Tara & Steve Ch. 01byAugustMacGregor©
1: Blame It On The Eggnog
We all felt sorry for Ralph, but what he did was uncalled for. I mean, c'mon, it had to rank near the top of Auntie Helga's Rules for Party Anti-Etiquette. The top of that list was probably to walk to the host's shed, borrow the chainsaw, and rip through all of the partygoers. Ralph's behavior wasn't nearly that bad, but it probably ranked in the top ten.
All of us froze when Ralph did it. In Wild West movies, the gunslinger struts through the two swinging half-doors, and everyone in the saloon immediately shuts up. You could hear a tumbleweed tumble by. But in real life, you never experience anything like this.
Everyone froze at the sight of Ralph swinging his eggnog-covered dick and yelling, "Bring it on! Who's first?"
Yeah. Like I said, the crowd was frozen. Ralph had become a gunslinger, all right, and his gun was loaded and ready to fire.
Before you judge Ralph, let me tell you that this wasn't typical. Ralph used to be a bank manager, the guy with a warm smile and firm handshake. The kind of guy who you would borrow a hunk of change from to buy a house. The kind of guy who you would hand over your savings to and say, "Keep this safe for me." You trusted him. Of course, you knew the whole sum was insured by the federal government, but you still trusted Ralph.
And then things changed. Ralph lost his job, his savings ran out, his house was foreclosed, and his wife left him. In that order. Thankfully, no kids—that would've made it a lot tougher. He couch-hopped from one friend's house to another. Rumor had it that he surfed job websites during the day and went to therapy groups for the unemployed.
Rumor also had it that he was a helpful guest. Cleaned house while you were at work. Made a mean Beef Stroganoff. From scratch—not the bullshit from a box. Walked your dogs if you had them. Cleaned the litter box if you had a cat.
Like I said, we all felt sorry for the poor fucker. Now this.
Ralph was completely sloshed. Still, it takes balls to whip out your schlong and wave it around in public. On top of that, demand that someone "bring it on." That takes serious cajones—even while drunk.
I had never heard gossip about Ralph turning to drink after losing his job, house, and wife. He actually turned down drinks when offered. A model houseguest, like I said. Not some bum who ate all the food in your pantry and sat like a zombie in front of the TV all day.
Ralph certainly was drinking tonight. And heavily. Who could blame him for letting his hair down at Stefan and Tiffany's Annual Holiday Party? Who could blame the guy for drinking an eggnog or two or twelve?
This was more than drunk, though. We were staring into the nasty face of utter desperation. His frustration over the several losses in his life and not being able to land a new job had mounted into desperation.
This became toxic when mixed with Tiffany's tasty eggnog. Tiffany made wonderful eggnog from scratch. Not from supermarket jugs—actually from scratch. Before Ralph's incident, guests had ladled the sweet nectar from Tiffany's glass punchbowl to their cups and then marveled over how good it tasted.
It was Tiffany's ornate glass punchbowl where Ralph dipped his dick into and spun around, causing a scene none of us would ever forget. Ralph in his dark grey slacks and light gray sweater. Dick stuck out his fly, Tiffany's homemade eggnog dripping off of it.
We all stared.
And then our jaws dropped as Tiffany kneeled down and began to blow Ralph.
One had to wonder: Did she not want any more eggnog to drip on her carpet? Was fellatio for guests on Tiffany's Rules for Party Etiquette? Was this a pity suck for all that Ralph had been through? Had she been yearning to orally pleasure him ever since meeting the man? Where was her husband, Stefan, and what exactly did he think of his wife doing this?
Being a gracious hostess is one thing. Giving head to a guest who is not your husband is quite another.
"What the fuck?" I whispered to my friend Ben.
"No clue, man," he replied.
Not long ago, Ben and I had been talking about football. Which college and professional games we were looking forward to seeing. Your standard party banter.
And then Ralph happened. Ralph had put a big kibosh on all of the conversations in the crowd. Stopped us all in our tracks. Tiffany's blowjob riveted us to the action. Whatever we were talking about before—be it football or gossip or holiday travel plans—those conversations were long forgotten.
I have never been to a live sex show. Never been down to Tijuana for a donkey show. Was this what they were like? Surely, they couldn't have this intimacy. You didn't know the actors.
Ben and I were stationed behind Tiffany, so we could see her head moving but we couldn't see the actual sucking. It was a little irritating, like a porno that shows the woman's back for too long. It was a neat angle. But only for so long. You needed to skip past the back of her head to the shot of her mouth working on a hard cock.
