BC Ch. 12: Sara's Bachelorette

People call me BC. Big Cat. A nickname I've had since I was a boy. However, during my years at art college I was known as 'Fluffer'. These are my diaries of that time. Fluffer's tales.

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Guapa started talking before I even got the phone to my ear. "Okay BC, this is what we do. I have photographs of very rude, spread open pussies printed big on t-shirts and all the girls wear them. Then we walk down the Champs Elysees, and people -- they will stare at us, at our titties with these pictures on them -- and they will be horrified! Then I will follow behind and take pictures of their faces! What do you think?"

I might have been the nominated 'Bridesman' for Sara's wedding, but since Guapa had offered to pay for all eight of us to go to Paris for the bachelorette party, she'd been adamant on helping me with the preparations. Whether she'd made her fortune from erotica or exploiting Spanish tradesman, I couldn't tell, but Sara was as delighted as the rest of us were pissed off at the news. Any gift we gave Sara now was going to look mean in comparison.

Believe it or not, the above was one of Guapa's saner ideas. Others included: A naked foam party. A 'vibrator party' at the top of the Eiffel tower and--closest to my heart--a private room in a restaurant where a friend of hers would go round under the table: "Giving everyone professional head."

Worse still, when I told Sara about the ideas -- hoping she might rein Guapa in-- she shrugged and suggested that perhaps I should put Guapa in charge.

Expectations were high, and if it was just Sara, Guapa and I then fair enough. Anything, once. But it wasn't just us. It included Anne-Marie, Charlotte and Madame Jolie (now known as Beatrice and a good friend of Sara's). This was a hell of ex's for me, and all Guapa's ideas would look like I was trying trap them in some erotic nightmare.

Worse were the remaining guests: Uptight Tessa, Sara's soon-to-be sister-in-law, and her mum, Ida--who admittedly like to describe herself as "saucy".

For days I couldn't sleep for torturing myself. All those one-time-wonders, all together. My fantasies ranged from Hell (naked, all pointing and laughing at my shrivelling cock) to Heaven (naked, Anne-Marie on my face, Charlotte and Beatrice on each hand, Guapa on my cock).

To her credit, it was Guapa who came up with the solution, ringing me again in the middle of the night. "BC, I no sleep tonight, I am too horny. I have spoken to lovely Beatrice and she is very excited."

"Right. Hopefully this is about the party and not just some random sex thought."

"Both. Beatrice is one of the owners of 'Blanc-et-Noir' you know this?"

I didn't know this. The uber-chic hotel was big news at the time, and famous for taking no bookings or unsolicited guests. A visit was strictly by invitation only. Stories abounded about what was inside, ranging from non-stop orgies to plain anarchy to vampires. It made sense that the Victorian black clad Beatrice would be involved in its creation.

"So, she can get us in?"

"Si! And BC! Best of all, remember Maria..."

Well I don't want to spoil the surprise, Sara is keen to take over the story for a bit here, it's best you see it from her perspective anyway.

#

Hello! You don't know me I'm Sara, BC's saviour and BFF. I'm going to tell you about the best Hen Party in the universe, then we can go back to BC's sordid little cock tale.

I was so scared when we turned up at this plain black door on a Parisian side street. BC was even more scared by the look of him, but then he was meeting nearly all his ex-fluffs in one go -- and my potty-mouth mum -- so that was only to be expected.

Still, it was simply embarrassing when he introduced himself to Tess like they'd never met. She'd been so excited to see him again, she'd even had a makeover. It really burst her bubble. BC can be such a prick.

However, it was so scary that I held the prick's hand as Beatrice and the Concierge lady hugged and kissed and led us into this vestibule. All black panels and hush-hush carpeting. The interior was amazing. Kind of Vivienne Westwood Baroque, if that makes any sense. Anyway, the Concierge gave us this speech. She was very spooky, incredibly tall and shockingly beautiful in an androgynous way. White, like she hadn't seen the sun ever, and dressed the same as Beatrice, all black neo-Victorian.

Her speech didn't comfort us at all.

"Blanc-et-Noir admits only exceptional individuals. You are such individuals, hand-picked to ensure the safety--and for the maximum pleasure--of all our friends."

That's how they referred to the hotel's guests. Friends. Like a bloody cult or something.

Then she opened this lacquered box and handed out all these little silk masks. Yep, masks. Beautifully made, double sided, with a white side and a black side. She said that while we were in the hotel public areas we had to wear these at all times.

