Chapter 7
The party was officially started. The lights were kept low as the couples melted away after the applause to the corners and sides of the room where the orgy pillows were.
Doug was the last to leave. He looked at his fatigued wife for a moment. She was sweating, eyes closed, hands limp at her sides. Peter was caressing her, talking to her in whispers Doug couldn't understand. Then he felt the blonde's hand on his own hard cock.
"Come on, lover. I want to show you something."
She pulled him by his cock to a pillow. He glanced around. The couples were laughing and making love, some in sixty-nine positions, others all knotted up like contortionists. He saw a man sandwiched between two women. The other man was on top, sucking at one of the women's ass-holes.
Everything was being done with such finesse that it didn't seem obscene in the least to Doug. He accepted it as sexual expression, nothing more, nothing less. There were all intelligent, wealthy people who were letting their emotions go. They weren't holding back any desires. And if they had reservations about one particular thing, or desires for something their mates didn't particularly enjoy, then all they had to do was find an agreeable partner. When the vacation was over, everyone went home to where the routine waited. But they went with a fresh outlook and the knowledge that in another few short weeks they would be back in sexual fantasy land.
The blonde, wife of a well-known stockbroker, was named Ginny. Her body was Nordic, her hair almost snowy-white. But it was smooth and silky to the touch, not frazzled as some pure-white hair overworked and burned with bleach. Doug assumed from the crystal-blue eyes and milky complexion that her hair was very close to its natural color, with perhaps some lighteners added.
"You have a nice one," she said in a thick, chocolate syrup voice that made Doug's balls start to leap like hot grease on a griddle.
She pulled him by the prick down next to her on the pillow. "I like nice ones. You have an athletic one. It's young and strong and ready for action, right?"
"You bet," Doug said, running his hands over her fleshy tits. He could feel her long, distended nipples poking against his palms.
"Are you oral or anal, or both?" Ginny asked, lolling her head and arching her back so that her breasts stuck up like mountain peaks.
"I'm all," Doug said, eyes fastened on her nipples. He had never seen nipples like those before in his life, and tried to imagine what she must look like in a bikini. All he could imagine was two, sharp, nail-like protrusions being capped by a sheer thread of material.
"You want to experiment a little, or just do it missionary style?"
Doug felt his blood percolating. "Experiment," he said in a dry voice.
She laughed and grabbed his face, burying it into her thick mounds. He licked at the tits, feeling the eraser-hard nipples poking into his cheeks.
"You like them, don't you?"
"Have to be crazy if I didn't."
"All men are alike. They've got mammary-man ia."
"Is that what I think it is?"
"Tit-on-the-brain, Dougy. Right. Tit-on-the-brain."
"Right," Doug said, sucking one of the inch-long nipples into his mouth. He felt its rubbery texture as it popped long and hard onto the flat of his tongue. He bit it carefully, afraid that it might be easily cut. It was spongy and exciting. He rolled it from one side of his mouth to the other as he might nervously do a cigar. She didn't seem too excited by the act.
"You want me to experiment on you, Dougy?"
He let the nipple slip out of his mouth. "All right. What do you have in mind?"
She let her hands glide down his chest to his penis. "I like to make a man feel wanted. But at the same time I want to want a man. I want to make you remember Ginny like you won't remember any other woman."
"Sounds fair," Doug said, squeezing her tits together and trying to judge how many inches deep the cleavage was.
"You know you can have most women the same way. But I'd like you to let me have you my special way. They call it the Ginny-Screw. Sound exciting?"
"You're exciting just like you are," he said, kissing her moist mouth. Her lips were alive. She opened them, letting him suck on the tip of her tongue, then she pushed him away.
"I want you to let me do something. You just lie on your stomach and enjoy what I do. Then you can do what you like with me."
"Turn me on," Doug said, flopping onto his stomach. Ginny moved so that she straddled his buttocks. He felt her hands massaging his back. They were practiced hands, not un-like a masseur's. They relaxed him. He even noticed that his cock was losing its hardness and that a drifting euphoria was overcoming him. She pressed the nerves around his neck, working down his spine until his tense muscles softened and his rapid heartbeat slowed to half its previous speed.
