Things were beginning to get wild, even hectic at times. And a bit out of hand, I thought, an impression that recurred more and more often. It was in the atmosphere. Our ocean paradise had begun to reek of something less heavenly. Julia seemed to agree with that estimate, too, although we hadn't actually discussed it. I could just tell by her attitude, pretty cagey now, especially the way she kept tabs on me – for my own safety, no doubt. The crowd was simply too thick for organized swapping, and that led to increasingly orgiastic notions. It hadn't reached the orgy stage yet – nothing like those silly fantasies of mine! – but it was getting so a girl couldn't wander around alone without being pounced on.
Then, too, I noticed a growing tendency toward rather bold displays of intimacy in public. Public within the group, of course, inside the house, well hidden from that other world out there. But with so many guests on the premises, there was always a sizable audience for such exhibitions. And apparently an ever-mounting number of eager exhibitionists, from what I could judge. Lovemaking in private hadn't exactly gone out of style yet – I'd vouch for that! – but the other kind was sure gaining in popularity.
True, I had done it myself once, that ordeal on our first night here. Sucking cunt in full view all those unknown women, a bold display if ever there was one. Apprentice slave-girl on her knees in abject humility, naked and learning her trade! But my mistress had ordained it for a specific purpose – an expedient, nothing more – pushing me over an awkward but imperative hurdle in a hurry. Nor had she seen fit to repeat it since then, bless her heart. Anyway, it wasn't like these recent performances that were tainting the general atmosphere.
I had no right to gripe, admittedly; after all, it was no skin of my ass if some old bitch couldn't be happy without her own personal "doggie" always around. Sniffing at her heels. Sure, we young ones were all pets to our mistresses, but there was such a thing as carrying it too far. She was cute, too, the little doggie, trotting on all fours, naked, with a silver collar on her neck and a long silver leash. The mistress had a small silver whip dangling from her wrist, for show mainly, but I did see it used lightly ever so often if the doggie's behavior was less than perfect.
Eventually, just about everybody grew accustomed to the weird sight, patting the kid's head and feeding her snacks. But there were some novelties, too, acts deliberately staged in the big living room by one or another of the women with some knowledge of show business. It was supposed to be a good one the night Julia took me downstairs to watch, a well-rehearsed dance group, according to the grapevine. Even the lighting was special, everything going black for a long moment and then the lamps coming back on slowly to reveal the dancers in their places.
Three girls were crouched in the middle of the floor, clad in some fragile material that was wrapped scarf-like around them. As the music came up on the stereo, they rose, swaying languorously on bare feet, and began to dance. At least it was like a dance. But the movement consisted only of a leisurely circling around each other, all three of them, and their sole motive seemed to be the unwinding of their cover, yard after yard of diaphanous fabric. It was effective, more so than I had expected. The girls were young and graceful and quite lovely. As more and more of the net-like veils floated free, I could sense the urge of the audience – the same as mine – an urge to leap up and shed our clothing and become part of the show. But no one did, of course, nobody even moved. And the girls continued their gyrations, stripping nude at last. Only it was no longer a dance now, it was a cluster of three snakes entwining about one another. And there was no pretense of keeping time with the music.
The cluster sank to the floor, becoming a heap of female flesh, a pile-up of squirming, writhing bodies that had no beginning and no end. Arms and legs tangled in complex confusion. Until, gradually, the knot loosened and allowed a little freedom. Muted sobs rose now and then to penetrate the thickly orchestrated music. Oh, it was quite a performance! Three girls, three young lesbians – naked and nicely endowed – kissing and caressing and embracing. Sighing and moaning, parting and converging in ever-changing patterns. With a variety of breasts and nipples and pubic mounds, even a flash of pretty pink vulva here and there, all in colorful contrast and yet somehow retaining the appearance of a matched set. A sight to make the blood surge…
Afterward, the aroused audience had its chance to get into the act. But the central trio was gone by then, so the act became piecemeal, a little amateurish but a lot more realistic. As usual, the old bitch and her doggie were looking for attention. They too had been affected by the show, though, so the activity was even less inhibited. The doggie barked and yelped and panted, licking the hand of anyone who patted her. But the old mistress taught her how to sit up on her hind legs, a new trick, enabling her to sniff crotches instead of just feet. And it took only a threat of the silver whip to send her from crotch to crotch. I didn't feel sorry for her any more, not after watching all that doggie-type enthusiasm. Okay, so they were both bitches! I'd know better than to waste my sympathy next time.
