Sprawled in a black leather chair, legs still quivering from the intensity and frequency of my orgasms, I am being dressed by a beautiful blonde with full, soft, perfect breasts.
She pulls my tight black pants onto my legs, and holds me as I stand and pull them up. I’m still wobbly, but the pants are snug against my ass and thighs, tight on my still throbbing pussy.
She holds my arms up in the air and eases the black halter down around me, pulls the neck up and around mine.
This delicious woman with the mysterious accent’Russian’ Scandinavian?’had her fingers inside me ten minutes ago’had her lips tight on my clitoris, her warm perfect body tangled in mine.
Our skin fed electricity through us both; the friction lit fires in me and in her. The men watched’fascinated’rapt’as our other new girlfriend for the night threw back her hair and a wild look came over her. The three of us had been mingled girl-flesh in a private room, moaning, writhing, screaming with pleasure.
The six-some got started much earlier in the evening; our first exposure to the wild one left a much different impression.
We’d been in the library, sipping diet Coke and chatting with people we’d met at the convention. A lifestyles convention, a swinger’s convention, a large group of like-minded people who shared smiles and memories most folks read about in the Penthouse Letters section. Four or five hundred of us in one hotel.
It had just ended that morning’-Sunday’-and we’d been off-peak since the night before. I dithered some, in a funk, before deciding that going to the club was something I wanted to do after all.
Colette’s is something of a legend in New Orleans, and we’d already had an entirely slippery-sexy night there on Wednesday. The longer I do this (go to sex clubs with Miles) the more intoxicated with it I become. Even after four straight nights of sex play and morning wake-up fucks I’m squirming in anticipation as we sit in the Library at Colette’s. A small girl-woman has just gone to the ladies’ room; her broad-shouldered boyfriend he tells me she drank her wine too quickly, feels a little nauseated. It’s only her 3rd time coming to the club, and the white blouse and simple skirt she wears make Miles and I think she is starting slow, shy to let go.
She comes back in quietly, looking at the floor. Whispers something in her boyfriend’s ear and he smiles at me in apology; they walk away.
Miles and I sit and talk a while, with each other, with occasional couch neighbors. Walk around the club; play a little, casually, with one couple, with another woman.
I’ve almost forgotten that slender innocent waif and her boyfriend with the wicked smile and dark eyes when we walk slowly into the orgy room. Have to walk slowly; even in the dimly red-lit club this room is startlingly dark. As our eyes adjust, we see an opening in the mattress to our right. I’m climbing onto it, on all fours, at this point wearing nothing…the sheer black nightdress open down the front rolled into a ball and stuffed into one of my black velvet spike-heeled pumps.
Those shoes sit on the window ledge, New Orleans orange-spiced night gleaming through the slats of the aluminum blinds.
I look up toward the next mattress. A tiny dynamo, hair flying, has her sweet face buried in the shaved pussy of a statuesque short-haired blonde. A devilish man bends his triangular back over the virginal innocent we’d last seen as too frightened to look us in the eyes. Now she’s sucking clit as if it were her source of oxygen.
I blurt out what I’m thinking’ ‘I was going to ask you if she liked girls…’ and he turns to me, smiles, and says ‘yes.’ My lips caress his fingers for a minute as we share her pussy; I’m licking him and her at once. I hardly notice when his fingers slip away; her hips are rocking up into my face with a quickening rhythm. My tongue is as straight as I can make it as I plunge it into her vagina, reaching deep. Tasting lovely pussy juices as sweet as purity, with a tang of nasty adding some spice.
I’m aware of him again because he’s bent over me, now. I feel his chest against my back, but that’s his hand’-not his cock-‘between my legs. As his fingers split my labia my consciousness changes and focus narrows until all I know is what I’m feeling. Knowing, experienced fingers. Certain; going straight for their target confidently, easily in a pussy slick with excitement. My breathing and body are synchronized; each gasping pant, every sucking inhalation moves with my hips, my mouth, my lips.
He’s fucking me with his hand just the way Miles does; rubbing the rough spot high up in my pussy with some ferocity. I match it; flames shooting inside me, the world uncontrolled sensation. Rock back and forth on my hands and knees; mouth to her pussy, sucking pussy mouth on his hand.
