Wasn't That a Party

"Okay, I'll hold on till our Wednesday Girl's Night." Apparently, they had a regular tryst. Who knew? The screen went blank shortly after they sidled out the door, and we took advantage of the break to take a pee and refill our coffee. As we sat down, side-by-side in front of the screen, Gayle produced a bottle of Bailys; "To enrich the java," she explained, pouring herself a generous amount before passing the bottle to me.

With refreshment in hand, we settled back to watch subsequent files, the first of which must have triggered only a couple of minutes after the two women had left. Two fellows stepped confidently into the room, already in conversation. "Ugh! Those two..., arrogant bastards, the pair of them. Think they're God's gift to women."

"Don't hold back," I replied. "Tell us how you really feel."

She snorted a sort of dismissive laugh. "Rick and Dane, the two office Lotharios; cads if ever there were any."

"Shhhh! Listen."

"...like I remembered: out of the way; locking door; king bed; ensuite. Perfect for a little seductive lady-killing." The taller one looked around before continuing. "Chatted up that cute little redhead—Belle, the one introduced to us as the...," here he drew air-quotes. "new neighbour. Hubby is getting shit-faced in the TV room.

"Told her I wanted to show her something confidential. Got that close," he indicated with a nearly closed forefinger to thumb, "to getting her in here."

"Bullshit!" Gayle hissed.

As they turned to leave again, the other guy piped up, "You know who might just be ripe for the picking, M..."

"They're such pricks!" Gayle said in disgust. "I don't know why we even invite them."

"Fine looking specimens, though," I suggested, only partially in jest.

Still in the guest-room feed, the next triggered recording was the same two, a short time later with Steve's PA, Mary-Ann, one of the regulars, in tow. As they closed the door behind her, she asked, sounding somewhat puzzled, and a little bit tipsy, "So, what's so important that you have to speak to me in private?"

"Well," began the tall one, Rick, "we thought it best to speak to you face to face, before approaching HR."

"About what?" Mary-Ann demanded, her body visibly stiffening.

"Your prancing around the office, flaunting your charms like a little cock-teasing slut," Dane replied, sounding as if that was painfully obvious.

"Word is," Rick added, with a sly grin, "you only put out for Steve."

"Who said that?"

"Doesn't matter. And, in any case, whether it's true or not, it'd be bad for business—bad for your career, eh? If it ever got out. Not to mention if hubby got wind of it?"

"Fiancé."

"Oh. Is he here?"

Flabbergasted, Mary-Ann answered automatically, although, obviously, the last thing she wanted was to continue that conversation. "No. Prior commitment."

Now that was a surprising turn of events. Gwen and I both sat up and leaned forward, listening attentively.

"Now here's the situation as we see it. We," here Dane indicated himself and Rick, "could add grist to rumour-mill—or," he paused for the effect. "Or, we could quell any nasty rumours—if you're really nice to us."

Rick, added with a histrionic wink, "It's up to you."

"That's blackmail!"

"No, just taking sides."

Mary-Ann stared at the two, motionless, obviously torn, then, even through the lens of the nanny-cam and its monitor, we could see her shoulders slump in defeat, or resignation—which she quickly confirmed, lifting her chin, "Okay. What do you want?"

Almost impatiently, Rick grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her into a hard kiss. Interestingly there was no pleading; no loud insistent protests. She just raised her face dispassionately to accept his mouth on hers; otherwise, she stood motionless.

I raised a questioning eyebrow. "What?" Gayle asked defensively, "You think she's doing Steve?"

"No. It's just Interesting that she didn't deny—anything."

"Nope," Gayle stated confidently, "Not Steve." She then added, in, I thought, a less than charitable voice, enough denial to go round, saying, "She's just feeding the mystery, that's all." With that she began rotating through the three camera views showing the guest-room from different angles.

Rick's woodie, obvious in his tight slacks, looked to be unavoidably noticeable, pressing against Mary-Ann's pubis and pussy. Dane stepped up behind her and pressed his body against her back, reaching around and grabbing her boobs firmly. His equally conspicuous erection seated itself between her butt cheeks. With the pressure from behind, Rick let go of her shoulders and cupped the crook of her jaw to firmly hold his lip-lock. Unexpectedly, Mary-Ann's hands rose to lock around Rick's neck, as she wiggled her hips and thrust back and forth against the hardening packages. Then, arching her back hard against Dane's chest, she pulled her mouth off Rick's and purred, "By the feel of things perhaps the scuttlebutt on you two is true." Mary-Ann's 'come-hither' tone sounded much more complicit than victimized.

