Some night for a party! Clouds had threatened all day. Then, only minutes after the festivities began, the sky opened up and a summer storm broke. The wind howled, driving buckshot charges of rain against the picture window in the living room. There might have been hailstones, that was how noisy it sounded.
But inside, insulated by the drawn draperies, all was snug and cozy. Except that the weather was obviously affecting everybody. It was going to be a wild night, both outdoors and in. The torrent hitting the glass pane seemed no thicker or heavier than the liquor flowing within the house.
Amanda's taste in party guests wasn't bad. Not an ugly woman among them, not even the older ones – and quite a few were young and lovely. Estelle Kincaid, as it turned out, went for me in a big way and stuck pretty close to my side. I found her appealing but somewhat less than spectacular – brown hair, brown eyes, a bit hefty in the breasts and buttocks. Just shy of fat. But she was someone to know, just the same, a still-youngish widow whose late husband had left her scads of money; she had a summer place hare on the peninsula and an ancestral mansion back in Springfield. Her home was on the outskirts of the city, miles from Chelsea Hill, so I didn't have to worry about our having mutual acquaintances, luckily. But I was still careful not to tell her too much about myself, glad to let her do most of the talking.
Quite early in the proceedings, she tried to coax me into one of the bedrooms. I held out though, intrigued by the idea of such a gathering and anxious to see it all. From beginning to end, I wanted to sit in on a wild lesbian party – the wilder the better! – and was in no mood to succumb to Estelle's wheedling.
It got wild, all right. But not right away. First there was a period of drinking and chatting and whispering, all geared to what might or might not happen later on. A time for suggestive propositions and tentative acceptances. And I managed to get loose and circulate by myself awhile, meeting some interesting females and actually making a few speculative dates. I was the object of much attention, of course – the youngest girl there – and each woman had her own method of wooing me, all quite novel. Just listening to them was a liberal education in itself.
There was Nancy, for instance, rosy-cheeked and pleasingly plump in dimensions, always yakking about clothes. Intimate garments, lacy panties, all sorts of provocative lingerie, apparently an obsession with her. And with each description, she kept raising her skirt or dipping into her bodice to demonstrate. I saw the length of her curvy legs from every possible angle.
Then there was Ramona, dark-eyed and sultry, with slim fluttery fingers that made graphic gestures to accompany her heavily accented speech. Her hands dominated her approach. She breathed unintelligible Spanish in my ear while her fingertips danced all over me, I found the motions a lot more understandable than the words, although both probably added up to the same thing.
Imogene, a baby-faced blonde with an incessant pout, stimulated me with tales of her naughty childhood. With many references to the stern governess who used to spank her. A governess with hair like mine, she said, the same rich shade of auburn; and wasn't it odd how just looking at me could bring back so many memories?
I got the message, somewhat embarrassed, and drifted away to cool my blushing cheeks with champagne. The atmosphere was growing more openly sexy and what had been on everybody's mind was now becoming manifest, increasingly so. The rate of booze consumption had picked up noticeably. Faces were flushed, eyes bright with hopeful hunger – beseeching, imploring, promising, insinuating, hinting at all manner of exotic lesbian delights and depravities. Evidently the real action was about to start. Here and there, I saw kisses take the place of conversation. Caresses began to augment mere handclasps; little giggles and squeals echoed from the dinner recesses of the huge living room. It hadn't reached the orgy stage yet, but this crowd didn't have far to go.
Nancy of the rosy face and plump figure cornered me again, intent on examining my lingerie. Having flaunted hers all over the place, she was carrying on with her peculiar kick by looking at everyone else's. And now she showed only a polite minimum of hesitation about coming directly to the point. I even got the impression that she wanted to trade with me. Right then and there. But I laughed and cut her short before she could blurt it out. I really wasn't shocked though; it might have been fun. Especially since our sizes were so different.
But it was too late for such childish nonsense. Throughout the room, zippers and fasteners were already coming undone, some boldly, some surreptitiously, doubtless depending on how well the halves of such a couple knew one another. And on how successful their earlier overtures had been. In a few minutes a lot of bare flesh would be showing. Even now, the sultry Spanish girl had peeled her stockings down and was hanging them on a lampshade with great glee. And with help from all sides, too.
I wondered if there was going to be some pre-planned system of order and organization. Would we select partners and disappear into one of the bedrooms? Would we stay here in the living room and become a clustered group? Wasn't there some rule?
It didn't take long to find out the answer. We did both. It was unorganized. And the rules, such as they were, applied only to me; this was a night to spread myself around, I had been told – no sneaking off with Fleur somewhere. But I was reconciled to that by now, of course, and felt like a free agent. Well, comparatively free. Anyway, it seemed only fair – and prudent surely – that I should allow Estelle Kincaid to lead me away.
