Chapter 6
Doug and Gwen stayed close together for the first half hour. They had expected to be met at the door by a hanger, and to parade naked through the guests. But nothing of the sort happened. They had been met by both Harry and Val, greeted as though nothing had transpired between the respective couples, and then steered through the casually dressed group until they had met everyone.
Doug instantly recognized most of the faces. They were all prominent men and woman from the Los Angeles area. The men were in their forties for the most part, and their wives-usually second or third wives-were in their late twenties.
Doug noticed instantly the similarity between Gwen and a number of the wives. She was attracted to them, taking up easy relaxed conversations as though she had known them for years.
Doug also found the men agreeable. They knew of him, and complimented him on his outstanding work. One, a gray-haired man with a thin, sleek cigar trapped between his fingers, mentioned that his father had once worked on a deal for him. with outstanding results. Doug smiled, the hair on his nape bristling with pride. He had all but forgotten Harry and Val, until Val slipped through the crowd and caught his arm, leading him away from a small group to the bar.
"How's everything?" she asked, her long raven hair combed to a nigrescent sheen. Doug took her in. She was wearing a lacy pants suit of pastel pink. The coat hung loosely around her waist, hiding the vivacious curves. He could see how proudly her breasts rode, and watched the pale iridescent glow of her sparkling lips as they closed and opened when she spoke. Her eyes were lustrous, shining with a deep, penetrating glow.
"Great. Gwen-" he nodded toward a small group of women chatting aimlessly about the homosexual fashion designers trying to cover their bodies with maxis "-seems to be having a heyday. Glad to see you chose us. I think we're going to like it."
Val edged closer, touching her breast to his arm. "I've got something special planned for later. I hope you don't hesitate to volunteer."
"You won't have to worry about me," Doug said. "I'm under your wing-or should I say breast."
"Either way. So long as you're close."
Val kissed him lightly on the cheek and floated away, her firm, globular buttocks rising and falling as though she had no care in the world but the party. She hadn't said anything to Harry. Not yet. She had decided to wait, to try and handle it herself. She had her ways, her means. And if they failed, there was always Harry on his other side, the side she didn't want to bring out unless absolutely necessary. She had seen him angry only twice. She didn't relish a third time, but wasn't foolish enough to discount it as a possibility. Carl Bruno was a creep, and sometimes there was only one way to handle a creep.
The drinks slid down easily for Gwen. She found herself laughing freely and thoroughly enjoying the company. She noticed that Doug would weave into her group, smile, ask her if she wanted anything, a fresh drink perhaps, some dip, and then he would slip away. She also noticed the admiring gazes that followed him, and catalogued the compliments the other women offered about how lucky she was to have such a charming and attractive husband.
Val didn't avoid Gwen. She would enter the group, talk for a few minutes, laugh at one of Gwen's comments, then wink and walk to another group. Gwen felt no hostility, no animosity toward her, and found that a peculiar feeling. She thought at least she would be wary, but she wasn't in the slightest degree. To her, it all seemed like a friendly cocktail party. But she knew it would be more. She knew it would be much more than friendly pinches and pats.
Harry called the group to attention. He stood in the center of the room, his sun-browned face relaxed, the bright orange golf slacks clinging tightly to his firm thighs.
"Ladies and gentlemen. I welcome you all to another meeting. Tonight we have the pleasure of welcoming two new members." He nodded toward Doug and Gwen, who had moved so that they stood, shoulders touching. "Doug and Gwen Stillman. I'm sure you've all met them and found them as affable as we mentioned at our previous meeting. Now, without slowing down the evening's momentum, let's all go to the game room and start the evening right. Gwen and Doug?"
Harry held out his arm, motioning for them to follow. The group trailed behind, in couples, through the narrow hallway toward the rear of the house. Harry opened a sliding door, and a large softly lit room came into view. Doug and Gwen entered, feeling a cool, moist breeze spilling through the air. They followed Harry to a corner where a series of putters were displayed in racks similar to a pool room.
"The first order of business is the elimination of clothes. The hangers are right behind you on the wall, so help yourselves."
