by Everett B. Ross ©
NOTE: This is a meta-fantasy. All distinctions between imagination and reality have been erased...
This story is itself at the center of this story, for when I emailed it to Amy it unleashed a chain of events that rival the classic time-travel paradox. At some point, we lost track of where the story ended and tonight's experience began -- but in any case it is best not to worry about such details and instead savor the magic of the events that are taking place.
Somehow, I knew this would not be a normal night. I arrived here this evening, pedaling numbly toward Amy's house after an all-day crossing of Lake Michigan in stiff, chill winds. In the dark, I depended entirely on satellite navigation coordinates, and pressed on toward the distant line of shorelights long after I would normally have dropped anchor and paid my penance for poor planning by taking an uncomfortable cramped bivouac on the water. By the time I dragged the boat onto the beach, I was fried.
I had called via cellular from about 10 miles out, and Amy seemed uncertain -- as if this short-notice visit was coming at a bad time. I offered to camp on the beach and wait until morning, but she said "no, no... I want to see you.... no way am I going to let you camp out there on the beach when you could be sleeping with me instead! It's just that, well, tonight... ah, no, never mind, it'll be fine. Just come ahead. See you soon!" And she hung up. She had seemed uneasy, but at the same time there was a lilt in her voice, a hint of a tease. With renewed energy, not knowing what to expect but intrigued in any case, I pushed west, lulled into fantasy by the susurration of water against the hull and the insistent whir of my pedal-powered drive train.
So there I was, less than two hours ago, hauling my little trimaran onto the sand, setting security, and unloading the night's essentials. I clambered unsteadily up the ragged bank with the aid of night-vision goggles, and started across the dewy expanse of lawn.
Movement. In the window. I stopped abruptly.
My first thought was that Amy had a date and that I was about to intrude, but no... this looked more like a party. But not just any party: at first glance, I could see no men... and the mode of dress seemed not just casual, but clothing-optional!
I stepped a little closer to the house, staying well outside the fringe of stray light, knelt in the grass, and pulled out my pocket binoculars. What I saw caused such an abrupt physiological reaction that I had trouble holding them steady....
There were beautiful women everywhere. Some nude, in or near the hot tub, were engrossed in conversation or sipping wine. One, flawless and sparkling with smiles, reclined casually on the couch, her legs askew, wrapped in a towel and chatting with another whose bare back was to me. From my vantage point the towel was of no consequence -- I was gazing at a two perfect cheeks and the damp mystery between them. Here and there were others, chatting, giggling, moving about in languid sexiness. My heart leapt as a lanky blonde emerged from the tub and bent, flashing me intimately, to towel dry her long slender legs.
This was magnificent, but what to do? From earlier communication with Amy I knew this was her night of bonding with the women's group... so wouldn't my arrival be disruptive? I briefly thought of retreating to play the voyeur, camp on the beach, and masturbate to sleep -- but she had nixed that idea; I considered announcing my arrival via the cellular phone, but that would take all the fun out of knocking on the door. Willing away the beginnings of an erection, I picked up my pack and continued toward the house. Now... should I go around front... or boldly penetrate the party at it's delicious center?
Feigning confidence, I walked across the patio and tapped on the glass door. There was a sudden hush, a general stir, a couple of shrieks. One woman in the hot tub stared at me wide-eyed, obviously aware that I had been watching and trying to cover her breasts with a hand still holding a wine glass. I winced at the sudden thought that I was not the most savory sight: I had just spent about 10 hours sweating profusely in the cold lake wind, and felt like a wild-haired madman bursting in upon a party of fragrant women. Someone yelled for Amy.
"It's OK!" I heard her shout, "it's Steve!" A moment later she appeared at the door in a sarong and welcomed me with a hug... a brief one, given my condition. "I bet you'd like a shower before you meet my friends," she observed diplomatically. Already she was escorting me past the curious eyes of a dozen intriguing women (now carefully covered) and upstairs to the bath. Wrinkling her nose in mock disgust, she winked, grinned, and tossed me a towel. "See you soon!" she said, and the promise in her voice tightened my pants...
I emerged scrubbed and healthy, dressed in light yellow shorts and a soft polypro shirt. By now you had all discussed the implications of a male suddenly appearing in your midst, and when I walked into the room all eyes were upon me (many, I observed with delight, lingering on my long muscular legs, displayed rather deliberately through my choice of these loose unlined shorts). The looks were not furtive, but open and appraising. Strength in numbers? Not very successfully, I again tried to will away my arousal, but it has been a long time... to my blushing embarrassment and a gentle chorus of soft giggles, my shorts swelled rapidly to became a tent...
