The Johnson Party Ch. 01

Marybeth Strong could do two things with great proficiency, sell real estate and give head.

With the housing market in Metropolitan Detroit in the tank, she found herself doing more of the later in an attempt to facilitate the former.

Not that she minded. Quite the contrary, actually, judging by the performance she gave in the foyer of a four bedroom, three bath colonial in Birmingham, Michigan.

This was the fifth house we had seen today, and one of more than 125 houses in the area with price tags north of $1,000,000. If you had the cash it was definitely a buyers market, and Marybeth was doing everything she could to see that this potential buyer was happy.

In her early 40's, Marybeth was a 5'7" bottled blonde with augmented breasts. She worked out three times a week, lunched at best restaurants and grabbed cocktails after work at the hottest bars in town. Pretty much the prototypical Birmingham have it all woman, including the multiple failed marriages—she was already a three time loser—with no intention of going four for four.

She wore a navy, pinstripe skirted business suit that crested mid-thigh, a tight white knit top that seemed a size too small for her 36D's and black toe-less pumps that would need the attention of a good shoe man after the session on her knees.

Marybeth gripped my ass while going down on me hands-free, the head of my cock nudging against the back of her throat. She twisted her head to and fro, an agonizingly slow pace that had me to the brink a half dozen times.

"How's that feel, Kirk? Are you gonna cum for me baby?" she said while taking a breath.

Rhetorical questions if I'd ever heard one. Marybeth transferred her attention to each of my balls for a few minutes, an eternity given the circumstances, then resumed her oral manipulation of my cock. She glided her steamy mouth back and forth in deliberate fashion, stopping to suck hard on the tip when it passed over her lips.

"Oh Christ, that feels good."

With my compliment she picked up speed, effortlessly sliding my slick cock in and out of her throat as she worked me toward an orgasm; one that had been building since nine this morning when I saw her saunter ahead of me into the first house. That was six hours ago.

She put a hand to my balls and began vigorously massaging them between her fingers and palm, turning up the heat that was already percolating. I started to quiver and new I was close, and being a gentleman, gave her fair warning.

For a fleeting moment she released me and responded with, "Cum in my mouth baby. I want to taste all of you"

With that Marybeth rested the head of my cock on her tongue and been stroking me in earnest. I busted a nut, propelling a half-dozen bursts just where she wanted them.

She sucked on the tip of my cock for a moment, then raised herself from the floor. Looking me straight in the eyes, she titled her head back and ever so slowly swallowed what I had just deposited. Without uttering a word she firmly said, "Now that's how to give a blow job."

Moments later we were sitting at the breakfast room table, casually sipping a glass of wine as though nothing had happened. Marybeth seemed to be treating the whole thing as a normal precursor to a business transaction, almost like taking me to lunch, though she was the only one who ate.

"So, other than the blow job, was there anything else you liked today?" Marybeth asked in a very matter of fact manner; then tossed me a little grin at the last second.

Sitting there in the sparsely lit room, getting a chance to really see her, study her, for the first time, Marybeth was a stunning women. I knew she had an unlucky history with men, and I could only assume it was do to her relentless pursuit of real estate sales--a painfully self-absorbed profession.

I, of course, used her drive to my advantage. Spending the day pretending to be looking for houses for two reasons: Marybeth's reputation as an accommodating, first rate cock sucker, and the Johnson party. Having nabbed the first, it was time to go for the second.

Robin and Jeffry Johnson are third generation auto money trust-fund scions who have an estate/compound in Bloomfield Hills, Michigan, one of the wealthiest zip codes in the country.

Robin's heritage is that of the General Motors line; her grandfather was a majority owner of one of the companies William Durant acquired in the early 1900's to form GM. A willowy, strawberry blond in her youth, and a text-book free spirit to boot, Robin left Michigan the day after graduating high school and signed with a New York modeling agency within a week.

For years she was a staple on the runways of New York and Paris, was featured on the cover of Vogue magazine, hung out with the likes of Andy Warhol and Liza Minnelli, and, according to legend, snorted coke with, and blew, each member of the Rolling Stones in one of Studio 54's balconies.