Miles to my right with the statuesque blonde, his mouth on her nipples, his hand on her cunt. I see her head go back like mine does, her mouth arch open. I know what he’s doing. I’ve urged him to do it to other women, so I can watch them come the way he makes me come. Listen to their breath catch, that low deep moan begin at the back of the throat, see their asses rise to him.
The wild innocent girl-woman changes position and I move up her body, licking her navel, teasing her tiny breasts with tongue-flicks to the nipples. Then I’m licking Statuesque, and I feel a mouth on my pussy’-is it Miles’ No, it’s the dark-haired boyfriend’-and sensation, again, is all I know. Love of the taste and smell of pussy is acquired; now it’s so much a part of my sexuality I sometimes taste my own cunt-juices in the middle of a normal day, just because I can.
I’m aware, now, of Miles; ‘the numbers game,’ he calls it, and I hear him playing it with our new friends. He’s up to three fingers, and he calls me to watch.
‘Four, now. See’ She likes the numbers game as much as you do,’ he says, ‘you try it.’ So I put my hand where his is, sliding into her cunt, slick-wet and pulsating. Slide four fingers inside her, reach up and in to her G-spot as her hips rise to meet me.
‘Try all five,’ says her boyfriend. And I do; my entire hand is in her and she’s bucking, fucking my fist, thrashing her head back and forth, a look of ferocity on her face as if she is tearing me up with her cunt. Her hair flying, she’s crying out, gasping, growling deep in her throat. Our little innocent is an animal, something wild.
Her good-looking boyfriend has his mouth on my cunt. My vision of her blurs; his fingers inside me and his tongue on my clit start me moaning, grinding my ass against his face, and my eyes roll back as I come again, fucking his fingers, shouting, groaning. This orgasm drains me, and I lie on the mattress with its disheveled sheets as the two of them peel themselves away and leave the room.
Miles and I dress slowly. It’s difficult to put spike-heeled shoes through the legholes of a delicate lace G-string, but I’m too lazy to take the shoes off first and I’d had them on the whole time.
Walking back through the club…the tunnel of rooms draped in sheer gauze curtains has a few bodies within it. We stop to watch, just for a moment. Keep moving when the activity isn’t enough to hold us.
Back to the library. It’s a perfect focal point; solidly paneled, floor to ceiling, papered with books. Dark and mysterious, warm and friendly.
I’m still drained, tired but glowing with sexuality, loving the smell of pussy on my face, the feel of my cunt muscles quivering and wet. Miles has more energy than I do and he walks over to the small bar where soft drinks are available for the thirsty.
When I get up and join him, there are two Italian men standing there talking. They introduce themselves, and one asks me ‘were you the woman making all the noise?’ Probably, I tell him, and he smiles. ‘You’re very beautiful,’ he says, and kisses my hand. He keeps holding it, asking me about myself. Miles is talking with our friends, the innocent-animal girl and her boyfriend, but I’m held captive by Juliano and Giorgio. Turns out they’re in town for a diamond dealers convention, and I find myself smiling, realizing that even if it’s true I would not trade a rich diamond merchant for Miles.
As if he hears me thinking, he comes back. I see that our sweet couple is watching; Miles tells me they’ve made friends with a couple from Chicago, and the proposal is that we all go into a private room. The room near the bondage area, the boyfriend says.
…………………
It’s small; almost a cubicle. Walls just far enough apart to surround a playbed of four mattresses and leave a little space on the floor near the door. That, of course, is where everyone’s clothes end up, but right now none of us is thinking that far ahead. It’s what’s happening now that is imperative, cannot be ignored or given partial attention.
The couple from Chicago is still tentative. He’-and she’-walked away from the door to this claustrophic room three times before they decided we might be less than dangerous. I’d started talking about our trip to Chicago a few weeks before, and Miles chatted with the man about cars and the city of Chicago, and pretty soon we were all relaxing.
Mr. Chicago has a face innocent as a child’s. His eyes are wide, his expression euphoric disbelief as his sweetheart and I undress. ‘I like to watch the women…let’s let the women play,’ he repeats to himself as she and I touch each other, slowly, starting at the shoulders (always safe) and using the lightest fingertip-brushing of the skin. I find myself lowering my head, nuzzling her soft neck. Her hands touch my ribcage, a little harder now. Whole hand contact; palm, even the wrists as she glides her way up me and hands meet breasts, fingertips squeeze hard nipples, and our bodies are twisting together as the two of us become aroused.
