Chapter 11
THIS WAS THE PARTY I NEVER TOLD DR. WELlington about. He'd have probably said I dreamed it up. But I didn't. It was the real thing. Wild.
As we rode up the elevator, Ed said, "One thing about a bash like this. It's every man for himself."
"What do you mean?"
"We won't be together. Every man brings a girl, but maybe he doesn't see much of her after they get here."
"But some other guy might see a lot of her?"
"That's right."
"How much?" I felt wonderful. Giddy. Happy. Ready for a good time.
"As much as she'll show him." He grinned. "How much will you show?"
"That depends on the guy."
We rang the bell and the door was opened by a man who was drunk and laughing. "Welcome!" he yelled. "Come on in. Join the fun."
It certainly was going to be some party. The man who opened the door, besides being drunk and laughing hilariously, was carrying a naked girl. She was over his shoulders with her legs hanging down in front, and he had her by the ankles to keep her from falling off.
She waved a champagne bottle she was carrying and they went reeling away; we entered the room.
It was huge. And there must have been thirty or forty people there.
Everybody was boisterous, but no ones was paying any attention to us; and we stood there. I was staring with my mouth open.
And I noticed a funny thing. The girls present either had all their clothes on or they were completely naked. No halfway. None of them just had her blouse off, for instance. Or their skirts. It was all or nothing.
I held onto Ed's arm. "Are the naked ones hired entertainers or something?''
He'd changed too. We had been quiet and almost serious at the hotel after we'd made love, and I'd seen the deeper side of him. But now he was in a party mood.
He grinned, "No. Nobody's hired. They've all just come for the fun of it.
"But they're either naked or all dressed."
"You'll see why in a minute."
There was a long bar where everybody was helping themselves, and we pushed in that direction. And we had two Scotch and sodas in our hands when a whoop broke across the room.
Ed nudged me. "They've picked another victim," he said. "Watch."
I'd noticed a group of men in a huddle by the far wall when we came in. I thought they were probably talking stocks and bonds or something.
But as we watched from the bar, they dashed across the room in a pack.
A tall brunette girl saw them coming and screamed and tried to run when she saw that she was the victim.
But they caught her and pulled her into the middle of the room and went to work. While two of them held her arms, another unzipped her dress down the back and they pulled it off over her head.
She was screaming and fighting, but I think there was a lot of laughter in the hysterical scream. It was hard to tell whether she was frightened or not.
They still had to hold her while one of the men unhooked her bra and then that came off.
A big sigh of appreciation went up all over the room as her boobs came into view. They were almost as big as mine, but the bases the nipples sat on were bigger. They were immense, a deep brown. And the nipples were like oversized marbles.
One of the men made an act of kissing each one while the same two men held her. He took them in his mouth and then straightened up, licked his lips and yelled, "Some lucky guy gets those!"
The girl had long, slim aristocratic legs and a garter belt with her panties on over it. One of the men started to pull her panties down and she fought even harder.
So they tripped her and put her down on the floor on her back, and a man held each leg while another squatted on her boobs, backwards and peeled her panties down.
When they were off, one of the men threw them through the air like a prize. A little, I thought, like a bride tossing her bouquet to the bridesmaids. But I don't know why that thought came to me.
The men all grabbed for the panties, and the one who caught them held them up in triumph.
Now there was the garter belt and the stock-mgs. They came off too, and the brunette lay naked with the two men holding her legs.
After that, four of the men began matching coins. This took a minute or so while two of them were eliminated. Then the two winners let out whoops and pounced on the girl and carried her, still struggling, toward a doorway.
"What are they going to do to her?" I asked Ed.
"What do you think? She's their prize. What would a couple of men do with a prize like that?"
I remembered when I'd been with the gang and thought she was luckier than I'd been. At least she only had two men after her.
In a very short time, there was a shriek from the bedroom.
"What are they doing to her?"
"Something she can't stand," Ed said. "Maybe they're tickling her to death."
A blond guy, tipsy with liquor, came staggering up to us and put his arms around me. I pushed him away before his tongue got into my mouth, but he was in an amiable mood and didn't resent it.
"Why didn't you hit him?" I ask Ed after the drunk grinned like an idiot and staggered away.
"I told you what kind of a party it was. The men don't fight here. That's one of the rules. Only the girls are allowed to."
I got a slight idea of what he meant as I saw a flurry of action across the room. A naked blonde was sitting on a fat man's lap and a fiery little brunette, still with all her clothes on, came out of what was probably the powder room and streaked toward the two.
She yelled, "You thieving little witch!" and jerked the blonde off the guy's lap. It made no difference to the fat man. He only laughed.
But it was different with the blonde. She yelled back a curse at the brunette.