I wanted to move through the crowd, bumping people aside so I could get a better view. See Tiffany's mouth on Ralph's rod. But I figured it wouldn't be polite.
Betty appeared next to the couple. Everyone's eyes shifted to her. She looked quite fetching in her pants that hugged her ass and flowed down to her feet. Neat trick how those pants were snug at the top and billowy at the bottom. Betty had a tight little ass that made men imagine holding it while drilling her from behind. But what was she up to now?
"Tiffany," Betty said, "what are you doing?"
Precisely what all of us were thinking. Tiffany looked up at Betty. Ralph looked over at Betty. Everyone in the room looked at Betty.
Betty said, "Are you going to hog all that for yourself? Or are you going to share?"
Ben and I gasped. This was what, shock number three?
Tiffany took Betty's interruption in stride. "Be my guest," she said and got out of the way.
You had to marvel at her perfect choice of phrase. Betty took over where Tiffany had left off. Ralph simply stared down at Betty sucking him. No complaint from him.
"Well," Tiffany said, looking over the crowd. "I could use some more eggnog. Anyone else?"
We just stared at her. It was as if she had asked us to strip naked and walk around on our hands. She wasn't bothered, though. She simply went to the punchbowl and poured herself a cup of the creamy 'nog. Guess she didn't mind that Ralph's dick had just stirred the eggnog.
"What's going on?" someone muttered.
"Is this a prank?" someone else whispered.
"I don't think so."
That was a very good question. Reggie was Betty's husband. One wondered: What did Reggie think of his wife gobbling up Ralph? I didn't see him around. Stefan still hadn't turned up. There was the lingering question of what he thought about Tiffany, his wife of many years, gobbling Ralph.
And then another question rose: Where was Tara? During these shocking events, I didn't even know where my girlfriend was. Last time I saw her, she was heading to the basement with a couple of her chick buddies. Did she know what was going on in the living room?
The buzzing had started. The crowd grew as guests from other rooms joined the audience. They were busy with whispering and murmuring.
Stefan appeared and went to his wife. Finally, the host of this grand ball. Now we would see his reaction to his wife's oral indiscretion. Strangely, he didn't seem upset at her fellatio. You'd think the guy would've yelled at her or punched Ralph. Nope. Instead of an angry retort, Stefan hugged his wife and kissed her. Kissed those lips that had recently been wrapped around Ralph's dick. What the hell?
Ben elbowed my side and whispered, "Hey, man. You think if we stick our peckers in the punchbowl, we'll get the same treatment?"
I laughed, as others did who heard him. "Doubt it," I said. "You'd have to be in the same sorry state as Ralphie boy up there."
"He's not in a sorry state right now."
"God, I'd love to fuck that ass," someone muttered. I couldn't identify the speaker, and I couldn't tell if he meant Ralph's ass or Betty's.
Julie emerged from the crowd to be the next to approach the fellatio couple. I loved how her red sweater gripped her hooters. Betty knew how to flaunt her hot butt, and Julie knew how to flaunt her big boobs. Sweater muffins indeed, and they were pipin' hot fresh.
Julie stood behind Betty, then folded her arms underneath her wonderful rack. Didn't say a word. She seemed to be waiting her turn. Maybe she was being patient since Betty hadn't been sucking for as long as Tiffany had. But it was hard to tell how much time had elapsed. Bewilderment had a way of making me lose track of time.
"Holy shit, man," Ben said. "Is she going to blow him next?"
In the past, Ben had privately admitted to me that he'd love to get his hands on Julie's sweater muffins. I had admitted to wanting the same thing. Julie was married, but rumor had it that she had let a couple of other men get their hands on her knockers. While she fucked them, that is.
"Beats me," I replied.
"Can you believe this?"
Tara's voice. She had found me. I felt a bit guilty, as if she had walked in on me watching porn and masturbating. Which had never happened, but I guess it would feel this way.
"No," I replied. "I can't believe it. Are we dreaming?"
"No," Tara said. "Because if we were, you'd be the one up there, not Ralph."
I smiled. Had to give it to her. She was right on target.
A woman walked over to the action by the punchbowl and stood behind Julie. I didn't recognize her. A newbie to the annual party, I guessed. She was pretty, with red hair pinned up in the back in a fancy hairstyle.
"She's getting in line," Tara said, shaking her head. "Can you believe this?"
"Still can't," I said.