We didn't go far, ending up in one of the small downstairs guest rooms, unused except for parties like this. Not until we got inside did I realize how much of that nice pink champagne had trickled down my throat. It was sloshing around in my tummy now – not sick or even queasy, thank heaven, just mildly smashed. And in a good mood, too, just giddy enough to make me tolerant of my overweight neighbor from Springfield. Which was easy, considering how hard she was trying to make me happy.
Comfortable first, happy later, I sighed contentedly as she worked on my clothes with soft and gentle hands. Her body was soft and gentle also, once we were both undressed and cuddling together. But the cuddle was brief, giving way to an even nicer feeling as her impatient mouth began nibbling downward, setting my skin atingle everywhere it touched. My tits. My belly. My thighs. So warm and wet and soothing with every touch. Umm, no, not exactly soothing, not there…
There?
Oh shit, she had reached her goal awfully fast. Now there were fingers high on the insides of my thighs, fingers pressed outward against the flesh, opening me up, spreading my legs apart, and I had the sensation of being split and entered and practically invaded. As if my entire body had become a cunt, one big hot cunt – all cunt! – just the right size for that invader. Wasn't it a blessing that a fat woman should have an equally fat tongue, a great big fat monster of a tongue?
My back arched and I gasped ecstatically, pitching and turning with the caress, rolling from side to side on the bed. My limbs twitched and jerked and at last flailed up in search of something to anchor them on. Something to grip and hold. Like that hard round thing down there, the bobbing head. Uh-huh. It felt good crushed between my thighs like that. Even with my legs wrapped around the anchor, she went on doing things to me with her tongue. Her big thick tongue in my hot little cunt; fuck me, fuck me! Until I sobbed in uncontrollable joy and simply lost track…
After that, well, time stood still and everything became a prolonged blur. Somehow – who could tell when? – I was no longer with Estelle. It was the same bed in the same room, but the woman along side me had changed. She murmured strings of Spanish and tickled my flesh with her fingertips until I nearly went crazy.
Then there was somebody else with me. I didn't have to open my eyes to know who it was. Only plump Nancy would keep her bra and panties on at such a moment. I didn't mind, though. The flimsy garments weren't at all in the way. Imogene would be next, I was sure, the pouty one who liked my auburn hair. Wouldn't she try to cast me in the role of her governess? No, thanks, not tonight; anyway, I had no intention of waiting around to find out. And when Nancy and I ground to a halt, we went back to the living room together.
A frenzied scene met my eyes. It was just a wee bit revolting, the mass action, the careless-type couplings and triplings and dumb daisy-chains. All the more so when Nancy plunged right in and became a part of it, lingerie and all. There were too many bodies. Too many arms. Too many legs. And the noises! Sighs, shrieks, moans, curses, muttered oaths that made my hair prickle.
I turned away, anxious to avoid the messy pile-up. All of a sudden I wasn't alone though; Estelle Kincaid was right behind me, following my lead. I climbed the stairs, waggling my bare ass to give her a little extra incentive, figuring how nice it would be to have such amiable company far from that lesbian inferno. On an impulse, I headed for the big bedroom suite and could have cheered aloud upon finding it unoccupied – my favorite of all the rooms, the most modem, the most luxurious.
Once inside, I locked the door but brushed off any immediate ideas about sex between us. Quite docile in manner, Estelle nodded and scurried over to the small bar to find cigarettes and something refreshing to drink. We chatted then – and again I let her do most of the talking. About her home in Springfield mainly, an old-fashioned mansion that was due to be redecorated shortly – all of which sounded like mere chitchat until she got around to making her point. She was closing her peninsula place and driving home sometime next week to meet with the decorator people and begin work. And wouldn't I like to come with her?
Flattered by the offer, I shook my head nevertheless, not exactly enthusiastic about getting that close to Chelsea Hill. Whereupon she coaxed and cajoled and practically begged me to come. I liked that, naturally, but then the stupid woman spoiled it all by injecting a commercial note into the conversation. Could she buy me a few gifts to soften my heart, some new clothes maybe? Or even give me the money instead, so that I might shop for myself? After all, a beautiful young girl never had enough dresses…
Horror froze me. And when she mentioned the possibility of a fur coat, the horror turned to hot rage. My temper flared and I couldn't control myself. Nor did I even try, not after hearing the old bitch put me in the category of a whore. I let go with a stream of blistering profanity and began slapping her. Across that smug face, back and forth, slapping furiously and not caring about anything else but venting my terrible wrath.
And she just took it!
She just stood there and let me hit her. At first I was too angry to understand; there was no thought or reason or attempt at making sense. I just went on cracking my palm across her cheek. Until my arm got tired and I had to pant for breath. But even then, after my burst of violence ended, I was still too enraged to fully grasp the situation.