Jeffry's family was in the supply side of the business, and his grandfather stood alongside Henry Ford as they tried to bust the unions. Jeffry foraged his way unremarkably through Brown, befriended a number of Kennedy's, bedded one or two, and spent a day and half working for Goldman Sachs.

After lunch on the second day he walked into the managing partner's office and said, "All you people do is beg, borrow and steal your way to make enough money to become, well, me. And I'm already me. I'm going to go join a band." And he did.

They met in New York at the end of the 70's and decided that their life expectancies would be substantially greater if they left Manhattan and returned to dreary, boring suburban Detroit. They've spent the better part of the last 25-plus years appearing at parties, balls, and philanthropic events under the heading of socialites.

In addition to their glassed over public personas, what they had really become were two of the most notorious high-end swingers in North America, cultivating a network of multi-millionaire wife swappers, escorts, gigolos, and assorted other hangers on. Now in their early 50's, the Johnsons were ready to relocate full-time to their private island in the Antilles. One problem, they couldn't sell their estate in Michigan, and they sort of needed the money, what with so much of it being spent on everyday necessities such as champagne, caviar and caretakers.

Two years ago they listed the 30,000 square-foot mansion, which sits on ten acres with three ponds, four bungalows, and two pools, for $15 million. Three months ago, with the price down to $11.5 million, they hired Marybeth Strong, their third listing agent in as many years. This is where the party came in.

Marybeth had known the Johnsons for some time, and rumors of their lifestyle ran rampant within the walls of Oakland County's prestigious schools, clubs and charities. One evening, after dinner and couple of bottles of wine, Marybeth ventured back to the Johnson's home where she and Robin took turns sucking-off Jeffry before retiring off to Robin's personal enclave. It was over coffee the next morning where she heard the whole story of the lifestyle, and that most in the Johnson's circle were very well off.

Being the enterprising real estate agent that she was, Marybeth suggested a party, one final blast, where fifty couples would pay $300,000 each for three days of sex, food and debauchery, the likes of which haven't been seen since the fall of the Roman Empire. And most importantly, a one-in-fifty chance of winning the estate at a drawing held on Sunday afternoon.

The party was this coming weekend.

"So, I liked the second and the fourth house, and the blow job of course, but what I'm really interested in is attending the Johnson party."

The ever so self-confident real estate agent managed a stoic stare. Marybeth took a sip of wine, gathered herself and finally played stupid, "What Johnson party?"

"The Johnson party. Or should I frame it as the Johnson orgy."

Remembering that I might still be a legit home buyer, "Okay listen, there is a get together, but it's not what you think. Also, there's no way I can take you."

"First of all, it is what I think, and second, why, are you already taking someone?"

"Now that you mention..."

"Don't. I know you're not talking anyone--yet."

"How is that, Mr. Know-it-all?"

"Last week I took $1,000 off Jeff Johnson at Oakland Hills—he's a terrible golfer and a worse gambler—but he's been playing with house money since he popped out of the womb, so a grand to him is like an old penny to the rest of us.

"We're up in the men's grill after the round. Jeff gets a few scotches in him and starts blabbing to me like we're childhood buds. He asks me if I'm in the market for a house, I say sort of, and he tells me about his. Well I'm not in that market, but I'm looking. Then he says, 'Well have I got an agent for you. Looks like a movie star, sucks like a porn star.' "

"Me."

"You."

"Great."

"Yeah, I wouldn't worry about it. He's a flake of biblical proportions and, based on quick calculations, you're about to make about a half-million dollar payday."

"I don't have to be there to earn it. And you can read that anyway you like."

"I know you don't have to be there, but I'm pretty sure you want to be. He said it was a real turn on how you and Robin French-kissed after he came in your mouth."

"Bastard."

"You may as well take a wing man, just in case you need someone to fall back to. We obviously get along swimmingly."

"Yeah, for someone I've know for all of nine hours."

"Then it's a date. I'll pick you up Thursday afternoon."

Marybeth finally agreed, and told me she was staying in the Townsend Hotel, her ex got the house, and to meet her there at 2 pm.

As we were parting she said one last thing. "They're taking blood at the door and testing it every which way 'till Sunday. No one as much as shakes a hand until they pass the screening."