Harry began to strip, followed by the others. Doug and Gwen looked at one another for a moment, then began stripping off their clothes. For a few flashing seconds, Gwen felt embarrassed. She stood in her panties and bra, her eyes scanning the other relaxed couples who were down to the buff. She evaluated the women's bodies and their expressions. They were laughing lightly, chatting about new fashions or parties they had been to.
"Go ahead," Doug whispered, pushing his shorts down so that his cock came into full view. Gwen, the liquor mollifying her embarrassment, reached around to unsnap the bra. "May I help?"
She turned, then stared into the warm, handsome face of a man she had been introduced to earlier. His name was Peter Roberts, and she had seen his picture many times in the business section of a leading news magazine.
"All right."
She turned away, offering the bra clasp. His deft fingers quickly loosened the strap, allowing the bra to fall away and hang loosely on the tips of her already tumid nipples. Doug noticed the scene from the comers of his eye, but was careful not to stare.
"You're very attractive," Roberts said, as Gwen bent to slip her panties off. She felt strangely excited by the man's closeness. His fingers had touched her flesh when he unlatched the bra, and the contact had sent startling shocks throughout her body.
"Thank you," she said, tossing her hair casually. She reached for the shoulder straps, pulling the bra completely off.
Gwen felt the eyes looking at her. They weren't stares, but rather satisfied gazes that held her a moment, turned into smiles, and then drifted to study the other bodies. They were all beautiful people, she thought,-likewise studying the other naked forms. Everyone was attractive. No one particularly beautiful, no man ravishingly handsome. An equality in shape and form and texture.
Doug was one of the youngest. She saw the other women looking at him, their mouths wet, their eyes traveling down to measure the length and girth of his penis. In that moment of mutual bareness, she felt an affinity for the group that she hadn't felt for any other group of people; as though they were all sharing some private secret that made them all the more tightly knit.
Doug looked around for Val. She wasn't in view. He had missed her when they went into the room, and now wondered where she might be. She had mentioned something about a surprise, and he wanted to be sure that he would get a taste of her flesh before the evening was over.
Harry, moving with his lubricated ease, stepped in front of the group, which was still standing in pairs.
"All right. Now, as usual, let's mix it up. First, everyone just stroll around and fall into a single file line." He paused while the group milled for a moment, then fell into a straight line.
Harry spoke didactically for Gwen and Doug's benefit. "Now, I want everyone to make sure that on either side of them is a person of the opposite sex. That's it, fine. Now, I want you to count off from left to right. One through twenty. Say the number loud so that you remember it."
He paused, letting the group count. "Okay, now, let's start mixing up. Numbers that are odd are women, numbers that are even are men. So, let's have number ten and number three. Number two and number nine. Number eight and number one." He continued down the line, calling numbers until all the pairs were mixed and matched. Gwen searched out her number. It was Peter Roberts. He took her hand in his, holding it lightly.
"Kind of fun, isn't it?" he asked, whispering into her ear. She felt his smooth lips graze her earlobe, and her breasts became instantly firm and tingly. She smiled, trying to catch her breath. Peter Roberts leaned slightly so that his hips brushed hers. He could hear her suck in a deep breath.
Gwen was instantly pleased with the random choice. She realized he was much handsomer than his pictures, and exuded an aura of confidence that made her feel relaxed and secure, yet behind the grin was a hypnotic sensuality that made her vagina twitch with anticipation.
He slipped his arm around her slim waist, letting his fingers rest on the velvet blanket of flesh covering her stomach. She found herself leaning against him, not heavily, but just enough to reassure that she found him more than just a party mate.
Harry walked along the matched line, nodding his approval. He noticed that Doug had been matched with a willowy blonde. She was heavier than most of the women, but it was all extras in the right places. Her breasts were very large, and as white as marshmallows, with two cherry red nipples the size of thumbs poking up toward the ceiling like tiny erect penises. Her waist was surprisingly narrow, but Harry knew that was because she had had a rib removed to allow the tight cinch of flesh. The waist then billowed out to fleshy but firm hips that melted down over two white balls of buttock flesh. Doug seemed more than comfortable with the woman who was whispering and joking with him.
The others were talking and laughing as they waited their next instructions. While it appeared Harry had just chose the numbers from his mind, the real truth was that he had carefully decided which persons to mix days before. The random sampling had been part of his showmanship.