The blonde had gone to her hands and knees when the brunette threw her off, and fast as lightning the brunette got behind her and kicked her square in the rear with a sharp, pointed-toe slipper.
The blonde's rear came up off the floor as she sprawled forward on her face.
When she struggled up, the brunette was still there with another kick. Another shriek from the blonde and the same result. Down on her face again.
The brunette kicked the blonde halfway across the room that way until finally the blonde, instead of coming back up on her hands and knees for another one, rolled away and got clear.
She went whimpering to the powder room, holding her rear and walking as though on eggs.
The door where the two men had taken the first brunette girl opened now, and the three of them came out.
The girl came first, maybe she was putting on an act but if she was, she did a good job. She was staggering as though exhausted, her knees wobbling. She crossed her eyes and her mouth hung open, and she held one arm over her boobs and one on her belly.
Behind her, one of the men was buttoning up his clothing as he came out. There were satisfied looks on the faces of both the men.
At this point, my own mouth flew open and I let out a yelp as I grabbed at myself. I whirled around and Ed and I both looked down. A man's face was grinning up at me. "Hello, sweetie."
The bar was a long table covered with a cloth that reached to the floor, and it was pulled up. The grinning man was lying under there on his back with a naked girl on top of him.
I was angry. "Did you see what he did?" I asked Ed. "His hand went way up to my legs and — Ed laughed, "Baby, this is a party. You're supposed to have fun. Besides, men's hands have been there before.
I was beginning to hate him. Then my attention went elsewhere and horror swept over me. The strippers. The group of clowns had gathered again and had a conference, and now they were headed for another victim.
And that victim was me!
I saw them coming and grabbed Ed's arm. But then they were upon me and pulling me away. They pulled me, laughing like hyenas, into the middle of the room and two of them grabbed my arms.
But it was a little different than with the brunette. Two of them held me and one of them jerked my skirt up. There was a delighted whoop from all parts of the room.
They'd discovered that I had no panties on. Ed had ripped them at the hotel so I'd come without them.
I was wearing a full skirt, and one of the clowns pulled it up, found that it went higher than And even while I was terrorized, I had to admit that the drunk was a man. Alcohol hadn't slowed him up at all. His virility, symbolized by violence, increased as his passion mounted.
My captor, the one holding the twisted head of my skirt, was so amazed at the performance that he let go and my skirt fell away from around my head and that end of me was free.
I gasped for air and looked up at the man. He was watching his companion with a fixed stare. I didn't have to look in that direction to know what was going on. My ravisher was like a bull elk gone mad with lust. Each of his lunges was like a complete campaign so to speak, a separate attack calculated to destroy me.
"God! You'll shove her right through the bed," the staring man muttered.
His companion paid no attention.
I buried my face in the bed clothes and lived with the degradation I was being subjected to.
Then, in kind of a delayed reaction, my own passion began to mount. When it started, it built quickly; and I forgot the man who stood staring at my lover.
My face was still buried but with my fist doubled now I was slowly pounding the bed. I stiffened my thighs and furnished more resistance. The trapped female accepting her destiny.
As he lunged, I was now pressing back and he appreciated the help, the lift toward ecstasy. His head came down close to mine and he gasped, "That's it, baby! Get with it. It's you and me. Let's go!"
We couldn't possibly have been doing it more frantically. Sure that I would not twist away from him now, if given the chance, the stroke of his passion increased in speed and, by the same ration, in ferocity.
But I welcomed it. The rising delight of a flaming torch applied to the tinder of my passion.
The other man was still staring dully. "God!" he muttered. "Now I can see why Beth looks so worn and pale all the time."
He could only mean my attacker's wife. Evidently, the man was a sex maniac who subjected his wife to this sort of ravishment night after night. And it still was not enough.
His lips came close again. "I could go on for hours, baby. How about you?"
That scared me. Was I there for the night, bent over that damned bed?
It was grotesque and ridiculous. Had I been assaulted by some kind of a freak?
There seemed no sign of him reaching the crest. He appeared to enjoy the act only for its own sake, with no objective in sight.
Completely absorbed in his work, he was paying attention only to me, not to his companion. So he did not see the look of growing wonder on the staring man's face.
Nor did he see his companion go to the door of the bedroom and open it. I caught the movement out of the corner of my eye and saw the man motion to others, and soon the door was crowded with heads and peering eyes.
We had an audience!
"They're watching us!" I wailed.
My fantastic stallion merely grunted, the rest of his energy going into his work.
"The hell with them," he choked, and grasped my shoulders in order to exert more force.
It couldn't go on, this obscene, marathon sex bout. If he would not end it, I had to. The humiliation, the embarrassment was the worst I'd ever known. There were remarks of both wonder and ridicule.
"She'll remember that guy for a long time."
