The Effable Joy of Nudity Pt. 04

Effable (adjective): (1) capable of being uttered or expressed; from the Latin effari. (2) sexually attractive; from the Old Norse fukka.

"Life begins at the end of your comfort zone." (Neale Donald Walsch)

After the CMNF party I became more receptive to Stephanie's overtures to join her adventure group. I was intrigued by its connection with the Empyreal Society yet surprised that Steph herself seemed to know little, or for that matter care much, about it. However, I remained focused on my studies for the rest of my second year at university. It was the following year which was to be my watershed. The path I took and the choices I made then have shaped my life to this day.

Two particular episodes stand out in my memory of that third year. Although they are not directly connected to the Joy of Nudity theme, the stories are worth telling... in my opinion, anyway.

The latest theme for the Lakeside Hall Mayday celebration was "Playboys And Bunnies". All us girls squeezed into teeny-weeny home-sewn costumes. In the egalitarian spirit of impoverished students, we had agreed that all bunny outfits would be do-it-yourself. So as a maladroit practitioner of the domestic arts, I had to invest many hours of hard work and frustration, but was pleased with and proud of the result. It consisted of a black one-piece strapless swimsuit, to which I attached the requisite cottontail. The de rigueur collar, cuffs and ears were also hand-made. This was combined with sheer black tights and stiletto heels. The males, as last year, wore tuxedos, smoking jackets, etcetera, although a couple of committed iconoclasts came in full-length rabbit costumes.

I have never been a fan of the Hefner-Playboy culture; but I had to admit that my little Bunny costume was feminine and flattering.

The party chugged along nicely. Then, late in the evening, Jack coaxed me out of the Hall and down the narrow, winding path which led through the woods to Lakeside's eponymous pond. It felt a bit spooky. The noise of the party did not carry through the trees and the only sounds were those of unseen creatures scurrying about in the undergrowth. A nearly full moon sailed overhead, in the words of the poet "like a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas." Jack took my hand and guided me off-track, to a small clearing a dozen or so paces from the trail. We knelt on the grass, which was surprisingly soft. He kissed my neck and shoulders, and drew my costume down to my waist. Before I knew it I was wriggling out of it. I also peeled off my stockings, and suddenly I was lying there in the moonlight stark naked except for my collar, cuffs and rabbit ears. The grass itched a little under my bare back and bottom; but when Jack started to remove his coat to place under me I impetuously said no. It was a hired tuxedo.

Jack whispered that only I would be thinking about the dry-cleaning bill at a moment like this. I almost started on about how difficult it is to get out grass stains when he raised me off the ground slightly, with an arm around my shoulders, as he felt about with the other hand to brush aside a few twigs and dry leaves. We kissed and caressed for a few minutes. Since he was still fully clothed, there was only so much I could do, but Jack had wonderhands. When he knew I was ready, he took off his trousers and placed them neatly to one side, then lay on top of me. He was still wearing his shirt, jacket and bowtie.

"I guess I'm your groundsheet," I thought as he entered me. But I'd already found him to be a remarkably attentive lover, so I didn't mind that he hadn't quite disposed of all the stubble from underneath me. The motion of my body to the rhythm of his thrusts caused some prickling, but all my sensations were subsumed by an orgasm that few men besides Jack (in my experience) could provide. It was worth enduring a few irritating bristles.

But Jack never did anything by half measures. He always took the titillation to the next level. So when he withdrew from me, I lay there, quiet and panting, for a minute or two, awaiting the next move.

"Turn over," he said, "and put your hands behind your back."

It was more of a command than an invitation, and for just an instant I thought about refusing. I was still in a rarefied state, but was suddenly filled with an aroused curiosity, almost euphoric. I obeyed, crossing my wrists behind me, pressing my knees and ankles together. The grass, warmed and flattened by my body, now tickled my breasts and belly. He grasped my hands and our fingers intertwined, for just a moment, and then he removed my bunny cuffs. He started wrapping something around and between my wrists, then looped it at right angles to make a cinch before tying the knot. I realized he was using one of my stockings. He made it secure but not so tight that it hurt. Then he took hold of my ankles and brought them up until my heels touched my backside. I could not have held them there for any time at all; but he applied the other stocking to bind my ankles and connect them to my wrists.