"All right, anyone dissatisfied?" he asked with a broad toothy grin.
"Great here," came a reply. The others agreed and Harry stepped toward the putters. He picked one for each man, handing them to them.
"Now, the game is simple. I'll give you each a ball and you take your mate and position her at the end of the room. Then, from fifty feet, you start putting. The first to sink his putt wins the honors. And the honors in this case is a public display of sportsmanship. Right in the middle of the group."
Harry didn't have to explain the delicate meaning of "sinking a putt." Everyone, including Doug and Gwen, knew what he meant.
"Now, to make it a little easier, I've chosen English golf balls, which are smaller than American ones. But, you all must remember, that the English cup is also smaller than the American cup." He held up his hands to parry off the boos. "Now, ladies. This is a technical situation. No reflection on the construction of American women. You are by all degrees more sensual and passionate than any English woman."
Cheers rose.
The women moved toward the opposite end of the room. The floor was covered with a soft indoor-outdoor rug that felt very much like the grass on a putting surface. Gwen watched the other women sink down on their backs, their legs spread so that their vaginas were splayed apart. She felt a burning moment of embarrassment as the women giggled and reached to open the lips of their vaginas. Then she sank down and copied the scene.
"Everything looks beautiful from here, ladies," Harry said, marching along in front of them. "Now, so that there will be no mistake, you don't have to engulf the ball. Just so that it is firmly stuck to the hole. That way no one will be out of the running because of a size difference."
Harry turned and motioned to the men. "You each have ten balls. If no one is a winner at the end of ten, then we'll take the closest to the hole. Tee off, gentlemen." Gwen craned her neck to watch. She saw Peter line up the putt. He stroked it carefully. The ball skittered toward her forked thighs, rolled off center, and hit her thigh which was raised slightly. The ball stuck under her knee.
"Don't raise your legs," the redhead next to her suggested. "Keep them flat, maybe the ball will bounce up there that way."
Gwen thanked her and pressed the backs of her legs flat on the rug. Peter, his face masked with concentration, lined up his second ball. It broke high, hitting her shin and glancing up near the inside of her thigh. Gwen felt the cold ball and shivered.
She could see Doug a few men down from Peter. He was laughing and hitting his putts badly. They were crossing over to the women next to his blonde, bouncing off her ankles and soles of her feet.
"Your husband's a little nervous," the redhead said, taking a ball in the knee. She said ouch and yelled a scolding remark to her mate not to hit them so hard.
Gwen counted the balls. This would be Peter's sixth. She saw it coming. It looked good, straight on line. She hooked her fingers into the folds of her cunt and pulled, opening the hole to its maximum. The ball crashed into the lips of her pussy and stuck there.
"Winner!" she shouted, surprising herself with her own outburst.
The other women groaned and got to their feet. Then they laughed and marched around Gwen, telling her how lucky she was to win. That it was a great honor to be the first hole-in-one on her first visit to the club.
Peter came running down the room. He caught Gwen and swung her around.
"Beautiful catch," he said, setting her down on her small feet. "Now, we collect the rewards."
The others pressed into a tight circle, the women sitting cross-legged, the men wrapping their legs around the women and hunching up close so that their cocks pressed into the top of their ass-slits.
Harry brought a huge yellow pillow with a bright red pennant in the middle. It was large enough for two bodies. He placed it in the middle of the circle.
"All right, Peter, Gwen, collect your prizes. Two big wild orgasms in front of the group."
Gwen looked at the sea of anxious faces. Doug smiled and nodded. She saw his hand was dwarfed around the massive breasts of the voluptuous blonde.
Peter took her hand. He pulled her down onto the thick pillow, whispering in her ear as he kissed the indention of her throat.
"Just relax, Gwen. Pretend we're alone. Our job is to kick things off."
Gwen slitted her eyes and rolled next to him, shoving her pubis against his hardening cock. She felt his strong, demanding fingers touching the erogenous zones on her back. Her body shivered, and goose bumps erupted over her flesh. The lights dimmed to a deep red glow.
