Chapter 7
NOW EVERYBODY HAD HAD A CHANCE TO get into the act, and they were anxious to view themselves on TV. They were all exhibitionists at heart, needing only an audience to play to .
While Steve was fiddling with the tapes, they took a breather at the bar. Reruns of the tapes were to be shown in the same order as they had been taken, and there was a lot of good-natured ribbing going on.
"Hell, Jerry, I'll bet you don't get past the first five minutes of film before you're hot to trot again," Bob kidded.
"Well, I'll still hold out longer than you before shooting my load," Jerry retorted.
Maggie's face lit up as an idea hit her. "Hey! Why don't we have a contest? Sort of like that kids' game we used to play, where the first one who speaks is out."
"I know the one you mean!" Bev exclaimed. "That should be interesting. We can all take our favorite sex positions, and whoever breaks down first and starts humping, loses."
"That sounds kinds of far-out to me," Joan protested.
Pam thought so too, and was about to voice her opinion when Steve joined the discussion.
"That should be a real blast. That's the sort of ticklish situation most men would give their eye teeth to be in. After all, watching ourselves on the screen like that should be enough to get it up, let alone having it in a girl at the same time."
Pam and Joan still balked at the idea, while Allison merely sat as though she had been turned to stone. Either she didn't care enough to venture an opinion, or else she was off in a world of her own somewhere.
"Tell you what I'm gonna do," Steve chanted, in the manner of a carney barker. "Instead of free dishes, I'm giving away, with each and every lay, a prize. Win or lose, you ladies will come out ahead. And there'll be a grand prize for our contest winner! Now, don't look a gift horse in the mouth, you two."
They both laughed at his innocuous behavior, and Pam retorted. "Yes, but isn't there another saying that warns people to beware of Greeks bearing gifts?"
But he had won his point, so they took their positions along with the rest, lying in a row. Jerry and Bev were first in line because their scene would be on first, and watchful eyes were upon them, waiting for their reaction.
Pam snickered to herself when she saw that Jerry was on top of Bev. They could wait all night before he'd show any reaction, she thought. But then a curious thing happened. As he watched the screen in which his Oedipus complex was allowed to run amuck, his pleasure was so intense that he achieved an erection at long last. Pam was amazed. It must have been at least five years since he'd been able to do anything at all in that position. Evidently, the lewd film had enabled him to disassociate his mind from his present circumstances and relive the exciting scenes on the TV.
When Pam's turn came, she watched the screen and experienced the same sense of excitement. The erotic pictures had the effect of an aphrodisiac. She tore her eyes away long enough to look at Steve's profile, and saw his nostrils flare and his mouth go slack with desire. This, too, enhanced her pleasure, and when she felt his penis swelling within her, an involuntary spasm made her move beneath him. This triggered his growing desire, and they began to move in the familiar rhythm of screwing.
It didn't take a crystal ball to predict the outcome of this contest. Each couple fell by the wayside in order of their appearance. Bert and Joan were the dubious victors, by virtue of being the last to perform. They received the grand prizes: a solid gold phallus that was tied with a blue ribbon for her, and a pussy-stretcher that was mounted like a trophy, for him. Everyone rushed over to examine them, and it was discovered that the pussy-stretcher opened in the middle when the sides were pressed, and the phallus could be made to extend five inches by pushing a button.
Jerry and Bev had been the first ones to cop out, but they received consolation prizes, along with the rest. These turned out to be cute little gimmicks called "kitten-mittens," which Steve must have purchased by the gross. They were made of a fur-like material, and boasted a luxurious satin lining.
Steve's ingenious ideas amazed them all; he was a true connoisseur of bizarre approaches to sex. When he produced a trunk full of costumes and tricky little novelties, they pawed through them like housewives at a bargain counter.
Many of the outfits were on the theatrical side, including ice-cream cone-shaped pasties, G-strings, and underpants with the entire crotch split up the front. Some of the men dressed in drag costumes, stuffing towels in their bosoms until they resembled top-heavy pigeons.
The camera started rolling, and the marathon began. There was no rhyme or reason to this production, and the participants were blithely unconcerned about being photographed. Steve put some acid-rock music on for background, and the fun began.
Joan was sporting a chastity bra that was constructed entirely of steel, and Bob advanced toward her with a can opener, ready to play knight to her shining armor. "Careful with that thing," she cautioned. "You're not opening a tin of sardines, you know."