"Time's up," Busty Julie announced to Betty. "My turn."
Guess she got tired of waiting. Betty relinquished her spot. For a moment, I could see Ralph's erection. No more eggnog on it. Then Julie kneeled and started her turn.
Another woman joined the line behind the redheaded new girl. It was Melissa. My God. This had become like the ending of It's a Wonderful Life, when all of the townsfolk line up in the Bailey house to give money and bring poor old George Bailey out of financial disaster.
Ralph was George Bailey. Except Ralph wasn't receiving money, he was receiving oral favors. I don't know if Ralph had ever contemplated suicide, as George had done on that snowy bridge scene in the movie. But you know suicide was the furthest thing from Ralph's mind now. His biggest worry was probably lasting through the various women in line—which had grown by another chick.
It was still Julie's turn. Her long brunette hair moved as she bobbed on his boner.
Not from Ralph, though. This was a woman's moaning. It came from behind me. Lots of us spun in the direction of the moaning. It was clear as day where it came from.
Vicky. Her husband stood behind her, his arms wrapped around her. One of his hands was stuck underneath her black skirt, making a bulge at her groin. The bulge was busy with rapid movement. His other hand cupped one of her boobs over her green satin blouse.
Holy handjobs. What was going on here?
The buzzing of that used to be whispers grew to chatter among the crowd.
"Is that Vicky and Darryl?"
"Yeah, that's the Armstrongs, all right."
"Should we leave?"
"About time someone besides Ralph gets attention."
"Did this happen last year? I wasn't here."
Desire boiled in my veins. I turned to Tara and gently nudged her face toward me. I kissed her deeply. Desire demanded I kiss her lips, take her in my arms. She kissed hard back, proving that she, too, felt lust rage inside.
I ached to be inside her. Ralph had set this train in motion, and the train built up speed by each fellatrix who served him and by Darryl's hand down Vicky's skirt. My train now wanted to drive into Tara's sweet pussy.
"Let's go," I whispered to her, my lips an inch away from hers. "Either we find a bedroom or we go home. I want you."
Tara's mouth was open, she was about to reply. But louder moaning and the sound of skin slapping skin halted her voice. It was odd, since the moaning and slapping obviously didn't come from her mouth, but it seemed that way at first.
We spun toward the true source of the sounds—the couch—and the sight stunned me. You'd think I would've lost the ability to be stunned, due to the line of women blowing Ralph. But you'd be wrong. On the couch, Betty was riding her husband, Reggie.
By riding, I don't mean that Betty was being frisky and sitting on Reggie's lap as if she were telling Santa what she wanted for Christmas. No, she was clearly getting her gift of cock right now. Her hands on the wall behind the sofa, she bucked on his lap. His cock disappeared and reappeared below the crack of her ass.
Holy hot ass. We're talking perfection here. Smooth, delicious cheeks. Finally, I got to see it in all its naked glory. After fantasizing about it during these Christmas parties and during Stefan and Tiffany's Fourth of July Barbeque, where Betty's shorts were eagerly looked forward to by all the men in attendance. Betty's shorts (and Julie's tube tops) were an announcement that summer had arrived. Now, Betty's ass graced us all with its perfection.
Reggie didn't seem to mind that we could see his wife's bare butt. Didn't seem to mind that his wife recently had Ralph's dick in her mouth. Not at all. He looked very happy indeed, with his khaki pants puddled around his ankles, hands holding Betty's bucking hips, and eyes blazing up at his wife.
"Oh, my God," Tara whispered.
Was this how an orgy begins? If so, it would be my first. I immediately decided to act. I was not going to be a shrinking violet. I was a bold tulip. And the bold tulip in my pants needed two pussy lips. Now.
"Let's do it," I said. "On the sofa. What do you say?"
Her eyes narrowed. She smiled. I loved that face. "Bring it on," she said.
Ralph, do you see what you started? I checked on the luckiest man in the world. At this moment, at least. Someone had brought him a dining room chair, as he was now sitting down. Probably didn't have the strength to stand any more. Kneeling before him was the redheaded chick I had never met before. They were sideways to me, so I could now see the sucking. The pretty redhead's lovely lips were wrapped around his member. I liked how her red hair bounced as her head sprang up and down.
Tara and I made our way to the sofa. Betty and Reggie glanced at us. Not much reaction—they were so into their fucking. I shoved down my pants and boxers, then sat on the other end of the sofa. Seemed polite to not sit right next to Reggie. Like not sitting next to a stranger in a theater, but leaving an open seat between you and the next guy.
