The Party Ch. 02

She was woken when someone tapped her gently on the shoulder.

Opening her eyes, she saw only a single person there—a tall, lanky guy, clearly shy and hesitant, looking down at her apprehensively. He was naked, of course, and his impressive member was already stiff; but he seemed uncertain how to proceed, or whether he should be there at all.

She somehow felt the need to put him at ease.

"What's your name?" she said.

"Trevor," he said.

"I'm Joan."

"I know."

"What would you like?" she said with a warm smile.

But those words—seemingly innocuous, but perhaps more explicit than he was expecting—seemed to spook him. His eyes widened, and his cock inadvertently quivered.

"Um, just the usual," he muttered.

She laughed a little at that. "Okay," she said, holding out her arms—apparently the way she had done to Frank.

Trevor slipped into bed next to her, simply gazing at her whole body as if he had never seen a naked woman before. He licked his lips and extended a hand over one of her breasts—but then paused and said, "Can I touch?"

She felt it quaint that he thought he needed permission. "Sure, you can touch me anywhere."

He did something she wasn't expecting. He almost flung himself at her, burying his head between her breasts and using his hands to squeeze those breasts against either side of his face. He inhaled deeply, taking in their heady aroma, then took hold of one breast with both hands and, gazing momentarily at the erect nipple, covered it with his lips. He actually sucked on it, as if somehow hoping he could draw nourishment from it, then licked it with his tongue and even nibbled it gently with his teeth. Then he let one hand go down Joan's back and seized her bottom, giving it a good squeeze while continuing to pay homage to her breasts.

All this action was stimulating Joan herself, and she let out a loud sigh. He looked up at her, his expression worried. Have I done something wrong?

She reassured him. "This feels really good, Trevor."

His eyes shone and he grinned broadly as he continued to stroke her all over. She could feel his erect cock rubbing up against her thighs. Then he moved up and placed himself directly on top of her, his body draped between her spreadeagled legs.

But as he seemed ready to enter her, he paused uncertainly.

She understood immediately.

"You haven't done this before, have you, Trevor?" she said softly, in as sympathetic a voice as she could manage.

He shook his head miserably, as if admitting that he had failed a final exam.

"But you know what to do, don't you?" she said.

"I think so," he whispered.

"It's not hard. Just go for it."

He took his own cock in one hand and guided it carefully into the sought-after aperture. He made the rookie mistake of starting too high—and even though she liked his rubbing the tip against her clitoris, she said helpfully, "A little lower, dear."

That simple endearment seemed to encourage him more than her instructions, as he now slipped in suddenly. Both of them let out a gasp. He was quite well-endowed—at least eight inches—and he had thrust half that length into her in one motion. At first he just gloried in the sensation, his eyes getting wide and his tongue sticking out of his mouth a little; then he sent more of his shaft into her, little by little, until he was fully in her.

He let out a choking gasp and fell on top of her, putting all his weight on her. But then he propped himself up on his elbows and began thrusting—gently at first, then with greater vigor. It was obvious he was in transports, and he used his hands to paw her all over—face, shoulders, breasts, hips, bottom, thighs. By now he was pummeling her pretty hard, but she endured it graciously, wrapping her arms around his neck. This was, clearly, a hugely important moment in this young man's life, and she was intent on making it as meaningful as she could.

He managed to last just under ten minutes before showering her vagina with his voluminous discharge. That emission seemed to go on forever, as he uttered grunt after grunt while his cock pumped out more of his precious fluid. When at last he finished, he once again collapsed on top of her, relishing the feel of her entire body under his. He remained buried in her for as long as he could, until his softening member finally slipped out.

She gently urged him to get off, as his weight was getting uncomfortable. He rolled over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.

She gazed kindly at him, saying, "Was that nice?"

Without taking his eyes off the ceiling, he stated formally, "That was the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me."

He impulsively grabbed her and dumped her on top of his body, clutching her in a tight embrace. She laughed at his actions, but then she noticed a few tears leaking out of his eyes.

She brushed them away and gave him a long, lingering kiss on the mouth.

"You're a sweetheart, Trevor," she said.

He was incapable of speaking, and she was afraid his emotions might get the better of him. As it was, his face turned into a grimace as he slid out of bed and stumbled out of the room with a hasty "Thank you" in Joan's direction.