I saw Kitten off in a corner and was glad that she had found herself an amiable companion, thus saving me the trouble of turning her down again. She had tried to entice me into one of these open performances any number of times, always with no success. Not that I objected to the kid in bed, oh no, it was just her complete lack of shame that brought an automatic refusal. As slave to the hostess, she felt it her duty to keep the sexy action stirred up by setting a personal example. Which was just what she seemed to be doing now with her tall blonde friend in the corner, although somewhat discreetly at the moment – for Kitten, certainly! – what with the dim lighting over there.
The blonde was dressed from the waist up and from the thighs down. Nothing in between. She stood with her legs wide apart, her head tilted back ecstatically, almost lolling. Her hands were busy but motionless, busy just hanging on, entwined in the hair of the naked girl who knelt before her. Even in the semi-darkness, that flowing mane of coppery-red hair was recognizable, unmistakably so. I wondered if the blonde was holding on like that for protection from prying eyes, trying to shield the strategically vulnerable sector of her tall body and thus compensate for the rather curious disappearance of her skirt and panties. But no, from the look on her face, she was probably concentrating on that buzzing little tongue-tip down there. First things first. Hadn't I been similarly buzzed myself?
Someone must have tampered with the stereo, slipping a noisy rock record in among the more suitable romantic stuff. The volume was up, too, making the whole room throb and reverberate with sound, the twang of electric guitars ricocheting from wall to wall. Rock fan or not, nobody could ignore it. A few kids were already up and making like go-go dancers, shedding their clothes with somewhat nervous hilarity and eyeing one another to see who would be the first to peel away her last lacy fig leaf. As it turned out, the impetuous winner was a heavily built bulgar type whose name I knew but could never remember. She had made a pass at me once – and quite nicely, in her own crude way – but I didn't let it get beyond the flirting stage. A brush-off, practically. Only now, of all the dumb times to choose, she seemed to be at it again, about to pop her cork in my direction. Pop something, anyway, whatever it was that she kept shaking.
I got embarrassed then; oh shit, it was just too obvious, all naked like that, pointing herself directly at me. Others must have noticed it, too – a possibility that registered with the heat of a certain blush, which in turn only added more fuel to the flame of my embarrassment. She was smirking now, doubtless taking credit for my flushed face, smirking but scarcely able to disguise the hunger in her eyes. But the rest of this bunch would miss that, most likely, seeing only the complacent smirk – a leer, almost – and the insinuation of her unerringly aimed body. Uh-huh. A leer, sure enough, a lip-licking leer, and right at me, flopping those fat tits and grinding her obscenely gross thighs and coarse belly-bush with clumsy fervor. I hated her for it. Especially since I had already been tabbed as a stuck-up little snob who brown-nosed the mistresses but didn't mix and mingle with the other kids. What kind of gossip would they be spreading about me tomorrow?
Cheeks still burning, I tore my gaze away and glanced around in search of Julia, hoping to find her bored with the proceedings and ready to go upstairs. No such luck, though, she was intently engaged in conversation with a woman I had never even seen before, a late arrival maybe, and both of them looked pretty serious – all the earmarks of a big-money business discussion. I was stuck here for a while, no doubt about it.
For want of something better then, I continued my survey of the room and sought out Kitten and her half-dressed babe. Not in that dark corner, though, that was bare now. And so was the tall blonde, obviously; at this indecorous stage of the shinding, who had anything to hide? Angled like that, she must have fallen back across the conch after a rush to get there, draping those long legs over her crouched lover's shoulders for comfort as much as for sexual satisfaction. There was nowhere else to put them. And there was no need to grab and hang on now, so the copper-bright head was free to bob rhythmically with every unseen tongue-lick, most of the hair spilling outward, fan-like, a silken tent, concealing a few secrets even when no concealment was called for. And even as I watched the voluptuously indolent scene with a touch of envy – such a contrast to this amplified whirling-dervish mood! – the blonde girl propped herself up on one elbow and took a sweeping, panoramic view of the throbbing madhouse, a slow smile curving her sensuous lips, a slightly dazed look in her somnolent eyes…
But then, well, I had no reason to be envious. My darling mistress had evidently ended her business talk. She caught my eye and signaled, pointing toward the stairway. I nodded. Let them all envy me! The atmospheric reek was vile down here. And pretty pervasive throughout the house, too. But we had locked it out of our room, our own private ocean paradise. What a joy to be climbing the stairway together! Stairway to heaven. Too bad we couldn't take a piece of it, with us. But then again, why should we? It was already ours, to have and to hold. Mine. Wasn't heaven the beautiful ass of my mistress? My divine mistress?