"You must be relaxed," she said in a soothing, comforting voice. "You must let yourself go and relax. You must think of things that are comforting."
"How about your body? That's comforting."
"Let your mind and body relax. There's big things to come. You're in no hurry. No hurry at all."
He smiled, his cheek resting on his hands as he let her untie the knots in his muscles. He was half dozing, completely soothed in her web of silken vocal melodies, when she stopped rubbing and he felt her tongue begin to wash between his shoulder blades. His cock lurched stiff as her nipples dragged teasingly along his spine, sometimes swaying to the left and right as she undulated above him.
"Relax," she said, but without the same smothering effect. He felt his jaw tighten as her tongue-bath moved down to the small of his back. She licked hard, stroking up along his spine hard enough so that he could feel a slight scraping of the flesh.
His buttocks were clenched together tightly as she ran her palms down to the cheeks, pulling them apart with the slightest of pressure. Then he felt her tongue wash through the crack. He shivered excitedly as her nipples followed the tongue, brushing his en flamed flesh.
"I'm going to eat your ass-hole, Dougy," she said in a thick, passionate voice. "I don't know if you've ever had yourself eaten before, but believe me, you'll not forget me when it's over."
Doug curled his fists. He fought the tickling sensation as her nipples dragged up the spread slit of his ass. He felt them bounce over his puckered anus and glide up the crack of his ass.
Ginny changed positions. She swiveled around so that her vagina was stuck to the back of Doug's neck. He could feel the slick, furry lips mashing against his hair. She hunched up and down, each time secreting more juices onto his neck that seemed to lubricate her movement.
Her fingers were dug into the cliffs of his ass. He felt her spread them farther and farther apart until his ass-hole was straining.
Then she sliced at it with her tongue. He felt the sphincter snap shut reflexively as her tongue cut across the pliable flesh. She repeated the process, each time adding a little more pressure until he was wrenching and twisting beneath her like a trapped fish on a bank. Her weight held him fast. He knew he could roll over any time he wanted, but that wouldn't be fair. She was enjoying his squirms, and he sensed it.
Ginny had her face pressed down into the crack of his ass. She jabbed the bayonet tip of her tongue into his ass. Doug let out a grunt as she forced it deeper and deeper. The pressure was extraordinary. He felt as though he were sitting on a blunt instrument of some sort, unable to raise up to relieve the pressure.
Ginny had one hand on his balls, squeezing them as she let her tongue come to life inside his bowels. She stroked firmly, each time sinking another inch or so of her tongue into him.
Doug had never felt anything quite like it. It was so totally new and different that it sent bolts of electricity through him. His ass reacted instinctively, closing around the tongue, trying to force it out. But with every rebuttal, the tongue seemed to crack open new doors of passion. The tighter his muscles closed around the frantic organ, the more powerful her thrusts became, until he thought she would shove all the juice out of his nuts and he would spill his precious seed onto the pillow.
She plumbed the tongue rapidly. She heard him grunt, and noticed that his body stiffened. Then she extracted the tongue very quickly and moved down so that her breasts were dangling over his anus.
"I'm going to tit-fuck you, Dougy. That's my way. Hang on."
He didn't understand her until he felt her shove the nipple into his ass. It was harder than ever, like the first joint of a finger. It drove down as far as it would go, and then she did something. He could feel it. She was tightening her pectoral muscles, making the whole tit become as hard as a rock. With each muscular contraction, the head of the nipple seemed to implode. It shimmied with more vibrancy than her tongue had. It became, in Doug's mind, a penis that stroked and shoved in a bizarre need to ejaculate.
He could hear Ginny panting. He could hear her crying and sobbing as she ground the tit-head deeper and deeper.
"TIT-FUCK! TIT-FUCK! TIT-FUCK!" The words exploded from her mouth. Then the command followed. "COME, BABY! COME NOW! COME WITH THE TIT! COME!"
Doug's hips lurched up. He pounded his ass against the stiff pinnacle jabbing his anus. He wanted more and more. He felt her hands squeezing his nuts like they were Silly Putty. Then, in a long shuddering escape from the passion, he felt the jism jerking up from his balls and shooting in a warm, singing stream from his cock.