"Take me," she hissed, pressing her tongue against his ear. She could feel the tense atmosphere around them. She heard the heavy breathing and felt the eyes staring at her wriggling body as Peter ran his fingers up the inside of her forked thigh.
She had gone too far to stop now, and she didn't feel like stopping. There was something so primitively wild about doing it this way, not in the security of a bedroom, but in the full public view of other people.
Peter stroked her thigh, letting his fingers graze up the damp slot. She shuddered as his mouth touched her stomach. She could feel his tongue burying itself into her navel. The teeth nipped at the loose flesh as he cupped one breast after another, rolling it firmly between his fingertips. She lay, hands flat on the pillow, mouth parted, tongue stuck between her bright, shining lips.
The noises around her melted into an occasional sigh as Peter worked her into a building passion. He touched her everywhere. His fingers circled her ear, ran down her jaw, pressed her lips.
She could feel his mouth over her vagina. He moved down, hands and arms sliding under her knees, pushing her legs up against her hips. She felt his hands search out and cradle her breasts. They slid up the undersides of the mounds, milking the nipples into bright vermilion tips. Then he touched her. His mouth made contact with her pubic hair. She felt his damp breath, hot and pulsing, shove against the lips of her pussy. She shook violently, suddenly aware that she was being watched by strangers. That the man kissing her in the most private area wasn't Doug.
Lifting her head, she looked down through her cleavage and saw Peter's smooth forehead and shining blue eyes. The eyes smiled at her, told her to relax, and she did. She let her head sink down onto the pillow, and shut her lids as she felt the dancing tip of his tongue flick out and caress her clitoris.
The insides of her vagina closed into a fist. She felt the muscles balling into knots as Peter alternately massaged her breasts with his fingers, her clit with his tongue. She could feel the fluids dripping out onto the man's tongue. The hands on her mounds began to twist and wrench her breasts.
Around her, she could hear the squishing of flesh, and sensed instinctively that the others were starting their own kinds of lovemaking. She could smell the sweet fragrance of vaginas coming to life, their dew filling the air with a pungent, startling odor.
Gwen felt herself sinking deeper and deeper into the pillow. She could hear the air hissing through her collapsing nostrils. Anxious to feel the man between her legs, she forced her right leg down and shoveled the top of her foot under his hip until her toe made contact with the side of his hard cock. She rubbed it firmly, feeling it strain against her flesh.
Peter's tongue thrashed her now. It made wide lapping circles around the opening of her twat. She could feel his lips closing like a suction cup over her snatch. Then he began to suck. She felt the insides of her pussy contract. He sucked and probed with the tongue, sinking the organ deep into the well of her pudding. He hooked the tip, dragging it out and teasing the hardened clit.
She couldn't stop it. Her hips began to buck up. First rhythmically, then with wild abandon. Her tummy jerked as the first of a series of wild orgasms shocked her system. He was still down there, his tongue lapping, his mouth sucking.
After two compact series of orgasms, he slipped his arms free of her legs and slid up so that his mouth pressed against hers. She reached down frantically for his pole, felt her fingers curl around it, and guided it into the soggy slot.
She sighed as she fit the weapon into its sheath. Peter's tongue fluttered against her palate as he began to stoke her. He slid his hands down to the swell of her ass, lifted and rammed his prick home. She could feel his hairy balls slap against her anus. She was smothered in passion, totally unaware of the others who were watching the scene. The cock was as hard as a steel poker. She felt it telescope inside her, pounding against the back of her womb. Her body tensed. She felt his fingers climb into the crevice of her ass. She felt them slide down toward the wet opening of her anus.
She wanted to say no. She wanted to stop him before he inserted his fingers, but she couldn't talk. Her mouth was dry. Her hips were lurching up as though her buttocks were tightly coiled springs recoiling after each touch. As her body stiffened, she felt the finger push against her anus. It slipped into her ass-hole as the first of a new wild series of orgasms ripped through her. She lifted high into the air, ass wriggling frantically to relieve the pressure in her bowels. The finger drilled farther and farther, working so that its tip touched against the membrane separating the vagina from the colon.
Gwen cried out. She screamed a plea of passionate agony that sent chills through the onlookers. Only Doug knew what she was trying to say.