Chapter 4
By the time the dinner had reached the coffee-cigarettes and-cognac stage, the surprises had lost their initial impact. But at first it had been as breathtaking as an icy douche.
First was the outrageous daring of the gown the baroness had chosen to wear. Before her guests she had appeared clad in a single robe of transparent nylon material, peach in shade, and threaded with gold. Beneath this gossamer outer garment she wore nothing at all, so that throughout the meal, her mature breasts, still firm and shapely, were as visible as if she had been quite naked. With her tits tapering each to its generous circle of browned areolae, she knew of course that she was infinitely more exciting than she would have been entirely nude. With her every movement, every gesture, those magnificent mammaries rippled and flowed beneath that mere breath of a garment. And, when she rose to fetch or carry some dish from a sideboard, the inverted V of her sexual garden was as visible as if she were wearing nothing at all.
Throughout the evening, however, the baroness had done nothing to call attention to her shocking attire. She sat, poised and elegant, immune to the effect she was causing. It was almost as if she had chosen, tacitly, to defy any of her guests to remark on her attire, or even to call attention to it by the slightest covert; glance.
Then, there were the guests themselves-six of them, in all, around the circular table. And what an assortment!
On the baroness's right was a lean, leather-faced, athletic man, blue eyes curiously a-twinkle. Heine Gorlitz, she informed them, was a circus aerial gymnast and highwire performer. He had been in almost every country in the world. And he had taken part in some incredible feats. "Once," said the baroness, "he crossed Niagara Falls on a high wire. And once he earned 100,000 dollars from an American cable-making concern-for walking one of their cables suspended from the top of two New York skyscrapers a mile apart."
Heine Gorlitz had nerves of the tensile strength of the steel wires upon which he performed. Yet he could sit, as he did throughout the meal, relaxed as a kitten, a man in control of every muscle and every emotion.
The Kandis were Senegalese. And they were black. They were, in fact, the blackest, most massive people, negro or white, that Istvan had ever seen. It was only their imposing stature that prevented the two negroes from being either gross or outrightly obese.
Theophjlus Kandi must have weighed fully three hundred pounds to his six-foot-three frame-a physique that made him seem actually short. His wife, Berenice, only slightly less tall than he, would have sent the scales to a full two hundred and fifty pound*-if not more. When the laughed, which was often, she jiggled and shook like jelly.
"And now," the baroness was saying, through a swirl of cigarette smoke, "this holiday ahead of us. I expect you are all wondering what it is all about-what form it'll take. Perhaps some of you can guest at it.
"Heine, here, knows. I have told him already. I don't want to tell the others whom we will meet. But, seeing that Heine knows, I think I should tell Istvan and Althea, here-and you, Berenice and Theophilus.
"We set out, tomorrow-all six of us. Istvan will drive us. Altheall look after us. We go-to Venice."
"Venice!" echoed Theophilus. "How marvellous!"
"And what do we do in Venice, Lillian?" asked Berenice.
"Perhaps I had better explain the whole purpose of the tour before I go on," said Lillian, Baroness de Bierli. She paused, to finish the last of her coffee.
"Two years ago, before Heine went to Las Vegas, he and I were on the point of marriage. That, most of you know-most of those who'll finally join us, indeed do know."
' Heine allowed his smooth browned hand to clasp that of the baroness across the table. He pressed it in an affectionate squeeze.
"The trouble was, I am a libertine. I explained it all to Heine. He did not believe me. He said he couldn't credit it. So, two years ago, before he went to Americathat's when this party was all dreamed up. That's why, too, I chose to shape it in the form of a luxury bus tour through Europe-well, through enough of Europe, then, to show him what I mean. Heine couldn't understand what it is to be a libertine. The philosophy of libertinism was too much, it seemed, for him to absorb. So-en finI promised to show him."
"Bravo!" grinned Theophdus, enthusiastically. "I expected as much. I told Berenice, driving over here, that we wouldn't regret the invitation."
"Now, to keep up your interest," continued the baroness, "I propose to tell you no more. The others won't know even this. And the others, you'll meet only as we stop and pick them up-for your interest, that is. That, you sec, is the twist. They will not know what we are all about. We will. That way they go on and on, discovering... It keeps up their excitement If I had to tell them beforehand, they might lose that excitement. And, as I've often told Heine, to a libertine excitement is all."
Istvan thought wryly over that last remark as the baroness rose, and shook down her diaphanous gown over her naked hips. Excitement is all. How right she was-and what a supreme practitioner of her own philosophy.
"Come now," said the baroness, "into the next room, so that the servants may clear away the table."
Dutifully they filed after her into the adjoining lounge. Diffused lighting, emanating from no apparent source, gave to the salon a rich, subdued glow.