Ginny was off him in a flash, rolling him onto his back, planting her mouth over his still-streaming cock. He felt her throat suckle the head and drink his come.
He lay with his hips arched, hands on the back of her head, pulling her mouth farther and farther over his pole until it went soft between her lips.
She pulled away with a loud, pop.
"Now, Dougy, it's your turn," she said, rolling onto her back and spreading her legs.
For the next two hours the darkened room, bathed in a rouge of passion, was a mixture of erotic noises, sights and smells. Bodies slithered and writhed. Heads lolled and legs flailed climactically in the air as though pedaling imaginary bicycles. Flesh sweated onto other flesh as tongues met in serpentine rituals.
At the end of two hours, the soft lights were turned up by Val, who had been watching the scene from the doorway. She had watched her husband join into a daisy chain of mouths connected to organs. She had watched Doug go down on Ginny, and Gwen take Peter's engorged cock into her mouth as a hungry baby feasts on a bottle.
Now it was time for the other scheduled events to get underway, and everyone knew as the lights filled the dark corners that it was time for more games and continued fun.
All eyes turned to the tall, angular face smiling at them. No one noticed the dull eyes or the slight powdered bruise under her right breast-Carl Bruno's calling card.
Val was almost naked. She wore a very tight fishnet tunic that cut across the cheeks of her ass, but did nothing to hide the subtle flesh from view. Her hair was tied to one side, falling over her right shoulder like an ebony waterfall. Doug felt his heart leap with revitalized energy as she stood in the bright light, smiling faintly, waiting for the rustling of bodies to part.
"Sorry I'm a little late. I was putting the finishing touches on one of the evening's surprises." She motioned for everyone to follow her. She led them out to the backyard where patio torches cast the lush green yard into a maze of wavering shadows.
"Tonight," Val said, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth, "we're going to conduct a tournament. It will be much like a golf tournament, since, after all, we are all golfers. The tournament will be composed of two teams, with a team captain each. Each member of the team will be assigned a club-at random of course. For example, if a man is assigned to be the driver, he will start off the game by driving his club into the captain," she paused," if the captain is a woman. And I suggest that all captains be women."
"Now, there will be seventy-two strokes to a game. No handicaps, please." She waited for the laughter to ebb. "The basic idea is this. Each team will receive a club assignment. It will be up to the captain-the woman-to assign strokes. For example, if the imaginary hole is a par five, then she will ask for two woods and then an appropriate iron-say a nine iron. The persons assigned as the woods, will give her a good stroke. You are allowed warm-up strokes, just as you are on the course. But these warm-up or practice strokes cannot be made in the hole. They may be made on any other part of the body-the mouth, anus, cleavage, etcetera."
The men murmured, the women giggled. Val continued. "After the practice strokes, then the designated club must take its one stroke. We-Harry and I-will judge the reaction, and without prejudice estimate the yardage of the stroke. Should it look like the stroke had no effect, we will say that the club sliced or hooked or merely duffed the shot, and the team captain will be required to call another club.
"In the case of women team members, the stroke will be made with either the tongue or finger, or any other part of the body that can effect a sexual response we can measure. The team with the fewest strokes over the seventy-two hole imaginary course wins. I know it all sounds a little complicated, but I'm sure you'll catch on quickly. Now, we need two volunteers for the team captains..."
Peter nudged Gwen. "Go ahead," he said, running his hand down the swell of her ass. "It will be more fun than waiting in line. Show everyone you're really one of us."
Gwen hesitated, then stepped forward. "I'll be one."
"Good," Val said, obviously pleased. "Now, one more."
Ginny raised her hand. "All right," Val said. "You're one."
"No," Ginny said. "Why don't you be one? You and Gwen. I'll help Harry judge."
The throng all nodded and told Val to accept. She smiled helplessly. "Well, all right, if you insist." She took Gwen by the arm and led her toward a small indentation carefully manicured into the ground.
'That's just about right, Gwen. Shaped like your body. The upper levels are for your legs-like the stirrups at your gynecologist. Just hook your ankles in them and relax. Harry will stick some wires to your back. They won't hurt. It will just record the electric voltage your system is throwing off during the stroke and let us be more accurate."