There was a bit of a pause, after which the onslaught continued.

When it was finally over, Mark drifted into the room. There was a curious glint in his eyes as he took in her naked beauty. As before, she made no effort to cover herself. By now she was almost glorying in the effect of her nakedness on the men in this house.

"I think," she said with more than a little pride, "I did eighteen guys tonight."

"Actually," Mark said, "I believe there were twenty-one."

"Oh, yeah. I keep forgetting those first three guys." Whom I still don't remember.

"Quite an accomplishment, I have to say."

"I was happy to do it. All the guys were really sweet. Especially that guy named Trevor. Is he still here?"

"No, he left."

"Left? Doesn't he live here?"

"No, he was just here for the party."

"I see."

Joan saw no need to tell Mark that Trevor had been a virgin; that was a private matter between herself and her quasi-lover. But then another question occurred to her.

"Mark, why didn't you . . .?"

"Didn't I what?" he said. But he must have known what she was getting at.

"Why didn't you . . . do me?"

That strange look that was in his eyes intensified, and he licked his lips.

"You're sensational, Joan—all the guys said so. But, you see, I have a girlfriend. In fact, we're more or less engaged. I wouldn't want to be unfaithful to her."

"No, you wouldn't," she said sternly. "Women don't like that."

"You don't know how much—" He cut himself off abruptly. "Anyway, I felt the need to kind of monitor what was going on here. I didn't want any of the fellows to—"

"I told you, they were just as sweet as could be."

"I'm glad to hear that." After a pause: "You must be tired."

"Yes, I'm pretty tired."

"Well, you can sleep here if you like, and we'll have a nice breakfast for you tomorrow morning."

"That would be very nice, thank you. But what about Frank? It's his bedroom, isn't it?"

"He'll find some other place to sleep."

"Okay."

"I'll see you in the morning."

And with that, Mark left. Joan wondered whether she could really sleep after all the action of the evening; but, to her surprise, she fell asleep almost at once.

*

The next morning, when she woke up, Joan was momentarily confused and disoriented. She almost never slept naked, so that itself was an oddity she couldn't account for; and why was she in this strange room? Then, in a flood of remembrance that caused her to blush, the events of the last night poured back into her mind.

I really couldn't have done all those guys, could I?

But her aching private parts convinced her that it had really happened.

She struggled out of bed, stiff and sore. The door to the bedroom was closed, but she still felt peculiarly exposed as she padded around the room naked. A quick glance reassured her that her handbag remained untouched on the top of the dresser—but where were her clothes?

Well, she couldn't wander out into the hall like this. She fished through the dresser and found a long T-shirt. Putting it on, she saw that it barely covered her delta, but that was at least decent enough for her to venture out of the room.

There was a guy she didn't recognize striding down the corridor, seemingly heading for the stairs. She reached out a hand to stop him and said, "Where are my clothes?"

He gazed at her with a smile and said, "Oh, yeah, your clothes. Just a minute—I'll get Mark."

In less than a minute Mark hove into view, carrying a pile of clothes in his hand.

"Here you are, Joan," he said.

The clothes—blouse, skirt, stockings, and shoes (in a separate plastic bag)—were all there, neatly folded, topped by her bra and panties. She took them from Mark, but both of them continued to stand uncertainly in the corridor.

"I, uh," he began hesitantly, "took the liberty of washing your underwear."

She was stunned. "You—you washed my underwear?"

This simple act struck her as more intimate than any of the things the other twenty-one guys had done to her last night.

Mark spoke in a rush. "Well, I figured you'd want a shower this morning. There's one in the bathroom at the end of the hall." He gestured vaguely behind him. "No one likes to put on soiled underwear after a shower. So I washed it."

She had a brief spell of dizziness. "Thank you."

"So you can shower, and then come down to breakfast, and then someone will take you home."

"Thank you," she said again.

But Mark didn't leave her, and she herself remained motionless, facing him.

"Um," he began hesitantly, "I'm just wondering if you might want to—you know, stay a while."

"Stay?"

"Yeah. All the guys thought you were fabulous, and they were hoping you might stick around for another day—or two. We'd give you all your meals, and whatever else you wanted. You could even stay till Monday morning, and we'd get someone to take you right to work."

