Street Parade: Lena's Trilogy 02

To fully understand this story, we recommend the reader reads at least Chapter II of Street Parade: Lena's Trilogy 01.

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Chapter III: Lena's second escapade

I returned from Bali quite serene. Fully aware the circumstances around the orgy did not reflect a lifestyle that I intended to aggressively pursue; I entertained no regrets. If anything, it helped calm my curiosity about the yearn for adventurous sexuality. At least, for a while.

Many questions from that experience were answered. And those left unanswered? Well, they fuelled my innate fantasies.

"Was the Danish ballet dancer ever fucked by the hosts? Was the arak we drank laced with aphrodisiac substances? Did the pretty Indonesian girl have sexual encounters with guests of our hosts?" I asked myself curiously.

No answers. Nevertheless, my colourful imagination often answered these questions for me using indescribably stimulating virtual paintings.

Once in a while, if things were not going my way during regular sex, I closed my eyes and put up the paintings in my mind, giving them as much shades of colours as I could afford. This always elicited thunderous releases, that left my partner wondering what had just possessed me.

Do not get me wrong. I did not chase cheap dopamine after Bali. Neither did I abuse my vivid imagination. Rather, with self-discipline, I always made sure my imaginary paintings matched the circumstance, place and my state of mind.

For some of the unanswered questions, Janina also helped a great deal in completing the puzzle. She mentioned that she turned down Mr Tattoo's advances to fuck her after I blacked out. Because if anything, she explained herself, she found it more appropriate for it to be in my fully alert state. And this, even though Mr. Tattoo physically reminded her very much of Anthony Joshua, the well-built heavy-weight boxing champion she often fantasized about since Megan Merkle's wedding. What a friend!

She also revealed that according to the hosts, Mr. Tattoo was in Bali doing amateur shootings for his ph porn account. And that the Danish hosts, who were in their 50s, ran the ultra-modern biomedical laboratory at the royal Ubud clinic, where they run STD tests for such persons, their partners and producers.

Consequently, everything made sense to me. I remembered that when we got reports of a highly contagious virus in China upon arrival in Bali during the first week of January 2020, I had rushed to that lab to control my post-vaccination influenza antibody titre. Just to be sure, as my mother would put it. The foreign lab technician rather convinced me to do a full package of tests including STDs with a single blood draw. I heeded because it was just a tiny fraction of what these cost back home in Switzerland, and because no one could say at that time, what underlying conditions or immunity rendered one susceptible or more immune to the coronavirus.

That is how the Danish hosts met or had data on the other guests too. And why they used condoms in their foursome with Janina, who was not tested.

Initially, I felt slightly offended but brushed it aside because this breach of deontology was indeed for our safety. And considering the level of passive stimulation, taboo, tropical exuberance, alcohol and drugs, I do not believe even my mother, the risk manager, could bank on absolute self-control in the heat of the moment.

My crave for passive stimulation from yoga teaching was smashed shortly after my return from Bali. I had undertaken the yoga instructor training because of the insanely attractive and athletic wife of the luminary banker Tidjane Thiam. Just a week following my return, Tidjane tendered his resignation as CEO of CS, for an espionage affair that everyone in the Zurich big-name banking community concurred he was truly unaware of.

When he left Zurich with honour in march 2020, the city lost a treasure and the traditional bank struggled on its knees afterwards till date.

Even after this disappointment, I jealously kept my Thiam-mansion basement fantasy, though not for every yoga session I had. On the days I drove past there, I rubbed my lustful clit ardently after yoga seeking a release. Sometimes twice.

Shortly after the pandemic, I finished my thesis and then found a job at the regional hospital of a neighbouring canton, where I met my present boyfriend, Nick.

Nick has a laissez-faire character and is always turned on by what he terms my 'creative power'. He would avoid me purposely for days, to find a reason to toast with sparkling wine before I go horse riding at our stable in Dielsdorf, knowing fully well what effect this shall have on my crotch. Then he would drive me home using the road that passes in front of the former mansion of the Thiams. If I seem to be distracted when we drive by, he makes sure he unfolds a conversation that reminds me.

