The Cocktail TablebySueNH©
The eMail surprised me, to say the least.
I had been posting erotic, sexy stories on the Internet into an old "usenet newsgroup," a system that doesn't even really exist anymore. On occassion, I received comments about my stories, many of them complimentary, and gratifying.
A few weeks ago, I received the following:
"Hello Susan. I am an avid fan of your stories. My girlfriend and I read them all – we practically devour them. In fact, we love them so much we have been sharing them with a group of friends at this University where I am a graduate student." (He mentioned the name of the University, which is located in a city a few hours from where I live.)
"Actually, we are more than just a group of "friends" – we are a club that engages in mate-swapping and group sex. Twelve of us in all, all couples. We have taken to reading your stories out loud at the beginning of our gatherings as a way to get into the "swing" of things (pun intended). Your stories have had a "rekindling" effect on our group; things have become a little placid for us, since our group has been meeting for over three years." (That was a little hard for me to believe, since I couldn't see how that kind of group could ever get boring.)
"We just wanted you to know that your stories have gotten us all very aroused, and we have determined to be more creative about our interminglings. The past few months has made us all big admirers of those stories of yours." (It was signed "Tim".)
I wrote back:
Thank you for your support. I find it very exciting to imagine you all together reading one of my stories. My vivid imagination takes over, thinking about what happens when the pages are put down. Which story does your group like the most?"
Within a day, I received another note from him:
Our favorite story is "Slippery When Wet," partly because it involves college age men such as ourselves, and partly because we are intrigued with your apparent fascination with large amounts of semen all over your body. This story has led our group to experiment with having several men ejaculate onto one of the women, while the others watched and made comments. We deemed the experiment a huge success! This line of exploration warrants further investigation, we think."
Those were his words exactly. From his phrasing, it was obvious that he and his friends were graduate students in science. But it was hard for me to imagine nerdy science students being liberated enough to be into group sex.
I had to send a followup message:
Please pardon my skepticism, but – does this 'group' really exist? A dozen college age "swingers?" It's OK to tell me that you made that up, using your own fertile imagination. I will not be angry."
His response blew me away:
We would love to prove to you that we truly exist. One week from (date of his message), you are cordially invited to join us." He inserted directions to the apartment where they would be meeting.
"Your complete anonymity is guaranteed – we will never discuss this outside our group. We are all completely well-behaved ladies and gentlemen, and your safety and well-being are assured. We adore you for the inspiration that you have given to the group, and your presence at our gathering would be a wonderful honor for us."
I decided to attend. It was hard to let go of my fear of strangers, but quite frankly, these people seemed totally benign and genuinely friendly. My curiosity was piqued. I wasn't sure if I would actually engage in their sexual activities, and I wasn't even sure if actual sex was on the agenda. Maybe this would be kind of like a book-signing party or something – lots of talk and congratulations and the like.
The day arrived. Before I left home, I put on a long back dress, velveteen lined with satin. It had spaghetti straps and it went down to my ankles, with slits up each side that reached halfway up my thighs. I never wore a bra, and the vee neck of the bodice extended deep into my modest cleavage. Well, maybe modest wasn't the best description. My breasts weren't so large as to leave a Grand Canyon between them. But there was enough to provide a nesting place for the long string of fake pearls that I draped around my neck and let fall into that valley, accentuating the mounds of my breasts. For panties, I chose scarlet satin panties with black lace around all the edges. All of this was rounded out by shiny red pumps, with no stockings. I was trying to play the part of a writer of titillating erotica out to meet her fans. It was a bit like dressing up for the prom.
I drove all afternoon. Fortunately, the weather that day was warm enough so that I could drive with the top down on my Miata. It felt great to let my blond hair stream out behind me, and the wind blew into the top of my dress, sort of inflating it and pulling it away from my chest. The breezes whipped across my nipples for all that time on the highway. It was the most slow and gentle and effective kind of stimulation, and my nipples never lost their hardness for the entire trip.
I had given myself plenty of time to find my way, but nevertheless, I got lost. So when I finally arrived on the doorstep to the apartment, I was almost an hour late. "Oh well," I thought, "hopefully, they haven't given up on me."