"And what, pray tell, is that?

"Oh, just that you're both, supposedly, rather well-hung."

"And you'd like to—what?—confirm those rumours?"

"Or disprove them." Mary-Ann had, somehow, transmogrified from quarry to willing participant, in the blink of an eye.

Rick gave a little chuckle, and said, "In order to do that, we need to get naked! Check the door, will you, Dane." Rick, then, moved back in to kiss Mary-Ann's raised lips, working, at the same time, to remove his pants. Mary-Ann's hands pawed his chest. With a glance and a wink over her shoulder, Rick confirmed that his buddy, Dane, was also shedding his raiment. Mary-Ann, her hands fiddling idly with her buttons, turned to the side to watch the double reveal. Her wide eyes and wide grin indicated that she was, indeed, impressed.

As she was still fully clothed, Dane complained, "If we're going to do 'Show and Tell' we all have to undress. It's only fair."

And Rick piped in, "Here, let us give you a hand." Thus began a frenzied rush to disrobe and expose: Rick, giving up on the zipper of Mary-Ann's skirt, and just tugging it down over her hips; Dane's, hands at her chest, becoming frustrated—popping buttons and ripping fabric. Mary-Ann tried to help, shrugging her torn blouse from her shoulders.

"Holy shit!" Gayle hissed, "Did you see the equipment they're carrying?" Indeed, they were both hung like horses!

In their blind hurry to remove the last articles of clothing, Mary-Ann's tiny bikini was ripped off—left hanging shredded at her ankle, and her bra succumbed to the same fate—one of the cups torn beyond repair.

Gayle and I were watching in subdued shock, as with one mind, we each snaked our near hand into the other's gaping robe, and held it against the warmth of our inner thighs.

Once free of clothing, whatever sense of decorum the three might have had rapidly dissolved into full-on three-way orgy. We watched, astonished, as faster than you could say it Mary-Ann had stuffed Rick into her mouth and begun a wild fellatio, as Dane worked his log, doggie-style, into Mary-Ann's pussy. It was only a couple minutes before, shaking and twitching and redoubling her bouncing, Mary-Ann apparently reached orgasm. While the two cocksmen were obviously close, before Mary-Ann had completely recovered, they had changed places and pushed themselves, each, into different holes.

We began letting our fingers roam and our hands wander in mutual masturbation—while we watched transfixed. Silently, at least at first, we shared a steadily building arousal, but as the intensity climbed ever higher, we began to echo one another in ragged panting and gasps of erotic delight.

Initially willing, already, Mary-Ann rapidly became, more than just an eager participant, a demanding one. Watching her direct and facilitate her first double-penetration that did not include fellatio, brought Gayle and me to the vibrating edge of a simultaneous orgasm. On the screen, Mary-Ann arranged Rick on his back on the bed, the straddled his hips and lowered herself smoothly onto him—'cowgirl'. The look of pure ecstasy on her face when Dane, following her instructions, sank his oversized cock balls-deep up her ass, was more than either of us could take. Gayle and I leaned our heads together, letting our lips taste one another's excitement, as we bounced and came against each other's fingers, clutching and squeezing boobs through open robes, fighting to stay upright on our chairs.

The guest-room threesome worked through various DP positions, achieving several orgasms each, including standing holding Mary-Ann off the floor, pegged in both bottom holes. Gayle and I, too, sitting, most immodestly, with legs splayed and our robes gaping, reached climax, both separately and together, several—many times.

At one point as the three on the screen were twisting from one sexual position to another, Gayle said, "Oh, Nat, I almost forgot I could do this!" And she paused the recording, freezing the image. Then, with a subtle mouse-move, she zoomed in. "Will ya look at that!" The picture clearly showed Mary-Ann's precisely trimmed bush; an inverted triangle—an arrowhead, if you will—pointing directly down at her 'Go-button'—her clitoris.

"Mmmm. Nice" I remarked, although, whether I meant the picture or the video feature, even I wasn't sure.

They had been occupying 'our' guest room for over an hour (although we had scanned through some of the more repetitive parts) when, finally, the guys began to, quite literally, peter out. While Rick was trying for one last ballyhoo—fucking Mary-Ann in straight missionary—Dane gathered his duds and got dressed. When Rick finally got there, and rose off the boss's exhausted PA, who lay spread-eagled, trying to catch her breath. As he turned to get dressed, too, Dane whispered, almost to himself, "Oh, I can't pass that up!" He climbed onto the bed, between Mary-Ann's legs, and dove in face first. The magic of his expert cunnilingus temporarily overcame her enervation and, amazingly quickly, she was snapping her limbs out straight, waving her head back and forth, and squealing pitifully, as Dane munched relentlessly.