Now I was there with my Mum, bear in mind. And my future Sister-in-Law, and they were both looking at me like, 'What?' And I was looking at BC like, 'The-fuck?' But it got scarier! The Lady explained that we could choose which way to wear our masks: white side out or black side out. Black was for 'Takers'. White for 'Givers.'

Takers had to be obeyed at all times, they could not be refused by Givers. Givers served Takers, they had to do everything that was asked of them.

"It is inexcusably impolite for a Giver to deny a Taker," the Concierge said. "It is also inexcusably impolite to join a party uninvited. If someone is Giving and someone Taking, you must leave them be."

So naturally, we all put our masks on black side out. None of us wanted to serve some stranger. Except for Guapa, obviously, bless her. The Concierge smiled. "Yes, this woman understands. Givers get the most from their stay here, because they are not limited by their own imagination."

So anyway, she covered some other bits and pieces. All the hotel staff were mega-qualified in all kinds of things and were the only people without masks. In case of any 'difficulties'. Oh and the most important thing!

She explained this bit to us just as the door we entered by magically re-opened into a completely different room. The vestibule was one enormous lift! And this other room was a massive greenhouse. All trees and pools and fountains. An orchestra playing beautiful, chilled music. It must have been on the roof. The Concierge said, "This is Heaven, the top of 7 floors that go down to the basement." She smiled at us creepily. "Hell." Each floor was like a different strength, depending on what we were into. She said that -- as it was our first stay at Blanc-et-Noir -- our rooms were on the Heaven floor, though we were free to roam.

I checked Mum, who winked fruitily. I checked Tess. She said she would hang around Heaven if it was okay with me. My other girls were grinning like sneaky cats. Big Cat? He looked like he'd poo'd his pants. Hilarious.

So we were shown to our fantastic, super-luxe rooms, then this woman in a white mask turned up and I was taken away to this 'Heavenly' spa for the afternoon. None of the others were there, so I suspected some mischief. Next thing, after I was all rubbed and scrubbed and perfumed and spectacularly made up, I was led to this room of mirrors and given this... costume to wear. I thought, Fuck no. A burlesque thing, all stockings, basque and lacy knickers. God I hate that shit so much I can't tell you. The nice Giver Lady said in her sexy accent, "I will leave you alone. Please. Just try it on for fun! If you hate it? No biggie."

So I grumpily pulled this chaff on. Of course it fitted, and felt dreamy. All silky and soft. And, fuck me, it looked a--mazing. Not cheesy nylon tart's knickers. Modern and edgy, but still feminine. With the arm-length gloves and mask on, the lingerie revealed just two strips of my skin. One, the bottom half of my face, neck and shoulders, then below, the skin between my gusset and thigh-tops. I'm not joking, I looked dead good. Like a 1920's nympho-punk.

The lovely Giver lady led me down a swooping stair from our Heaven to the 6th floor. She called it the 'Fall From Grace' level and it was a tad moodier: dark wood panelling and crushed red velvet and chandeliers of smashed glass like frozen explosions. I couldn't believe I was swanning around a public space in my knickers. The mask made me feel disconnected or something. It made me brave. But also everyone I passed smiled at me like I was just the loveliest thing they've ever seen. A girl could get used to that! So she took me into this theatre -- just a small one, but a full-on bloody theatre -- and it was full of people in masks. Givers and Takers of all sizes and shapes in all kinds of undress. I got a private box, looking down on them, and they all stood and applauded me when I took my seat!

So the lights went down and this music kicked off. Later on, BC told me his friend Mazzy arranged it for me, a cover of The Cure's 'Love Cats' but gnarly and slow and prowly, with her lovely voice all over the top like cream. Then the curtains lifted and... Oh. My. God.

BC strutted onto the stage all dolled up! Heels, stockings the lot! He looked ridiculous! But sexy! He once told me the only man he ever fancied was Tim Curry's 'Frankenfurter' in the Rocky-Horror-Picture-Show (I promised I'd never tell, so keep that to yourself) but this was better. Frankenfurrier. All muscly, yet sleek.

Then Tess slinked out and they performed this dance, about cats falling in love, obviously. I didn't know they could do that! Actually, I knew BC couldn't. Apparently Guapa's 'model', Maria, was a fancy choreographer and dance teacher and they'd all practiced and practiced this show just for me! Tess and BC looked SO cute together, they're both so feline. She's like a mini version of him in a way. And fuck was it sexy, though I'm not sure why. They just got gradually, gradually closer and closer and it ended with Tess's leg wrapped around BC's bum, his hands on hers, hips locked together, all arched back with a blissy look on their faces.