"No sweat, my dear. Haven't I ever told you that I'm mechanical-minded?"
Bill minced around the room, tottering dangerously on the spike heels he was wearing. He looked like a comical caricature of a prostitute, with his satin skirt slit up the side and a blonde wig perched on top of his head. "How about a little nookie, mister?" he queried, in a bad imitation of a female's high-pitched voice. "Only five bucks. Oh, dear..." He fell, ass-over-teakettle, sprawling awkwardly in a very ludicrous position. Grinning foolishly, he retrieved his wadded towel from the floor and stuffed it back in his bosom. "Well, nobody's perfect," he muttered.
Bert had chosen a feminine costume too, and he made a surprisingly pretty girl. Even without a wig, his arched eyebrows and petulant lips, aided by a touch of lipstick, made him the belle of the ball. Maggie looked at his getup with amazement. Of course, she had often commented that his waistline measurement was no bigger around than her own, and he always had a clean-shaven look that was unmarred by any five o'clock shadow; still, she had never before noticed how girlish his features were.
He seemed to be having no difficulty in adjusting to the high-heeled shoes, either, and she was moved into making one of her acid comments. "Why, sweetie, what big eyes you have! When the boys get a load of those doe eyes and pouting lips, I won't stand a chance."
He refused to be lured into a battle of wits with her, and contented himself by saying, "Oh, don't be so damn catty, Maggie. It's all in fun, after all."
"Is it?" she asked, archly. Having had the last word, she left him to figure out what she had meant.
He watched her go and wondered what she had been hinting at. He never had been able to figure her out-she was like a Chinese puzzle, as far as he was concerned. One minute, she was as sweet and cuddly as a kitten; then she would lash out at him for no reason at all. He had to admit, though, that she was still a sexpot. She had dug deep down in the trunk and had come up with a slick outfit that was the sexiest thing he had ever seen. The boots were thigh length, made of a black, shiny vinyl, and the rest of the costume-what little there was of it-was cut from the same material. The fake patent-leather stuff clung to her every contour as though plastered on, and every curve was clearly outlined. The top part was cut severely, stopping short midway around each breast. She looked like a Valkyrie on her way to do battle, and the bullwhip she carried added a very convincing touch to the bizarre outfit. Bert wondered if the whip was strictly a prop.
Pam suddenly felt woozy and was forced to sit down. A strange, unreal feeling came over her, isolating her from the rest of the group as though they were a long way off. Could it be possible that Steve had somehow managed to get them to smoke marijuana? She had heard of pot parties, but had never expected to take part in one.
The notion seemed preposterous at first. Then she noticed that the cigarette box, so thoughtfully provided for the guests, was almost empty. It had been chockfull upon their arrival. Also, there was an unfamiliar, sweetish odor in the room.
In fact, the whole affair had taken on a nightmarish quality, and suddenly she no longer wished to take part in the three-ring circus that was going on. She had the strangest feeling that they were being scrutinized like bugs under a microscope, and the actual dissecting would take place at some future date. Maybe this vague feeling that something was wrong stemmed from the fact that Steve was nowhere to be seen.
She had just settled back to watch the macabre parade through half-closed lids, when she became aware of Steve's presence beside her. "Well, what do you think of our little freak-out, Pam? It's really quite exciting, don't you agree?"
"You devil," she answered in what she supposed to be an angry tone of voice, but which came out very mild. "What are you trying to do to us, anyway?"
"Now, what's that supposed to mean? I've simply tried to free all of you from your inhibitions, that's all. And it's working out very well. Just look at what a good time the others are having. What's your problem?"
Pam said crossly, "Oh, I don't know, exactly. But it seems to me that you've gone to a lot of trouble just to give a party."
He edged closer and slid his hand under her dress. "But that's the whole idea of our little club, isn't it? To enjoy ourselves in any way we see fit?"
Pam's head was blurry, and the words she wanted to say kept getting tangled up somehow, but she tried to clarify what seemed to her a very important point. "At least you didn't get me up there for your freakish little show."
His hand began to move, and his middle finger in her groove soon stifled any further protest from her. She went weak with desire, and his gloating words fell on deaf ears. "There's really no need for that, my little minx. I had you pegged the first time we met."
She paid no heed to his words, except to silence him by clamping her mouth onto his. She wanted nothing to spoil that golden moment when his finger would be replaced by the real thing. The influence of the drug added to her usual enjoyment, and she unexpectedly grasped his cock and rained kisses upon it. When she threatened to carry things too far, he checked her almost hysterical devotion.
