Loading...The eMail surprised me, to say the least.
I had been posting erotic, sexy stories on the Internet into an old “usenet newsgroup,” a system that doesn’t even really exist anymore. On occassion, I received comments about my stories, many of them complimentary, and gratifying.
A few weeks ago, I received the following:
“Hello Susan. I am an avid fan of your stories. My girlfriend and I read them all – we practically devour them. In fact, we love them so much we have been sharing them with a group of friends at this University where I am a graduate student.” (He mentioned the name of the University, which is located in a city a few hours from where I live.)
“Actually, we are more than just a group of “friends” – we are a club that engages in mate-swapping and group sex. Twelve of us in all, all couples. We have taken to reading your stories out loud at the beginning of our gatherings as a way to get into the “swing” of things (pun intended). Your stories have had a “rekindling” effect on our group; things have become a little placid for us, since our group has been meeting for over three years.” (That was a little hard for me to believe, since I couldn’t see how that kind of group could ever get boring.)
“We just wanted you to know that your stories have gotten us all very aroused, and we have determined to be more creative about our interminglings. The past few months has made us all big admirers of those stories of yours.” (It was signed “Tim”.)
I wrote back:
“Dear Tim,
Thank you for your support. I find it very exciting to imagine you all together reading one of my stories. My vivid imagination takes over, thinking about what happens when the pages are put down. Which story does your group like the most?”
Within a day, I received another note from him:
“Dear Susan,
Our favorite story is “Slippery When Wet,” partly because it involves college age men such as ourselves, and partly because we are intrigued with your apparent fascination with large amounts of semen all over your body. This story has led our group to experiment with having several men ejaculate onto one of the women, while the others watched and made comments. We deemed the experiment a huge success! This line of exploration warrants further investigation, we think.”
Those were his words exactly. From his phrasing, it was obvious that he and his friends were graduate students in science. But it was hard for me to imagine nerdy science students being liberated enough to be into group sex.
I had to send a followup message:
“Dear Tim,
Please pardon my skepticism, but – does this ‘group’ really exist? A dozen college age “swingers?” It’s OK to tell me that you made that up, using your own fertile imagination. I will not be angry.”
His response blew me away:
“Dear Susan,
We would love to prove to you that we truly exist. One week from (date of his message), you are cordially invited to join us.” He inserted directions to the apartment where they would be meeting.
“Your complete anonymity is guaranteed – we will never discuss this outside our group. We are all completely well-behaved ladies and gentlemen, and your safety and well-being are assured. We adore you for the inspiration that you have given to the group, and your presence at our gathering would be a wonderful honor for us.”
I decided to attend. It was hard to let go of my fear of strangers, but quite frankly, these people seemed totally benign and genuinely friendly. My curiosity was piqued. I wasn’t sure if I would actually engage in their sexual activities, and I wasn’t even sure if actual sex was on the agenda. Maybe this would be kind of like a book-signing party or something – lots of talk and congratulations and the like.
The day arrived. Before I left home, I put on a long back dress, velveteen lined with satin. It had spaghetti straps and it went down to my ankles, with slits up each side that reached halfway up my thighs. I never wore a bra, and the vee neck of the bodice extended deep into my modest cleavage. Well, maybe modest wasn’t the best description. My breasts weren’t so large as to leave a Grand Canyon between them. But there was enough to provide a nesting place for the long string of fake pearls that I draped around my neck and let fall into that valley, accentuating the mounds of my breasts. For panties, I chose scarlet satin panties with black lace around all the edges. All of this was rounded out by shiny red pumps, with no stockings. I was trying to play the part of a writer of titillating erotica out to meet her fans. It was a bit like dressing up for the prom.
I drove all afternoon. Fortunately, the weather that day was warm enough so that I could drive with the top down on my Miata. It felt great to let my blond hair stream out behind me, and the wind blew into the top of my dress, sort of inflating it and pulling it away from my chest. The breezes whipped across my nipples for all that time on the highway. It was the most slow and gentle and effective kind of stimulation, and my nipples never lost their hardness for the entire trip.
I had given myself plenty of time to find my way, but nevertheless, I got lost. So when I finally arrived on the doorstep to the apartment, I was almost an hour late. “Oh well,” I thought, “hopefully, they haven’t given up on me.”
I rang the door chime. My heart was beating a little fast out of nervousness. Unbidden thoughts started percolating through my mind, such as, “I have never actually met any of my internet readers. Maybe I should have kept it that way. Followed by, “Maybe Tim’s invitation is a scam, and behind the door are a bunch of macho, sex-maniacs who intend to include me in some sort of non-consensual BDSM episode that they can write up for the Internet.” That was not my cup of tea at all. Stomach starting to ache, I decided to turn around and flee this potential fiasco.
