Trapped at a Sex Party
Copyright© 2025 by ghostwritten
Chapter 1: Undercover
Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 1: Undercover - It was supposed to be a simple first assignment, infiltrate a party of the young and powerful to find enough gossip to help revitalize a struggling newspaper. Inexperienced reporter Beth finds more than she bargained for and finds herself embroiled in a story beyond the gossip pages. Will she try to escape or will she do whatever it takes to break the story of a lifetime?
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Coercion Reluctant Humiliation
There was a light chill in the air. A breeze was blowing off the ocean, as Beth waited in line to get in. The guests were all dressed in their finest clothes, all perfectly tailored and high-end. She remarked on designers, all massive names in fashion. The clothes alone on this lot were more than the average family income for a lifetime. That wasn’t surprising, though. These people were from some of the wealthiest families on the East Coast. She recognized most of them immediately, sons and daughters of industrialists, venture capitalists, and politicians. This was cream of the crop, the top 1%.
Her date held her arm, the softness of the wool of his suit tickled her bare arm. He was a nice man, a little older than the rest at just over 30 years old, but he was trustworthy. His posture was strong and shoulders broad, as Beth couldn’t help but admire his good looks. She counted herself lucky he had agreed to accompany her tonight. She didn’t quite know what she was about to walk into with this crowd, but there was one thing she was certain of, she would not let this opportunity slip away.
The guests were finally allowed in, and large bouncers checked invitations at the door. A few of the socialites whined about the wait, but they seemed to fall on deaf ears. Beth couldn’t help but notice the intense security of the building. It wouldn’t be an uncommon thing to see at one of those trendy bars downtown, but here it looked out of place at an old warehouse by the docks.
As Beth’s date, Gregory, handed his invitation to security, Beth waited anxiously to see if they’d be approved. He told her the invitation was legitimate, but you never know until you’re in the door. Beth tried to act cool as security verified the details, but inside, her stomach was in knots. She was nervous enough about this to begin with, what would happen if she wasn’t allowed past the doors.
Before they had arrived, Gregory had asked her, “Are you still sure about this? I don’t know what it is we’re walking into.” He never really explained what ‘it’ was before she agreed to this. Maybe he didn’t know. She was only asked if she was willing to do whatever it takes to infiltrate the party and prove her worth. Beth would do anything to break this story. She didn’t know just how far she’d have to go.
“5 missing college girls in 3 months, and police haven’t lifted a finger. What do we got?” Graham asked as he brandished his usual golf-club handle. Word was he’d broken it protecting an informant when he was still a cub reporter. It stood now as a good luck charm for his years as Editor-In-Chief.
“I’ve been working on this for months, Chief. There’s nothing but a scattered trail that leads all over the place,” Joe said. “Even my usual network in and out of the force has no solid leads.”
Joseph Sprow was the lead investigative journalist at the Standard Times. He’d broken more crime and corruption stories than everyone else in the paper’s history combined. If even a sliver of a breadcrumb trail was out there, he could sniff it out.
“What DO we know?”
“Each missing person was enrolled in colleges around the city. White, ages 18 to 22, all attractive with no direct personal connections or histories. Last victim, Natasha Thompson, nursing student, disappeared two days ago; 19, blonde, attractive. Roommate said she had a date and never returned.”
Graham furrowed his brow and banged his club against the table in frustration. “Keep digging and work any angles you’ve got. Breaking this story would be huge for us. Alright, what’s next?”
Graham O’Dell looked around the room at his senior writers and picked out Gabrielle Armstrong. “Gabby, whatcha got working for entertainment and gossip?”
“We’ve got three movies shooting around the city, so there are a few celebs in town. I’ve got cameras in the usual hot spots for coverage. Beyond that, following a story about some exclusive parties with local socialites and other spoiled brats. Haven’t been able to get a scoop yet. Security is like Fort Knox.”
Graham pointed his club at her, “Sounds promising. I want you to get someone inside. Could make for a good cover story. What would it take?”
“A miracle. Or less likely, an invitation from someone in the know,” Gabby said as she looked at her notes.
“I could have someone who might fit that crowd. He owes me a favor. What exactly do you need?” The offer came from Carter Binford, editor for the sports section.
“Really, Carter? You know someone from the ultra-lux, daddy’s money crowd?” Gabby chided him in disbelief.
“Hey! Athletes and the uber-rich sometimes travel in the same pack. I was chasing another story when I ran into this guy and helped him out. I’m not all gym sweat and jockstraps!”
“Alright, fine,” Gabby sighed, not wanting to get her hopes up. “We’d need someone 18 to 30, wealthy family, good looks, and an in with people like the Marsters family. Both spoiled brats, Chase and Jeanette, were spotted heading in. Your guy fit that bill?”
“Yeah, he fits. My guy is Gregory Pratt.”
Gabby looked shocked. “You know Gregory Pratt, heir to the Valicor empire?”
“That exact one, good guy now that he’s clean and sober. He left that party life, though. Almost dying from an O.D. changes things, I guess. Anyway, he’ll have the connections, and I can reach out to him if you want.”
“Do it. Find out if he can get in,” Graham said with excited authority. Sales and subscriptions were down, a story like this, even if it was gossip trash, sold papers. “If he can get in, who do we have to go with him?”
“We’d need someone young and hot, someone who won’t look like a reporter.” Gabby looked around the conference room filled with people in their fifties and sixties. Ten years ago, she would have jumped at the opportunity, but now, in her late thirties, she knew that time had passed. She was still sexy and hot, but she couldn’t pull off a bubbly twenty-year-old anymore.