Again a dizzy spell came over her. "And—and what would I have to do?"

"I think you know," he said in a low voice. "There are plenty of other guys who'd like to . . . make your acquaintance. So, if you want to do that, there's a nightgown in the bathroom that you can put on when you come down to breakfast. But if not, you can just get dressed and someone will take you home. It's your choice."

And with that, Mark almost ran down the stairs.

Joan shuffled toward the bathroom in a daze. Right now she couldn't decide whether to take up Mark on his incredible offer. All she wanted to do was to get into the shower and have the hot water cascade over her. Mark hadn't cleaned her up after the last wave of guys had been with her, and, as she peeled off the T-shirt she was wearing, she noticed that the telltale remains of their various emissions was all over her, dried and crusted—on her throat, breasts, stomach, back, bottom, and thighs. Moisture was leaking out of her vagina and anus.

She turned the water on as hot as she could stand it, and the soothing flow did a lot to revive her. In some ways she regretted letting the traces of come—the fitting tribute of all those guys to her desirability—go down the drain; and as she stroked her own body all over with her hands, she tried to imagine what those vigorous young men must have felt when fusing their bodies with hers.

When the shower was over, her mind became clear also. She toweled herself off, then gazed at the hook bearing the long, flowing nightgown and then at a countertop where her little pile of clothes lay. She chuckled to herself as she pondered over this "lady-or-the-tiger" moment, but there was really no doubt what her choice would be.

She slipped on the nightgown.

It was cool against her skin, but fit her quite well, going down to her ankles. She picked up the pile of clothes, went back to the room she had occupied last night, and placed it on the dresser next to her handbag. Then she went downstairs to breakfast.

She was greeted enthusiastically by all the guys present—there were at least ten of them, and she remembered most of them. A few welcomed her with hugs and kisses; others just looked at her admiringly. She was placed at the head of the long table, and in seconds a heaping plate of eggs, bacon, and toast was placed in front of her. At her request, a cup of hot coffee was also provided.

At the sight of the food, she realized she was ravenously hungry, and she dug in without a second thought. The guys had pretty much finished their own breakfasts, and they seemed content to watch her. Every now and then she looked up from her plate and gave one or the other of them a smile or even a wink. They're all such sweethearts!

She had a partial second helping, somewhat to her embarrassment. She couldn't remember the last time she had eaten so much for breakfast. But afterwards she felt wonderful—almost as if there was a glow about her.

Mark sidled into the room, noting with approval how much she had enjoyed the meal.

"I hope you don't mind if the guys start showing up around eleven o'clock," he said. It was 10:15 right now. "That'll give you some time to get ready."

"That will be fine," she said cheerfully.

She tripped happily up the stairs, feeling like a teenager. It only now dawned on her that she really wasn't feeling any ill effects from the previous night's exertions. Shouldn't she be sore in those critical areas of her body? She remembered one girl friend in college claiming she'd had sex all night with her boyfriend and admitting, "God, I can hardly walk today!" And in fact, that girl had really looked very much the worse for wear. True, Joan had been pretty stiff when she'd first woken up, but the shower and the breakfast had done wonders for her.

The guys started arriving, as expected, at eleven.

Most of them were in pairs, as they had somehow gotten the sense that she liked it that way. Sometimes a single guy came in, and once that morning there was a trio that did triple penetration in a different way from before. The first guy lay on his back, and Joan lay down on him on her back. He inserted his cock into her ass, whereupon a second guy shoved his cock into her vagina as she lay spreadeagled; then the third guy had squatted next to her head and stuffed his cock into her mouth. Two of the guys had held on to her breasts and squeezed them, while the guy in her vagina had grabbed her bottom and held on for dear life.

They came pretty much together, and she welcomed their discharge in her three orifices.

After about two hours, she was allowed a little rest. Putting on her nightgown again, she came downstairs and had some more coffee along with some pastries that had been purchased at a nearby bakery. She certainly wasn't hungry enough for a full lunch, and the light snack was just what she needed to revive her for the afternoon session.

In the midst of that session, after perhaps a dozen guys—some of whom she remembered, others of whom were new—had done her in various ways, Trevor came in.