When I had wheeled around and taken a couple of steps toward the elevator, I heard the door open. “Should I run for it?” raced through my mind.
Before I could decide, I heard a sweet and delicate woman’s voice asking, “Is your name Sue?”
I turned my head back to the door, and saw the woman. I could only feel silly for being afraid of the occupants of the apartment. “This person is hardly menacing,” I thought to myself. She was short (maybe 5 foot or so) and pretty and I guessed the best way of describing her would be to say that she was demure, even timid. She seemed more nervous to be meeting me than I was in being met! “OK, I’ll go through with it,” I decided. I turned around and walked back to the door and into the apartment.
In the living room, all of the seats were taken, and other people were seated on cushions on the floor. When I entered, they all stood up and welcomed me in. Crowding around me, they were effusively thanking me for coming. Tim introduced himself to me, and then to everyone else. All the names escaped me, going in one ear and out the other.
I’d never been so much the center of attention, and I found my focus wandering from person to person, responding to their questions with simple ‘yes’ and ‘no’ answers. My head was swimming. Eventually the woman who opened the door (this was her apartment) recognized my bewilderment, and offered me a chance to wash up in her bathroom. That sounded great. The three minutes in there gave me an opportunity to settle my nerves and get back into the role of vamping ‘queen of erotica’ that I had chosen for myself. I felt ready, so I rejoined the group.
One of the first things someone asked was, “Have you written anything new, Susan?”
Well, I hadn’t, and they seemed a bit disappointed. Tim asked, “Will you read us one of your previous efforts?”
“I would be happy to do so. Which one would you all like to hear?” I said, smiling.
Several people chime in that they would love to hear “Slippery When Wet” again. I supposed I should have anticipated that, from what Tim had told me.
I had now figured out that Jill was my hostess, and that she was Tim’s girlfriend. They were all exactly as I might have pictured them. Not exactly nerds like the caricatures in the movies. But definitely intensely academic grad students. Of the twelve of them, only two weren’t wearing glasses. Most of the men were wearing Dockers-type pants and button down shirts (a couple of them even had those pocket protector things) and most of the women were following the lead of Jill. They had on unpretentious and wholesome outfits that seemed like they came from the Eisenhower era. Pigtails and braids, blouses buttoned up to the neck, white socks… the works!
Please do not think I was trying to portray them unkindly. Really, they were all totally likable and earnest. But I still couldn’t make this image of them jibe with the fact that they were apparently wild-and-crazy swingers. They looked more like a meeting of “Catholic Virgins Anonymous” or something!
Jill handed me a printout of my story. The pages were kind of worn and dog-eared. This copy had obviously been reread many times. Someone vacated a big overstuffed wing-chair for me, and I settled in and started to read. There were a dozen pages to the story, so it took a while. During my recitation, they all sat around me with rapt attention, eager smiles on their faces. But despite their enthusiasm, they showed little sign of the sexual stimulation that might be expected from Tim’s eMail. The predominant thing that they were doing was simply sitting still with their hands folded in their laps.
On the other hand, that story was getting to me. I hadn’t reread that one in a long time, and it was actually pretty sexy. Having an audience had a funny kind of stimulating effect on me too. I’d been reading and writing stories like this for a while, but saying the words out loud was somehow very different. I had never done that before. It was making me physically warm, and sexually hot. I even felt a bit lightheaded, almost intoxicated.
As I approached the end of the story, we reached the part where the four men were holding me afloat in the big Jacuzzi, and I was sucking on the balls of one, jerking off two of them, and the fourth man was plunging his huge cock into my wide-spread cunt. They all sprayed their cum onto my wet heaving body as I too had my orgasm.
This image was an incredible turn on for me. Semen was usually available in such small quantities, in my experience. In this story, the jets of stringy stuff were splattering onto me in wonderful abundance. As I read, the listeners surrounding me became imperceptible as my imagination focused wholly on the cinematic images that were brought up by the words that I mindlessly (yet passionately) read aloud.
The story ended. I let the sheaf of papers fall to the floor and took a deep breath. I was almost drunk with arousal. I couldn’t see how my new friends had stayed so still and calm.
Ah, but that was not the case. Jill stood up and announced, “I don’t care what we agreed on before! I need to do something! I’m so turned on I feel like I might explode!”