"Hell put her out of commission."
"He sure isn't leaving any for anybody else."
And the question one of the peering girls asked another: "Don't you envy her?"
There was a reply to this: "Honey, it hurts me just to watch!"
Then I forgot them. The delight of it, the fierce, wild freedom of sex poured through me like new fire. And I began to struggle for fulfillment, and in the struggle we became one. He was not just a man who had grabbed a girl, nor was I a girl being served by a man.
We were one, a single unit of sensuality. Two joined into one to obey the great command of nature.
I forgot the watchers and began to moan as the unendurable approached. A pathetic little touch of love entered into the brutal display when the man, passing also into the heights of ecstasy, reached blindly for my hand and gripped it.
The ecstasy can be a strange thing, and even as he heightened his frenzied attack I got the feeling through the grip of his hand over mine that he was saying, Help me. Oh, God, help me darling. Lift me up, up.
It was the highest point of physical and emotional delight I had ever experienced. A sweet uncontrollable madness seized me and I took the man's hand and jammed his fingers, with pure frenzy, into my mouth. His hand would stifle the scream that was rising from my throat, pushed upward and forward toward my mouth by the great energy that hung poised in that frantic union.
The energy crackled.
I screamed.
My scream blended with a bull-like, choked bellow from the man's ecstatic torture.
And after straining forward, he to give and I to receive that final, burning urge of ecstasy, we collapsed.
And it was strange. There was no laughter, obscene ridicule. Something had turned that lustful, animal act into a thing of awe that silenced the others.
Sight of the passionate height we had reached stilled their tongues.
I heard a single, whispered exclamation, "My God!" and then they filed out and closed the door and left us to ourselves.
He had slipped to the floor where he lay exhausted.
I turned and looked at him and took the edge of the sheet from the bed and wiped the sweat from his face.
"Are you all right?"
He could only gasp for a while before getting the words out. "I'm fine." His smile was an effort.
"You'll kill yourself some day."
"But what a way to die!"
I opened his collar and wiped his chest. "Your friend mentioned Beth. Is she your wife?"
As I asked the question it occurred to me that I had also discussed Ed's wife with him. Was I getting a thing about wives? Did I hate them? Was I jealous of the wives of the men who took me? Or did I pity them?
But he evidently didn't want to talk about Beth. His face stiffened and there was a look of pain on it. He didn't want to talk about her and spoke only three words. But those three words were chilling. They hit me with almost physical shock: "Beth's my sister."
My horror must have reflected in my expression because his eyes blazed out in defiance.
"All right. But what business is it of yours."
"But your friend knew."
"He and I are very close."
There had been sullen pain in his eyes, but now that vanished and there was only the defiance. The man came to his feet and a superficial grin appeared on his face. It was the mask that he wore at parties like this. A mask all the men wore.
"I'll see you later, honey," he said. He winked. "When you're ready to go again."
He left, and in a little while I followed him out into the big room.
The awe that had held them in the bedroom was gone. The party was getting wilder. As I walked toward the bar, a hand reached out from the floor and grabbed my ankle. I looked down, as I teetered and fought for balance, and saw two men and a girl on the floor. The girl was naked, a small redhead, and she was sandwiched between them.
"Come on, honey," a drunken voice invited. "Join the party."
I lost my balance and went down. I still had my skirt on, but of course there was nothing under it, nothing now but the man's searching hand.
Immediately we were in a tangled heap there on the thickly-carpeted floor.
But it wasn't a frantic thing. In fact it was quite strange. They were in the grip of a lazy, sensuous lethargy, as I sensed it would be with three opium addicts. I don't know whether they were doped or not, but I didn't think so. It was merely an exceptional mood that had touched them.
And I found that it was catching. The four of us tangled intimately, there on the floor, to form a sort of sanctuary in the midst of the wild orgy that went on round us. There were no introductions. None were necessary. As soon as I got pulled down into the slow-motion tangle of arms and legs and naked bodies, I was accepted—one of them.
"Hello, honey," the little redhead smiled dreamily. "Do you want that?"
She was referring to her breasts — one almost as large as mine — that had come into contact with my face and mouth as I fell. I felt the warm, moist taste of flesh and was in no hurry to move my head even though I was not stirred.
One of the men grinned from down where he was at the bottom of the pile and said, "No, baby, she wants me." He was pressed against the redhead's other breast in the weird pattern we made. I touched my lips to him but in the lethargy that held me, maybe a reaction from the bedroom bit, he seemed only vaguely interesting.
The second man in our pile was covered by my skirt and I felt him, his lazy, gentle exploring. He found me and I felt a deep, contented breath on my flesh and a thrill stirred me.
Contentedly, I kissed one man and found that my hand was somewhere down below on a male buttock and touching the redhead. I felt her lips move and heard her say, "Mmmm," and then a long contented sigh.