Standing nonchalantly, as Mary-Ann came down off her crisis, Dane wiped his face on the remnants of her underwear, and joined Rick at the door. They may have said "Thanks," as they closed the door, leaving Mary-Ann naked and huffing and quivering on bed. Abruptly, as if suddenly realizing where she was, Mary-Ann scrambled to get dressed. As her underwear was ruined, she donned her stained skirt, her torn blouse, which she had to hold closed, and her shoes. Then, listening briefly at the door, she slipped out when coast was clear.

When the screen went black following Mary-Ann's exit, we paused, and, sharing slightly embarrassed smiles, we got up to stretch our legs and take a pee. After grabbing a croissant and another latte, we settled back again in front of the screen—our robes pulled closed—but very loosely tied.

"Well, that room—our bedroom—was certainly busy. They must have left wet-spots on the duvet. We were just too zonked to notice. What about your room?"

"I doubt there was much traffic there," Gayle said, confidently bringing up the video of the master bedroom. "But, let's just have a boo, shall we?" And, lo and behold, the recording triggered around quarter to ten. We watched, intrigued, as the wife of one of Steve's managers nervously entered the room.

She glanced around the room, then began pacing back and forth across the foot of the bed, always eying the door, and fiddling with her buttons. "Looks like she's contemplating getting undressed," I observed.

"Yeah, like she's waiting for someone." She gave a start as the door clicked, and watched as it quietly opened, to allow in Carl Osborne, the company's vice president.

"I thought I said be ready for me. Why are you still dressed?"

"What if someone else came in while I was waiting—in the nude?"

"It's the master bedroom, woman! No one but the host and hostess would come in and they're too busy hosting. Now get naked!" One could see that she considered a retort, but thought better of it, as she bent her head and began to undress.

Osborne opened his trousers and let them hang from his suspenders as she quickly disrobed. I don't know what Gayle thought, but I thought he was a pretty buff—a pretty nice-looking middle-aged guy. In any case, he folded down the front of his boxers, and flopped out a fairly impressive semi-turgid cock.

Shucking the last of her clothing, the woman quickly dropped, without a sound, to a crouch directly in front of him. Scooping up the hanging man-meat, she guided it unerringly past her welcoming lips and deep into her mouth. Smoothly, with a barely perceptible stutter, she pushed on until her nose was against his pubic bone—her lips nestled in his wiry pubic beard. His placing of his fingertips, spidered over her ears, seemed to be the signal, for immediately upon his obviously light touch, she began the most energetic blowjob—pulling and pushing, engulfing and withdrawing, swallowing and retreating—grabbing a gasped breath whenever she could. Her hands, at the same time, snaked up under his shirt to play at his nipples. Showing amazing resolve and self-restraint, he stopped her just before he was about to cum.

"Get up on the bed—quick-like!!" he demanded brusquely; then, seeming to get impatient with her, he roughly arranged her on all fours in the middle of the duvet, arching her back and displaying her ass. One of the cameras gave a perfect view of her bottom, revealing, not only the bright pink star of her anus, but a well-shaped Brazilian landing strip snatch. Unceremoniously, Osborne knelt up between her legs and split her puffy, glistening labia, shoving with one thrust fully doggie-style into her quim. He set to pounding her with long, deep strokes, forthwith. She moaned and groaned with stifled arousal as he fucked her hard and fast.

He came relatively quickly—grunting and hissing as he pulled her hips back, hard onto his spitting hard-on, smacking her buttocks against his thighs. She whimpered pathetically, as he pulled out abruptly, clearly leaving her hanging. He picked up her underwear to wipe himself, tucked himself in, and turned to leave, as she crawled over to sit up on the edge of the bed.

"That musta left a shot-spot, eh?" I pointed out to Gayle.

Meanwhile, on the screen, Osborne stopped at the door to bark, "Back here in an hour. And have your ass ready!" Grabbing the door handle, he stopped again. "Straighten the bed before you leave! And don't you dare masturbate. I want you to anticipate your orgasm for a while yet."

"Ooh-lah-lah! That's way more than I expected! Our very own porn site. We should start a private collection, don't you think?"

We watched as the accidental porn star scrambled to get dressed, wiping up dripping cunt with her already sopping panties.

