tagGroup SexAn Appealing Proposition

An Appealing Proposition

byRelentlessPerversion©

An Appealing Proposition:

"A Tribute to Being Single on Valentine's Day"


I woke from the dream with a start, looking around my bedroom, empty but for myself and a few meager furnishings. Shaking my head slowly, I looked at the clock. It was nearly three in the morning, not an uncommon occurrence. Usually, when I woke at this time, it was because of something important – and this case was no exception.

I normally have difficulty remembering my dreams, but those that do survive the transition from sleep to wakefulness are often quite vivid. I clung to the memories as I ran over every detail, wondering as I always did what had prompted such a provocative vision. I recalled the first part with difficulty, the second was clearer, and the third, the last phase…well, it was so vivid and so erotic that I knew it would stay with me well into the following day, the image burned into my thoughts. Standing in a line like that, naked…

Sleep overtook me once more, but not before I had a chance to do two things. First, I checked my phone. One missed call, from Laura. Why did she always call me at one in the morning, knowing full well I'd be asleep for work the next day? It was no matter, since my heavy sleeping kept her from waking me, but regardless, I wondered what she might be up to so late. No good, I assumed.

The second thing that I did before I fell back into the bliss of sleep, trying in vain to continue The Dream, was to run my hand down my body to touch myself. This in and of itself is not unusual, any man will attest. But that night, I was particularly surprised to feel just how aroused I was. My cock was nearly pulsing in my hand as I ran my fingers along the length of my hardness. Surely this was a response to the dream, and had I been slightly more awake, I might have pleasured myself right then and there. As it was, I chose to drift off to sleep and wait until morning. This was one dream, I knew, that I would not soon forget.

As always, Laura called me at the worst possible moment. The light of day was seeping through the blinds of my bedroom, and the clock foretold a late start and a late arrival at the office. At that moment, however, I didn't care, because my hand was wrapped around the hardness of my cock, moving back and forth in a rhythm so animalistic that even I found myself wondering what had gotten into me.

It was then, of course, than my phone rang.

"Fuck," I muttered, reaching to turn the damn thing off. As I opened it, I saw that once again the woman with the perpetually bad timing was on the line. I could have hung up and continued, but instead I sighed and pressed answer. I'm still not sure why I did this. Call it instinct. I wasn't expecting, nor hoping, to suddenly goad her into phone sex. I'd answered her phone calls plenty of times while masturbating (though I never admitted it, even when she suspected). This time I was plainly curious as to what urgent business would have her call me twice in seven hours. I showed this intrigue with my less-than-charming response as I answered the phone.

"What?"

"Oh," said the voice on the other end of the line, obviously taken aback. I realized, far too late, that I might have responded more impatiently than I intended. "Bad time?" she asked.

"No, no, it's fine. Sorry. What's going on?"

"You aren't…are you?" Her voice, though sounding concerned of my privacy, had the slightest hint of sarcasm.

"No," I said, trying to sound sleepy. "Just woke up. So what was so important you called me last night and now this morning?"

On the other end of the line, I could almost see Laura smirking. We share quite a few things, but I have my limits, and one of those is admitting to my friend how much of a pervert I really am. She did not need to know that at that very moment, I was stroking myself within a few seconds of an amazing orgasm.

The thing you have to understand about Laura and I is that we are just good friends. And normally, I'd be the first to call "bullshit" on a situation like that. Normally, I'd be the first to speculate that there is some sort of hidden, subconscious crush going on for either one or both of us. But believe me, we talked about that. You don't get drunk with a female friend and not discuss things like that at least once.

The truth is that she's an attractive woman, but just not my type. And besides, I had been enjoying being single at the time of our last drunken "what-if" conversation, and I still was. That being said, it was, and still is, nice to have some female contact from time to time, and she helps with that. Laura goes through boyfriends like Kleenex (one of the many reasons we are just friends-I can picture where that boat ends up), and occasionally asks for advice. I do my best, which usually amounts to "give the guy a break." She never does.