Then, one by one, Mum, Anne-Marie, Charlotte, Beatrice and Guapa all came on doing different turns with different styles. All dressed up like me in matching gloves, basque, knickers and stockings, all looking amazing. Especially Mum, she looked like a Beryl Cook painting and did this hilarious cheeky clown thing, taking the piss out of the others. I needed the comedy because otherwise it was all getting a bit too steamy, if I'm honest.

Anne-Marie and Charlotte, for example, did this smoochy girl-on-girl number--controlled by Beatrice like a pervy puppet master--that had me shifting in my seat. Then Guapa came out all leggy, svelte, and professional looking, with an actual tail, too. The audience gasped when she came on. She got way cheekier than the others and did a strip tease, ending up starkers but for the long fluffy tail to cover her modesties. I was starting to wonder about the absorbency, or not, of my fancy knickers.

But, oh. I have never loved a group of people more than my little gang at that moment. The music blammed to a crescendo and they all struck a pose, and then bowed at me. The crowd cheered, and the Giver Lady was suddenly there beside me to take me down to them. It was one of the best moments of my life. And it got better.

BC can take over now. Nice to meet you. Bye.

Sara (x)

So, months of planning, practice and hard work paid off. Being on stage wasn't nearly as scary as I thought it would be. The mask helped -- and looking out at a masked audience too. Also being in that garb, it just wasn't me. In fact the looks I got from passers-by made me feel pretty good, and I wondered if I'd be flipping my mask before the end of the evening.

We were still hugging and high-fiving when Sara joined us in the dressing room. Guapa was very horny and wouldn't let go of anyone -- or put her clothes back on -- which was okay for the others, but my lingerie is absolutely not built for a hard-on so I was being very careful. Also, Tess was there.

Ah Tessa. She looked so familiar. I just couldn't work out why. She was small and curvy, with an easy blush, a massive, warm smile and deep, dreamy eyes. She had the same nose as me, wide and flat with a bump on it, some call it leonine, I think. There was something of Sara in her too, maybe a hidden cheekiness. I was so drawn to her, and desperate to get to know her, but I must have pissed her off somewhere down the line. She could hardly look at me.

The dance was strange. Tess wouldn't look me in the eye, yet we fitted naturally. Like we'd been together for years even though, until that day, we'd only danced our parts individually, or with Maria.

Worst of all, we had to share a changing room. I was nervous about the 'drag' thing. But also about getting naked in front of the girls. I just couldn't do it. As I stood there clutching my shorts, they all laughed so hard they could hardly stand up. Except for Tess who suddenly lunged and tore off my underwear, hissing, "Fucksake, we've all seen it, you narcissistic twat!"

Her vitriol soured the room for a second. Until Ida piped up, "Cocky-horror-picture-show!" They sparked back to bawdy laughter and bad knob gags.

Now the dance was done, and Sarah with us, Guapa was keen to visit the floor below. Following a mysterious whisper from black-masked Anne-Marie and a gleeful nod from white-masked Guapa -- it was decided to follow the route our audience had taken down some spiral stairs to the fifth floor: 'Purgatory'.

So, looking like the scariest, scardiest bunch of sex- crazies you've ever seen -- and surrounding the stubbornly naked-but-for-a-tail and Giver-masked Guapa -- we entered a white marble bar to more applause. The large, echoey room was surrounded by narrow slits leading into dim booths, each one wrapped around a glowing table. We took one of them, stuck Guapa at the back of the booth and sat around her. The table immediately filled with drinks from hopeful Givers.

Ida sat with us for less than a minute, necked a cocktail and was off with a pair of muscle-bound white-masks. We didn't see her again until the Eurostar the next day. Though I'm not sure she saw us, she was so dreamy.

Anne-Marie slid over with a cheeky grin. "Flip your mask, for me." Guapa sparkled from the other side of the table. I frowned. She nudged me. "Oh come on! You won't regret it!"

Sara smiled too, and it was her do, so I spun the mask from black to white. Suddenly all the girl's eyes were on me. I glugged down some sweet-sour concoction and prepared myself for the worse. Anne-Marie pointed to Guapa.

"Do us all a favour and sort Guapa out will you? Under the table. Now."

Sara winked.

So under I went. Down into the deep, dark forest of silk-stockings, crawling toward the one set of bare legs; long and slim with a fake-fur tail curled over them. As I crawled, Guapa opened her knees, moved her tail aside and slid her hips slid to the edge of the seat. The insides of the tops of her thighs already glistened and she reached down to open herself up, only to be indignantly pulled away by Beatrice and Charlotte. Someone barked, "Hands where we can see them!"

