tagHumor & Satire365 Days Ch. 10

365 Days Ch. 10


Day Eight -- Samantha (a)

I was slumped back in one of the dining room chairs looking out the doorway into the living room of my apartment in the first light of morning the next day. My nice, clean apartment was now a disaster. Literally a fucking disaster.

There were naked people everywhere, and piles of clothes, and spilled drinks and food, and stains from various bodily fluids on the carpet and slip-covers of the chairs and sofa (the washable slip-covers, thank you, Carmen!). My ears were still ringing from the blare of the music and the sounds of drunken revelry, and my head felt like it was going to split right open.

I tried to remember what had happened last night. It was pretty much a blur, but I could certainly recall the highlights.

First, everyone seemed to just enjoy a nice, wholesome, normal sex-orgy sort of fucking as we had paired off: me and Denise, Fred and Carol, Ruth and Dan, and, back in the guest bedroom, Rich and Linda, who weirdly enough, were actually man and wife.

As everybody was lounging around the living room in the afterglow of their first energetic orgasms, Rich and Linda came out to the living room and explained that they each had realized that Linda's work as an 'escort' was extremely exciting to Rich, and that he was actually looking forward to seeing the rest of us screwing her all night long. For her part, Linda admitted that she understood Rich's desire to stray, as she had probably been neglecting his needs as a result of her work-related activities. They had agreed that she could keep doing this job that she loved so much, so long as she tried to see to it that Rich was either included in her work or set up with one of her 'professional' friends. She also said she would be okay with Rich 'freelancing' as she called it ... finding 'dates' for himself when she was working.

I thought they were both acting extremely modern and civilized, and their agreement was just amazing and very convenient for this story. Rich put some throw pillows on the coffee table, had Linda lie down on it, and a line quickly formed to fuck his wife there in the middle of the room. Fred and Dan admitted that they each had longed to do so for years, ever since they had met Linda, and especially since she had come down that day at Rich's house wearing that red velour jumper. Rich probably lost a few points right then when he glanced over at Linda and mouthed "I told you so!"

I hate waiting in lines, and I hadn't really even had a chance to get to know Carol and Ruth at all, yet. In the Biblical sense. So, things went along okay for another hour or so, while Denise entertained Rich on the dining room table, Linda set out to entertain Fred first, then Dan on the coffee table, and I was going to keep myself busy with Carol, first, then Ruth on the sofa.

I was wondering what the big advantage was to having sex on tables, with all the nice upholstered furniture around, but Carol pointed out to me how nicely aligned lying on the coffee table put Linda's cunt for Fred there, who was kneeling on the floor, and how Denise's nice gooey twat was at just about the right height for Rich to stand up and slip it to her in the dining room. Although, to tell the truth, Rich, who is a little short, had to stand tippy-toes, which looked silly to me and was maybe distracting to him. Just my opinion.

I have to admit, Carol and Ruth and I spent a fair amount of time watching Fred and Linda doing their thing on the coffee table a couple of feet in front of us. Linda was a very attractive woman, and I could certainly see why Dan and Fred had had their fantasies. And I mentioned that, except for my years of independent research into these matters on the internet, I'd never actually seen a man and woman make love before.

Ruth, who was lounging on the floor beside Carol and me on the sofa, said that, as a matter of fact, I STILL hadn't seen a man and woman actually making love, as she doubted there was any love at all between Fred and Linda, and I thought she might be right, seeing how aggressively Fred was ramming himself into her tender cunt. Carol, pausing a minute from bouncing up and down on me while riding me cowgirl-style, disagreed, "I don't know, I think if maybe Rich gave her the kind of treatment Fred is giving her more often, she wouldn't be working for "Professional Escorts!" Now that Carol had pointed it out, Ruth and I could see that Linda really seemed to be enjoying herself, while Denise, on the other hand, who was being treated very gently and considerately by Rich, was yawning while Rich was doing his tippy-toed best to get her off.