So that's that. It was February, and Laura was between boyfriends again. I was trying my best not to mope over my latest fiasco of a relationship. I should have seen this coming. Like most men, I had forgotten the significance of the middle of February.

"Ok," Laura replied at last, obviously unconvinced by my earlier fib of having just woken up. "So what are you doing for Valentines Day?"

I tried not to groan. Honestly, I tried. But it came out anyway.

"So nothing, then."

"No, nothing. Why, do you have plans?"

"Well," came Laura's voice, thick and dark, yet distinctly feminine at the same time. "I have an idea, but I need a date. I mean, not a "date" date, but you know what I mean."

"Yeah," I said. "I get it. And since we are both single, you figured…"

"No, don't go there," she said, cutting me off. "This isn't a favor to me. This is something I think you would like, whether you would admit it now or not. It's Cloe, my friend. She's having a Valentine's party. I've heard a basic outline of the plan and I think you would really enjoy it."

At the mention of Chloe, I perked up. It wasn't that I was interested in her, per se. Chloe is a strange woman, a rich girl who tries to pretend not to be, and fails. But the ways that she pretends not to be…well, they can be fun at times. I'd never been to one of her parties, but I'd heard some of Laura's stories. Something about a room full of girls and lots of body shots was how they always began. I usually had to stop Laura right there before finding myself uncomfortably aroused in her presence. She seems to enjoy giving me a hard time occasionally, just for fun. No pun intended.

I have to admit that I was both intrigued and a little overwhelmed by her invitation. I'm a kinky guy, I will say that, but I'm what you might call a closet perv. No one at work would guess the kinds of thoughts that cross my mind on a regular basis. I enjoy my life, enjoy dating, enjoy women, and enjoy my fantasies, but Laura…well, Laura had lived out a few more of her fantasies than I had mine, and many of them happened via Chloe's parties. So all in all, I felt a little out of my element.

But I had to admit (my cock still hard and pulsing in my hand, by the way), it was an appealing proposition.

"Sure," I said. "It's on a Saturday this year, isn't it?"

"It sure is! Pick me up at 7. I'll direct you from there."

And that she did.

"How much further?" I asked, squinting against the lights of a passing car. We had been driving for nearly a half hour, Laura in the passenger seat and looking incredibly sexy, a black, silky dress draped over her body like a second layer of skin.

(Look, I said that we were friends, and that there was no romantic attachment. I didn't say that I hadn't fantasized about taking her from behind. And realistically, one must remember that I am of the male species. It's not unexpected.)

Her large, voluptuous breasts pushed against her dress, adding to the curves of her body in such a way that I had a hard time concentrating on the road. If Laura weren't so fickle, I found myself thinking, she would certainly be my ideal body type. I'm a man who loves a woman who takes care of herself but still has a few curves. Laura isn't a size two, but when she moves her hips and bends over, it is enough to make a man forget his name, address, and phone number.

So, she in her black dress and I in my sport jacket drove onwards bickering indecently. At last, she pointed to the right, indicating that I should turn (far too late, I might add, and I nearly missed it). For that hasty maneuver, I got a honk and a finger (and not the good kind, thank you ma'am) from the driver behind me before we were safely parked at what I can only describe as a mansion.

"Damn, it's a mansion," I said, with very little creativity.

"Yes, I suppose it is," she replied, surprisingly distracted. Normally, Laura is one of those women that has the ability to make you think you are the most important man on earth at that very moment and her inattentiveness to me was unnerving.

"Shall we go in?" I asked, to which I received no reply, only the opening of a door and the walk of a woman with a purpose. Apparently she had overcome her temporary shyness and was in a hurry to start the party. I had to rush to catch up – even in heels, that woman could move!

I hurried to catch up with Laura as we approached the front of the building, and we were greeted with a set of double doors inlaid into an Italian-style façade. Or at least that's what Laura told me. All I knew is that it looked really fancy.

The door opened before we could knock, and a feminine shriek of welcome went up from the woman who had opened the door. Laura smiled warmly, hugging the woman before her as they lightly kissed one another's cheeks.