"I wonder what the new owners have done with that basement," he would tease, quickly adding, "I am sure the new Millionaire-owner has installed a Thai-boxing ring there, where exotic girls with oily bodies do cat-fights for his amusement."

He would sound so silly, forcing me to start thinking of how the Thiam's would have made much better use of the unit....then bam!

.... I would close my eyes to a poorly lit room full of powerful men and women in expensive tuxedos and evening gowns, with their faces behind fancy Venetian masks, ornamented with various tinges of gold and silver...

....Their passionate eyes are focused on my naked petite frame lying on a huge round bed covered in expensive silk drape at the centre of the room under a bright lamp hanging from the ceiling....

....The compassionate ones among them are gentle to me, some licking off the champagne on my skin, some running their fingers all over my body, re-assuring me that all shall be well, champion....

.... But the real champion slowly walks in covered in a boxer's silk robe with the cape pulled over his head so that I can't see his face....

...All I see is an impressively protruding erection preceding his decent muscular frame.....

.....I anticipate that he is going to fuck me silly and there is nothing all these highly influential people can do to stop him. Not that they want to, not that I want them to and not that he will let them to....

Back to reality right there in the car, cladded in my tight-fitting riding pants, I press my thighs together as my day-dreaming unfolds.

Then subconsciously, I start stimming movements with my thighs. Swaying them laterally left to right, then right to left, again and again, I desperately seek a self-soothe for the growing itch between my legs.

By the time we get home, I am on heat and game for Nick. He would make me recount my tale, then would fuck me till we come, before collapsing to my side.

Yet, I would continue to recount, then he would mount me again, would fuck me till we come again, and then collapsing to my side again. Over and over, until one of us shuts down.

What Nick got from imagination, my friend Janina got from reality. She was present, when Nick was intentionally absent. We still did the same things we used to do in our teens: riding, skiing, hiking, tanning, yoga. Exception being that with time, she exposed more skin than normal at these activities and this age. Indeed, she had always been an exhibitionist. I however figured out that thousands of likes on IG was pushing things to newer levels, which I found surprisingly very arousing to watch.

She would go on short winter hikes in snow with just a jacket, her thong and a pair of boots. On our return, she would request for warmth through body contact and permit me to twiddle her sensitive nipples and ass cheeks.

She also possessed a rare aptitude of being able to release by rubbing herself on my thigh while I fondled her muscular butt. Worst case scenario, the highly responsive tits always worked too.

Being able to cum so fast and so easily meant unlike me, she never bore a horny state for long. Where I had to search for privacy for a release, she simply sent her fingers under her garments, literally just scratching the itch and she was done.

I envied how she could glimpse at something thrilling, stimulate herself there and then, release discretely without making sounds apart from barely-audible mewl, before she moves on to something else like nothing happened.

Once we were seated in a high G-Wagon driving from Switzerland to Rimini, Italy on a hot summer day. I was driving and Janina was on the front passenger seat.

Trapped in a nasty traffic just before the Gotthard tunnel, we caught sight of an Italian couple in an open Porsche cabriolet to our right. The lady was blowing her handsome partner's spectacular erection, while he was on the wheel, even though at that moment, there was a standstill.

Janina had oversize sun glasses on, pink glossy lips and a white tank top with no bra as usual. Without turning her head to stare down to the beautiful and daring Italians, she simply flexed her elbow on the open window of her door, so that her forearm fell back on to her chest.

From this position, she used her index and middle fingers like scissors to clip tight on her right nipple barely moving the 2 fingers. Within a minute of clipping, she let out a mewl and shuddered on her seat. After which she slowly put her window back up like nothing happened but with great relief, for she suddenly fell asleep.

This gift helped her release with utmost discretion anywhere and everywhere; during wedding ceremonies, at the thermal baths, when having a physical from a good-looking doctor, on trains, at the shops, at work etc.

Working for a modern start-up company that produced prototypes for robotic machines like vacuum cleaners and lawn mowers at Technopark Zurich, Janina boasted of more flexible and lenient work hours than I could dream of.