I don't think Jack realized how stringent he had made my hog-tie, but I had already begun to "zone out" and didn't protest. Yet I was forced to arch my body backwards, raise my chin off the grass and rest the weight of my torso on my breasts. I couldn't help squirming; my chest began to heave, which put more pressure on my boobs and especially my sensitized nipples; and I started gasping.

Jack's reaction was shocking, in a way. He sat back, leaning against a tree trunk, to watch me wriggle and listen to my puffing... and then he began to puff. He took from his coat pocket a pack of cigarettes and lit up. It had never occurred to me that he smoked. In any case, I made the mistake of giggling at this after-sex cliché. With a snarl he grabbed my discarded costume and shoved part of it into my mouth. It didn't go in far, and indeed with a bit of effort I could have spat it out; but I decided I shouldn't test Jack's forbearance. After that we both went quiet and I tried to stop squirming.

I was starting to feel a chill. Although it was unseasonably warm, it was now around midnight. Jack had turned my head to face away from him; but I could sense he was getting restless. Then suddenly my skin went icy cold. Not from the temperature.

To my horror, I heard the sound of leaves crunching under foot, getting louder, coming in our direction. I struggled in my bonds and clenched my teeth on my gag. Immediately, however, my dread gave way to surprise. Into the clearing came another couple. I knew the guy vaguely. Adam was a member of Jack's unofficial entourage. I didn't particularly like him. He wasn't objectionable, just sort of wishy-washy. But not as much as I'd believed, at least not tonight. He had one arm around Emily (Jack's elder sister, whom I've mentioned). Her cherry-red bunny costume was drawn down to her midriff; her fluffy bunny ears were askew. They peered down at me and I stared up at them. I don't know who was the more startled.

To this day I have no idea if this encounter had been prearranged.

Adam and Emily whispered something to each other, and then she stripped off her costume, including pantyhose, and lay on the ground, on her back, beside me. Adam didn't even bother to remove his trousers, just pulled them down to his knees, before plunging into her. He wasn't brutal or brusque, just abrupt. Anyway, my feeling was that they'd already had their foreplay.

They were right beside me, as I lay on my belly trussed and gagged. My face was turned towards Emily's, and we gazed into each other's eyes. Her sapphire-blue orbs gleamed through the dark. Her body was gently jerking. She was breathing hard and little gusts of air wafted over my face. Adam appeared to be ignoring my presence. A short distance away, still propped against the tree, Jack averted his eyes. Watching his sister being fucked was a bit much even for him.

Nevertheless, the fun was not yet over. Once he'd run out of steam (so to speak), Adam didn't pull out but relaxed, making no effort to hold his weight off Emily's body. He and Jack started talking -- I really can't recall what about -- and he carried on this conversation for quite a while, still inside her. Then Emily did something that made me snort through my gag. She bit his ear, not hard enough to draw blood but sufficient to cause him to jolt upwards, out of and off her. Jack laughed and Adam growled, and Emily and I knew immediately that we would both pay the price.

Jack loosened my bonds and disconnected my wrists from my ankles; but I was not being released. While he was doing this, Adam tied Emily's hands behind her back with her pantyhose; and bound her ankles with his trouser belt. I was still on my stomach as Adam lowered Emily, also face down, onto me, posing us at right angles to each other so we formed a cross with our bodies. Her crotch snugly nestled my buttocks. I was the smaller but she was lean and light. Nevertheless, Jack instructed Adam to lift my hands up over Emily so they wouldn't get squashed and lose circulation. That allowed him to bind our wrists together. So this is how we spent the next... I'm not sure how long, but the Moon moved perceptibly in the sky. It was an undignified way to be left, with Emily's body slumped over me, and therefore quite humiliating. Yet somewhat to my bafflement, I loved the feeling, as well as that of Emily's warm, naked body. My gag had come out and I began to moan. Emily was twitching and moaning as well. It was my second orgasm of the night... and (I must say) the more pleasurable.

And it must have been a dull time for Jack and Adam, except for the gratification of contemplating our condition.

My only anxiety was that someone else might stumble upon us. Yet no one did; and I was actually disappointed when the guys finally untied us and let us put our costumes back on. We returned to Lakeside Hall and the party was still going; but we'd had enough, and went to our separate beds. I didn't see Stephanie until noon when she came back to the room still in her costume. She wasn't wearing the pantyhose she had on the night before; so somewhere along the line her Bunny suit had come off. Well, you know what they say about rabbits...