I had never met Chloe before, and though I had been told what to expect, it was still difficult to adjust to the scene in front of me. The woman at the door was wearing Uggs, those ridiculously furry boots. And that was just about all. Her short, blond hair fell over her perfectly tanned face ever so slightly, while her tall legs, smooth and equally tanned, seemed to click together when she talked, which led my eyes up toward her tiny black bikini underwear. I was just about to venture a glance up toward her naked chest (even without looking I could tell her breasts were firm and incredibly perky) when I realized that she was turning to talk to me.

"Well, hello there sweetie, happy Valentines Day!" she beamed at Laura. "I'm just so glad you could make it! Oh dear, I haven't gotten dressed yet, look at me still in my boots and ratty clothes. You are early dear, and you brought a friend!" she looked at me, smiling just as widely at me as she did at Laura. "You must be Laura's friend I've heard so much about. Come to enjoy the party, I see? Well you are very welcome; please come in and make yourself at home while I get dressed."

"And you two…" she pointed at both of us, as though there were someone else standing at her door, "be good. With a mischievous glance over her shoulder she added, "For now." And at that, she was gone, the door was closed and we were sitting inside a massive cavern that appeared to be a living room. At least, I guessed it served as such, judging from the television taking up one wall.

I looked at Laura then and gave her a look. Laura and I have known each other long enough to know one another's secret looks. She has her "drop it" look when she's really pissed off, her "calm down!" look when she thinks I might start a fight, and her "you are waaaay too drunk" look, which usually comes out in conjunction with the other two. They are all very similar. I, on the other hand, have really only one look. It's my "you have got to be kidding me" look. I gave it to her then, and I wasn't shy about it.

"I know," she said, looking right at me. "Just hang in there. You won't be disappointed. I've heard a preview of how it is going to go this year and it's going to be really good."

"Like, for real, totally good?" I asked in my fake Valley Girl accent, receiving a light punch in my arm in response.

"Do you want to know or not?"

I put on my serious face. "Please, do tell."

"Fine. There are three parts. The first, a fashion show, of sorts. The second, a demonstration. And the third…well, it sounds like the third part of the night will be a downright cattle call."

"All right," I said slowly, drawing a deep breath. "That sounds somewhat interesting, if a little vague. What happened to the lesbian body shots I was promised?"

"I think Cloe has decided to bring a little more class to the party this year, perhaps to honor the day. Don't worry though; I'm sure she hasn't lost her flare for the erotic."

We sat in relative silence for another half hour, and I found myself wondering why I had insisted on coming to the party on time, despite Laura's insistence that no one else would be there that early. Fashionably late was still in, it seemed.

Slowly, however, guests began to arrive, all in twos, one male, one female. Laura answered the door, as Cloe was nowhere to be found, obviously upstairs still getting dressed. We congregated in the living room, making awkward small talk as seven became seven thirty, and seven thirty became eight. Thank God I'd eaten beforehand, for there were no hors d'oeuvres at this party.

It was around ten past eight, and I took another look around the room, seeing perhaps two dozen or more people in all. Each couple was well dressed, and had I looked at many of their tags I'm sure I would have found Gucci, Armani, and the like embroidered on them. I won't share what the labels on my jacket said.

Finally, around eight fifteen, an audible click echoed through the room, and a soft voice resonated from all the corners, simultaneously.

"Welcome, everyone," came a soft, sultry voice from the speakers that I could now see subtly hidden with the rest of the furnishings. I turned to Laura, my eyebrows furrowed in thought.

"Is that-" I started to ask, but she cut me off with a shush before I could continue.

"Please," said the voice, "move on to the grand drawing room for the first phase of the entertainment for the evening. I regret that I am still completing my own preparations for the night, but I will join you shortly. My staff will show you the way."

Two men dressed in tuxedos appeared out of nowhere, gesturing for the guests to follow. The grand drawing room had clearly been modified substantially for this event, for in the center stood a small, yet authentic-looking runway, and on the back wall hung a well decorated curtain hiding the room beyond. Around the runway were a number of chairs, easily enough for all the guests to find a seat, and each one facing the runway from each side.