Gwen looked at the indentation. "You think of everything, don't you?"
"Almost," Val said wistfully, thinking of Bruno. "Almost everything. Now, just sit down while Harry hooks up the electrodes."
Val positioned herself in her niche and told Ginny where to attach the electrodes. Then she lay back and waited while Harry and Ginny split the teams up and assigned clubs to everyone.
There was a moment when the two women were almost alone. Val looked over at Gwen and smiled. "Glad to see you're enjoying the company."
"Peter's nice. The rest are very attractive people."
"Expression," Val said, leaning back so that the small of her back rested firmly on the damp grass, "is the name of the game. Everyone wants to express himself freely. That's why we're so successful. When you stop needing to express yourself sexually, you don't need to come any more."
"Is that a warning or a suggestion?"
"A comment, Gwen. I don't want you to think you're compelled to come. I want you to enjoy the experience for what it's worth. I don't want to be unfriendly."
Gwen returned the smile. "It was a shock at first, but I'm getting over it. Do you like Doug?" she added casually.
"like him?"
"More than usual in these circumstances?" Val thought a moment, trying to see if she was walking into some kind of verbal, catty trap. "I don't think I love him if that's what you're implying. Doug's a nice guy. He's got a lot on the ball and a lot to offer in the future. If I were you, I'd do everything I could to keep him on your side."
"My side?"
"Men," Val said with a musical lilt to her voice, "are always boys under their five-hundred-dollar suits and graying sideburns. They take sides for and against their women. If you think women are flighty, take a good look at your man. He can be your friend one minute, your enemy the next. If you nag him a lot, get his ire up, he'll jump to the other side. He'll start looking around for someone he thinks understands him. He'll try and play with the other team until he realized that he was on the right team in the first place. You have to play ball with a man, Gwen. You have to look past his faults and see what you really have. Then, if you don't want it, you just force him off your team. He'll go very easily. But if you really want him, you better play your cards carefully."
Ginny bounced toward the two women, her massive breasts flopping like two water-filled balloons.
"Everybody's ready," she announced, taking a seat next to Val. "How's the two nymphs?"
"Great!" Val said. "Ready for action!"
Harry took a cross-legged position next to Gwen. "How're you doing?" he asked in a fatherly tone.
"I'm learning the ropes," Gwen replied, glancing at Val with a new curiosity. Val was trying to tell her something a few moments ago. Something she didn't fully understand. But something she knew was true and honest.
"All right," Harry boomed, reaching out and patting Gwen's bare shoulder. "Let's get lined up and tee off." He leaned down to whisper in Gwen's ear. "Don't be startled by the women. It will be different than the men, but remember it's all in fun."
Gwen nodded. She had forgotten that the women would be trying to stimulate her, and that she had never been touched sexually by a female. Her heart tripped noisily as the first man stepped up. She saw him. He was tall, slenderly built, but with a bronzed body that earmarked him as a regular visitor to Palm Springs. He had an infectious smile that beamed down at her and put her at ease as he knelt beside her.
"I'm the driver," he said, a smile curving broadly onto his face. His evenly spaced white teeth flashed. "I'm going to drive you two hundred and eighty yards, so be ready."
Gwen, according to the instructions, could only do what was told to her. She could not initiate any antics to help the man. But if he were to tell her to hold his cock, to massage it, to kiss it and make it hard, she could oblige. Any other movement or initiative on her part would disqualify his club from play and they would lose a stroke to par.
Gwen had met the man earlier. His name was Ray, and his cock was one of the longest she had ever seen. He indeed was a driver, because his penis had an irregular shape, thin at the base, and tapering to a thick blunt tip. Gwen watched as he dangled it over her chest, rubbing it between the proud, bursting cleavage of her puckered breasts.
"Gotta stiffen up for the shot," he said, running his hands up the smooth, flat surface of her stomach. She felt his tender hands cup her mounds, squeezing them into red turgid tips. She had an urge to reach for them, to touch the backs of his hands and press him harder against her. But she remembered the rule, and left her arms glued to her sides.
"I'm going to let you suck it to life," he said, sliding up so that the tip of his fist-sized knob grazed her lips. "Kiss and lick it. Then it'll be ready."