She would work from home at liberty, of course ending up scratching 'the itch' several times a day. But she mostly preferred sitting beside the lake with her laptop combining work with leisure. This offered the best opportunity for her work colleagues to quickly realise what an asset they had in her.

Their company policy seemed to favour girls and team-building. It paid back immediately; workers and customers were satisfied, net earnings skyrocketed. This brought with it bonuses and even more parties together. A win-win!

The girls from Technopark and Janina had mutually won their hearts towards one another at the street parade in Zurich the year before. Formally, the street parade was Europe's largest rave party; informally, it was its most extensive nudity trade fair. Ravers from all over converged in Zurich with little or no clothes on.

"The skimpier, the better; the kinkier, the healthier," I thought to myself.

Janina recalled that at the street parade she attended the year before, she had stopped counting the number of silent orgasms she induced on herself after an hour only, because she had already past 10. And she was there for a total 8 good hours. Phew!

I found it hard to believe that she fucked no one. Attending in a fully naked spider-woman body-painting of her torso, she found it easier to self-stimulate just by holding on the straps of her back pack close enough to her naked pierced breasts.

Whenever she saw something arousing to her, she would just standstill and look into the sky, while inconspicuously clipping on her insanely sensitive tits with her index and middle fingers firmly until she came.

Onlookers probably thought she was innocently holding onto her rucksack and deeply enjoying the rave. At least, no one mentioned anything awkward to her in that regard. And truly too, for the parade is fertile ground for disinhibition in all regards.

To loose inhibition, Janina needed neither peers, alcohol nor drugs. If anything, cannabis caused her haziness and lassitude, while sniffing lines of coke or swallowing pills of amphetamines or crystal met caused nothing but insomnia and palpitations to her petite body. She thus kept her hands off them, if she intended to have a truly memorable time. Like she did back then in Bali.

For the next street parade, she promised me that it shall a memorable one for me too, if I joined them. On accepting the invitation, I was not very sure of what I was getting into.

Janina picked me up, so that we all get ready at the apartment of one of her co-workers. As I kissed goodbye, Nick smiled wryly asking me to feel free and do whatever I want, on the condition that I share with him what happened.

In the apartment, our host offered us the outfits of the day: tank tops in black or white and Hawaiian hula skirts in green for all 6 of us. Janina and I went for the white tank tops, the others chose black, saying the white ones were too sheer. Our host also served us several bottles of chilled rosé sparkling wine from the Rotkäppchen winery. By the time we were doing our make-ups, everyone was giggling around like excited teenagers on their first prom night.

Before heading to the train, someone passed a joint around that we pulled on as we briskly walked, laughing and shouting without restrain in our already tipsy states. Even Janina for whatever reason surprisingly took in several deep pulls.

As we got to the train stop, a group of over 20 Italian teens was waiting there, listening to pounding loud old-school techno music with a very fast beat. As we walked closer to them, the vibrations from their speakers started beating my belly, sending familiar waves downwards, and inducing vibrations into my pelvic cavity. That is when I knew I was in trouble.

I explained my situation to Janina only, since I was too timid to let the girls I barely just met, to know what effect the party was having on me already. Janina motioned for us to move further upfront. Away from the teenagers, she hoped we could board in through the first class cabins, speculating it would not be as busy as the rest of the train.

As we stood waiting, she took out a bottle of oriental lily oil sunscreen, spraying first on my shoulders and then décolleté. Then, she gently massaged the oil into my skin, plunging her hands into my tank top brushing my hard nipples with several strokes, seemingly oblivious to the effect this too was having on me.

"Traditionally, this fragrance is helpful for soothing anxiety," she explained as she passionately rubbed on.

I stood still, closing my eyes, breathing in the soft scent. It felt like my body consisted of lump of solid bee wax that was closely placed over a burning candle, unwittingly making the wax between my legs to slowly melt. And then little by little, letting of droplets of the molten wax to soak my naked-perfect-thong [TM of Nubian skin].