"And now," said the baroness, seating herself, "on just that principle-that excitement is all-I wonder whether Berenice and Theophilus would put on an exhibition for us of the way they fuck in Senegal."
She said it as casually as if she had announced that her two friends were about to play a duet on the piano. But at the word "fuck," Istvan felt his spine tingle. My God! he thought. Just like that, she comes out with it!
"You mean-" asked Althea weakly-"right here? In front of ail of us-they'll do that?" Berenice smiled indulgently.
"It'll be no trouble at all, girlie," she boomed. "And you'll see-about two minutes after we get started, you won't mind a bit."
Althea's loins went weak and limp. A trickle of spunk escaped from her vulva and she felt it, coursing wet and chill and thrilling, over her panties.
Whithout a moment's hesitation, Berenice had slid her zip loose and was shedding her gown, baring to view the vast expanse of her emergent jet-black belly.
Two enormous mounds of ebony tit jiggled free of her brassiere. She tossed those two minor hammocks on to a chair as she eased white panties down thighs as enormous as columns. The incredible amount of her nudity staggered Istvan. My God, he thought-here is enough woman for ten men!
Freed of her garments, the mighty black-skinned wench gave an involuntary, sexual shimmy that sent her acreage of skin dancing and reflecting the light from a hundred of its rounded areas. She fondled, lasciviously, her enormous breasts, feeling their nipples harden under her fingers into gnarled walnuts of desire. And then, with a sigh that gurgled and sucked into her throat, she brought her fingers down to the great mound of cunt-hair in a lewd, suggestive gesture.
The baroness drew Althea down gently to a scat beside her upon a divan. At Althea's other flank was Istvan, in erection already. And, on the baroness's right hand, Heine sank to a sitting position beside his hostess.
Thcophilus was tantalisingly slow about his own undressing. Garment after garment he removed, and placed, neatly folded, in a pile on an adjacent chair.
Finally he had only his shorts to remove. And, as he did so, all but the baroness sighed involuntarily at the magnitude of the enormous penis that jutted suddenly into view atop the splendid balls that hung from his mighty, full-bellied trunk.
The man stood like the Gargantua of Rabelais himself. He clutched his rod in one huge, enveloping palm, and slicked back the skin over its helmet and two or three globules of pre-fuck lubrication trailed to the floor on clastic strands.
Before him, his wife gyrated and shimmied in some ritualistic exercise designed to stir her nerve<entres into a veritable hotbed of passion and raw desire. Her tits shook and wobbled. Her buttocks, huge mounds both, were a-tremble as she caused them to undulate obscenely.
And then, slowly, slowly, slowly but with infinite purposefulness, Theophilus began his advance upon the by now near-demented woman before him. And as he came, he frotteured himself, wetting his entire shaft with his own welling lubricity.
"This you have to watch," said the baroness, "but closely."
Istvan thought she breathed the words a trifle more hoarsely than necessary. But never for a moment did he take his eyes off the rampant, bobbing prick of the Senegalese giant, who was shambling slowly, inexorably, towards the woman he was bent on possessing.
"What you're about to see," resumed the baroness, "is something quite fantastic. These people are far ahead of us. Their whole attitude is so much more advanced, for all they're black."
And at that moment Theophilus made physical contact with his randy, sex-flaunting wife. He growled, deep in his throat, as would growl some jungle gorilla. He let go of his penis and the massive structure, stiff and throbbing, leaped up to a forty-five-degrce angle as it melded into the amplitude of her mighty belly. He bore down upon her, carrying her into total collapse when her knees bent against the edge of one of the room's two great divans. Down she fell upon her back, and as she fell she arched her legs up and around the bulk of her husband's mighty torso.
by so doing she laid bare the open and pulsating tunnel of her vagina. Red, angry and inflamed, it gaped for its piston. That did not take long. Like some primeval brute, Theophilus drove powerfully into his sobbing, panting wife.
Receiving his prick into the lush warmth of her peristaltic cunt, the woman let out an animal yell of gratification.
"Aaaah-h-h-h-aaah!" she screamed, in the ineffability of her delight. "Pierce me, great man of mine! Fuck me, deep into my bowels! Let me have the whole length of you! Let me be bored by you-gore me! Gore me! Fuck me, bull of my jungle forest! Elephantise your cock up me-your wonderful cock! Up my plumbing, deep up among my pipes! Fuck, fuck, fuck me! Never stop! Fuck me now, Theophilus, like you've never fucked before! Aaah-hohol Fuckfuckfuck me!"
And as she screamed and babbled her obscenities into the room, she wrapped her great thighs about his middle, using her heels to kick powerfully down upon each descent of her husband's massive hips into the womancrotch of her.
An orgy of fantasy now possessed the spectators.