I rang the door chime. My heart was beating a little fast out of nervousness. Unbidden thoughts started percolating through my mind, such as, "I have never actually met any of my internet readers. Maybe I should have kept it that way. Followed by, "Maybe Tim's invitation is a scam, and behind the door are a bunch of macho, sex-maniacs who intend to include me in some sort of non-consensual BDSM episode that they can write up for the Internet." That was not my cup of tea at all. Stomach starting to ache, I decided to turn around and flee this potential fiasco.
When I had wheeled around and taken a couple of steps toward the elevator, I heard the door open. "Should I run for it?" raced through my mind.
Before I could decide, I heard a sweet and delicate woman's voice asking, "Is your name Sue?"
I turned my head back to the door, and saw the woman. I could only feel silly for being afraid of the occupants of the apartment. "This person is hardly menacing," I thought to myself. She was short (maybe 5 foot or so) and pretty and I guessed the best way of describing her would be to say that she was demure, even timid. She seemed more nervous to be meeting me than I was in being met! "OK, I'll go through with it," I decided. I turned around and walked back to the door and into the apartment.
In the living room, all of the seats were taken, and other people were seated on cushions on the floor. When I entered, they all stood up and welcomed me in. Crowding around me, they were effusively thanking me for coming. Tim introduced himself to me, and then to everyone else. All the names escaped me, going in one ear and out the other.
I'd never been so much the center of attention, and I found my focus wandering from person to person, responding to their questions with simple 'yes' and 'no' answers. My head was swimming. Eventually the woman who opened the door (this was her apartment) recognized my bewilderment, and offered me a chance to wash up in her bathroom. That sounded great. The three minutes in there gave me an opportunity to settle my nerves and get back into the role of vamping 'queen of erotica' that I had chosen for myself. I felt ready, so I rejoined the group.
One of the first things someone asked was, "Have you written anything new, Susan?"
Well, I hadn't, and they seemed a bit disappointed. Tim asked, "Will you read us one of your previous efforts?"
"I would be happy to do so. Which one would you all like to hear?" I said, smiling.
Several people chime in that they would love to hear "Slippery When Wet" again. I supposed I should have anticipated that, from what Tim had told me.
I had now figured out that Jill was my hostess, and that she was Tim's girlfriend. They were all exactly as I might have pictured them. Not exactly nerds like the caricatures in the movies. But definitely intensely academic grad students. Of the twelve of them, only two weren't wearing glasses. Most of the men were wearing Dockers-type pants and button down shirts (a couple of them even had those pocket protector things) and most of the women were following the lead of Jill. They had on unpretentious and wholesome outfits that seemed like they came from the Eisenhower era. Pigtails and braids, blouses buttoned up to the neck, white socks... the works!
Please do not think I was trying to portray them unkindly. Really, they were all totally likable and earnest. But I still couldn't make this image of them jibe with the fact that they were apparently wild-and-crazy swingers. They looked more like a meeting of "Catholic Virgins Anonymous" or something!
Jill handed me a printout of my story. The pages were kind of worn and dog-eared. This copy had obviously been reread many times. Someone vacated a big overstuffed wing-chair for me, and I settled in and started to read. There were a dozen pages to the story, so it took a while. During my recitation, they all sat around me with rapt attention, eager smiles on their faces. But despite their enthusiasm, they showed little sign of the sexual stimulation that might be expected from Tim's eMail. The predominant thing that they were doing was simply sitting still with their hands folded in their laps.
On the other hand, that story was getting to me. I hadn't reread that one in a long time, and it was actually pretty sexy. Having an audience had a funny kind of stimulating effect on me too. I'd been reading and writing stories like this for a while, but saying the words out loud was somehow very different. I had never done that before. It was making me physically warm, and sexually hot. I even felt a bit lightheaded, almost intoxicated.
As I approached the end of the story, we reached the part where the four men were holding me afloat in the big Jacuzzi, and I was sucking on the balls of one, jerking off two of them, and the fourth man was plunging his huge cock into my wide-spread cunt. They all sprayed their cum onto my wet heaving body as I too had my orgasm.