Tara hiked up her black dress, wiggled her panties down, and sat on my boner. I was hard as fuck. Tara was also ready, with her pussy wonderfully wet. She sank down to take in my full length.
Holy cowgirl. I'd never had sex with a third person in the room—let alone a crowd. Part of me felt nervous, but most of me savored the pleasure of Tara's pussy and the view of Betty's tits jiggling as she rode Reggie. I cupped Tara's boobs over the cushy velvet of her dress.
Tara must've noticed my attention to Betty's boobs, because she pulled up her dress and dropped it to the side. Mmm, there was the black bra that I enjoyed. It didn't stay on for long, with Tara unlatching and tossing it. Now I got to watch my girlfriend's tits jiggle as well as Betty's. Tara's were bigger, but it was fun to see both pairs. And Tara's tit's felt better to squeeze when they were naked.
Loud grunting broke my breast fixation. All four of us on the sofa—and everyone in the room—turned to Ralph. He was the obvious source of the grunts. He still sat on a dining room chair, and Melissa now crouched before him.
Melissa wasn't blowing Ralph. Her hand gripped his well-licked cock. Cum spurted out and arced to her face. It happened in slow motion—at least it did for me. This was one of those moneyshots in porn that I've been jealous of. I've never been even close to this kind of range, this majestic launching. An arc of cum landed on Melissa's curly blonde hair. Another arc landed on her forehead. Another on her cheek. The dark-haired woman in line behind Melissa even gave a tiny yelp and leapt out of the way.
"Wow," Tara said, turning back to me. "Did you see that?"
I nodded, and my jealousy kicked up a notch because of her clear admiration for Ralph's cumshot. I dealt with it by sucking on Tara's nipples as she ground her hips on me. She took a break from pumping up and down to grind forward and backward. She likes to mix up these two tempos when she rides me.
Someone sat next to us. The sofa cushion between us and Reggie/Betty. I released Tara's nipples to see our new companions.
Turned out that it was Darryl who sat down. The guy was naked below the waist—same as me. His wife, Vicky, held up her black skirt as she impaled herself on Darryl's dick. Now there were three couples on the couch, women riding the men.
Vicky unbuttoned her green satin blouse, removed her lacy cream-colored bra. She had the largest breasts of the three women on the couch. Probably impolite to compare, but at least I didn't say it out loud.
I could've spent hours watching the three sets of tits jiggle and the three pussies hump the three dicks. Being so close to other people having sex was entrancing. I loved the sights of the action and the sounds of moaning and smacking skin.
Reggie came first, and I followed soon after. Maybe my ecstasy waited for his cue to begin down that tingling path that inevitably built to climax. When I came into my girlfriend's cunt, I held hard onto her hips and stared into her intense eyes.
Tara leaned down, and we kissed deep and hard. It was amazing: the lessening throbs of cumming, the feel of her lips, the sounds of sex to the right, the sounds of the buzzing crowd, and my lust for my girlfriend.
After our kiss, my eyes blinked open to find that Reggie and Betty were gone. Darryl and Vicky were still going at it. Tara and I got up and dressed. One wonders: Should you walk around naked during an orgy? Or should you wear clothes unless you're doing the deed? Since this was my first time in an orgy, I wasn't sure about proper etiquette. So we got dressed. But I didn't tuck in my shirt. Seemed too formal now.
On the way to the appetizer table, Tara and I got smiles from people and someone said, "You guys were so hot."
I blushed with pride and shyness. These people had just seen my dick—and my girlfriend's pussy. Not an ordinary day for me.
At the appetizer table, I gobbled up the fancy morsels as if I hadn't eaten all night. I was spent and needed nourishment.
"Honey," Tara said and elbowed me, "look."
I followed her gaze. We were in the living room. The next room over was the dining room. Standing in front of the dining table was Stefan. Buck naked. His ass cheeks clenched each time he pushed into a woman who was folded over the table. I didn't recognize her. It was pretty how her straight dark hair was splayed out on the high polished, glossy dark wood of the dining room table.
I didn't know the woman Stefan was fucking, but I knew she wasn't his wife. How could I tell? Easy. His wife stood next to him. Yep. Tiffany reached between Stefan's legs to stroke his balls. All while he pumped another woman's pussy.
Tiffany must've felt us staring, because she looked over at us. Guilt tinged in me—I was caught watching her in an intimate moment. But she was far from mad. She smiled and came over to Tara and I.