The man under my skirt pressed me, a blind child seeking comfort.
We were an island, alone. Somewhere there was a fight going on. I heard two females screaming and then a thud. I turned my eyes to look and flesh followed me to nuzzle and find contentment. I saw two girls battling across the room, two naked girls tearing at each other. I watched and worked my tongue at the same time.
They looked to be about evenly matched, but one was more scientific than the other. She punched like a man, where the other merely clawed and tore at her opponent's hair.
The puncher was merely amused. Then, as I watched, she stepped in and drove a fist into her opponent's belly. The girl doubled over and was instantly straightened by a knee in her face. She staggered around, gagging, and I felt a tightening of a hand on me and saw that a man in our pile, the one that had had his head under my skirt, had come out and was watching the fight.
There was fixed grin on his face, almost no expression at all, it was so tightly frozen there, and he muttered, "A grand on the brunette."
The little redhead's mouth was working, and the man whose head was at my feet made slow, sensuous movements.
The blonde victim of the hard-punching brunette was down now, on her hands and knees; and I thought of pointed-toed shoes, but nobody kicked her.
Instead, the brunette grabbed her arm and then pulled and pushed her under a heavy coffee table with a shelf low against the floor — just enough room for the blonde's head and shoulders and breasts.
The rest of her, sprawled and naked, lay exposed.
She recovered from the punches and began to try kicking herself loose. One of the men came forward and knelt beside her. His body blocked my view, and I couldn't see what he did; but suddenly the girl under the coffee table began kicking wildly, flailing her legs in the air in panic.
The man turned slightly, grinning down, and I saw him studying her as he moved away. She was splashed with soda.
Then he bent over again and blocked my view but the girl began to howl, and she kicked so frantically he had to grab one of her ankles and hold it rigid.
"What's he doing to her?" the little redhead asked vaguely, her words coming in a slow, lazy lisp.
Whatever it was, it was interesting because a small crowd had gathered. In fact one man got up off of an inert, naked figure to go and look.
The girl howled and fought and after a while the man got up and walked away with a look of satisfaction on his face, rubbing his empty hands together as though washing them.
My reaction was very strange. I seemed full and content and satisfied, and life was wonderful. My hand began moving rhythmically, almost an unconscious action, and the man I held sighed and found the same rhythm.
"Do you like that?" I asked lazily.
"It's nice, honey, nice," he sighed.
The redhead was making soft sounds, like a kitten. My hand had gotten tangled and she pulled and pushed it away. Her breast was pressing into my mouth, the nipple hard, and a little excitement generated in our pile.
Then it began to move and shift, and we got into layers, kind of. When the shifting was over, one of the men was on his back with the redhead lying on him, their mouths tight together, his arms around her, holding her down, his hips moving, lifting and falling, lifting and falling.
Over under the coffee table, the blonde, still trapped, was cursing the guy she hadn't even seen, cursing him for what he'd done and trying to undo it, but her hands were too clumsy. People watched, but nobody bent down to help her.
The other man in our pile was on top of the little redhead, his lips nuzzling at the nape of her neck. Thus she was sandwiched between the two men and not going anywhere.
But she didn't seem to mind. She was enough woman for both of them.
That left me out in the cold, though, and I looked up and saw Ed grinning down at me. "Do you like the party, hon?" "It's a real one, that's for sure." "You're great. You're fitting in perfectly." "Were you in the bedroom?" "I saw it. Honey, you and that guy have got a thing. You shouldn't lose each other."
He wandered away, but I got up and followed him.
"Let's go back to your hotel," I said. He was surprised. "Aren't you having a good time?"
"Yes, but enough is enough. Let's go back and make love."
"You mean you didn't get enough in the bedroom?"
"Let's get out of here."
"Okay. Do you want to take anybody with us?"
"What do you mean?"
He waved an arm. "All these people are willing. They'll be breaking up into small parties pretty soon, twos and fours. And maybe some threes."
"No, Ed. Just you and me."
He got dressed, I straightened my clothes, and we left. As we rode down in the elevator, I remembered what he'd asked.
You mean you didn't get enough in the bedroom?
Enough.
It scared me. Did I get more than other girls? Was I abnormal? Was my liking for sex a sickness?
Would I ever get enough.
I clung to Ed's arm. Suddenly, I wanted one man. Just one man to make happy for ever and ever. I was young and vital now, but I saw the years stretching on and they scared me.
"Ed," I said suddenly. "What's going to become of me?"
He didn't understand. Either that or he didn't want to. He grinned at me and said, "Just this, honey. We're going to my room and you're going to have the happiest damn night of your life. And I get better as the night goes on."
"All right, Ed," I said listlessly ...