Tonight's party was at Bob and Bobbi's place. As we drove over, Debby loosened her long raincoat enough so that her legs showed through the opening. A lot of leg, too. She wouldn't let me see what she was wearing before we left, but it sure couldn't be much. No stockings, and no visible hemline. Was she naked? By the time we got there, I was rock hard again.
Matters didn't change when we got there. Bob let us in, and then directed Debby down the hall, where she disappeared into a bedroom. She still had on the raincoat. Confused, I wandered into the living room. Grabbing a beer from the bar, I sat down and asked Jeff what was up.
"It's Olympics Night," he responded gleefully.
"Huh?"
"Olympics Night. Didn't Debby tell you?"
"Nope."
"Probably wanted to surprise you."
I interrupted. "She surely did. What the hell is Olympics Night?"
Jeff grinned widely. "Several years ago, we had a party during the Olympics, and somebody bright made a joke about having the girls put on a competition. Any number of witty and not so witty suggestions were made, and the girls argued with us. Anyway, the bottom line was that, the following month the girls put on Olympics Night for the guys."
"No shit! Is there an Olympics Night where we have to do something, too?" I asked.
"Nah. We tried it once, and it bombed. But somehow this just keeps going, year in, year out," Jeff said.
"So what goes on?" I was really curious. Is this why Debby had been so secretive about her dressing? Must have been.
While Jeff and I were talking, the last couple, Dan and Cindy, had arrived. Cindy had been shuffled off to the bedroom, and Dan had dropped onto the couch next to me. He had overheard the tail end of the conversation, and responded, "Watch and see." Calling out loudly, he yelled, "Let the games begin!"
Amazingly, a loud trumpet fanfare blared out over the stereo. Most of the guys weren't expecting this, and they looked around, laughing. At this point, the six women marched down the hall and stood in a line across the living room. I hadn't really noticed before, but all of the armchairs and couches were in a line, so that we had two lines facing each other.
The women were all dressed similarly, if outrageously. First, they all wore what had to be the shortest skirts ever put out on the market. Skirts that barely, if at all, covered theirs asses and pussies. They also wore high heels, very high heels, much higher than they would normally wear. And it seemed as if they were wearing bras under their blouses and tops, which was rather unusual for these parties.
Bob, as host, was the emcee. Occasionally glancing at a script, he announced that the first competition was for shortest skirt. Ah, hah! Light was beginning to dawn. There was method to this madness, after all. Immediately Jerry and Jeff volunteered to judge, and were provided with tape measures. Going to the lineup, they began measuring the length of the skirts, as well as how far they dropped below the crotch. Denise, in a skirt that could charitably be called a wide elastic belt, won.
I felt sorry for Debby. While she had dressed fairly exotically for the competition, she wasn't as outlandish as the rest. I suspected that, although she knew what was going to happen, since she had never seen one of these events before, she didn't know the level of competition to be faced. Her dress, marvelously short, was at least two inches longer than any of the others. Well, there's always next year.
The second event was for highest heels. Jeff and Ted grabbed the tapes and dropped on their knees in front of the girls. But while Ted started measuring, Jeff, kneeling before Bobbi, straightened up and buried his head under her skirt. Bobbi gave a muffled whimper and wrapped her hands behind his head, while his hands were on her ass, pulling him in. The rest of the guys started laughing hysterically, and Jeff was disqualified as a judge. We also discussed disqualifying Bobbi, for jury tampering, but it was decided that Jeff's disqualification was sufficient. Carol won handily, with a pair of six-and-a-half inch stilts from her modeling days. Again, Debby, with four inch heels, was not in the running.
The next competition, placed in the Olympics after the movie "When Harry Met Sally" came out, was for best fake orgasm. Simultaneously, the six began panting, moaning, groaning, crying, screaming, begging, and so forth. This was one of the funniest points of the night. All were judged equally winners.
