The Johnson Party Ch. 02

It's been a while since the first installment, so if you're not inclined to go back and read chapter one, here's a synopsis.

I had finagled my way to the ultimate swingers weekend at the home of Robin and Jeffry Johnson, 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.

During the 1970's Robin was a staple on the runways of New York and Paris, and featured on the cover of more than 50 magazines. Jeffry's family was in the supply side of auto business, and his grandfather stood alongside Henry Ford as they tried to bust the unions.

Married for more than thirty years, they had become 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 Johnson's were ready to relocate full-time to their private island in the Antilles. One problem, they couldn't sell their home 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.

My date, so to speak, was their realtor, MaryBeth Strong, who could do two things with great proficiency: sell real estate and give head. 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.

I may have suggested to MaryBeth that if she brought me to the party, I'd buy one of the million dollar homes she had listed. She took me up on the offer, and at the moment we were rinsing off together in a glass-walled shower the size of a small bedroom.

I massaged her shoulders while she licked-off the sexual residue left on my torso from an encounter I had moments ago with a Lisa, a Golden Global awarding winning actress who was staying in a bungalow on the other side of the pool. Her date was a notorious homosexual Hollywood producer who was told he could come, but had to bring someone the straight boys could play with.

"This is the first time I've ever been in a shower with a man who didn't have an erection," MaryBeth said, playing with my flaccid penis.

"This is probably the first time you've been in a shower with a man who within the last 90-minutes had been sucked-off by a former Sports Illustrated Swimsuit model, plus got his eyes fucked-out by movie star with a reputation for bedding all of her co-stars, and then some."

"True, but that doesn't make me feel any better," she said with a feigned pout, before wrapping her lips around my still limp cock.

"I didn't think you were all that interest in me to begin with?" I said.

Momentarily releasing me, "It's not about you, it's about me. Watching you and the movie star made me hornier than hell, and the finger job I gave myself while you were having volcanic orgasms didn't quite cut it. Now come on, get hard."

MaryBeth moved her magical mouth to my nuts. She swirled them around like they were mini chocolate Easter eggs while pumping my dick like she was trying to prime a keg. Quite frankly, I thought I was spent, but amazingly the blood ran back to my groin and my cock began to show signs of life.

Once it looked like I was going to be of use to her after all, MaryBeth stood up, then bent over and said, "It's time for you to earn your invitation. Fuck me."

I didn't need to be told twice, and I positioned the head of my well-worn penis at her pussy. It was greeted by the steaming heat of a woman in need of a good rutting, and I met no resistance as I slid into her as deep as I could at the first go at it.

I slowly pulled out, and reentered with the same pace a few times, before my tempo was interrupted.

"I didn't say make love to me, I said 'fuck me,' MaryBeth snapped. "I'm already more than warmed up, and besides, I'm on a tight schedule. So just fuck me."

With that she braced herself against the glass. I grabbed her hips and began to slam into her like I was trying to knock her through the wall.

This was actually the first time I had "been" with MaryBeth, what with just having met her within the past few weeks. She had given me a blow job to remember in the foyer of a house she had listed as an enticement to buy--Christ, could this girl suck dick--but that's as far as I had gotten. Quite frankly, I thought she was going to play hard to get, if one can actually play hard to get at a fuck fest, but the visual stimulation of the starlet bouncing up and down on my crotch and cumming until she almost cried had obviously gotten the better of her.

The leverage MaryBeth had created against the glass, along with her slick cunt, made taking her doggie-style a breeze. She began to pant in rhythm to my thrusts, and it appeared I was justifying my existence at this party quite nicely.

"Uh, uh, uh, oh shit, that's good, keep doing that," she grunted.

MaryBeth reached down with one hand and started to work her clit over as I continuing my torment. Even with the spray from the water jets, I could tell she was working up a bit of a sweat, and was nearing a climax.

"Oh God, oh God, just don't stop. Oh fucking God, don't stop!"

Moving my hands off her hips, I found her magnificently augmented breasts, and twisted her nipples like I was working a combination lock. That was pretty much all she wrote.