"You are a greedy little girl, aren't you? Use a little restraint-the lollipop won't dissolve. It's an all-day sucker, you know."
Never before had she so blatantly hungered for a man's hard prick. In the far recesses of her mind, she detested the wanton, almost demented way she was acting, but she knew without a doubt that she would debase herself again and again to appease this terrible craving. She heard her voice pleading with him now, although she hardly recognized it as her own.
"Take me, damn it. Steve ... please hurry."
He decided to put an end to her suffering and give in to her demands. Slowly, he inched his enormous sex-engine in, undaunted by her greedy attempts to stuff it inside her. But once he had immersed himself completely, her frenzy communicated itself to him. Her hips rotated around and around, and he was caught up with desire. He gave himself over to the pleasant task of following her lead, and was just getting used to the motion when she suddenly changed tactics.
She spread her legs wide, in order to get the deepest penetration possible; then brought them close together again, so that they were in between his own. He was finding this position very enjoyable, and was about to speed up when she again switched tactics.
Starting from the same position, she crossed one leg over the other in a scissor-like fashion, which produced a very curious sensation in Steve. As he began to hump in the customary up-and-down movement, he found a resistance that was very much like that of a virgin's. The tight fit was delightful, and she seemed to be drawing the very juices of life out of him.
He looked at her with a new found appreciation before beginning to take full advantage of this unexpected source of pleasure. The hectic pace began, and neither of them saw anything but each other's face, distorted by desire, after that.
If they had been aware of anyone else, they would have seen Allison watching them with a bemused expression. She had never seen Steve go ape like that before. Even though they shared a certain preoccupation with sex, they had never lost their cool under any circumstances. She hoped this thing with Pam wasn't getting out of hand-that wouldn't fit in with their plans at all.
She busied herself by refilling the cigarette box and pouring herself a drink. Her duties as a hostess were nil at the moment; from the tangle of arms and legs, it was clear that her guests were more--likely to perish from overexertion than from thirst.
The only person who wasn't engaged in some sort of intercourse was Bert. He was still dressed in drag, looking rather like an unclaimed wallflower at her first prom. Allison took him a drink and sat beside him, noticing as she did so that his eyes were glued to Steve and Pam. "What's the matter, baby? Feeling left out?"
He blinked, then smiled when he saw that he had company. "Well, I was feeling like the low man on the totem pole," he admitted.
"Here, let's share a cigarette," she urged, lighting one and placing it between his lips. She waited until he had taken quite a few puffs, then put her arm across his narrow shoulders. "Come on. Let's go take a better look, shall we? I want to see what she's doing for Steve that makes him act so asinine."
Steve and Pam were unaware of their presence, and Bert and Allison watched the couple with growing excitement and envy. Allison passed her hand down the front of Bert's skirt to gauge his reaction to this first-band glimpse of passion. As Steve reared up, preparing to ram it to Pam again after having slipped out, she whispered to Bert, "Go ahead. Touch him. He won't mind."
Timidly, he stretched out his hand and placed it around Steve's rod. An excited look came over his face as he fingered it and assisted with the insertion into Pam's dribbling pussy. Allison nodded to herself, pleased that her little experiment had worked. Then, while Bert was still holding Steve's root, she flipped up the dress to expose his own distended cock.
Moving in close, she imprisoned it by clamping her legs firmly around it. She made no attempt to insert it. Instead, she moved back and forth, causing a friction much like the simple chemistry of rubbing two sticks together.
By the time Steve was ready to return to Pam exclusively, Allison's vise-like grip caused Bert to push himself in and out between her legs of his own volition. Allison waited until the jerking motion had become quite urgent before lowering herself to the floor and toppling him with her.
His erection was at its peak after all that had happened, and his frenzy matched Steve's wild hammering. Allison knew a few tricks of her own, and she used them without mercy. Her skill, plus Bert's intense lovemaking, made for a good match. They left no stone unturned in their quest for pleasure. The thumping of their bodies against the floor brought them to the attention of the others, and some of them left off to watch-the way couples do on a dance floor, when confronted by a superior team of dancers.
It was a rare treat to witness a man in a dress screwing a girl whose own dress was hiked up to her navel. Bev began to suspect that the theory of all women sharing a common penis envy might not be a bunch of malarkey. She had scoffed at the notion when the findings first came out, but now she wondered how it would feel to have a penis of her own. It might be interesting to trade places with Jerry and find out.
