Opening Night: Act 05

Michelle and I didn't venture too far from the seats where Erin had left us for a good portion of the evening. That being our first time at an After Party, we were content on people-watching -- and sometimes animal-watching, depending on the costume -- and having people come to us to socialize.

If it weren't for all of the furry, fuzzy, and feathery outfits, we would never have thought this was nothing more than just a bunch of average folks having a nice night out. But the attire added a lot of depth to the event, and what would have normally been just a touch on an arm as part of a greeting was now shrouded in ulterior motives, or at the very least rather obvious innuendos.

We were still snuggled together on the large Icelandic sheepskin bean bag when another couple about our age came over to the lounge that we had, without telling anyone, claimed as our own.

They both were wearing the same outfits all of the "plus ones" were wearing -- the unexceptional white cotton loose-fitting shirt and pants, and the same pink arm bands. The only difference was that the girl was wearing a Russian mohair bolero.

"Do you mind if we join you?," the girl asked.

Michelle spoke before I could.

"Sure. Anywhere you like."

"This is our first time to one of these parties," the girl said.

"Ours, too," Michelle added.

"We don't know what the protocol is." She looked at her partner and then back at Michelle and me. "Do we tell each other our names or what?"

I guess my eyes had popped out of my head when she asked that question because after Michelle turned to look at me before answering she let out an almost indistinguishable laugh, and turned back to the girl who was now sitting across from us and smiled.

"We are okay skipping the introductions if you are."

They both nodded.

There was a brief, minimally uncomfortable pause before anyone spoke again. This time the guy decided to chime in.

"So, what have you two tried so far?," he asked.

"Not much," I said, pointing to our drinks. "Just a cola and a club soda."

The two of them laughed in unison and were still smiling when the guy put his hand up.

"Sorry," he said. "We didn't mean to be rude. I should have phrased my question a little better." He nodded his head out towards the crowds and down the length of the dark paneled building. "I was wondering what have you tried out there? Didn't your host? ... ." He paused and waited for us to fill in the blank.

"Hostess," Michelle replied.

"Okay. Right, sorry. I should have figured that out from the arm bands. Didn't your hostess tell you about the different stations you can go to for a little fun?"

"No, she told us to mingle a little but we found this spot and were just enjoying doing some people-watching."

Michelle cuddled back into the bean bag with me. "Why? What do you mean by 'stations'?"

The girl seemed a bit giddy when Michelle asked the question, and sat on the edge of her seat.

"Well," she said with a big grin on her face, "so far my favourite was the whack-a-mole at the far end of the north hall."

"Here we go," her boyfriend said. "'Little Miss Winner' has to brag all night."

She smacked him on the chest.

"Shut up! I'm talking. Besides, when you win something then you can offer your opinion." Her scowl was full of playful mocking more than anything else. "As I was saying, I liked the whack-a-mole because I won this curly little sweater for being the best."

I knew when not to talk better than my counterpart across the table from me. Michelle asked the obvious question.

"The best at what?"

The girl looked at her companion.

"Are you going to interrupt me or can I tell them?"

He shrugged his shoulders in resignation.

"The whack-a-mole is a contraption they have set up that raises and lowers people, ... well, more to the point guys ... ."

"Their cocks." As soon as he blurted out the words she started smacking him again.

"Shut up! I am telling them." She turned back to Michelle and me again and rolled her eyes. "So they have this thing that lifts guys up so their penises," she emphasized the word to make the story more her own, "pop up through a series of eight holes, four on one side of the table and four on the other, and whoever makes the most guys cum before the buzzer goes wins."

"How did you do it?," Michelle prodded.

Without speaking this time, the guy across from us just raised his hands and wiggled his fingers. And of course she smacked him again.

"What?!," he said. "She is awesome with her hands. But they also have lots of accessories to help you get the guys off. Mohair, angora, scarves, gloves, fur of all kinds and sizes, battery operated toys ... ."

That was when his girlfriend injected herself back into the conversation as she started shaking her head.

"That's why the other girl lost. She used all of that vibrating stuff but you don't get the right amount of friction and grip in the short amount of time each penis pops up." She pulled at the opening of her prize. "They had some mittens made out of this stuff and I swear I could hear one of the guys crying underneath the table as I was jerking him off. He shot his load everywhere. It almost hit some woman dressed up as a really awesome looking goat."

Michelle and I bit our tongues, and the four of us let the background music fill in the pause in our conversation.

The girl gestured towards me with her head and whispered over the table to Michelle.

"So, what does he like?"