This image was an incredible turn on for me. Semen was usually available in such small quantities, in my experience. In this story, the jets of stringy stuff were splattering onto me in wonderful abundance. As I read, the listeners surrounding me became imperceptible as my imagination focused wholly on the cinematic images that were brought up by the words that I mindlessly (yet passionately) read aloud.
The story ended. I let the sheaf of papers fall to the floor and took a deep breath. I was almost drunk with arousal. I couldn't see how my new friends had stayed so still and calm.
Ah, but that was not the case. Jill stood up and announced, "I don't care what we agreed on before! I need to do something! I'm so turned on I feel like I might explode!"
They all started talking. It turned out that they had decided in advance of my arrival that it would be rude to have an orgy with me there. Somehow, they had felt that I was 'above' that kind of thing, and that they should be well behaved and proper with me, their special guest, in attendance.
Jill wasn't the only one who wanted to abandon their rule for the evening. Tim apologized, "Obviously, Sue, this group can't restrain themselves. I... we... fully understand if you choose to leave the party now. We have no desire to hurt your feelings, but you did such a good job reading that story. Well," he blushed, "now we want to take care of our... ummm "more important needs."
"Please clarify for me. Are you encouraging me to leave," I ask, "or would it be all right if I stay?"
Their faces lit up when I asked that. They immediately assured me that they would like me to stay more than anything else. They had just been too timid to ask.
I realized that this was my chance to live out a bit of a fantasy that I had been playing with in my day dreams recently. The 'Slippery When Wet' story involved four men spurting their semen onto me. Why not more? After all, Tim's eMail said that their group had been experimenting with this kind of thing. So this was my opportunity.
"Yes, I'll most certainly stay and join you," I enthused. "I have one request for you, though. Would it be all right if I provide you with the basic scenario for our group play?" Several eyes lit up brightly when they realized I had said 'our', rather than 'your'.
They were thrilled that I decided to stay, and more thrilled that I would be directing them. Somehow, they had built me up in their minds into some kind of guru of uninhibited sexuality. I was far from that, but figured, "What the hell. If they want to think of me that way, who am I to argue?"
At my direction, they pushed all the furniture over to the walls, leaving a wide space in the middle of the floor. The couch and three big arm chairs were all against one wall, with a big coffee table in front of the couch. Jill had gotten several bath towels that she spread in layers onto the table, making a comfortable location.
"OK, everyone undress down to underwear," I told them. I myself remained fully clothed (for now) in my provocative outfit. My full attention was on the twelve bodies being transformed from conservative to libertarian dress code. I noticed at once that the plain apparel that they wore in public was only a cover for an array of more interesting underwear.
Most of the men were wearing tight bikini pants in dark colors. One of the guys had his cock encased in a tiny strip of a cod-piece, held up by string straps that circled his hips, with a single string disappearing into the crack of his ass. The women were similarly attired in sexy panties and bras that cried out with bright reds and neon greens. A couple of them had nylons and garters, and Jill had a black strapless push-up bra that cut across her large breasts, creased deeply into her wide, brown areolae and left her nipples exposed. She also had crotchless panties, which I noticed when she put her foot up onto the arm of a chair to remove her white socks. This spread her thighs apart, and her entire pubic area bulged out of the crotch. She had an incredible amount of hair around her cunt, and it was dark reddish-brown, like her head hair. This provided a great contrast to the shiny black of her panties.
They were all now stripped down, standing in their underwear, but by some unspoken agreement, they were waiting for my instructions before going on. "Ladies, go make yourselves comfortable on the couch and chairs," I ordered. "You men, stand in a close line facing the women, with the table separating you from them". I stood at the end of the table, and said to the men, "I want you to observe the women closely as they all slowly remove their last scanty semblances of modesty."