“What about that new copy girl you’ve got...,” Carter said as he looked out the window on the news floor.
“Who, Bethany? She’s just out of school and doesn’t know much about reporting, let alone undercover work,” Gabby protested.
“Do we have anyone else?” Graham said as he looked around the room, but no one spoke up. “Bring her in here.”
Gabby pulled out her phone and sent a quick email to Beth, “You’re getting called up. Come to the conference room immediately.”
Bethany sat at her desk, reviewing the latest gossip drivel that crossed her computer. She knew she had to pay her dues and work her way up, but she wanted to be a real reporter. She’d gone to journalism school to be like Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein, not Harvey Levin and Perez Hilton. It was the only entry-level position at the paper, in an industry that shrank every other day. She knew she was lucky to have a job at all.
And yet, here she was reviewing copy for a story about a secret Vegas wedding between some washed out former female child star and a bigshot Hollywood television producer, who very likely groomed her while she was underage. These were the kinds of tabloid stories she used to laugh at while in school. The schmucks writing them were ambulance chasers and wedding crashers. She was now contributing to that rapid decline of the news industry.
She hoped one day that a position would open with Joe’s investigative team. They were the real deal reporters, nationally known and respected, having broken political and criminal stories that brought about actual change. When they broke a story, people listened, and she wanted her name on one of those bylines. She would do anything to get that chance to prove herself, as she looked over to the conference room for the usual 9:00am. meeting of the editors with Graham. For a brief second, she thought she saw someone look her way through the open blinds, but it was probably her imagination.
The door to the conference room opened, and a few of the editors left the room just as she noticed an email from Gabby, “You’re getting called up. Come to the conference room immediately.” It had sat there for over two minutes, and she hadn’t noticed it, lost in her daydreams of future notoriety. She quickly jumped up, grabbed a notepad and her phone, and rushed into the room. Graham closed the door behind her and closed the blinds, an unusual occurrence unless they were discussing something important.
His experienced eyes quickly sized up the young wannabe reporter to see if she fit the bill for their needs. She was blonde with long hair that stopped midway down her back. It was brushed and clean, held together in a ponytail. She stood about 5’8, taller than most average women, but not too tall. Her body was thin but not skinny, more athletic than anorexic. Her clothing was business casual, with a red, thin-knit sweater on top and a tight black pencil skirt on the bottom. It was difficult to judge her chest, but it seemed somewhere between a B and a C cup. Her ass, while in her basic flats, was unremarkable but at least existent. In heels, it would probably look better. With a bit of work, she would most certainly look the part they needed.
Beth was shown to a seat next to her boss, Gabby. She looked around the large wooden table to see Joe and strangely Carter from the sports beat. This was an odd assortment of staff, as Graham took his seat at the head of the table.
“Hello, Bethany, thanks for joining us,” Graham said as he put his club on the table.
“Yes, I...” she choked on her own words, “thank you. You can call me Beth.”
“Ok, Beth. Gabby was telling us what great work you’ve been doing and that you’d like more responsibilities,” Graham stretched the truth. He had always been good at subtle manipulation to get the results he wanted.
“Thank you, sir. Gabby is a great boss and I’m learning a lot, but I’d like to move into the field to start getting contacts and make a name for myself,” Beth said, as she looked at the other people in the room.
Gabby was next to speak. “Beth, we need your help. We need someone young and attractive to infiltrate a high-society party and find out what’s going on. Carter here has a contact who might get you inside, but you’ll be on your own. Do you think you can handle that?”
“I guess...” Beth was a little confused. It seemed a lot more cloak and dagger for a party-crashing, but this might be the chance to impress Joe and prove her worth. “What are we investigating, and what should I look for?” Beth asked, hoping it was more than it appeared, but she was quickly deflated.
Gabby continued, “Just the usual: drugs, sex, and who’s with whom, that kind of stuff. Security is really tight. We don’t know why, so you’ll have to be careful. That’s why we want to get someone inside to get the inside scoop on the lives of these rich society types. They are very secretive and insular. They rarely let others into their inner circles. It’s almost incestuous. With Carter’s help, you’ll get the inside track. If you’re lucky, maybe you can make those connections and contacts you want.”
Beth recognized that this was an opportunity to prove her worth beyond checking other people’s stories for errors. It wasn’t the type of reporting she wanted to do, but it was a start. She needed to impress her bosses, and this could be a way of doing that. “Ok, what do you need me to do?”
Joe spoke for the first time, and Beth immediately gave him her full attention. “Just observe and report. This is your first assignment, Beth. It may not seem like much, I’m sure, but when you’re actually alone and undercover, you never know what can happen. Keep your eyes peeled and your ears open. Maybe chat up a few people if you see a way in, but keep a low profile. It would burn Carter’s contact if they think you’re a NARC or reporter. It damages the reputation of all of us and that of the paper to ‘out’ a source. Understand?”
As she grasped the scale of what Joe was saying, Beth sobered up. He was right. Even if she wasn’t identified as a reporter, if she screwed up, whoever their contact was would be ‘outed’. He was high enough in whatever group this was, that word would get out, and it could have huge implications for the paper going forward. Without confidential sources, contacts, or whistleblowers, Joe’s side, the investigative side, would wither to nothing. That explained why he was involved in the meeting for an entertainment and gossip piece. She wouldn’t let Joe or the paper down. She would do whatever she had to do to protect this source.
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