He was naked, of course, and hard.

"Trevor, dear!" she cried, holding her arms out to him as she had done the night before. "How wonderful to see you!"

"Hi, Joan," he said. He slipped into bed next to her. "They said I could have you for an hour."

"That's fabulous!"

She sensed that Mark had become aware of her and Trevor's fondness for each other, so that he granted them this extra time.

She saw him casting a glance all over her body.

"I'm a bit of a mess, I'm afraid," she said. Mark hadn't been in yet with the washcloth, and there was come all over her, especially on her breasts. Some guys really liked shooting their seed there! Her pussy and anus were also leaking, as could be expected.

"I don't mind," he said, although she suspected he did—a little.

"How've you been?" she said.

"Great," he said. "I—I heard you were still here, so I came back."

"I'm so glad you did. You're a dear, sweet man."

He actually blushed at the compliment, but Joan had meant every word of it. There really was something about this young man—he couldn't have been more than twenty or twenty-one—that moved her. It wasn't any kind of misplaced maternal instinct; maybe it was more like an older sister wanting to guide her brother along the road to maturity. (But sisters don't sleep with their brothers, do they?)

Without warning, Trevor leaped on top of her, burying his head on her chest. Joan began to sense that he, like many other men, found something incredibly comforting about a woman's breasts. It wasn't any recollection of suckling at a mother's teats (who remembered that, anyway?); it was, instead, some indefinable aura of warmth, security, and protection that these magical hemispheres exuded. But they were a stimulus too; and Trevor, paying no attention to the remnants of other men's deposits, kneaded and kissed and licked her tits avidly—and then scooted up her body and firmly entered her.

His initial thrusts were frenetic, but he later settled down into a comfortable rhythm that allowed him to stroke her all over, especially her back and bottom. She took in his full length easily, feeling an intense unity with him that surpassed what she felt with the many other men she had had. And when he came, he let out an almost anguished cry that signaled his grateful bestowal of the tribute of his seed.

Since there was no need for a hurried departure, he lay on top of her for minutes, even after his cock had slipped out of her. But then he raised his head and gazed directly at her, a look of concern, almost of worry, on his face.

"Did you come?" he asked, and it became clear that he had a lot riding on a positive answer. But she did not wish to deceive him. She could easily have lied, but she said:

"No, dear. Women don't usually come from intercourse. But I was close—really close."

"Can I—can I finish?"

"Certainly."

"With my mouth?"

"If you like."

The prospect worried her a bit, only because she didn't know how he'd respond to so much come—his and others'—seeping out of that aperture. But he didn't seem to mind in the least, and he lapped up the mingled fluids in that area with relish while almost accidentally stimulating her clitoris with lips and tongue. The climax she had was thoroughly genuine and entirely satisfying. Trevor watched with profound gratification as she arched her back, clutched the sheets with her fists, and cried out uncontrollably, eyes tightly shut and a heartrending little frown on her face.

"Oh, Trevor," she said, after catching her breath, "that was wonderful!"

"I'm glad," he said simply.

But it seemed that her orgasm had aroused him once more, as she could tell from the stiff ramrod rubbing up against her thigh. She was just about to ask if he wanted to go into her again when he said:

"Can I go into your bottom?"

"Of course you may," she said, sounding like a mother giving her son an extra cookie from the cookie jar.

There was no need for lube, as she was quite wet back there. Trevor may have expected her to get on hands and knees, but she advised him that her lying flat on her stomach was a better position, and he didn't argue. He took his hard shaft in his hand and, gazing with a kind of awe at the dark orifice—gaping a little from previous men's entries—he tentatively inserted it there. A little effort was required to get the head through, but after that he slipped in almost faster than he expected.

In seconds he was in up to the hilt, and then he started grinding his hips into Joan, overwhelmed with the tightness and naughtiness of this new position. Instinctively he reached around her to grab those heavenly breasts, almost crushing her with his weight; but she liked to have him pressing down on her as she lay passive and receptive to his pumping. He kissed her hair, her cheek, her earlobe, her neck, and her shoulders as she endured his increasingly powerful thrusts. And when he came, he shouted joyfully almost directly into her ear as his emission flooded her.