The baroness bent forwards, her full and pendulous breats downslung from her torso, with their nipples ham merhard against the transparency of her covering. Spittle drooled from her mouth. Prom somewhere deeply below her larynx she screamed and crooned like some Irishwoman at a wake. Involuntarily she had begun to sling her tits from side to side, between their nylon-net covering.
"Oooohhh-h-h-b!" she moaned. "What magnificent fucking! Did anybody ever see the like of it! Ah, Christ, if there is a man among you, take me now! At least take my titties! Frig them! Titillate them! Whip them -hurt them! Take them between your fingers and twist them, twirl them, tweak them! Oh, sweet Christ, but I turn to jelly inside me, when I think of what that wonderful woman must be enduring! Ah, Heine, in Christ's name, take me, take me now-bore into me as he is boring into her! Istvan! If you be man at all-take my titties, take my breasts, slap them up-fuck me! Pleaseplease, I implore you, let me no longer endure that fascinating sight of fucking! Fuck me like that-as wildly, as grandly, as magnificently! Fuck roc as they are fucking! Mightily! Nobly! As wonderfully!"
Heine first acceded to her demented commands. He stole an arm around her, letting fall a band to cup her dangling breasts and he furiously began to flick with his fingers at her hard, elevated nipples.
Istvan, meanwhile, near demented himself, plunged bis hand deep up the diaphanous skirt and, amazed, watched his four fingers disappear into the aristocratic cunt as soon as he had made contact with the dripping, swishing mash of her cunt-hairs, aflame between her spreadeagling thighs.
Berenice was approaching her first climax. Urging herself to unthoughr-of heights of sexual acrobatics, the black wench was flogging the hips of her husband down and ever deeper into the maw of her cunt. She was coming;. She wriggled her arse and half her spine to meet the slashing, downchopping ardour of Theophilus above her. And suddenly her entire body burst into one shining ebony acreage of perspiration, iridescent almost, as her orgasm threatened to rend her apart.
Instead of coasting to a decline then, however, the incredible woman seemed to thrash herself to even wilder, more grandiose efforts of copulation as she sought to render to Theophilus the same measure of sexual relief as he had brought to her.
"And now," whispered the baroness, brought back to sanity by the sight of that outburst of sweat, "watch this! For this is the essence of their love-lore. She's come, now, with every cell in her body. Now watchinstead of relaxing like we would, she'll flog herself into the effort to make Theophilus come. That'll bring her into heat again. So, as he comes, so he'll strive to finish her off again. Then it'll be her turn, you see? And then his again-and then hers. And so they go on, till the God-knows-how-manyeth time-when they might succeed in one final simultaneous orgasm. And only after that will they die, these two! Ah, these magnificent Africans! If only we could fuck like they do!"
She said all this while she was splaying her thighs wide to meet the onslaught of the fingers of Istvan, deep within her vagina. And Istvan, himself excited now beyond the power to control, realized that no control was called for: the party was, by this time, a free-for-all. He frolicked and fornicated fingerwise at the cunt of his aristocratic hostess, and he felt his own cock rising to uncontrollable proportions. And then, with a shudder of delight he felt fingers, climbing, feeling, probing-and he knew, his whole physical frame exulting, that it was
Althea who was after him! Instinctively he parted his thighs, the better to aid her, and his entire penis sprang into view as she succeeded in opening bis trousers.
And now Theophilus was boring down and into bis wife, and her howls of anguish rent the room as he seemed to split her vast, wet tunnel with each boring downstroke. And more and more furiously, Theophilus fucked, relentlessly, over her sobbing cries of painpleasure, as he felt his own discharge upon him. And then it came! And be was as a thing gone berserk in that room as he writhed over Berenice's sweat-drenched body, evoking in his audience a tidal wave of lecherous desire. Each of the women felt, physically, that mighty negro discharge pouring into her own cervix, and each of the men felt he himself getting rid of that flood, spouting then, steamy and white-hot, from the dp of the black tool encased up to the hilt in the red vagina.
Althea could contain her own feelings no longer. Her cunt aching to contain the volume of that jetting spermfluid discharge, she arched down and upon the penis she had unloosed. She fell to her knees as she encompassed its helmet-head deep within her puffy, passionate lips. She remembered, too, when, longing and faint with desire in the bus, she had craved the flow of the saltyoily stream of juice it had been pouring. And now, her skirts tossed up around her arse, she knelt to the tool of the Swiss, easing his entire sexual battery out of its trousered prison. Hard and rampant from their nest of curly blonde hair, both prick and balls were in her clutching fingers, disappearing down the avidity of her eager, sucking mouthcaress.
Watching her, and watching the now-increased ferocity of the Senegalese woman approaching her second orgasm, the baroness could no longer contain her own passion.