Addressing the women once again, I instructed, "It's time to release your inner slut. At my signal, I want you to remove your bras, and then your panties." In unison, with me as their 'conductor', the women reached behind their backs to unclasp their bras, and then they lifted their hips to slide their panties down their legs. The women with garters left them on. The men kept their tight bikini pants on, outlining their anxious erections within the tightly stretched material.
"Finally, you lovely sluts, I want you to untie, unbraid, or unpin your hair, and also take off your glasses," I said with a grin to the women.
This last set of actions was the most transforming of all, more than the process of undressing for the men. Whereas I had once lumped them all together as nerdy intellectuals, I could now abandon that stereotype and see them as individuals. Six women of all sizes and shapes, different color hair, all sorts of nipples and different amounts of pubic hair. No longer the mousy librarians, these were hot-blooded women with hunger in their eyes. When I urged them, "Spread your thighs so that these men can see your buried treasures," there was no hesitation or modesty.
The three women on the couch actually hooked their knees over each other, and the others arranged their legs by taking advantage of the arms of their chairs. With the gaze of the men taking it all in, I continued my instructions to the women, "Start to play with your nipples with one hand, and with the other, tangle and twist your cunt hair."
Gradually, they worked their fingers into the wet and open folds of their cunt flesh, and gently started to probe and caress their labia and clitorises (Shit! what is the plural of clitoris? Clitori? Or maybe it is like "deer" or "pants," both singular and plural at the same time!). The hungry look in the women's eyes was being replaced with a kind of glazed-over stare that let us all know that they were happy, and getting happier.
Now that the women were engaged in exhibitionist masturbation, I turned my attention to the men. "Take off your underwear now, gentlemen." That command was a relief to them, since the restraining embrace of the fabric had become uncomfortable. Their hard shafts of pink flesh came springing out from their traps, and all six pointed straight outwards and upwards, bouncing against arms as the men bent over to push their bikinis down their legs and over their feet.
When they were all standing upright again, their erections swayed and bobbed randomly. All of the men had wet spots on the heads of their cocks, and I had to sternly demand, "No touching your lovely cock meat, men." Instead, I made them perform like the Rockettes, twitching their cocks up and down in unison, then grinding their hips so that their erections oscillated in big circles. It was sort of a masculine version of the bump and grind tit-twirling for which strippers are famous. Drops of shiny precum occasionally flipped off the tips of the dancing cocks.
The ladies on the couch still had their fingers teasing their cunts, but the men's show evoked some whistling and hollering of encouragement. I had to remind them, "Keep up your show for the men, sluts!" Still conducting, I turned to the men and said, "Now you all have my permission to start stroking your hard cocks. But no one is to cum until I say so. Just keep yourselves simmering."
I felt it was time for me to take part in the 'show'. Standing on the towel-covered coffee table, I flipped off my red pumps and swayed provocatively. My fingers raking through my blond hair, lifting it over my head, licking my lips provocatively, I stared brazenly at all the hard cocks and dripping cunts. I let my hair fall over my face, and twisted my neck back and forth so that it flailed around.
My hands dropped to my shoulders, pulling the spaghetti straps down onto my upper arms. I slithered one arm behind me to unzip my dress, while the other held the front in place over my breasts. Again, I raked my fingers through my blond hair, reaching upward while I continued my sensuous hula dance. Released from the support of my hand, the top edge of my dress slipped slowly down my body.
My breasts were revealed first, as the sewn edge of the material stuck on the hard points of my nipples before releasing with an inaudible pop. As the liberated weight of my breasts swayed to my dancing, my dress fell further, over my taut tummy and then past my hips. My shocking red panties were now revealed.
Tim immediately exclaimed, "Look how wet her crotch is!"
When I bent at the waist to look, I could see a dark crimson stain spreading in an irregular circle, centered on my cunt. I hadn't realized how aroused I had become. I guessed I was too busy being the boss of this orgy.
My velveteen and satin dress was now gathered in a pile around my bare feet. Balancing on one foot, I dragged the other one gradually upwards, rubbing it against my leg. It slid up my shin, and when it got to my knee, I let go of my hair and reached down to grab the insole of my foot, pulling it slowly up further and further. This spread my thighs wider and wider apart.