"Oh my God, oh my fucking God I'm gonna cum. Just fuck me you bastard. Oh shit, oh, oh, oh, yes, oh yes, fuck me as hard as you can. Ugh, uhg, oh Goddddd......"

She squeezed her ass cheeks tight, and froze for a minute, trying to regain her breath and composure. I'm fairly certain she didn't want to be seen as being sexually needy, but I certainly didn't have any problem with it.

MaryBeth stood-up and stretched for a moment, turned around and gave me a smirk. I shot one right back at her.

"What, you want me to say thank you?" she asked, as if that would be the last thing in the world she would do.

"Actions speak louder than words," I said, with a glance down toward my still hard penis.

"Sorry, no time," and with that she turned the water from hot to cold and I almost leaped out of the shower. "We have to get ready for the dinner."

Son of a bitch, I got blue-balled at an orgy.

The black-tie dinner, the formal opening ceremonies of the weekend if you will, was held in the ballroom of the mansion. The men dressed in traditional tuxedos, nothing more than what one would find at a holiday fund raiser. The women, on the other hand, were resplendent in vibrant evening gowns, featuring plunging necklines and open backs that bottomed out at the top of their bottoms.

MaryBeth looked spectacular in a bright red number with a V-neck that dropped to her navel, providing the perfect framework for her marvelously designed breasts. They were, as she had often boasted, the best money could buy.

After some brief introductions, MaryBeth headed off to do what ever it was she needed to do. She was, after all, working. Couples were split-up anyway, a tradition of sorts I was told, and I took my place at a table for six near the back of the room.

I was seated between Gretchen, a dark-featured German ex-patriot living in Monte Carlo, who had her hand on my thigh from the moment I sat down, and Maude, a statuesque woman with chiseled facial features, brilliant blue eyes, and tightly cropped silvery hair. Maude introduced herself to the table by announcing she was the one who taught our hostess, Robin Johnson, how to eat pussy when they were models with the Ford Agency in the '70's.

There were some announcements from the front of the room, basically thanking every one for partaking in the event/raffle/orgy, and rules of engagement. Then a meal suitable for Roman Emperors was served.

Also at my table was Frank, who along with his wife Renee were staying in the other suite of cottage 4, where MaryBeth and I were bunking; Julie, a knock-out with blue-hair, who was one of the infamous Tredo sisters, the sex-goddess triplets who were hired to play with the guests during the weekend (one dyed her hair red, one white, and Julie blue in honor of the 4th of July); and Don, a former NFL quarterback who I came to learn had a number of business dealings with Jeffry Johnson, along with the sexual appetite of a professional athlete. Good for him.

Frank was admiring Don's Super Bowl ring, and before we were finished with our salads Julie had disappeared beneath the table. By the change of expression on his face, coupled with a sudden lack of interest in football, apparently the hired help was servicing my housemate.

After a moment or two the work being done beneath the table was recognized above, as Frank began to verbalize his pleasure. "Oh shit," spilled from his lips as the catering waitress was pouring him another glass of wine.

"Is there something wrong with your filet, sir?"

"No, his meat is fine," responded a voice from below the tablecloth.

For my part, I was transfixed on the conversation taking place at my end of table between Gretchen and Maude, which centered on the Sapphic conquests of both. Who, what, when, where, and how (why seemed obvious), and throughout the dialogue Gretchen never took her hand off my leg. By the time the entrée arrived I was hard as a rock from listening to the adventures of seasoned muff divers.

During the meal Julie had come up for air and a bite to eat, dropped back down and took a ration of protein from the football legend, popped back up to wash it down with a tequila shooter and cleanse her palate with a lemon sorbet, and as dessert hit the table she had made her way between my legs.

"Julie, be a dear and let him percolate a bit longer," Maude said, to my disappointment. I really, really needed to cum. "We've got this gentleman so torqued-up with our naughty trip down memory lane I'd feel like a nasty tease if we didn't let him see first hand what we're talking about."

I was dumbfounded.

"If it's alright with you, Gretchen and I would like you to accompany us back to her room for an after dinner drink and whatnot. Granted, Julie gives masterful blow-jobs, but she'll be around all weekend. What we're about to show you, well, it might be a once in a lifetime opportunity."