On Thursday afternoon Marybeth was waiting for me when I pulled up, albeit a few minutes late. Dressed in a tight, short skirted crimson business suit with no top under the coat, only the latest from Victoria Secrets enhancing her already enhanced breasts—a look favored by woman in the Manhattan financial racket, not Michigan real estate—she looked radiant.

She tossed a small suitcase in the backseat of my STS, and pulled out some paperwork as she slid in the passenger side. "Wire transfers. I've got to make sure all the money has hit. No money, no party." She was all business, at least for now.

We rolled up to the estate's gated front, passed the first checkpoint of security and were allowed to go onto the main entrance. There we were double checked at the valet stop, and when cleared, handed over our keys.

The place was immense, too big to take in with one view. Massive limestone pillars and walls, surrounded by oaks, pines and maples. Hardly the image one conjures up when thinking of middle-aged flower children, but there you have the contradiction of inherited wealth and time on one's hands.

Two porters, one black, one white, each about six-three, appeared from nowhere. With chiseled torsos wrapped tightly in what resembled a gymnast's uniform, they grabbed our bags from the trunk and were instructed to escort us to bungalow four.

"Nice codpiece," I said, nodding to Marybeth is reference to the bulge in their pants.

"Nope, that's the real deal. The hired help," Marybeth explained as we followed them down. "Robin told me she brought in four men and four women, each with spectacular features and skill sets, just to add flavor to the event. The guys go a minimum of 10-inches. I believe the women are former Playmates. Something like that."

"She get them out of a catalogue? I mean, how does one shop for people like that?"

"Money has its privileges."

"I guess. Impressive packages if I do say so myself."

"You think? I expect you won't mind, but I can't wait to see and feel what one of these guys looks like unwrapped."

"No go right ahead. That is the name of the game isn't it--orgy?"

"Good. I thought it would be best to clear that up right away. I don't want you getting possessive on me, and quite frankly, I'm a big girl and I tend to get what I want. And want this weekend is to get a little sluty with strangers," Marybeth stated, in what I was finding to be her very blunt and matter of fact manner. "And it's not like I'm going to keep you from what you're after."

"What if you're one of the things I'm after?"

"I'm sure we'll get around to that."

It was easy to tell why Marybeth was one of the area's top real estate agents, and also why she'd been married and divorced three times by her mid-40's. She was a major league ball-buster alright, but I signed on for a good time, not a long time, and anything she wanted was fine by me.

We walked a brick path about a hundred yards from the front on the house to bungalow four. It was a two-bedroom, two bath cottage with a kitchen and dining area and living space. A small pool was located between number four and three. It would easily go for $750,000 on it's own in this neighborhood.

"We each get a room?" I disappointedly asked.

"No, sir," said Nate, the black porter whose muscles flared when he spoke. "You and MS. Strong will be in the room on the right. Another couple will be joining you in the bungalow."

"Thanks." I reached in my pocket for a tip, but was interrupted.

"No tipping sir," said Evan, the white Adonis who placed my bag on the edge of the king size, four post bed. "We're being more than adequately compensated."

"Well I know Robin said 'no cash,' but can I show my gratitude another way?" Marybeth butted in, sliding next to Nate with a come hither look straight from central casting. It appeared "sluty with strangers" was off and running.

"We've got to get back out front," Nate stammered a bit.

"Not both of you," my anxious date said. "The rest of the guests aren't arriving until four."

Nate and Evan looked at each other, and Evan winked and left the bungalow.

"Good, now let's see if you come as advertised," Marybeth said as she unzipped Nate's shorts, with very little concern that I was still in the room, and began to fish-out a massive hunk of meat.

"Oh my God," she blurted out, truly startled by the girth. As she fondled it I thought it would stretch into next week.

"I'm definitely not going to put that thing inside me right now—you'll make the rest of the weekend pale by comparison. I'm going to save you for the grand finale."

A disappointed frown cascaded over Nate's face, which Marybeth caught.

"But don't worry, I'm not going to leave you hanging."

With that, Marybeth descended to her knees and somehow managed to wrap her lips around the head of Nate's massive cock. I more or less stood in awe. One, at the size of this guy's dick, and two, that she was able to get any of it in her mouth. But not only did she get the head in, she was beginning to move up and down on it.