I pushed my mouth to Guapa's little pussy and gently licked it. Her whimpers quieted the girls while I flipped quickly at her clit, easing a finger into her. Before long, she cried out her trademark, "Mother... fucker!" and writhed at my mouth and finger, then jerked away, yelping with the giggles.

I climbed out from my cave and wiped my hand across my mouth. The girls gave a polite silk-glove-muffled round of applause and glittered at me in the table's up-glow. Guapa's hands were locked between her thighs, and she shivered and smouldered. She looked like she needed a fuck. I certainly did.

Tess didn't share the girl's glittering. Crimson, she folded her arms and bit her lips and I was annoyed for even caring about that.

"Anyone else?" I said into her scowl. She swore, got up and stormed off.

"Why be such an arsehole, BC?" Sara said and I was confused for a moment, then noticed Charlotte had her hand up.

"Sweetie, you are wearing the black mask." Beatrice patted her cheek. "You do not need to be so polite."

"My turn," she said quietly, and the table cheered. After a brief, shared, glance recalling our argument in Amsterdam, when she refused to let me go down... down I went.

Charlotte pulled one stockinged foot up on the seat and moved her knee to the side. Guapa lightly toyed with herself now that no-one was watching her. Cheeky cow was also no doubt aware this would be a constantly in my peripheral vision as I pulled Charlotte's lacy gusset aside and kissed the pushed-out folds I found there.

Charlotte wasn't as visibly wet as Guapa but I was still rewarded with her delicious arousal when I slid my tongue inside, then up her groove, unzipping her inner labia and swirling at her clit. She came so quickly it caught as all by surprise; I barely got her swollen bud into my mouth before she was grinding at my face.

"A new world record!" Sara slapped the table, and reached for another drink.

"It's just so... horny here!" Charlotte muttered to Beatrice, who was gazing at us like a basketful of kittens.

"Merci, my Dear," She replied. "Bon. Who is next for the... Fluffy man?"

Sara offered me to Beatrice, and I was halfway under the table, when our old art teacher held up her hands. "No! I cannot. Later, with my husband perhaps... Oh, I see we have a Taker!"

Beside me, Anne-Marie had put her panties on the table and was grinning sheepishly, squirming in her seat. Her lingerie looked much improved without knickers in my opinion. I slid down to my netherworld and she pulled back her knees and spread, curling her toes over the table edge.

Characteristically, as I opened her puffy lips I had to catch a drip on my tongue. This time, remembering our time together, I suckered my mouth to her whole sex, making short work of the task, but doubling my own horn. A chill wafted across the top of my cock and it throbbed in response to Anne-Marie's pulses and her deep, quiet groans.

Sara suggested "we all go down... to another level" before anyone could order me to lick her. Cow.

Then I stood and my nightmare came true. The girls pointed and laughed at my tiny lace knickers not coping with my erection. I hid myself but figured, in the next level down, I'd probably fit right in.

The 4th level was called 'Artifice' and I suppose, loosely, represented human invention or something, I don't know. It was an enormous old ballroom, entirely painted white with a mirrored floor and a house-sized Heath Robinson machine in the middle--a black filigree, multi-storey contraption with ramps and stairs and pods and things within it. It was like nothing I've ever seen. Imagine a children's soft-play construction or crooked-house fairground ride. Wrapped in black rubber. And strictly for adults.

The mirrored floor provided a dizzying sense of floating in the middle of the space, this machine poised in mid-air like a decorative spaceship, docked, waiting for us. Oh, and the mirrors gave a gorgeous view of the girls too. Especially Guapa.

Tess reappeared, apologising for running off and handing me a Japanese fan she'd picked up somewhere. "Something to cool your ardour. Or if not, hide it!"

Overwhelmed at her consideration, I bent to kiss her. She grimaced and pulled away. "How many girls have you licked today?" She raised her hand between us and we all stepped into the contraption.

It was a brilliant laugh. I wish I could remember all of it. We scampered insanely around this thing in our expensive lingerie mucking about with all these... installations. One was a big, black ball-pool, but when you sat amongst the rubber balls they gyrated with motorised weights in them, vibrating all over your lower half. Before long, the girls' faces were flushed and opened knees popped up above the surface. It was like being rubbed by lots of miniature hands. I had to cover myself and wondered how much of this I was going to be able to stand. Especially when Sara swore, and screwed her eyes shut. The other girls surrounded her, stroking her and cooing her through her orgasm, bottoms jiggling on the vibrating surface as they attended to her.