They all started talking. It turned out that they had decided in advance of my arrival that it would be rude to have an orgy with me there. Somehow, they had felt that I was ‘above’ that kind of thing, and that they should be well behaved and proper with me, their special guest, in attendance.
Jill wasn’t the only one who wanted to abandon their rule for the evening. Tim apologized, “Obviously, Sue, this group can’t restrain themselves. I… we… fully understand if you choose to leave the party now. We have no desire to hurt your feelings, but you did such a good job reading that story. Well,” he blushed, “now we want to take care of our… ummm “more important needs.”
“Please clarify for me. Are you encouraging me to leave,” I ask, “or would it be all right if I stay?”
Their faces lit up when I asked that. They immediately assured me that they would like me to stay more than anything else. They had just been too timid to ask.
I realized that this was my chance to live out a bit of a fantasy that I had been playing with in my day dreams recently. The ‘Slippery When Wet’ story involved four men spurting their semen onto me. Why not more? After all, Tim’s eMail said that their group had been experimenting with this kind of thing. So this was my opportunity.
“Yes, I’ll most certainly stay and join you,” I enthused. “I have one request for you, though. Would it be all right if I provide you with the basic scenario for our group play?” Several eyes lit up brightly when they realized I had said ‘our’, rather than ‘your’.
They were thrilled that I decided to stay, and more thrilled that I would be directing them. Somehow, they had built me up in their minds into some kind of guru of uninhibited sexuality. I was far from that, but figured, “What the hell. If they want to think of me that way, who am I to argue?”
At my direction, they pushed all the furniture over to the walls, leaving a wide space in the middle of the floor. The couch and three big arm chairs were all against one wall, with a big coffee table in front of the couch. Jill had gotten several bath towels that she spread in layers onto the table, making a comfortable location.
“OK, everyone undress down to underwear,” I told them. I myself remained fully clothed (for now) in my provocative outfit. My full attention was on the twelve bodies being transformed from conservative to libertarian dress code. I noticed at once that the plain apparel that they wore in public was only a cover for an array of more interesting underwear.
Most of the men were wearing tight bikini pants in dark colors. One of the guys had his cock encased in a tiny strip of a cod-piece, held up by string straps that circled his hips, with a single string disappearing into the crack of his ass. The women were similarly attired in sexy panties and bras that cried out with bright reds and neon greens. A couple of them had nylons and garters, and Jill had a black strapless push-up bra that cut across her large breasts, creased deeply into her wide, brown areolae and left her nipples exposed. She also had crotchless panties, which I noticed when she put her foot up onto the arm of a chair to remove her white socks. This spread her thighs apart, and her entire pubic area bulged out of the crotch. She had an incredible amount of hair around her cunt, and it was dark reddish-brown, like her head hair. This provided a great contrast to the shiny black of her panties.
They were all now stripped down, standing in their underwear, but by some unspoken agreement, they were waiting for my instructions before going on. “Ladies, go make yourselves comfortable on the couch and chairs,” I ordered. “You men, stand in a close line facing the women, with the table separating you from them”. I stood at the end of the table, and said to the men, “I want you to observe the women closely as they all slowly remove their last scanty semblances of modesty.”
Addressing the women once again, I instructed, “It’s time to release your inner slut. At my signal, I want you to remove your bras, and then your panties.” In unison, with me as their ‘conductor’, the women reached behind their backs to unclasp their bras, and then they lifted their hips to slide their panties down their legs. The women with garters left them on. The men kept their tight bikini pants on, outlining their anxious erections within the tightly stretched material.
“Finally, you lovely sluts, I want you to untie, unbraid, or unpin your hair, and also take off your glasses,” I said with a grin to the women.
This last set of actions was the most transforming of all, more than the process of undressing for the men. Whereas I had once lumped them all together as nerdy intellectuals, I could now abandon that stereotype and see them as individuals. Six women of all sizes and shapes, different color hair, all sorts of nipples and different amounts of pubic hair. No longer the mousy librarians, these were hot-blooded women with hunger in their eyes. When I urged them, “Spread your thighs so that these men can see your buried treasures,” there was no hesitation or modesty.
The three women on the couch actually hooked their knees over each other, and the others arranged their legs by taking advantage of the arms of their chairs. With the gaze of the men taking it all in, I continued my instructions to the women, “Start to play with your nipples with one hand, and with the other, tangle and twist your cunt hair.”