Instinctively, Gwen parted her lips. Her tongue danced out, curling around the slick head of the massive organ. She felt it spring to cement-like hardness as she covered it with her lips and drew it over the flat of her tongue.
It was huge. It pressed up hard against her palate, forcing her jaws to spread wide. She could feel her cheeks caving in, crushing against the rocky sides of the organ which the man rocked leisurely into her mouth. His balls, two furry tennis balls, slapped against her chin as she suckled the life and blood to the root.
"Good," he said, quickly withdrawing the weapon and guiding it down to the fork of her succulent thighs. She felt him pressing it against her lips. It was like a doorknob. He undulated his ass, grinding the pestle-shaped bludgeon against her sweating twat. Her nerves bunched up, forming tiny knots inside her nervous system. Her body trembled as the narcotic effect of his nearness drugged her mind. His hands were planted on her breasts, screwing and unscrewing the mounds with increasing passion. She could hear his breath wheezing from his lips and feel the urgency bundled in the straining cockhead now burrowed into the first niche of her pussy.
"Ready," he grunted, grabbing her shoulders forcefully and yanking them down. At the same instant his hips pumped forward driving the full length of his tool into her. She gasped as the searing pain shot through her. He seemed to vibrate as he lunged into her. The cock became a bronze tuning fork ringing thunderously throughout her system, crashing into the knotted nerves and sending them cascading like little balls of lightning through her system.
Her eyes closed, she felt the impact of his lunge screaming from every nerve ending. She cried out, her body shaking violently as he held the full force of his thrust. She arched her hips, meeting the insatiable stab with every ounce of energy she could muster.
He didn't yank it out. Instead, according to the one-stroke rule, he let it slide out slowly, bumping and grinding his hips as he did, allowing her to reflect the electrical storm raging throughout her body.
When it finally slid completely out of its sheath, the driver had taken its toll. Gwen was simpering. Her face twisted with relief and disappointment that it was over.
"Great drive! Three hundred yards, on a par five!" Harry shouted. "Only two hundred and twenty-five yards to the green."
Gwen wiped the perspiration from her brow. Ray kissed her nipples. "Thanks, baby. You were really good. Maybe later we can drive for the green, just the two of us."
Gwen nodded. "I'd like that."
Harry broke up the discussion. "All right. No pandering, now. Come on, Gwen. Call the next club."
"Three wood," she said, still feeling the tingling in her loins from the driver.
She watched as a slightly heavy man approached. He had a great face, bright rosy cheeks, and a paunch that slung over his genitals. He wasn't very large, but she noticed that he had not been circumcised and that there were heavy folds of flesh bunched over the head of his limp prick. His name was George, and she knew of him. He was the judge from San Francisco that Doug had mentioned on occasion as being one of the fairest in the state when it came to labor disputes.
"Hello, my dear," he said, squatting down beside her. She wondered how he could possibly evoke a response with his everything-but-passionate appearance. "I hope you're ready for me?"
"Ready and willing," Gwen said with mock confidence.
"Mind if I kiss you, just to prepare everything?" he asked in heady voice. "No! Go ahead."
Gwen parted her lips, slitted her eyes, and expected him to press his lips to hers. Instead, he slithered down between her legs and planted his mouth against her pussy. She felt the tremendous suction drawing her womb out. Her body began to sizzle with a new and different sensation as he munched on her clit, lolling it with his tongue, nipping it with the front of his false teeth.
She could hear the murmurs next to her and sense the erotic buildup of Val's body as she took on one club after another. Her team was much slower, but more cautious. They were taking their time, warming up her hole and boiling it to a peaked frenzy before trying to drive for the green.
The heavy older man stroked the insides of her thighs as he sucked her twat. She could feel his leathery lips forming an "O" as they pulsed deep into her. His tongue wagged like a fractured finger inside her twat, touching and stimulating the buried passions.
She thought he would never come up for air. When he did, her body was shaking. Her small nostrils collapsed as she tried to satisfy the craving in her lungs. She was on the brink of an orgasm.