Slowly and cautiously, Marybeth took in more and more of Nate. A one step forward, two steps back approach, until it appeared he butted against the back of her throat. She paused, still with less than half of Nate's prodigious cock in her mouth.

For my part this was now spectator sport, sort of like watching an Olympic gymnast working through her routine, to see if she can score a perfect ten. I didn't even notice that our hostess, Robin Johnson, had wandered in the bungalow.

"She's amazing, isn't she?" Robin whispered to me as she wrapped her arm around my waist and nuzzled close.

"Quite frankly, most women have reduced the art of the blow job to nothing more than jerking a guy off with the tip of his penis on their lips. Marybeth is one of the few we've met who give it the attention to detail a man so richly deserves."

We formally introduced ourselves as we watched Marybeth tongue bathe the Nate's cock, giving each of his balls a good suck before taking him back into her mouth.

Robin had the look of a well-aged, fair-haired flower child, while still maintaining the sharp-edged facial features that made her a Vogue cover girl staple in the 70's. A very attractive willowy blonde with streaks of gray and piercing blue eyes, she was barefooted and attired in a modest sun dress, and I doubt anything else, based on the feel of her breast up against my arm.

Both of us were mesmerized as Marybeth had managed to take most of Nate down her throat, leaving her nose just shy of his trimmed pubes. She retreated, then ascended, methodically sucking off the biggest cock I'd ever seen.

"You don't realize how difficult that is, unless of course you're bi," Robin said in a hushed voice.

"I'm not."

"Didn't think so. Anyway, I tried both him and Evan last night and couldn't take more than a few inches of either. I can give head with the best of them, if I do say so myself, but those two are gargantuan."

Marybeth was working the first half of Nate's cock back and force in her mouth with a pretty good pace, while quickly stroking the rest with her right hand. He had his eyes shut and mouth open, letting out a soft moan every minute or so.

For my part I'd been sporting wood for about ten minutes, what with the world class exhibition in front of me, and the free-spirited former cover girl draping herself behind me.

She's very impressive," Robin said as slowly lowered the hand that was around my waist down to the front of my shorts. "That's the main reason my husband hired her. Anybody can sell a house, but we've swung all over the world, and very few can suck dick and eat pussy like Marybeth."

The second part came as a surprise, though I don't know why, but my attention was now divided. Nate's breathing had picked up, and he had Marybeth's head in his hands, gently getting her to take as much of him in her throat as she could. He appeared moments away from exploding.

Robin was rubbing my ass with her right hand, her left hand down the top of my shorts, slowly whacking me off. All the while her chin on my shoulder; eyes riveted on scene in front of us.

"Oh fuck baby, I can't take anymore," Nate spoke for the first time, firmly gripped Marybeth's skull, and grunted as he trusted forward, gagging her as he came.

She backed off slightly, but continued pumping his spit-shined, gleaming cock, accepting the torrent that was flooding her mouth. He moaned a couple more times before he fell back on the bed, spent. Marybeth swallowed the last of it, and slipped to the floor.

"Bravo, bravo," Robin cheered out, removing her hands from my shorts and politely applauding, operatic style. "Marybeth, you are hands down the best cock sucker I have ever seen. And given how many I've seen, that is high praise my dear.

"Now, I got some work to finish as well. I couldn't live with myself if I knew I blue-balled your date; especially given the circumstances of the occasion."

Robin dropped to her knees and simultaneously spun me around to face her. My shorts were undone and around my ankles in a flash, and my cock bobbed up and down while she was tickling the underside of its head with her tongue.

Nate, a true professional, asked if there was anything else that we needed before he left, and Marybeth excused herself to the bathroom while Robin took all of me down her throat at once.

"I'm not going to be as challenging as the hired studs."

Robin let me plop out of her mouth, then said, "Trust me, you're a welcome change. Cocks such as those men have are all about conquest. There's not much pleasure in having something like that jammed in your gullet, only in being able to say afterwards that you did it. Besides, you've got a wonderful cock, and I'm truly going to enjoy every second of making you come."

I was back in Robin's mouth, the head of my cock being teased with her swirling tongue, when Marybeth walked out of the bathroom, stark naked.