Gradually, they worked their fingers into the wet and open folds of their cunt flesh, and gently started to probe and caress their labia and clitorises (Shit! what is the plural of clitoris? Clitori? Or maybe it is like “deer” or “pants,” both singular and plural at the same time!). The hungry look in the women’s eyes was being replaced with a kind of glazed-over stare that let us all know that they were happy, and getting happier.
Now that the women were engaged in exhibitionist masturbation, I turned my attention to the men. “Take off your underwear now, gentlemen.” That command was a relief to them, since the restraining embrace of the fabric had become uncomfortable. Their hard shafts of pink flesh came springing out from their traps, and all six pointed straight outwards and upwards, bouncing against arms as the men bent over to push their bikinis down their legs and over their feet.
When they were all standing upright again, their erections swayed and bobbed randomly. All of the men had wet spots on the heads of their cocks, and I had to sternly demand, “No touching your lovely cock meat, men.” Instead, I made them perform like the Rockettes, twitching their cocks up and down in unison, then grinding their hips so that their erections oscillated in big circles. It was sort of a masculine version of the bump and grind tit-twirling for which strippers are famous. Drops of shiny precum occasionally flipped off the tips of the dancing cocks.
The ladies on the couch still had their fingers teasing their cunts, but the men’s show evoked some whistling and hollering of encouragement. I had to remind them, “Keep up your show for the men, sluts!” Still conducting, I turned to the men and said, “Now you all have my permission to start stroking your hard cocks. But no one is to cum until I say so. Just keep yourselves simmering.”
I felt it was time for me to take part in the ‘show’. Standing on the towel-covered coffee table, I flipped off my red pumps and swayed provocatively. My fingers raking through my blond hair, lifting it over my head, licking my lips provocatively, I stared brazenly at all the hard cocks and dripping cunts. I let my hair fall over my face, and twisted my neck back and forth so that it flailed around.
My hands dropped to my shoulders, pulling the spaghetti straps down onto my upper arms. I slithered one arm behind me to unzip my dress, while the other held the front in place over my breasts. Again, I raked my fingers through my blond hair, reaching upward while I continued my sensuous hula dance. Released from the support of my hand, the top edge of my dress slipped slowly down my body.
My breasts were revealed first, as the sewn edge of the material stuck on the hard points of my nipples before releasing with an inaudible pop. As the liberated weight of my breasts swayed to my dancing, my dress fell further, over my taut tummy and then past my hips. My shocking red panties were now revealed.
Tim immediately exclaimed, “Look how wet her crotch is!”
When I bent at the waist to look, I could see a dark crimson stain spreading in an irregular circle, centered on my cunt. I hadn’t realized how aroused I had become. I guessed I was too busy being the boss of this orgy.
My velveteen and satin dress was now gathered in a pile around my bare feet. Balancing on one foot, I dragged the other one gradually upwards, rubbing it against my leg. It slid up my shin, and when it got to my knee, I let go of my hair and reached down to grab the insole of my foot, pulling it slowly up further and further. This spread my thighs wider and wider apart.
I knew that the bulge of my mons veneris was pronounced and apparent to the gawking looks of my audience. Eventually, I was able to position the heel of my foot right into the crotch of my panties, and when I exerted some pressure inwards, I could feel my labia spread inside my satin panties. Now the blunt hard heel was pressed right into the nub of my clitoris. Yes, that felt fantastic. In this room full of masturbating partiers, I was the last to actually touch myself. Precariously balanced on one foot, I massaged my whole cunt with this other foot. My juices mixed with the satin, making a slick lubricant.
I couldn’t keep that position for long, so I let my foot down to the table and kicked my dress out of the way. I then pulled my panties down my legs and picked them up. Leaning over the edge of the table, I pressed my damp, aromatic panties into the face of each of the men, letting them smell and feel the lusty moisture that saturated the satin. The last man in the line was Tim, and he took the panties from my hand, and pulled the crotch band away from the rest. He put just the crotch between his lips and chewed and sucked the sweet nectar into his mouth. That was so sexy that I shuddered, watching him.
I was naked.
The men were still pumping up and down on their steel-hard cocks, and the women were rubbing their clits harder. Everyone was breathing hard, and again, I warned them, “Hold off on your cumming. If anyone has a premature orgasm, he or she will have to leave the room.”
Nobody wanted to miss anything, and I could see several people slacken the pace of their masturbating. Facing the men, I squatted down on the table and began to stimulate my own clit. But my legs were tired, so I laid myself down on the covered coffee table.
On my right was the line of 6 men, but all I could really see were their beautiful cocks about a foot higher than my reclining body. On my left were the women strung out like beads on a necklace, starting above my head and queued down to my feet. Their open cunts were even with my body, and when I looked toward them, I was looking right up into their cunts. Everyone was so close. Their sexual organs were so red, so wet, so engorged with blood.
