A Modern Cinderella Story

I had been worrying whether the orgy would go well. I don't do this very often, because it's not such a great idea to overdo such things. If you overdo orgies, you get tired of them. But perhaps the worst part is that big orgies really take a big effort to organize, at least if you want them to go well.

Fifty couples, carefully chosen. Not just by me, of course, but still, organizing something like this well takes work. Anyone can throw an orgy, but throwing a memorable orgy takes work. Perhaps organizing comes easily to some people, but not to me. I fretted and panicked over a hundred small details. It really stressed me out. At times, I wondered if I would be able to have any fun myself at all. In the beginning, it felt that I wasn't wrong about that. When I was kissing the first person that came up to me, I found my mind still in a flurry. I remember thinking then that perhaps I wouldn't be able to really get into this, but perhaps I could at least make sure that everyone else was having a great time.

But then things got better, very quickly. About half an hour later, I realized that I was indeed having an insane amount of fun and that I wasn't worrying anymore. Not one bit. My first lover had already dumped a big load of cum into me. It was being sucked out by a pretty young woman, who I think was a friend of a friend. I was lying on top of a very muscular man, and his cock was moving gently in my ass. It felt like heaven. I had already had three orgasms and I was being forced towards yet another.

Orgasms make me thirsty. I was thirsty. I think I must have said so, because someone inserted a straw into my mouth. I sucked and there was the water I needed so much. I grunted my thanks and my benefactor stroked my head. My eyes were closed but I knew it was a male hand.

When my thirst was slaked, the straw was taken away. My benefactor moved his hand from my forehead. He grabbed my mouth and forced it open. Confused, I opened my eyes, and I saw it. His cock. He wanted me to suck his cock. And since he had been nice enough to give me the water I needed, perhaps I was obliged to do it.

But then I would have even without the obligation. It was beautiful. It really was. It was the perfect shape. Do you know what I mean? I mean, there are so many cocks, but I think you always carry this idea in your mind of the "perfect one". This was the one in my mind - my dream cock. Not too big, not too small. The head was just the perfect shape. The size of the head, the thickness of the shaft, the length of the shaft - all the ratios were just right. The texture of the skin was perfect. It smelt great. And the balls felt lovely against my cheek.

It isn't that I go around thinking about the what the "ideal cock" should be like. No one does. But I believe that we carry these ideals in our subconscious. Then, some day, when they suddenly appear before us, something resonates deep within.

I opened my mouth and let it in and it felt like I was meeting an old friend. I was connected, really connected. Bliss. Even if you are one of those people who actually loves giving a blowjob, part of you is already thinking of the climax while you are just starting. But when you meet the ideal cock, you don't think of that. Trust me on this one. You just know that it belongs in your mouth and you are content with having it there. You feel it move and the moments turn into eternity.

I lost track of time. When he finally came and filled my mouth with cum, I think I actually wept for joy. I protested as much as I could when he pulled out the softening cock. But I was too overwhelmed to resist. By the time I had recovered my senses and wiped my eyes to see clearly, he was gone. He was lost in that sea of writhing bodies.

I didn't know how to look for him during the orgy. The idea of going around asking "Were you the one who just fucked my mouth?" seemed ridiculous and embarrassing. So I didn't find him that day. There were enough distractions at that time to help me put it out of my mind.

But now, I want to know. I have to know. I have to meet him. I have to taste it again at least once. Perhaps at that time my senses were overloaded and so all my impressions were exaggerated. Perhaps when I see and taste it again, the magic will go away. But I can't just forget about it without finding him again.

I have the names and addresses of all those men. He wasn't my husband, so that leaves forty nine. I know four of them well enough already, and it wasn't any of them. So that leaves forty five. What should I do? Should I really go to forty five houses and ask the occupant to show me his cock? This is so embarrassing. And yet, I can't just let it go.