Desire had swollen all of her womanparts to the bursting point. She was lust-crazed now. She ripped and tore at the single garment she wore, until she had shredded herself, rather than undressed herself, into stark nakedness. Breasts swollen, cunt aflame, belly guivering, she lay in rut upon the divan. And as the last stitch of thread was cast from her, she clutched at the still fullyclad body of Heine, drawing him to her, over her, covering her.
"Fuck me," she screamed. "Fuck me, Heine, with every item of your athletic body! Tear off your clothes, I beg of you! Let your prick spring out! Cram it, balls and all, into this aching twat of mine! Come into me! Fuck me! Or let me fuck you-in such a fuck as you have never known! Ah, these Kandis! How they fuckhow I wish I could fuck like Berenice does! He comes! She comes! Then it's him again! Then her! And so they go on-and what can we know of such bliss, we who die each time we've been fucked, we who flake out each time we've been reamed, who lie, spread-limbed, loose-titled, dead to the world each time we get an orgasm! Ah, Heine! Fuck me now, but fuck me now, nownownow, this very minute, I beseech you!"
And hearing her rant and rave, the desire of Istvan was increased a thousandfold. He arched his prick into the mouth of Althea, eager to give her what he had, in spite of its being his third discharge in twelve hours. And as he felt her sucking him, he crammed his toes into her naked cunt, feeling his great toe make sliding, wet contact upon her clitoris.
And all the time, before them, the woman Berenice was grinding her massive hulk against the sturdiness and stature of her man, seeking to prolong the erection that had brought her to such magnificent satiation only minutes before. He, unharmed by his first orgasm, was again fulfilling every demand made of him.
To the right of Istvan, the trapeze artist had shed himself of his trousers, and with a wandlike yet enormously long sinew of a penis was probing deep within the vitals of the aristocrat, now nude and slavering bestially from her lips, lying twitching beneath the gymnast's loins. In and out he stabbed viciously, and Istvan, out of the corners of his eyes, kept count of the contortions and the gyrations being performed by the magnificent woman to extract from her lover his full measure. He cupped the baronial tit that had swung free of Heine's caress. He tweaked it maliciously, deliberately, painfully, knowing that the baroness was long past feeling pain, and far past caring, at that moment, who might be causing it. And as he titted and tweaked the breasts of the baroness, he thrust his raging prick into the very tonsils of the Greek girl salivating over his loins-the while he watched, hypnotized, the endless copulation of the Senegalese couple, sweating all over their satinsmooth black bodies so that a thousand surfaces shot back the light, rippling over their muscled, well-fleshed surfaces.
And suddenly there was the moaning and slushing and cuntthrusting squish of the coming of the white bodies. Althea came first. She wriggled. She writhed. She danced as if she had, impaled up her vagina, a length of hot rubber hose. She came. She climaxed, gloriously. She squirmed, like a fish on a hook, and she discharged all her womanslime over the toes of Istvan, who, arching his loins into her receptive mouth, released great white strands of jetting semen deep into her throat.
Simultaneously, the baroness let go. Far beyond the worry of pregnancy at her age, she took the full meed of sexual discharge from whoever bestrode her. She twined thighs and calves about the athletic body of Heine, and cum sucked him in her agony of trying to give him synchronised satisfaction. And, with a bellow of lust, Heine shot jet after jet of come into the twat of the baronial cunt.
The four, dripping with semen, finally fell apart. Eyes glazed in their satiation, they watched the inexorable fucking of the pair of mighty colossi who had not ceased the ferocity of their intercourse since Theophilus had advanced, penis raging and rampant, upon the arching vault of his wife's thighs. On and on they went, fucking, fucking, fucking-none could have said who was the sexual aggressor and who the despoiled, in the ardour of that embrace.
First Berenice would come. Then Theophilus in his mighty, masculine ejaculation. Then she again, randy to the point of yet another soul-tearing orgasm...
Spent, now, their penises flaccid lengths of spineless cord, their cunts agape and sticky with the slime of spent semen, the four upon the baroness's settee watched, now, the final orgasm between Theophilus and Berenice.
Theophilus now stood up and lifted the entire body of his two-hundred-and-fifty-pound wife, cleaving her to his torso with a terrible strength, dreadful to watch. As he did so, she clasped her huge arms about his shoulders and wrapped her thighs about his hips so that her feet met, engulfing his thicklipped mouth in a huge, slobbering kiss, wet as a swamp.
Kissing they came. Each came together. Each came, mightily, palpitatingly, together. The entire room seemed to rock as, screaming, wet, sweaty and satiated, the two of them collapsed, writhing upon the carpet in that orgiastic hell of sex. They fell, where they lay. They shot into spasm, once or twice. Then they were soil.
The others were also still. One by one, they fell asleep, the languour oozing out of their limbs.
Then, one at a time, they rose. They rose silently, so as not to disturb the others still sleeping-and stole off to their rooms.