MY calves were hooked over the sides of the table leaving me spread open wide for all to see. I took the index and middle fingers of my left hand and used them to spread my labia wide. The large bump of my clitoral hood was the lone pinnacle in the wet flatlands between my fingers. And my clitoris was poking out from its protective shield, looking for a friendly finger. My right hand slid down from my breasts, and I used my middle finger to tease my clit up and down, then back and forth. I might have been the last to start pleasuring myself, but I made up for the lost time quickly.
“Gather closer, you cock-strokers,” I ordered the men. They moved in, so that their knees were bumping up against my right side. Their cocks were extended right over my writhing body. The women on my left leaned forward so that they could see more closely how their men were masturbating.
Some of the men pumped straight up and down, and others used a sort of twisting motion. One guy was using the palms of both hands, as if he was making a snake out of clay. Another was pinching his nipples with his free hand. A couple of the men were fondling their balls. Some of the men were using saliva to lubricate their hands, either by drooling onto their cocks, or spitting into their palms. Others had so much precum that their saliva wasn’t necessary.
Tim had the largest cock in the group, and he had both of his hands on his cock, one pumping and pulsing on the lubricated crown, and the other pistoning up and down on the rest of the shaft.
The women too had varying techniques, I noticed. One woman had her three middle fingers deeply embedded into her vagina, while her palm squashed down onto her mons, stimulating her clitoris. A couple of women were employing the technique that I was using. One of them was flicking her finger over her clitoris so quickly that her motions were a blur. One woman was pinching her nipples extremely hard, and pulling them way out from her huge breasts. That would hurt me, but she was obviously enjoying it. Jill had her cunt the closest to my face, and I could smell her flowing juices. She wasn’t rubbing her clitoris at all. Instead, she was using her index finger to hook into the entrance of her vagina, where she had found her G spot. She was getting incredible satisfaction from stoking that sensitive little bulge hidden inside her cunt.
I was getting close, and my muscles were vibrating with excitement and anticipation. It was time for the countdown.
I told everyone, “Start to build up to your orgasm, cause I want us all to cum at the same time…. Five….”
After a brief pause, “Four…, ladies, spread your thighs wide so that we can all see.”
Another pause, “Three…. Men, thrust your hips forwards so that we can see your throbbing hunks of solid man-flesh.”
My body was twitching now. “Two… You can all be so proud of your prowess, your natural beauty, and your sexual awareness.”
My cunt felt like it might erupt any moment. Letting them all hear the sexy need in my voice, I gasped out, “One…. Everyone! Show us if you are really here, really involved, really ready!”
I cried, “Blastoff!”
Suddenly the room was full of sound, the sound of 13 simultaneous climaxes. Whimpers, grunts, ragged breathing, tight little screams, Tarzan-like hollers, shrill squeals, full-moon howls…. all mixed into a symphony of ecstasy. Faces contorted by mind-blowing orgasms.
The semen shooting out of six hard cocks, splattering onto my face, my breasts, my stomach, my churning fingers, my thighs! Blasts of cum arching over me and onto the faces of the women on my left. Onto heaving breasts and big gumdrop nipples. Dripping in stringy dollops from nipples into the hot foaming cunts, intermingling with the pungent cunt juices. Pearly semen spewing onto the pearls of my necklace (maybe this is what fake pearls are made from!)
Covered with hot, fragrant semen, I asked, “Will some of you ladies help me clean up?” I expected that they would use their fingers to scoop up the cum. But they were not strangers to sapphic love. They all got on their knees around the table and licked all the sticky stuff off of me, lapping up every ropey strand. My post-orgasmic bliss was extended by the light stimulation of six tongues rasping over my nipples, lapping into my navel, and kissing through my cunt hair.
The men massaged the shoulders of the cat-like women, and they talked about how original and exotic this group masturbation had been. It turned out that they thought they had tried everything in their group, but they had never watched each other just masturbate. It had been most enlightening to see exactly how all the other members of the group choose to stimulate themselves. There were so many ways to do it.
Eventually, everyone was getting dressed to go home, transforming themselves back into their nerdy scientist personae. I remained splayed out on the coffee table (or should I call it the “cock-tail table”). I could still feel the coolness on my skin where the remaining bits of semen and saliva were drying. What a night! How was I going to have the energy to drive home? Perhaps Jill and Tim would put me up for the night. I was sure that we could think of some good ways to pass the time.