Stephanie's attempts to enlist me in her club paid off not long after Mayday. It was another event at Charlotte's house; and I was intrigued enough by this enigmatic woman that I accepted the latest invitation before I had looked up the term "sybian". Even so, as the night drew near I started to reproach myself with "What was I thinking?" doubts. I could still have backed out of this ludicrous enterprise; but of course I didn't. I told myself that I had something to prove... which was nonsense. The simple fact is that curiosity overcame qualms.

At first I thought that it would be a females-only occasion. Instead, a few of the women brought male partners. It was essentially the same cast of characters from the CMNF party. I was alone. Steph was accompanied by her latest consort, Oscar. (I found him a bit immature, but that no doubt helped him to cope with Steph's ofttimes frenetic personality.)

It started off as normal social gathering, actually quite sedate. But after about an hour Charlotte and James brought out from the side room two sybians -- saddle-shaped contrivances (hence the alternative name, "pony") powered by an interior electric motor. Protruding from the top of each was a phallic-shaped rod. They were placed on thick, spongy mats which, Charlotte explained, were there to provide padding for the knees, muffle the noise and absorb the vibrations. I had a suspicion that they also served to soak up fluids.

We gathered around to study the machines. Then Charlotte announced that every woman was invited to "enjoy the ride." We all stared blankly. Some shook their heads vigorously. Charlotte laughed and removed her dress and panties (she wasn't wearing a bra) and her shoes. And just as she showed no apprehension about stripping naked, she calmly knelt astride the apparatus, and lowered herself onto the seat until the rod entered her. She wiggled her body to insert it completely. Cool as the proverbial cucumber, she explained that while the sybian can be delightful without the "joystick", it heightens the pleasure, and it comes in various sizes. Suddenly, in mid-sentence she gasped; her toes curled; her face became flushed. There was a soft hum or whir emanating from the machine between her thighs. She closed her eyes, pursed her lips and swept her hair away from her face as tiny beads of sweat glistened on her brow. And just as her first orgasm began to subside, she suddenly emitted a loud moan and vigorously shook her head. I noticed a cord which ran to a control box with dials being held by James. Each time Charlotte's breathing soothed and her twitching waned, her attentive husband turned up the intensity to the next level.

Her ride ended after about five minutes, but only because she wanted the rest of us to try it. Even then James had to help her to her feet, her body quivering, her skin clammy and goosebumpy, her legs wobbly; but she still had her inscrutable smile, and the steady, steely radiance in her eyes remained undimmed.

Her speech was slightly slurred as she advised that before our ride we should think about a trip to the bathroom. Several women immediately turned and headed in that direction. Meanwhile Bethany, the intrepid lady who had been first with the ice on the CMNF night, stepped forward. She had already taken off her clothes. Before she went down onto the machine, however, James bound her hands behind her back -- not very tightly but enough to restrain her arms. It quickly occurred to me that this prevented her from lifting herself more than a fraction off the seat. She was also blindfolded, to enhance the sensory experience explained Charlotte, who was starting to recover from her ride. But I suspect the black satin sash was also to preserve at least some dignity, hiding the wearer's facial expressions. It seems that the visage of rapturous arousal is actually more of a grimace. As a result Beth had to be assisted by her boyfriend in mounting the saddle and getting the joystick inserted. She flinched as it penetrated her, like she was having last-second second thoughts.

While Beth was still having her turn, Stephanie took the other sybian. With her typical mad bravado she selected the "jumbo" joystick. She joked that this was the size she was used to. Oscar beamed with manly pride. But inside her little body the gargantuan shaft was relentless. I could see her belly throbbing to its rhythm.

Eventually every woman had at least one ride on the "pony". It didn't surprise me that no one balked or demurred or wavered, nor that we all stripped completely naked, even though full nudity wasn't essential. Not all had their hands bound; most were blindfolded; some eschewed the phallic prosthesis. They began the ride with nervous giggles and ended with smiles of pleasure, as well as grins of self-satisfaction that they had made it through.

I procrastinated, went to the bathroom a couple of times. I was hoping that interest by then would be fading and I wouldn't have a large audience. Yet this was not to be. The enthusiasm never waned. Indeed the mood became more exuberant, with the girls trying to inspire the hesitant ones, the guys being equally encouraging.