In one fluid motion George exchanged his tongue for his cock. She felt the stiff wrinkles around his foreskin rolling her lips apart. Then, as slowly as an inchworm crawling into a culvert, he began pushing the wrinkled, grooved prick into her. Each new inch sent her body into convulsions. She felt a numbing sensation in her toes and fingers as the man sucked on her tits. He panted, ass wriggling like a bowl of Jello, as he pushed deeper and deeper into her turbulent well.
At the apex of his interminable thrust, she felt her body shattering into orgasmic pieces. Her hips lurched up. Her twat squeezed and milked, shooting its damp, sticky juices all over his wattled cock.
He withdrew with the same, patient anxiety that had started her first orgasm. By the time his cockhead was grating against her clit, hesitating at the mouth of her vagina, she was shuddering through her second orgasm.
"Perfect shot!" Harry shouted. 'The three-wood drove to within a foot of the cup."
Meekly, Gwen called for the putter.
The putter was a doe-eyed beauty with flaxen hair and a deep, sensual mouth. Gwen watched her slide down between her thighs, and felt a moment of cold anxiety. She had never had a woman touch her, although she knew the effects could probably be as warming and passionate as a man's penis.
The woman's body was almost black. She was from Puerto Rico, had the sharp features of a voodoo goddess and the body of a luscious fruit. Her shoulders melted down to two stiff, arrogant mounds that were pointed out at oblique angles. Her waist was narrow, hips slim and tapering into lathed thighs and well-turned ankles. Her dark, lustrous, penetrating eyes held Gwen captive as she smiled, letting her high cheekbones come into prominence below her cat-shaped eyes. Strangely, Gwen felt utterly helpless.
"Hello," she said, her voice rich with confidence. "I'm going to putt for an eagle."
As the others, she sank into the grassy indention between Gwen's thighs. Her hand stroked the inside of Gwen's trembling leg, fingers delicately flicking at her moist cunt.
"This is a tricky putt," she said, tossing her long hair so that the silken strands slashed teasingly across Gwen's stomach. "I have to lag it up and hope it will fall in. And I must be firm and confident at the same time, without being jerky."
The comment, Gwen knew, was instructive. She was not to jerk to convulse as she had with the driver and three-wood. Instead, it must be a romantic, exotic motion that would tell Harry the ball had been carefully putted and holed out.
"I understand," Gwen said, mesmerized by the eyes which held her in their imprisoning beam.
The woman, named Jill, reached out and touched Gwen's breasts. Her hands were un-like any hands that had every caressed her. They were gentle, more understanding, affectionate little individuals preening and plying her flesh. There was a deeper sensation involved, one that Gwen didn't quite understand at the moment.
"You have a nice body," Jill said, her fingers exploring and measuring the size and texture of Gwen's mounds. The fingers, cool, confident, grasped Gwen's nipples and rolled them between thumb and forefinger.
"Thank you."
"Have you ever had a woman?"
Gwen felt an icy chill press against the back of her neck. Her mouth was dry and stuck to the surface of her tongue.
"No."
"Then perhaps later, we can get together. A woman should know what another woman can do for her."
There was such a soothing sincerity to the voice, such a hypnotic attraction, that Gwen felt her hips involuntarily raise in search of Jill's flesh. The woman obliged, taking her own breasts and rubbing them lightly around the opening of Gwen's cunt. The nipples grazed Gwen's swollen clit, sending shivers through her body.
"I'm going to stroke you with my tongue," Jill said, leaning down to kiss Gwen's puckered nipples. "I want you to feel the smooth, steady stroke and to know it is a perfect one."
Jill, her arrogant breast sliding back and forth across the damp, slitted opening of Gwen's red-meated cunt, took on an exotic rhythm. Gwen never realized it when the woman bent, touching her tongue to the red, puffy pulp of her cunt. Only as the tongue lanced deftly through the constricted flesh did she realize that the putter was making her stroke.
There was no jerking response, no shattering orgasmic cry from Gwen's lips. Only a satisfied moan as the tongue buried itself smoothly, effectively into the inner depths of Gwen's throbbing snatch.
Jill withdrew the tongue with the same steady assurance. Gwen shifted slightly, savoring the wild and bizarre feeling.
"Eagle three," Harry announced. "They made the par five in three. Great."
Gwen's team cheered and the others lined up in order to begin the new hole.