It was about then that matters seemed to slide out of my control. Dan started complaining, loudly in order to be heard over the music, that Fred was taking too long. Fred, clearly irritated at being distracted from what he was doing with Linda, not to mention not liking to be criticized about his sexual efforts, said, "Shut the fuck up, Dan! There's Ruth right there! She's not doing anything!" Fred and Linda went back to fucking like weasels, trying their best to tune out the rest of us, apparently thinking the problem had been solved.

"Christ, Fred," Dan replied, "I ALREADY got a blowjob from Ruth. Been there, done that! I been waiting for years to pork Rich's wife! Can't you just get your rocks off and let me in there?"

Ruth took umbrage. "Been there, done that? Who you calling 'that,' asshole?" and she started clawing and scratching at Dan like she was a wildcat after a cold bath. In the dining room, Denise leaned over to see what all the fuss was about, and poor Rich came popping out at just the worst possible moment, spraying his stuff all over the table and all over Denise's thighs. He howled out his frustration, missing his goal by scant seconds after working so hard at it for at least half an hour. Rich came down off his tip-toes, and then started to hop around the dining room with a leg cramp in his calf.

Denise pushed herself back up to a sitting position on the very edge of the table to see what was wrong now with Rich, and apparently her butt slipped in Rich's cum there. She slid off the edge of the table and when her tail bone came down hard on the table leg, she let out a scream.

Linda, hearing yelling from both Denise and her husband in the dining room, and I guess thinking that Dan and Ruth's fight had spread to the other room, twisted up from beneath Fred and jumped up to go defend her loving husband. Forgetting, I guess, that she had Fred's longish equipment parked in her garage, so to speak.

I watched in horror to see the origin of the expression "getting bent" acted out right in front of me. Now Linda was screaming at Denise's supposed attack on Rich, Rich was still cursing, sitting on the floor of the dining room trying to massage his calf, Ruth was trying to tear Dan a new one with her bare hands, Dan was crawling on all fours, trying to get away from Ruth and also trying to make her understand that "been there, done that" was just an expression, for God's sake, and he didn't mean anything by it, and he was sorry, but not getting anywhere because Ruth wasn't in a listening mood, Denise was sprawled on the dining room floor screaming in real pain, and now poor Fred was groaning loudly, holding his crotch and writhing on the floor of the living room. Carol was basically oblivious to all of this, as she had just reached her climax, and was now bottomed out on me, clutching at my nipples and chest hairs and digging her fake fingernails into to my chest. I admit to being disappointed myself, since the pain in my chest, and of course my concern for my guests, had pretty much ruined any chance I might have had of reaching a satisfactory conclusion in Carol's cunt. And, frankly, I was also yelling pretty loud, trying to be heard over the general uproar in addition to the loud music which we had turned up to cover the earlier fight between Rich and his wife, as I was trying to tell Carol, "Let go of me, damn it! You're drawing blood!"

At this moment, the doorbell rang.

As I tried to get everyone calmed down, the visitor at the door became much more insistent, and started pounding repeatedly. I finally gave up trying to restore order before answering the door, and simply opened it a crack, peeping around the edge to see who might be there.

It was my neighbor, Bill Randolph and his wife, accompanied by Sherriff's Captain Gene Stewart. Bill started yelling at me, trying to ask, "What the hell is going on in there?" Captain Randolph gently pushed Bill out of the way, and moved between him and me. "Good evening, Mr. Owens. We've had a couple of complaints from this apartment complex over the last few days. Mostly noise complaints, you know, loud cars at all hours, women screaming as if they're being murdered, that sort of thing. Also quite a few parking complaints -- your neighbors have reported lots of unregistered cars at your apartment, delivery trucks, and improperly parked vehicles."

"I'm terribly sorry, officer. Things have been a little topsy-turvy for me the last week or so. I'll try to get everything under control!" I said, and started to close the door.

Officer Stewart had been down this road before, and had his foot stuck in the opening, preventing me from closing the door. I was unprepared when he pushed the door inward, and it flew wide open, revealing the naked orgy and mayhem that was my apartment at that moment.