Maggie was standing next to Joan, who looked very desirable in a topless bathing suit. Bob had ruined the chastity bra with his can opener, which prompted him to complain that even a tin of sardines came equipped with a key. But the bathing costume suited her better, and showed off the small pointed breasts to perfection.
As she watched the other couples and their unbridled passion, Maggie fairly bristled with excitement. Her full breasts rose and fell under the scanty, slick, black covering, and she sucked her belly in flat. Casually, she let the tip of her cigarette brush against one of Joan's exposed nipples, causing the thin girl to cry out with pain.
Maggie sprang into action and flicked the burning ember away. "Oh, Joanie, I'm sorry!" She blew on it, and apologized further. "That was terribly careless of me.
Joan had clasped her hand over the little rosebud in a protective gesture. "It's all right now, Maggie. Just a little tender, is all."
"Oh, it must be sore. You'd better come with me, and we'll find something to put on it. A dab of butter will make it feel better."
Joan tried to make light of the pain, but Maggie insisted, so she allowed herself to be steered into the kitchen. There was a night light on, and Maggie didn't bother with the main switch. Going directly to the refrigerator, she dipped a finger into the butter dish and pushed Joan into a chair. Gently, she applied the soothing emollient to the offended area, her touch as soft as the butter she used. As she worked over the girl's baby-soft skin, her own luscious orbs popped in and out of their covering, playing peek-a-boo to Joan's interested gaze.
Maggie's touch lingered over the girl's breast much longer than necessary. "There, now. Doesn't that feel better?" she asked, continuing the gentle massage.
Joan's nod was barely perceptible. All of her attentions were focused on Maggie's admirable bazooms. A strange lassitude crept over her, and she was content just to sit and be fussed over.
Maggie bent her head to kiss the little bud tenderly.
As she did so, the vinyl material slid back to reveal one of her own breast completely. Joan's hand crept up to heft it, as carefully as a comparison shopper weighing a melon. The size and ripeness pleased her all the more because of her own lack of nature's abundance. She had never felt desire for a woman before, but Maggie's body excited her somehow. Under ordinary circumstances, she would have been shocked to feel a woman's lips touching her so intimately, but the depraved behavior of the others made such a caress seem normal.
Maggie slid the crisscross straps down her arms and leaned down further to rub her own full tits against Joan's petal-soft mounds. Then she pressed against her and their nipples met tip to tip.
The burned area hardly hurt at all now, and Joan welcomed the billows of flesh that threatened to engulf her. She let Maggie tear away the wool knit suit and felt herself being pulled to her feet. Maggie's breath was coming in short, ragged gasps, and she said, "Here, Joanie. Help me get these twat-pinchers off. I want to feel you against me."
Joan tugged at the tight vinyl, and together they managed to roll it down her hips. She was eager to view Maggie's voluptuous body, and her curiosity grew with every passing moment.
One final pull, and Maggie was free of the constricting tights. She rubbed the small ridge they had left around her middle. "God! Those things are worse than wearing a girdle."
Before Joan had time to recover from the impact of the lovely vision, Maggie pulled her close and kissed her on the lips. Their tongues met, sending white-hot licks of desire through them-a preview of things to come.
Maggie's hips started sending a message, and Joan was uncertain of her role. Nothing in her handbook had prepared her for such an un--likely event. The word Lesbian had simply been a dirty word to her; yet, here she was, in the arms of a beautiful, aggressive female, and enjoying every minute of it. She rubbed and twisted against Maggie, straining desperately for some sort of relief.
Abruptly, she was piloted back into the chair, where she sat and felt her nerve ends quivering with anticipation. She wondered how a woman could possibly compensate for that male piece of equipment that seemed so dear to her now. Maggie was on her knees, and when her fingers crept up Joan's legs and drew them apart to expose her tingling genitals, Joan begged her to stop. The whole thing seemed so pointless, and fulfillment so far away.
Then Maggie bowed her head, and the secret delights of Lesbian lovemaking became imprinted upon Joan's mind forever. It was as though the questing tongue was a red-hot branding iron, searing her more painfully than the cigarette had earlier. Pain and pleasure combined to make her moan and whimper in her chair. At first she held back, afraid of this new sensation, then she was pushing herself up to meet the tongue that darted around so cleverly.