"Fuck you, Estelle. I won't be treated like a whore. Stay the hell away from me, you hear? I don't ever want to see you again."
"Loi… darling…"
There was a glazed look in her eyes. Then the tears welled up and started flowing down her cheeks. Her body went limp; she crumpled to the floor and wrapped her arms around my legs, wailing words of apology and entreating my forgiveness. I felt the heat of her face against my ankles. And then – almost like some weird nightmare! – she began kissing. Actually licking my feet! It made me feel like some kind of royal princess, a proud princess with absolute power over my fawning subject.
But I couldn't just stand there and do nothing; nor was I quite ready to forgive her, either. Instead, I whirled and strode away, moving into the bathroom. Mink. The sight of it gave me a silent chuckle, clearing my mind. If I lived to be a hundred I'd never grow accustomed to such luxury. Mink on the toilet seat. And it felt so good, so soft, so soothing to my ass…
"Darling?"
"Huh?"
"Won't you let me talk to you? May I come in? Is there anything I can do for you? Help you? Some way to make up…"
"I'm thinking about it. But come on in anyway, I'll figure out something for you to do." Then, harshly, "No, not like that, you bitch! Get back down on your knees." Relaxed, indolent, I watched the woman crawl clumsily toward me. "Yeah. That's exactly where you belong, wouldn't you say? On your knees."
I looked down at her, a wry smile on my lips, an expression meant to convey my acceptance of this change between us. Telling her that ours was a relationship of mistress and slave, not of lovers. She glanced up and returned my gaze momentarily, then dropped her eyes in meek humility, resigning herself with a piteous little whimper:
"Yes. It's where I belong. If only you'll tell me you're not angry, tell me I'm forgiven. Please?"
That was a foregone conclusion by now, but I still wasn't ready to turn sweet and go into a loving mood. Not yet. Although – in view of my position at the moment – there wasn't much I could order her to do by way of penance. In such an immodest situation, just groveling before me like that should have been humiliation enough.
Well, no, not quite enough. "Like I said, Estelle, I'm thinking about it. And meanwhile, uh, you can lick my feet some more."
She bent her head low. I felt her moist tongue on my toes, kissing, stroking, swabbing. Then – was it coyly? – she tilted her head and peered up at me. "Darling? Just your feet?" Again her gaze sank, pausing hesitantly halfway down this time, turning my exposed flesh hot with embarrassment. And now it was her face, not mine, that wore a wry smile…
Drained but far from depleted, I unlocked the bedroom door and descended the staircase, a naked young girl on the prowl. Back there on the huge bed, Estelle Kincaid lay dead to the world, obviously in a state of exhaustion. My official duties for the night were finished now; who could object if I sought my own kind of fun? I had been separated from my darling Fleur long enough, painfully aware of her presence in the house. Couldn't we sneak a quickie?
Alas, she was nowhere to be seen. Squinting and scanning the dimly lit living room, I saw no trace of her familiar form in the writhing entanglement of flesh. That only increased the pressure building up in my loins though, forcing me to keep on with the search, still scrutinizing the orgiastic clusters. For what? Oh shit, I was truly a girl on the prowl now. The weather had died down, but a storm still raged within me.
Hungrily, my eyes darted around the great room, seeking an opening rather than any particular person. Couples and trios were still knotted together in a variety of lascivious postures, woven like an unfinished tapestry but without a single dangling thread. Then, off in a comer, I caught a glimpse of an interesting possibility, a woman with her head buried in cunt and her ass jutting high, a crouch that left her open and vulnerable to any passing stranger. I glided over there, vaguely pleased to find the prominent curves of her body still unfamiliar even in close-up. Somehow that made it more exciting. Strangers in the night. Hmm. Would this constitute a formal introduction?
Ha-ha. Very funny. It's only because I can't have Fleur. Isn't that why I'm so Goddam hot? A pang of remorse lanced through me, a thing of shame, puncturing my excuses like computer print-outs on a spindle. I hated myself, hated my wildly beating heart, hated the dragging sensation in my loins that tugged me down behind the obliviously occupied cuntlapper. But even in my near-universal hatred, the temptation was too big a burden. I touched her, cupping the soft ass-cheeks in my palms. Her flesh stiffened in apparent shock, and then a moment later I felt the big round white buttocks go lax and wiggle in an obscene come-on. It was too late to resist, of course, and I dove inside her ass-crack like a starving pig at a trough, shooting my tongue into her asshole to scoop out the more valuable hidden delicacies; where else would a pig search for pleasure? I tried to tell myself that the ass I had searched for was the ass I was sucking, but even that was denied me. Because of the shame, the thrill, the excitement of being a stranger in the night…