I only opened my eyes, when I heard the train screeching to a halt in front of us. As I saw how overfilled even the first class cabin was, I was reluctant to board. I quickly suggested that we should call a cab or an Uber instead and save ourselves the hassle of rubbing our petite bodies on board an overcrowded train.

The girls however were not having any of my suggestions. One after the other, they forced themselves into the train giggling, temporary abandoning me half-frozen on the platform.

Just then, an attractive black guy with dreadlocks and an athletic frame stretched out his hand and beckoned me onto the train. Kindly holding the overhead bars and then leaning back with the forceful push of his body, he had succeeded in creating a tiny space beside Janina.

I pushed in bottom-first, pressing my back and breech on the guy's groins, completely unmindful that I wore just a Hawaiian hula skirt and nothing but a barely-visible, skin colour thong underneath.

The train started moving with a jerk and I instantly felt something strange happening on my backside, specifically onto my gluteal cleft. Glancing down, I realised that pushing and stepping-up bottom-first into the train, the plastic strips of the Hawaiian skirt all swayed to the front, exposing my thong and derrière to the guys crotch. I was now leaning on a stranger who was wearing silk trousers with the bare skin of my round bum.

"Oh-oh!" I thought silently.

As the object lying in my butt crack steadily enlarged itself, I felt a distinctively sharp pull of my thong into my labial lips. With a small jerk, I hopelessly tried to give the owner of the poking object notice, that his notorious possession had apparently entrapped itself into the T-crossing of my seamless thong. Just at the end of my butt crack, it was now stretching, lifting and pressing my thong onto my lower spine. I whispered to Janina and she advised that since clearly the guys hands were both still holding the metal bars overhead, I should standstill to prevent the massive thing from jabbing into me unprepared, should the train abruptly come to a stop for whatever reason.

"Unprepared???" I asked myself embarrassed.

Janina's was however not the brightest idea. The rod-shaped object poking my almost naked backside also felt very warm and the stretch-pull of the elastic thong was giving tingling sensations deep in the cleft. With each breathing cycle of the guy behind me, the thong felt like he was now doing slow repetitive swipes with a bird feather over my coccyx and anal regions. Breathing in, swipe.... up; breathing out, swipe..... down.

Considering I already had a candle burning down there, I was now on fire.

Within a short while, that full-blown fire in my pelvic region was melting away more and more wax onto my stretched thong. I closed my eyes for distraction but it did not help matters. If anything, it made things worse.

The eye closure accentuated the scent of the guy's Terre d'hermés eau de perfume. This inevitably brought with it the flashbacks I associated the powerful and influential men who attended Thiam's party with this expensive fragrance.

One thing subsequently led to another...

... Flashbacks of the Thiam mansion basement,...

...then the influential guests and their focus on my petite athletic body on the huge round bed covered in finest SILK...

...then the fingers, lips and tongues all over me...

.... then some inserting fingers into my thong line on both sides and pulling the thong rather head wards....

...deep into my burning crotch...

.....scraping my virgin ass and gluteal cleft with a burning-tingling sensation.....

and then... the champion, the real champion with an impressively solid erection....

....faceless like the figure behind me.....

...and then faceless champion owning and fucking me silly....in whatever hole he feels like....

With that, the flood gates opened at the next upward swipe and I released without control with a jerk and a short sharp scream.

"Emmmmmm!!! oh God!" I yelled out.

As the other girls asked with concern what's going on,

"Oh, no worries, just a short muscle cramp from the tight position of my legs," I said misleadingly with plenty of embarrassment.

Janina stared at my blushed face in disbelief and then to the guy, whispering wide-eyed to me with a familiar obsession. With his hands lifted, both pierced nipples of the guy had slipped out of his white muscle singlet, visible to all.

"And his nipples are pierced!!!" She whispered to me with primal lust. Holding tight onto my right arm, she did not let me move an inch or change positions. I briefly bowed my head in a short moment of mortification, after using a stranger I had never talked to, for my sexual gratification. Lifting up my head again, we giggled like teenagers who shared a very naughty secret.

Just then, the guy engaged us in a conversation. He talked about this year's parade and how one could cool off in the lake.