"Ah, yes. Don't stop yet, Maggie. I'll do anything you want, after. Just don't stop!"
Maggie didn't falter from the steady, rhythmic pace, but Joan's reckless words registered somewhere in the back of her mind, to be examined later, when this was finished. From the way Joan was carrying on, Maggie knew the girl's couldn't be far off, and she put both hands under Joan's compact little buttocks and pressed firmly.
This was just the little push that Joan needed to send her over the edge, and she shuddered violently on her way to oblivion. "Enough!" she cried, but Maggie kept on with it, determined to give her the last dregs of pleasure. Another spasm came shortly after that, and Joan sank back weakly under the force of it.
Maggie left her cramped position and gave Joan a chance to pull herself together. When one dances to the devil's tune, there is always a price to be paid; a fact Joan would soon discover for herself; for it seems that the more one deviates from the norm, the deeper one must sink in order to get his (or her) kicks. Maggie had long been experimenting with the more common sexual variations, and they no longer satisfied her appetites. She was playing in a different league entirely.
Joan's trusting face made things a little difficult, but Maggie steeled herself against the baby-blue eyes. "How was it, kid? Feel good?"
Joan sighed contentedly. "Oh, yes. I never dreamed anything could feel that good."
Before taking too many bows, Maggie reminded her that it was her turn to treat. But as soon as the gratified girl was about to reverse the procedure, Maggie stopped her. "No, Joanie. That doesn't do anything for me any more."
"But I want to do something for you, too. Just tell me what you want."
"Well, there is one thing I've always wanted to try. But ... no, I guess you wouldn't want to do that."
"Look, I told you before that I'd do anything you asked, and I always keep my promises. Just name it."
Maggie's answer was to pick up the whip, and Joan's face blanched when she saw the evil-looking instrument. But she had already accepted Maggie's sapphic brand of lovemaking, and she felt beholden to her now. There was no other choice but to brace herself and prepare for the worst.
Maggie fondled the whip lovingly before laying it on Joan's tender young flesh. The naked girl cowered with fear, and with good reason, as Maggie flicked the whip around her breasts. Even though the force was not yet too pronounced, Joan gasped from the pain, and her hands went up instinctively to protect her tiny tits.
Fortunately for her, Maggie was not yet a full-fledged sadist; she was merely testing, trying to find new kicks that would satisfy her lust for sex in all its forms. She savored the feeling of power as she used the whip, slipping into this new, forbidden thrill as easily as she would slip into an old pair of shoes. A new plateau had been reached in her climb for new sensations, and she would never again be able to settle for straight sex. .
She toyed with Joan the way a cat does with a mouse, and she wore the same satisfied expression as she watched her prey writhing in agony on the floor. She straddled Joan's body, standing with her hands on her hips, and looked down at her victim. Joan hardly seemed aware of the reprieve, and strange mewling sounds came from deep in her throat.
"We're almost done, baby," Maggie said with false sincerity. "Just one more for the road."
The blow she delivered packed such a wallop that Joan almost passed out. Then she let the whip fall unheeded to the floor and helped Joan to her knees. "Now you can go down on me," she said, drawing the silky head toward her hungry nether mouth. "It shouldn't take long-I'm almost ready to go off now."
Joan began sucking her off, and found that this was the easy part. She didn't even think about what she was doing, and it was all over in a matter of minutes. When her penance had ended, she got to her feet somehow and covered herself completely, burning with shame. There was no need to parade the marks of her degradation in front of the others; Bill would see her welts soon enough. This thought did nothing to dispel the ache-inside or out.
She entered the living room to find Bill smack in the middle of the oddest hodgepodge she had ever seen. Bev was at the center of it, and Bill, Jerry, and Bob made it a foursome. It was impossible to tell what was going on at first glance, but as she watched it became clear that Bev was standing in some sort of raised platform that circled slowly around the room.
The men were playing king of the hill with her each time she went around, there was a mad scramble to see which of them would win the right to ride with her. The trick was to jump up on the platform, jam a rampant prick into her, and fight off all comers for the coveted ride.
Bev was having the time of her life while accommodating first one, then another, of the eager contestants. Joan watched her husband grabbing wildly for the luscious girl, and wished that the party was over. If she'd had the slightest inkling that these people would carry things so far, she would never have come. As it was, all she could do was try to ease her aching body, and wait.
It was almost dawn when the revelry broke up. By then, even the hardiest of the bunch was willing to call it quits ... at least, for the time being.