I was curious what was next, when the women all began to undress. Still standing in line, off came tops and skirts. I had been correct earlier. They were wearing bras. And despite Jeff's earlier antics, they also wore panties. To be specific, they were all wearing bikini swimsuits. And what swimsuits! The only rule the girls seemed to follow was that nipples and clits had to be covered, 'cause that was about all that was. Once they had taken off their clothes, they all had to tuck tits and cunts back where they were supposed to be, because each of them had jiggled out of place. It was delightful. Thankfully, Debby wore a suit that equaled the others, one that she never wore swimming, because whenever she modeled it beforehand, I would immediately strip it off her and fuck her on the spot. Her suit had a string top and a thong bottom that tied on the sides. In fact, the bottom was so small, she had to shave her pussy before she could wear it. I had taken care of that for her earlier, just a couple nights ago. Now I knew why she had asked! Not that I minded, of course, since whenever I do shave her cunt, it always leads to a night of great cunt and cock eating.
Alice won, in a tough competition, for a suit that was as abbreviated as Debby's but with the added advantage of being sheer and semi-transparent.
Then, while the girls all took a break for drinks, and the guys refilled, as well, Bob excused himself. Five minutes later, he came back to the room, with an armload of scientific equipment. Bob's an assistant professor of engineering over at State, and Bobbi's one of his grad students. He's mid-thirtyish, and she's no more than early twenties, the biggest difference in our group, but they seem quite happy for all of that. But anyway, they always seem to have odd equipment laying around the place.
Now, he dumped it all on the carpet in the middle of the group. Amid exclamations of interest ("What the fuck is this shit!?") he pulled an armchair over and faced it towards the judges. Then he pulled an endtable over to the side of the chair. Out of the pile of stuff, he set a pressure gauge in a stand on the table, facing the judges. A long air hose went from the gauge to what appeared to be a large dildo, which he dropped before the chair.
Calling an end to the break, he announced a new event for the Olympics, "Tightest Pussy". The woman would sit in the armchair, legs spread over the arms, and insert the dildo. Then using only her cunt muscles, she would squeeze the dildo, actually a rubber air pump of sorts, and the needle would rise on the pressure gauge. The girls, to be honest, were somewhat leery of the whole thing, but Bobbi explained that it was perfectly safe and that she had tried it herself. She also said that Bob really liked the way her pussy had tightened up. They agreed to try, and Bob allowed that each would get a practice round first.
So off came the suits. Now they were only wearing the wonderfully tall spike heels. Debby wasn't the only woman that night with a shaved pussy. Only Denise and Carol hadn't shaved, and they had trimmed theirs very short. Pulling names from a hat, Bob called forth the girls for the practice round, carefully positioning them in the armchair, legs wide, cunts staring at us, and helped them insert the "probe" as he called it. Fascinated, we watched as the needle rose and fell, in some cases surging back and forth. Unsurprisingly, Bobbi, the experimental subject, won. But it was unanimously decided to keep this as part of the games, and the other women all wanted to borrow the device to improve their own future performance.
By now, I, at least, was ready to get well and truly laid. And I wasn't the only one there. Every pair of pants sported an erection, and juices flowed down several of the women's thighs. Moving the armchair back in line with the others, Bob sat down and unzipped his pants. The rest of the guys did the same, and unsure of what was going on, I followed. Six cocks strained into the open. Now Bob reached back into his hat and pulled names again. The women positioned themselves in front of the first man in line, although in two cases names had to be recalled, as a woman ended up with her husband.
"Now ladies, the final event, as you know, is 'Best Blow Job'. The only rule is there are no rules. First one to make a man come, wins," said Bob. He pulled a stopwatch, and cried, "Go!"
An excellent culmination to the challenges of the night, six heads swooped down and took a cock in the mouth. I had drawn Bobbi, who I already knew to give great head. Would she beat Debby? Or would a dark horse candidate pull through? What a way to find out. Unsurprisingly, after roughly an hour's worth of visual foreplay, everyone was really worked up. The fastest blow job took only ninety-three seconds, the longest was still under four minutes. Debby won, but only by two or three seconds over Bobbi.
At this point, the "Olympics" ended and the orgy started. The girls wanted to be satisfied as well. In fact, their only complaint was about getting rid of "those damned shoes". All six thought that five inch or more heels was a bit much.