Laura and I sat next to one another, near the front, and were quickly surrounded by others taking their sets near us. Most people, I could see, were romantic couples, two people openly groping one another when they thought no one was looking, but a few seemed more plutonic, like us. Offhandedly, I saw two or three people sitting alone, when I could have sworn earlier I saw them with a date. After all, it was required, I recalled.

The lights dimmed, and a soft cello began to play in the background. This room, too, had what must have been dozens of hidden speakers scattered around it.

"And now," came the soft voice once more, radiating from the four corners of the room, "I give you the first phase of this evenings entertainment. To get the proverbial ball rolling, a fashion show. All the latest in erotic wear, my personal favorites, of course."

And with that, out strode a woman in what I can only describe as a black leather corset. The unique thing about this particular corset, however, was that it didn't cover her breasts, but rather pushed them upwards, shrinking her waist to near-impossible dimensions. Oh, and she wore nothing underneath it. Her skin had a twinge of olive to it, and it glistened, even in the dim light. She strode with purpose, but slowly, unlike the runway models we are used to seeing on TV. She approached my side of the runway with a slight smile on her lips, letting her legs part provocatively as she turned and walked back through the curtain.

My eyes lit up, and I turned to Laura, grinning. She smiled back, and patted my thigh gently. I got the message: Be patient. More to come.

Another woman, this one as scantily clad as the previous, strode out onto the runway. Only this time, the model was dressed in a black see-through teddy that left very little to the imagination. Her gait was equally deliberate, the slow, sensual music of the cello a welcome change of pace from the pulsing electronic I would have expected from a party.

A third woman, in another corset, only this one was a renaissance style, covering her breasts (albeit just barely), her pale skin accentuated with dark eyeliner. I caught her eye as she passed, and she smiled, revealing elongated incisors.

"They sure go for the full effect," I said, turning to Laura, and stopped myself in mid-thought. She was gone! I looked back behind, wondering how my friend had managed to slip away. It retrospect, it probably wasn't that hard to do since my attention was rather taken by the models.

A man came next, well muscled and skin gleaming with oil, wearing nothing but a ball gag. Several gasps and a few crude remarks from the guests followed, but everyone soon quieted as he walked away.

The next model nearly made my heart stop. Her long, auburn hair flowed freely over her subtle curves, her large breasts bouncing slightly as she pushed the curtain aside and walked toward the runway. Black leather barely covered her breasts, and reached around her side to finish at her crotch. In between, there was only skin and the ring where her outfit fastened in the front. She wore a black collar around her neck, and she walked carefully, for she could not use her arms for balance. This is because her hands were restrained behind her with cuffs.

Laura walked that runway with a confidence and sensuality I had never seen before in any woman, and though I had recognized her features instantly, I did a double take, sure that my eyes had deceived me. And yet on she walked, passing me and looking down, seeming not to notice my eyes upon her. Instead of turning and walking back, however, she dropped to her knees at the end of the runway, looking down at a petite redhead seated in the front row.

"Darling," she said, almost sounding bored. "I have a surprise underneath this thing. Would you mind helping me out?"

The redhead, clearly nervous, nonetheless complied, standing up from her chair and walking up to the runway. She slowly peeled the bra portion of the leather outfit down to reveal Laura's substantial breasts beneath, and the nipple clamps fastened tightly to them. Someone from the audience whistled softly, and then all was silent as Laura leaned down and pressed her lips against those of the redheaded woman, locking them for several seconds before releasing, standing back up, and walking offstage.

The redhead, her face turning nearly the color of her hair, sat back down to the cheers of several men around her. I, meanwhile, sat in awe. I knew that Laura was a woman in touch with her sexuality, but this? She had told me the occasional dirty story, of course, usually followed by her usual pitch to me to "get out more," but seeing her body sway like that made me realize what I had been missing, not necessarily from her, but from women in general. I had truly believed, for a long time up to that point, that women like that existed only in porn and on the internet, but here was a flesh a blood woman that I knew, who had just shown her sexuality to more than two dozen strangers, and was probably soaking wet from doing so, if the look on her face during that kiss was any indication.

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