Michelle blushed a little, glanced over at me and then back at the girl. She raised her finger, put it under her chin, and leisurely traced the length of her throat.

The girl smiled.

"Oh yeah?" She paused before pressing on. "Are you any good at it?"

Michelle blushed again but kept her eyes fixed on the girl. She waited a moment or two and then simply slowly blinked her eyes and smiled a smile of which any Cheshire cat would have been jealous.

The two of them enjoyed the bond that they had begun to form.

"Are you the one they are talking about?," the girl wondered aloud.

"Which one?," Michelle asked.

"The one who is supposed to be the best at fucking with her mouth?" Our new friend was definitely not shy once she felt the slightest bit comfortable around people she had just met.

Michelle shook her head.

"Our hostess told us about her, though. She's the one in the squirrel costume."

The two girls instinctively turned and scanned the room to see if they could see the squirrel through the crowds.

"You said there were stations plural throughout the halls." My comment brought the girls' attention back to our little corner of the evening. "What else have you tried?"

"Actually," the guy replied, "you two might want to check out the car wash. We just came from there."

His girlfriend smiled.

"You mean we just came IN there."

Michelle leaned forward on the bean bag.

"A car wash?"

"That was fun," the girl said. "They get you to stand on these disks on the floor no wider than your shoulders, then they tie your hands to restraints which lift your arms above your head."

"And you're naked," the guy said. "You get stripped down before they put you on the disks."

"Sorry, I forgot about that part. Anyway, once they have you strung up and in your birthday suit, a fur-lined column raises up from the floor and ends up covering you from your toes to above your fingers."

Her boyfriend interrupted her again.

"For guys, one half of the tube comes up from the floor and the other gets lowered from the ceiling. Once the two halves come down, all that is left exposed is you-know-what."

I had to ask.

"And then what?"

"Someone from the crowd ... ."

"The CROWD?! What crowd?!" I was almost shouting across the table.

"Sorry," the girl stepped in. "We forgot to mention that part, too. This whole thing is done in front of whomever wants to watch. In fact, the control of the columns is left to a random guest. No one who is in the car wash knows who has the controller."

"Like I was saying, someone from the crowd slips a fur-lined sleeve that hooks up to a little arm-thingy and puts the sleeve over your cock ... and when they hit the button, all of the columns start turning the fur all around you."

I hadn't noticed right away but Michelle had started to massage the inside of my thigh as our new friends were recounting their story to us.

"That does sound fun but what do the girls get out of that set-up?," she asked.

"There's a thin pole with a lovely little dildo attached to it that slides up in between your legs. I would love to meet the person who worked on the hydraulic controls for that thing because they are a true artist." The girl looked directly at Michelle as she spoke. "I had just enough room in my column that I was able to double my pleasure. I still don't know which way I liked better."

Michelle had to think about what the girl was saying for a moment or two before she figured out the insinuation.

"If for no other reason, you two should go watch it in use." The girl twisted her thumb in her boyfriend's direction. "He did his best to hold on as long as he could. I nearly broke the machine I was having so much fun."

Her boyfriend looked a little sheepish after her comment.

"It was sable. What was I supposed to do?" He looked over at me. "Have you ever had anyone jerk you off using sable? There's no way you're going to be able to last the entire night with that stuff swirling around you."

Before I could answer him, I noticed the two of them looked over our shoulders and nodded. I turned and saw a woman of average height and a strong build dressed only in high heels and an ostrich feather robe with a feathery train that would have made even the richest disco queen envious standing about fifteen feet from our sitting area. She gave me a little wave when she saw me and then focused her attention back on our new friends.

"We gotta go," the girl said. "Our hostess insists that we mingle with as many people as possible."

The two of them stood up and we said our goodbyes. Michelle had leaned back into me on the bean bag but before she got too comfortable, the girl was kneeling beside her, tapping on her forearm.

"So, do you think you could give me some pointers later?," she asked.

"Pointers?" Michelle seem stumped.

"You know, on fel-a-tio."

"Sure," Michelle said. "I can tell you a few tricks that will have him aching every time he sees you put on lipstick."

With that the girl gave Michelle a peck on the cheek and took off after her boyfriend and the flowing pile of grey feathers that squeezed effortlessly through the partygoers.

Michelle elbowed me gently in the ribs.

"We should really go and wander around a bit."

She slid off the sheepskin, turned, and reached out to take my hand.

"I think we are going to find there's more to this little soirée than talking to one or two strangers once in a while."

I stood up and gave her a kiss.

"Feel like checking out that car wash?"

She grinned from ear-to-ear and we wandered out into the crowds.