"I'm, uh, Steve--" I began, trying in vain to think of garbage cans, trailer linkages, my mother's orchid greenhouse, astrophysics... anything to cool the intense rush of pleasure that was creeping through my loins. But the body would hear none of it. Alive and energized from a life of heavy exercise, freshly showered, and at the center of a fragrant universe of feminine beauty with all eyes upon me... there was no way to calm myself. My voice quavering and sounding quite unlike mine, I managed to mumble something about it being nice to be here and I hope I'm not disrupting the party and boy, it sure is a big lake out there, and then Theresa interrupted me.
"Looks like you're getting some great exercise," she cooed softly. "Can I feel your quads?" I nodded weakly.
She walked over to the center of the room and knelt before me, eyes on my tent, and ran soft hands up and down my legs. Soon I felt another pair of hands from behind, and then another, and another... and I lost count. My legs were covered with hands kneading, squeezing, tickling, stroking... and these inconsequential shorts were no barrier to the exploratory caresses that ventured higher... touching rigid flesh and lingering gently amidst soft hair. Dizzy, I felt as if I were about to collapse into this writhing sea of beauty: the pleasure, almost orgasmic, washed over me and rendered me helpless. Closing my eyes, I seemed airborne on thermals of delicate feminine breath, buoyed aloft on pure bliss.
At this moment, I became yours...
Someone had the idea of removing the shorts, and a moment later my arms were lifted over my head to enable the passage of my shirt. Now you were all involved, some standing, some kneeling, one sitting directly under me, and 26 hands were upon me. I felt a slippery rush and realized that someone had poured massage oil onto my shoulders.... it trickled down my body in 13 warm rivulets, each eagerly seized upon by a different woman and lovingly spread in overlapping circles. My entire body felt like a giant throbbing 76-inch penis, engulfed in a perfect hot vagina, swirling and pulsing, gripping and sucking, vibrating and gliding -- urging me on to a cosmic orgasm...
Abruptly, it stopped. As one, you all released me and retreated to chairs, couches, and floor, leaving me standing dizzy and throbbing, naked, in the center of the room. I blinked, confused, and started toward my discarded clothes.
"No." Someone said. "Stay there."
I stopped and waited, looking around in awe. My erection bobbed and twitched, synchronous with my heartbeat. My skin gleamed with oil. And all around me you were undressing, baring your sweet secrets, adding yet another level of passion to an erotic event already of epic proportion. Breasts from the small and hard-nippled to the buoyant and pillowy popped from bras and bathrobes, 13 intriguing thatches of pubic hair emerged to draw my eye to and fro, bodies in the infinite variety of female beauty lay bare before me... all around unfolded a fantasy. Here and there I saw a moistened fingertip tease a nipple -- a hand dropping to caress hungry wet flesh. Any one of you could have easily enchanted me alone, but in concert... this is the culmination of my sex life, the ultimate erotic experience.
"Touch yourself, Steve. Make love to us. All of us at once."
Moving dreamlike I dropped to my knees and complied. I drew my fingernails lightly over my chest, gasping as they touched the tiny erect nipples, and lingered there, moving in circles. My cock throbbed, straining for each of you, hungrily devoured by your eyes. All around me now, you were touching yourselves, the sounds a chorus of soft whimpers and moans. Slippery with oil, I dropped my hand to stroke myself, slowly, wanting this to last for hours. All in unison, we urged ourselves gently toward mutual cataclysm, fingers moving in synch, plunging between swollen lips, vibrating on erect clitorises, swallowing the rock-hard flesh at the center. It was true... I was really making love with all of you, inside each of you, rising toward the exultation of perfect bliss on an impossibly intense scale: this was not making love times 13 but making love to the 13th POWER. I was almost afraid of the intensity of the approaching orgasm and tried briefly to hold back... but it was no use. This, like the ocean, was much larger than I was.
I don't know how it is possible to lock eyes with 13 lovers simultaneously, but that's how it felt. Perhaps I replicated myself and plunged inside each of you for that magic moment, or perhaps I closed my eyes. But when it began I had no choice but to give myself over to it. A tingling in my extremities, a rush of current through my body core. Lightheaded ecstasy. I think my lips parted and a long moan issued forth; I know I was covered in waves of goosebumps. I was vaguely conscious of cries of orgasm all around me, legs quivering, bodies flushed and rigid, hands pressed tight into fragrant mounds of pulsing, swollen, delicious, throbbing, wet vaginal flesh.
And then I poured myself into you, each of you, hot waves of pleasure converging between my legs to explode into the room in a succession of powerful jets. Timeless. Relentless. The orgasm was nuclear, from deep within my core, and lasted so long I had a moment of panic just before the room vignetted to a single point of bright light and then winked out.
I collapsed.
Time passed.
A warm hand on my belly, another behind my head. A glass of water at my lips, cool liquid dribbling down my neck. I was raised and helped to this chair. Someone handed me a White Russian. You all flickered into focus, sitting around smiling enigmatically, responding to my questioning gaze with innocently raised eyebrows and soft chuckles.
And that
brings us to this moment. The evening is yet young. Now what do you want
to do?