning."
You make to hitch her skirt up above her hips. "We'll see," you mouth.
Both your trousers and her dress are thoroughly ruined by the time you two are done. Thank goodness for long coats; no one will be able to tell if you both wear them fastened as you take your leave.
Daryl is smiling blissfully, a flush still visible under her makeup. If she's upset about losing your bet for once, she shows no sign. It wasn't an easy victory for you; you had to take a risk, dropping to your knees and jostling the curtains to take her in your mouth. Fortunately you'd taken the old man's silence the right way, and he'd been too preoccupied with his own conquest to notice or care about her quiet moan.
"He's gone," she says, sneaking a peak from the curtains. "What now, then? And don't think you'll be so lucky next time."
You take her hand. "I say we take our leave and move this party to a more interesting venue."
She squeezes you back. "Good idea, boss."