That comment elicited affirmative nods from the other men at the table.

"Ah, sure," I mumbled.

We said quick goodbyes, Julie said she'd give me a rain check, we and headed out of the ballroom. I took a quick glance around the various tables, saw a number of splendid looking people, both male and female, but couldn't see MaryBeth. Not to worry, I'm sure she was more than fending for herself.

It seemed like we walked a few minutes before we came upon a grand staircase, and headed upwards. Being the gentleman I was, and not knowing where I was going, I let the ladies lead the way. I also wanted to get a glimpse at what I was apparently going to be getting myself into.

Gretchen looked to be just over five feet tall, and had a solid, stocky build, like a swimmer, with broad, strong shoulders and moderate sized breasts. Not drop-dead gorgeous, but attractive in that party-girl, fuck-buddy sort of way. She was probably in her mid thirties.

Maude was just a tad under my six feet, most of it legs, and she had apparently remained on a model's diet her entire life. Wispy thin with smallish breasts and pronounced cheekbones, she was the embodiment of the classic, aged beauty. Given the time references she made during her sexual tales at dinner, my best guest put her around 60, though she didn't look like she'd seen her 50th birthday.

"I'm a lesbian who can tolerate a penis now and then," Maude said in my direction as we ascended the stair case. "My lovely Gretchen here is a world renowned nymphomaniac, who will fuck just about anyone or anything."

"No animals," Gretchen interjected.

"That's technically true dear, but you have to admit that there was something beastly about that Russian oil tycoon you were balling in the late 1990s."

At the top of the stairs we turned left and passed about a half dozen rooms as we made our way to Gretchen's. My guess is that there were an equal number on both ends of the hallway.

A couple of doors were closed, but the one right before Gretchen's was open, and sounds of fun were floating into the hall. I peered in and saw Lisa, the awarding winning actress who rode me to what she described as the best orgasm of her life, reprising her role aboard an unidentifiable man.

I gave her a little wave, still trying to develop a sense of orgy etiquette, and she blew me a kiss.

"Kirk, come now," said Gretchen, who spoke relatively decent English, but with that commanding German undertone. "Once we shut the door we're not getting up to open it for anyone."

I waved again and basically sprinted to her room, which was sort of like calling a Cadillac a car. The place had to be 1,000 square-feet with the focal piece being, well take your pick, you could go with the larger than king-sized four-post canopy bed, the fireplace, the polar bear skin rug, complete with polar bear head in front of the fireplace, or the sunken hot tub.

I'd become accustom to some of the finer things in life, but I'd never seen anything like this. I began to wonder if the rooms were randomly assigned, of if there was any special skill set that Gretchen possessed that elevated her to accommodations of this nature.

While awestruck by the room, I almost missed, but fortunately didn't, the ceremonial discarding of the gowns. As if on queue, Gretchen and Maude simultaneously pulled their dresses off their shoulders, and let gravity do the rest. And while I'm certain they each owned a small fortune's worth of lingerie, neither bothered to wear any this evening. There is something extraordinary about watching silk cascade off a naked woman onto the floor.

Maude leaned down toward Gretchen, cupped one of her breasts, caressed its nipple with her thumb, and kissed Gretchen full on the mouth. While lingering there for a good couple of minutes, Maude ran her other hand through Gretchen's hair, then massaged her neck and back before coming to rest upon her firm backside.

"Grab a drink and seat, but keep your hands off yourself," Maude instructed me. "We have all night, and when I'm done it'll be your turn to play with her." With that, the German was gently lowered onto the bearskin rug.

Maude ran her tongue from under Gretchen's right ear, down her neckline and collarbone, right arm and inner elbow, paused, and then methodically repeated process on Gretchen's left side. Gretchen cooed, quietly affirming that Maude's actions were indeed pleasurable and appreciated.

Maude slowly sucked on the fingers of Gretchen's left hand before sliding over between her friend's legs, which were welcomingly splayed. Maude bathed Gretchen's inner thighs with kisses and nuzzles while running her fingernails across the bottom of her feet, up her calves and inner knees, and again received deep moans of gratitude, with the occasional verbal compliment of how good everything felt.