Her body is perfection, by men’s standards and mine; she’s about 5’5′ or 5’6′, probably weighs less than 120, and her breasts are round, firm and natural. Her thick blonde hair floats around her face, soft and shiny. She is looking straight into my eyes.
Her thumbs and forefingers pluck my nipples as if they were berries, ripe to be picked. My nipples do, in fact, feel swollen, as if they would be juicy between the teeth. My skin feels taut; John Bonham could do a solo on it. She starts sliding up as I slide down, leans back against my dark devilish Baton Rouge boyfriend. I trail my fingertips down her ribs, fingers splayed to touch all the flesh I can. Feel her flat tummy, see her smooth bare labia. Beautiful, again; a tiny iris with an extra bud in the center, deeply pink, moist.
I must taste it. Such perfume; sweet and spicy on my tongue. I push it deeper, tongue delving into dark flesh, warm and slippery. Her breasts are in my hands; such trust! I always have to remember most women don’t like what I do, the twisting Miles does with his fingertips, tingling in my nipples that must feel to others like pain. I tweak her gently; she moans and rubs herself against me, a hand behind my head.
Now I feel someone behind me. To be honest, I’m so deeply gone in Chicago Blonde I’m beyond caring who is touching me’-I know who’s in this room, and any one of them could put their hands, faces, bodies anywhere, I wouldn’t mind. His hands fool me, though. I’m sure it’s Miles, because he reaches for my G-spot as if I’m North and he’s a compass needle. The hand rubs and teases, fingertips deep inside me. Several of them. I’m spread wide. I can feel my pussy throbbing, clenching the hand that fucks me, adding slipperiness to hot hard muscle.
But it isn’t Miles; it’s my favorite Baton Rougian, he of the wild-innocent girl. His face has that look that can make me come; a combination of evil and good, nastiness and flirtatiousness, pure hedonistic pleasure. Enough to make me turn away from my lady friend and kiss his chest, lick his shoulders, run my hands down his sides to bony-muscled pelvis and stick-hard cock. My mouth begs to be around it, and I rarely turn down my mouth at times like this.
Start at the bottom; tease him a little, not touch the head…breathe on his sac, lick his balls so lightly he wonders if he felt that. Tries to stifle a moan. I do it again, and this time he’s sure’-pushes himself at me, begging–my mouth surrounds his penis, feels it smooth and hard and warm against my tongue. Push my lips down, wrapped around the base of that handy tool, hot junction pressing against my mouth.
I feel his hips sway; he’s having trouble standing. His hand is in my hair, holding tight, so I sway with him until he steadies himself against the wall. I can tell he’s close to coming, and he wants to hold off a little longer, so he pulls away, kisses me on the mouth.
I see Mr. Chicago leaning against another wall in our tiny heaving sex-scented room. He has that wonderful smile on his face; the smile of a child awed by a new toy. Let’s see if his batteries are charged up.
‘Hello!’ he says to me as I sidle up to him, still on my knees. I can hear Miles chuckling; he enjoys watching men get off on my fellation, startled by the way I make them feel. ‘Oh!’ says Mr. Chicago, as I take him into my throat, sucking his long slender cock, nearly swallowing its head. The rhythm takes over; in and out, up and back…on each withdrawal of him from my mouth I run the tip of my tongue around the glans of his penis, use my lips to form suction around the swollen head. At one point he stops me, looking even more surprised, and looks down into my face. ‘I almost came!’ he says. Almost’ That’s a gauntlet I must pick up…so I keep up what I was doing, and within a minute his come shoots into my throat and I hear him give a gasping moan.
‘That’s never happened before,’ he says. ‘No one has ever made me come from a blow job before.’
‘She’s the one to do it,’ says Miles.
As I always like to do, we two come together last. He has made the other two women come repeatedly, violently, as is his particular talent. Those fingers’
I’ve made one man and two women come, and thoroughly enjoyed myself with the other. Now it’s our time. I want his hands, his mouth on me. I want to wrap myself around him and feel him inside me, to make him come in my mouth. We have sex in groups, but we always come back to each other. And at the end of every one of these group sessions we find we prefer each other’s lovemaking over anyone else’s.