I opted to embrace the full experience -- joystick, rope and blindfold. It was Oscar who tied my hands with silk cord and blindfolded me with a black satin sash. As he did so Charlotte, who wiped down the sybians after each ride, lubricated the joystick. Oscar held me as I knelt straddling the seat. This had a velvety surface, easy on the skin and easy to clean.

Oscar paused as I adjusted my position when I felt the tip of the purple, silicone-rubber joystick nudging my vulva. I teased myself with it for a few seconds, and then whispered "Okay." With his assistance I lowered my body onto the saddle. The plug slid smoothly into me. Like Stephanie, out of foolish vanity I had picked out a large one, although while hers was sculpted to look like a penis, mine was plump and spheroid with a bumpy surface. Charlotte called it a dragons' egg, which was apt not just because of its scaly texture but its pearlescent purple colour. I had to push down to insert the egg through the narrow cleft, and then it slipped into my vagina with a delicious plopping sensation. It filled my insides completely. This meant it didn't move inside me as freely as it should have to maximize my stimulation; but once it got moving the nodules massaged my G-spot wonderfully.

When the strain on my thighs got too much and I dropped my weight onto the seat, I felt the egg pushing against my cervix, which was not unbearable but, as any woman will attest, not very comfortable either. So I had to lift myself ever so slightly off the seat.

Oscar's operation of the control box proved remarkably sensitive and insightful. He used the two dials to slowly increase the rotation and vibration of the joystick, gradually escalating my pleasure. The plug didn't spin but rather oscillated on its base, moving in a small circle and kneading the walls of my vagina. I was leaning forward slightly, so my clitoris was in contact with the stimulator pad. This was a separately vibrating, ridged panel on the seat in front of the joystick. It buzzed away at my clit.

I found myself squirming at first. My body started rocking, which made it difficult to keep my balance, particularly with my hands tied. My head was rolling as the pleasure surged through me, not in a single rising crescendo but as roiling waves of ecstasy growing in magnitude as Oscar twisted his knobs. I sighed, gasped, grunted, moaned. Only a belated sense of dignity stopped me from squealing or screaming. I found myself clenching the seat with my knees, grinding my pelvis over the stimulator pad to excite my clitoris; but I didn't need to do much to achieve and intensify my orgasm. The sybian worked its magic on me. I really was along for the ride!

Nevertheless, after a few minutes it became an ordeal. My knees ached, my thighs began to cramp, my body ached from the contractions and convulsions as Oscar unrelentingly cranked up the tempo with his control box. Despite my trips to the bathroom, the urge to pee was stronger than I have felt with a real penis inside me. But it was an exquisite torment. My mind became totally focused on what was happening within me until a shimmering haze descended, a fog of bliss, clouding my brain, blocking out all other sensations. And I understood the efficacy of the blindfold. It shut out my surroundings and directed all my perceptions inward.

The expression is somewhat of a platitude... but I became one with the machine.

My pony ride could have gone on, but I told myself that I should concede my place to the next girl in line. When it ended I couldn't lift myself off the saddle without assistance; and then, with the bulbous egg lodged inside me, the entire attachment came off its stem. As my hands were still tied I couldn't extract it. Someone -- I think it was Charlotte -- gently pulled it from my body. The removal made a slurpy sound that, for some reason, embarrassed me more than anything else (so far). Exhausted, I sank to my knees once more, beside the sybian. My legs were too weak and shaky for me to stand up straight away. I could hear Charlotte cleaning the seat, and to my dismay I felt a warm trickle down the inside of my thigh. I endured a couple of seconds of humiliation (what a time, I said to myself later, to get squeamish about fluids!) before realizing that the seepage was perspiration.

Most of the women had repeat sessions on the sybian, including yours truly. By the time it was over we were groggy and tremulant, sweaty and dishevelled, shuffling and teetering. And once again I felt rather sorry for the men. Their pleasure was, in a sense, second-hand, derived from seeing ours. Which for them was fine, because males (supposedly) respond more to visual sexual stimuli than females, so the observer's role was enough. Being in charge of the control box allowed them to have an active part, but this was nevertheless to provide us, the women, with more pleasure. And maybe I'm biased; but I prefer feeling over looking, no matter how pretty the picture.