"Wasn't that Steve's VP?" I asked, just to make sure.

"Yeah."

"And who is she?"

"Sarah or Sierra or something— Peter's wife. He's one of the managers."

"I wonder what this might be worth," Gayle mused, idly, as Sarah-whomever slipped out of the room, and the screen went blank.

"Not so good as blackmail material," I pointed out, "as it's too obvious where it came from."

"Did she come back?"

"Dunno. But we can soon find out," Gayle said with a mischievous grin, clicking the recording back to play. Nothing triggered the cameras until almost exactly an hour later, according to recorder's time-stamp.

Sarah or Sierra or whoever she was, entered the master-bedroom somewhat more confidently this time. After a brief survey of the room, she placed her purse on the vanity's chair, and proceeded to disrobe, beginning with her shoes. I had to smile when she shimmied out of her skirt to reveal a distinct lack of panties. "Oh, dear," I chided the figure on the screen, "panties too sodden to wear, eh? Hmmm. Now, where might they be?"

Rhetorical question or not, Gayle replied, playfully, "My guess is: in a ball at the bottom of her purse."

"Probably."

As soon as she was naked, whatever-her-name-was retrieved something from her purse and bent over the bed, butt towards the door. Squirting what was obviously personal lubricant gel onto the fingers of one hand, she reached back and inserted them in and around her anus, generously lubing the opening of her rectum. Then tossing the tube back at her purse, she stayed standing next to the bed—ass up, supported by one arm. Still bent over she reached her free hand back to her vee and strummed. She must have hit right on her clit, for she immediately began to writhe and shake; however, she stopped suddenly—looked like just short of achieving orgasm, and brought her hand back up the bed, under her torso, for support.

Moments later, Osborne strode in like he owned the place. Interestingly enough, she, What's-her-name, was not as shocked as one might have expected—not, apparently, as shocked as we were—when someone followed Osborne in. "Sierra, I'm sure you've met Mark, here? A fellow manager of your hubby's?" Sierra nodded tentatively, but, remained otherwise silent. "He's just going to record our, um, intercourse—for posterity. He's been drooling over you for ages. I promised him you'd give him a blowjob if he'd film us in the act, as it were." While he was speaking, he moved Sierra towards the head of bed, grabbing a pillow and placing it in front of her face.

Stepping back behind her—completely ignoring his buddy, Mark, who circled ghostlike about the room, filming with his phone—Osborne fished out his stiffening dick and abruptly drilled Sierra, plunging himself balls-deep up her ass. She gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes shut, but didn't make a sound.

Before I could even finish the thought: "That must've hurt!", he'd pulled out completely, viciously smacking her butt.

"Don't use so fucking much lube!" he shouted. Then, calming slightly, he went on, almost gently, as if explaining to a child. "A little bit around your asshole, maybe, to ease entry, but, you know, we always need a bit of resistance during penetration. I mean, friction provides us with the sensations we desire—that are necessary for optimum arousal." He paused before concluding, "You've gotta feel something! I've gotta feel something!" Then, looking about, he complained, "Now we've gotta waste time wiping it off—cleaning it out."

"Mark, pass her underwear, will ya?"

Mark, who had been silently videoing the entire exchange, looked through her clothing heaped upon the chair. "No panties," he shrugged.

"Oh, you little harlot, you." Osborne gave her a playful smack, then turned back to Mark. "Gimme her brassiere then." He wiped the excess lube off his rigid dick with the inside of one of her bra-cups, then tossed the bra aside before recommencing his pounding anal assault.

Mark had moved in for a close-up of the peremptory penetration—blocking our view for the moment. Then he pulled back for a wider angle of the lewd tableau, circling around to zoom in sporadically. Gayle rotated to a camera view that he generally didn't block, and we continued to watch, rapt, commenting quietly from time to time.

Holding onto her buttocks, Osborne began rocking his hips in and out, finding a comfortable, long-stroke rhythm. After a bit, he leaned forward over Sierra's back to catch her swinging tits. As he roughly pinched and pulled her nipples, she let a low moan escape, arched her back even more, and began slamming her butt back to meet each of his thrusts. Osborne rose back up, and, with his hands on her hips, slowed her frenetic reply, continuing his calm back-and-forth for a while. But the respite was short-lived. Suddenly, abruptly Osborne started up again. This time in rapid-fire thrusts that drove deep into her rectum, knocking her forward against the spring of her arms; eliciting a sharp "Oomph!" with each lunge; his thighs slapping hard against her buttocks.