"Oh, my God, Bill, you see! It's just as I told you! He's got WOMEN in there!" Lorlene Randolph screeched, not actually looking at any women, but looking instead at me, apparently just below waist level. Bill, on the other hand, just seemed interested in taking in everything he could before Lorlene caught on that he was getting an eyeful of the naked women she was yelling about. Captain Stewart simply stepped inside, gently pushed the Randolphs back out onto my stoop, and closed the door. And locked it.

I felt pretty foolish standing there in my birthday suit with my apartment the scene of what appeared to be either a great party or a poorly-planned gang fight.

Captain Stewart calmly walked across my living room, reached down, and pulled the power cord out of the wall. With the music gone, the howls of my guests, injured either physically or psychically, were much easier to hear, and one by one, as my escorts and my co-workers looked up to see what had happened, they started to go silent. A few of them tried to cover themselves up with whatever was at hand, and the others just stared slack-jawed at the armed officer in their midst.

In the echoing silence that followed, Captain Stewart said, in a level and calm voice, "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen! I can see you are all having a wonderful time here tonight at Mr. Owens' party," although by looking around, it was actually quite easy to see that almost everyone was unhappy or in pain for one reason or another, "and we'd like to encourage you to enjoy yourselves!"

"However, in the interests of the other tenants in this apartment building, who include many families with small children, I'd like to request that you enjoy yourselves MORE QUIETLY!"

A murmur of agreement and apology ran around the room, as everyone suddenly felt sheepish about their contribution to the earlier racket.

"And, if you don't mind," Captain Stewart continued, "if your vehicles don't have a registered Sunset Slumbering Vista Pointe Estates' parking permit, please move them across the street to the visitors' lot."

There was a sudden shuffle of naked men looking for their car keys.

"AFTER you put some clothes on, people, if you please!" Captain Stewart added.

While my guests tried to separate their clothes from each others, untangle them, and put them on, Capt. Stewart pulled me aside. "I can see that you're enjoying your present from your brother, Mr. Owens, but I didn't really expect to have to come over here quite so soon after your birthday!"

"Sorry about that, Sheriff," I said. "I really have no experience with this sort of thing ... I mean, giving parties! Let alone orgies! I'm afraid I just kind of let everything get out of control!"

"Well, okay, but in the future, Mr. Owens ..."


"Dale, in the future, please remind your guests to respect the other tenants in the complex, and try to keep it down to a dull roar."

"Oh, thank you, officer. Thanks for giving me ... us ... a break!"

I'll take care of Mr. and Mrs. Randolph," Capt. Stewart said, "they're frequent flyers at the Sheriff's Office. They call us once or twice a week to complain about almost everything, so we generally just ignore them. But we also got several other complaints from your other neighbors, and I finally realized that, in spite of the nice incentive your brother Roger gave me to keep you out of trouble, I was going to have to come over here. You can have a good time, you know, but if we get many more complaints, I'll have to write you up for a "disturbing of the peace" offense, if not "assault on public decency!" As it is, I'll have a little explaining to do as to why I didn't write you a citation this evening!"

"How can I possibly repay your help, officer?" I said, fidgeting quite a bit trying to figure out a good position to stand in while nude with dripping genitals and having a chat with a policeman.

Captain Stewart looked around, stopping to study each of the delicious women, who now were all gathered in the living room, still nude of course, while the men were sheepishly waiting for me and the officer to clear door so they could go outside and move their cars. He smiled at the women, and mouthed a silent "hi" to each one, which they acknowledged with smiles and nods of their own.

I was waiting for a reply to my question when it dawned on me that perhaps Captain Stewart was making a veiled suggestion as to what it was he might like in consideration for his consideration. "Uh, Capt. Stewart, would you be interested in maybe staying and having a drink with us before you go?"

"Well, as it happens," he said, looking at his watch, "my shifts ends just about now, so I guess I'm off duty! Don't mind if I do!"

After the guys came back from moving their cars, everyone just felt like relaxing a while and having a drink. Maybe they were a little self-conscious about partying on with the new member of the party there -- a cop.