•

There were different levels of intensity throughout the building. It was just as easy to find a quiet spot to sit and chat and maybe share a few laughs or talk openly about a favourite fetish and how to bring it to life in the everyday as it was to find people giving themselves up to the abundance of sexual tension that permeated the tungsten-washed space.

Michelle and I had found a few of the games that had been set up for the guests that wished to partake of the latter at the After Party. It was hard to believe that anyone could hold out forever in the atmosphere that had been created by some very savvy, fetish-conscious hosts. And although you could tell that the mood was borderline orgiastic, everyone, even those around the gaming stations, remained calm and restrained as they watched their fellow partygoers being brought to climax right before their eyes.

It wasn't that they were clinical in their observing but rather appreciative, and understood what it took on the part of the gamers to leave themselves open to the touches of strangers and how laid bare they must have felt by allowing themselves to be brought to orgasm -- sometimes agonizingly slowly, sometimes shockingly fast -- to a certain extent for the enjoyment of the crowd as well as themselves. When they were released from the various apparatuses there was no cheering, no clapping, just an unspoken gratitude from those who had been watching the game, or sometimes a gentle touch on a shoulder as they were escorted away by their respective host or hostess.

That was what I didn't feel at first as I watched the cylinders of fur twirling around at the car wash -- the gentle touch on my shoulder. Michelle had gone to find a washroom and left me waiting in the small crowd that had gathered to take in the tubes of fur doing their magic on the people inside them. I had just assumed that the hand that was lightly touching my should was my girlfriend quietly signaling her return to the fray. When the thick golden island fox fur tail came sliding across my other shoulder and then to rest down my torso, its tip settling just above my left knee, I knew that Michelle was not the owner of the hand that was fondling my collarbone.

"Your Erin's friend, right?"

It was the woman in the squirrel costume. I could feel all of the blood rush to my face as I turned to look at her. The detail in her outfit was even more impressive up close; the knitted fur bodice was skin tight, the hairs of which faded gradually around her neck to allow just enough skin to show right below the base of her mask. I did my absolute best not to break eye contact but even then I could tell that she was not wearing anything underneath her fur suit because I could see just enough of the shape of her nipples to know that they were not matted down by a bra or base layer of clothing.

"Yes," I said, nodding as casually as I could.

"I saw you with someone earlier but I guess she has slipped away to powder her nose."

The way she spoke made it both a statement and a question at the same time.

"Yes," I said again after a brief pause.

"Ooh, well let me keep you company for a bit then."

The full weight of her furry tail kept me from moving away from her. The thick pelts shifted slowly across the bare skin of my neck and I could feel the guard hairs beginning to work their way through the cotton of my shirt. She grabbed my arm in hers and started to lead me away from the rest of the guests assembled by the car wash.

"I see by your armband that you are just here to talk to people tonight. Well," she said with a smile that was more mischievous than her tone a moment ago, "I'm 'people' so we are going to go somewhere and have a nice little chat."

I tried to slow us down by turning away from her but she tugged at my arm with a firm pull.

"But I am waiting for my friend," I began to explain to her.

"Don't you worry," she said as she reached across my chest with her free hand, grabbing a handful of fur and drawing her tail over me so that it encircled my torso completely, "I am sure your friend will be able to find us."

As if on cue, one of the staff opened a door near the back corner of the ballroom and walked away without saying a word or acknowledging us. My forceful new friend and I went in and she let go of the tail that she had wrapped around me, allowing the weight of the fur to slide off my chest as she turned around.

"Have a seat," the woman in the squirrel costume said as she closed the door, "and let's get to know each other."

Erin was right when she said that this woman was a collector. She knew what she wanted and I doubt anyone had been able to deny her getting what she wanted. Without a chaperone, the After Party was a case study in the lack of willpower for anyone with a fluffy or furry fetish, and I was without a chaperone.

"What do you want to talk about?," I asked, still hoping that talk was all that was going to happen.

"Well," she said, "we should probably start by telling each other our names."

"That's a great idea." I waited to see if she was going to tell me hers first.

She smiled at me and shook her head.

"That's actually a horrible idea. What we could talk about is why I like to collect people, as the rumours go." She sat down beside me.

"I guess it is similar to the reasons some serial killers like to kill -- I just adore the thrill of seeing the look in a person's eyes as I do what I do."

This entire evening had been one arousing moment after another, and while I was in a relationship with both Michelle and Erin, a relationship that most people would call 'open,' I also thought of the two of them as the only people I wanted to be with because the three of us together made up the relationship exclusive of all others. I was getting the strong feeling that that exclusive relationship was about to be broken.