After Maude brushed, caressed, kissed or rubbed every inch of Gretchen's skin in what seemed like a highly choreographed erotic mating ritual, she finally ascended to Gretchen's groove with long, slow licks. Alternating from one side of her labia to the other, Maude nibbled on her younger lover's flesh, and had her panting deeply and squirming about the floor.

Gretchen began to buck when Maude pulled back her outer lips and danced her tongue over and around her clit. Pinching and twisting her own nipples, Gretchen let out guttural moans of pleasure that filled the room when Maude sucked hard on her moist, little nub and tugged on it with her teeth.

It was all I could do to keep from pulling my cock out and spanking off as I watched this pussy-eating virtuoso drive Gretchen to ecstasy.

But instead of bringing the German to climax, Maude teasingly pulled away, and returned her attention to Gretchen's upper thighs, and softly blew on Gretchen's exposed clit. The German's pleads to return were ignored, as Maude drifted upward, now licking and kissing each of Gretchen's breasts and flaring nipples.

Gretchen was ready to explode, and grabbed Maude's head, forcing it back down to finish the job. Maude lowered herself, and slowly licked over Gretchen's perineum before sticking the tip of her tongue in Gretchen's butt. The German sighed out that she couldn't take it any more, at which Maude dove into the German's pussy.

Maude once again drew back Gretchen's clitoral hood and tongue-bathing her clit, sending the German into mini gyrations. And when Maude wet her middle finger and slid it up into the German's butthole, Gretchen arched her back and screamed out something in her native tongue that I'm sure translated into, "My God is that fucking wonderful."

Maude came up for air just as her young conquest slammed her legs closed and wiggled around with orgasmic aftershocks.

"Pour me some champagne, will you dear," Maude said, as she lay down next to the well spent German, gently working her own pussy with the finger that had most recently been inside Gretchen.

"As you wish," I said as I grabbed a bottle of the ridiculously expensive beverage and trickled a bit of the golden liquid into Maude's navel, and watched as it overflowed and fed down between her legs. I followed its path with my nose, stopping only to brush across her artfully manicured grayish pubes.

I moved her hand away and darted my tongue to the top of her sopping-wet crease, and she let out a quick yelp when I flicked my tongue against her protruding clit. She had obviously turned herself on while eating out Gretchen, and was very near cumming herself.

When I grazed her button between my teeth it sent currents up her spine, and she said,

"Finish me," between deep breathes and gulps for air.

I replicated her move of wetting a finger and inserting it firmly up into her. She arched her back as I worked my finger deep in her core, and screamed out in combined agony and ecstasy when I all but sucked her clit out of her pussy, drenching my face and the bearskin rug in the process of reaching a magnificent orgasm.

The three of us lay there for a moment, before Maude gathered herself enough to speak. "My, for a man you sure do know how to give a woman satisfying head. Now, we definitely need to do something about that cock of yours, it must be terribly uncomfortable in that angry state it's in."

"I agree, but I'm only going to last about three minutes--the first time," I said, explaining that the cumless fuck I had with MaryBeth in the shower, combined with the dinner conversation and the performance I just watched, and participated in, had me locked and loaded.

"Well then a quick blow job is in order. But since I absolutely detest the taste of semen, perhaps Gretchen will help take the edge off."

Gretchen didn't hesitate, and the zipper on my tux was down and my cock was in her mouth before Maude had poured herself a drink.

There wasn't much technique involved, but it wasn't necessary. Gretchen bobbed up and down a couple of times, then slid my cock down her throat in one swift motion. I didn't even last as long as I thought I might, as a load of jism burst out of my loins the moment her nose nestled in among my short hairs. Gretchen swallowed it down so easily it's as if it never happened, and immediately told me to discard the rest of my clothing, and join the two of them for a champagne break.

I took a spot between the two of them on the polar bear, and sipped Dom Perignon, and ate truffles and chocolate covered strawberries while listening to more stories of the lady's past sexual exploits.