Captain Stewart ("Hey, I'm off duty, now, just call me Gene ... or 'Sir'", Stewart joked. At least we THOUGHT it was a joke!) settled in nicely, though, and seemed to enjoy lounging around my place in the presence of four lovely naked young women. Who would have thought?

Before he accepted a drink, he lifted the microphone off of his jacket's lapel, and pressed down the button. "Central, this is 423, Captain Gene Stewart?" He paused for a few seconds, then his belt spoke up. "Central. Go ahead."

"Listen, Molly? This call out to Sunset Slumbering Vista Pointe Estates turned out to be the Randolphs again. I'm going home from here!"

"Okay Gene. Central out."

Then Capt. Stewart groped around in his pants pocket and came out with a tiny flip phone. He opened it, tapped away for a few seconds, and stood, waiting, staring at my ceiling. I thought it was just one of those things people do while their mind is on something else, but I glanced up at the ceiling, and I could see what he was staring at: There was some kind of yellowish stain there that I hadn't noticed before, and it appeared to have a little drop forming from it, ready to drop down onto the carpet below. Capt. Stewart stepped away from the drip line a bit, and spoke into his phone, "Hi, honey. No, I'm going to be tied up for a while longer, and then I was thinking maybe I'd drive down to the Stumble Inn for a drink with the guys." Pause. "Sure, white or whole wheat?" Pause. "Okay! Don't wait up!" He flipped the phone shut, put it in his pocket, and smiled at me.

"Well, Mr. Owens, Dale, I'd sure be interested in one of those drinks you mentioned before, if the invitation's still open! And, while you're at it, maybe you could introduce me to all of your guests?"

The rest of the evening is a little hazy for me, because starting about then, we all spent about equal time drinking and fucking the girls. I can't really remember who did what with whom, but I seem to recall Gene Stewart's being a particular favorite of the women, especially when he let then ride him and wave his gun around in the air, pretending to be cowgirls. He did his best to buck them off of him, yet, when he succeeded a time or two, they each seemed anxious to immediately climb back aboard for another ride. I do have an image burned into my mind of Gene with his arm around Rich's shoulders, standing in the middle of my living room, watching Fred and Dan double-team Linda, Rich's wife. The part that I'll never be able to erase is the image of Gene bare naked ass, with only his gun-belt on. I never want to see that again.

Things went pretty well, I guess. Everyone seemed to be having a good time, and I don't remember any more screaming or serious injuries. Denise's ass was okay, she said after everyone gave her kisses there to make it better. Gene told Rich to hydrate to get rid of cramps, and Rich attempted to do so using beer exclusively, which apparently worked.

And now, I'm sitting here, the only one awake, looking at nine other people in my tiny apartment, limbs, hair, necks, and genitals (and the occasional gun belt) tangled up in piles here and there, wondering how I'm going to clean this all up. I know I'm not allowed to call Carmen to come back!

I'm stirred out of my contemplative stupor when the doorbell rings. Oh, my God, it's Saturday's girl! Just what I need! Wait! Maybe she's good at housekeeping! Oh, what have I come to, that I'm more interested in a good house maid right now than another pretty woman to screw?

I pull myself up off of the dining room chair, and slouch over to the front door, stepping over (and on once, sorry, Ruth) naked people and puddles of something. I open the door, and standing there is a vision.

Standing there is a very tall and very slender woman, dressed entirely in black spandex, but with a tight black leather bustiere, with a floor-length open black leather coat, dark glasses, high-heeled black leather boots, and a little black military service cap. Her lipstick and nail polish are brilliant red, and almost glow in the morning light. She is absently snapping what appears to be a riding crop against her shapely thigh. Behind her, I don't see the other GTO, so I'm not entirely sure she is from the escort service.

"You took long enough to answer your door!"

"Sorry!" I said. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Samantha!" she barks out. She leans over, peering past me into my apartment. "It looks like you have been a VERY VERY bad boy!"

... to be continued in "Day Eight -- Samantha (b)"

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