Eight
The limo came to a stop at a large metal gate, monitored by a valet with a clipboard. After he’d conferred with our driver, the gates opened and we moved forward. Brad pulled on his hood, and I shivered at the transformation the simple black fabric created. All I could see was his eyes, and I hated not seeing his mouth. He expressed so much with it, from the tightening of his jaw to the curve of his grin, and I felt lost without that road map. I reached up the neck of the hood and felt his lips, curved, and I smiled back at him. He pushed my hand down and I looked out the window, fascinated by the upcoming events.
The driveway was curved cobblestone and lined with lit palm trees. Pieces of the house were visible, but it wasn’t until the limo came to a stop that we saw the full home. It was a huge, sprawling, Mediterranean-style estate, with an ivy-walled courtyard and a modern fountain in front. Two more men with clipboards straddled the entrance to the courtyard, though I think they were there more for effect than purpose. Brad gave them a name, “Ano,” and we were waved through.
“Ano?” I whispered, gripping his huge biceps tightly and trying not to trip on my heels.
“It’s an alias. One I use for swinging. You should think of a name to use tonight.”
I wrinkled my forehead, trying to think of a name that sounded sexy, but still realistic. There are so many pronounced differences between men and women. If I had attended this party with a woman, she would have given me ample time to prepare for something as important as my false identity.
I should have asked more questions
. A dozen names flitted through my mind, but they all sounded wrong. I finally discarded the task, figuring I’d have time to pick an alias later.
The courtyard was gently lit by the flames of two white stone fireplaces, one on either side. We walked through the dramatic area, going up a few steps and entering the home through two large ornate doors. The party was apparent as soon as we stepped inside.
Brad had mentioned fifteen or twenty couples, but there had to be at least fifty people in this room alone. It was a wide room, with huge columns and towering ceilings, colorful silks and lace tented above us, creating a ceiling of passion. The room had two dark leather sectionals, facing each other, with big gold and cream pillows scattered on them. A food bar was on the left side of the room, a wet bar on the right. Beautiful people were everywhere, wearing everything. Masks ranged from small black cat eyes to huge feathered ensembles. Women wore everything from sheer dresses and lingerie to Oscar-worthy evening gowns. The common denominators seemed to be rich and beautiful. Huge diamonds glittered from ears and fingers, and the normal factors of life—wrinkles, cellulite, imperfect features—seemed to have left these women alone. I wasn’t sure if it was the low lights or the masks, but everyone looked beautiful here. At close examination, there were wide hips, small breasts, and big noses, but those imperfections turned to perfect individuality beneath the overriding wave of sexuality and confidence displayed.
We seemed to have arrived at the precipice between friendly mingling and hot sex. As I watched, a woman pulled two men to a sectional and knelt between them. I quickly adverted my eyes and heard Brad chuckle next to me. “You don’t have to look away. They want to be watched. Otherwise they wouldn’t be here.” He grabbed my ass, sliding his hand up my dress and squeezing my bare skin. “You look stunning.”
I smiled at him, glad for the reassurance. He reached for my hand, and we entered the crowd. Brushing through the crush of bodies, we approached the bar, manned by a shirtless Adonis wearing only a bow tie and dress pants. He smiled appreciatively at me and nodded to Brad.
Brad asked for two glasses of champagne and we walked out the French doors to the pool, a massive blue-lit expanse of carnal opportunities. There was a couple already inside, naked bodies latched together in the lit water. I blushed and we walked to a lounge set and sat, looking back at the house and the crowd inside. More people were starting to spill outside, and soon we would have company. But for now it was quiet, except for the moans of the couple in the pool.
Brad pulled off his cloth hood, his hair mussed and sticking up, looking adorably hot. He took a swig of champagne and ran his hand down my bare back.
“You okay with this?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah.” I flashed him a smile. The party felt refined, classy with a strong undercurrent of sex. “What’s the deal with the party, the hosts?”
“The hosts.” He smiled. “Dan and Beverly. I represented Beverly a few years ago in a divorce. We fucked a few times during the process. When she married Dan she reached back out to me. Figured this would be up my alley. They host a few parties a year and are very selective about their invitation list. That’s what I like.”
“Do they personally know all of the guests?”
“I’m not sure. They probably met most of them through AFF.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a social networking site. Think Facebook for Swingers.”
“Are you on it?”
“Not right now. I go through phases, depending on what’s going on in my life, who I’m dating.”
“Everyone here is so attractive. I kind of expected...”
He laughed at the uncomfortable expression on my face. “There is an application process involved to be invited to events such as this. Photos are one requirement.”
I tilted my head, raising my eyebrows questioningly.
He smiled, running his hand through his mussed hair. “I didn’t send any photos of you, not that I have any. They know my taste, and trust that I wouldn’t bring an unacceptable guest.”
Unacceptable?
I shifted uncomfortably, playing with the hem of my dress. “It seems like a lot of money in there.”
“Dan and Beverly are kind of snobs in that respect. Money also weeds out a lot of the crazies.”
“Good. I don’t let crazies fuck me.”
He laughed and pulled me to him, kissing me deeply. “Let’s go back in. If you see something you want to do, just let me know. This will be a good test for us.”
“In what way?”
He stood, towering over me, and flashed a grin, pulling his hood back on. “Because I plan on enjoying the party also.”
Nine
We walked back into the house, my stomach in nervous knots. I was glad for the disguise, for the layer of protection it gave me. Brad held my hand firmly, guiding me as we moved through the noisy crowd, chatter, laughter and murmurs surrounding us. There were a few long glances, a few friendly smiles, but no one approached us or said anything as we passed, and I was grateful for that. I needed some time to adjust and figure out what was going on. We left the packed foyer and walked down a few steps into a darkened great room. The couches were set at different angles, some facing the windows, some open to the center. A round stage had been set up in the middle of the room, a chrome stripper pole coming out of the middle and stretching all the way to the top of the vaulted ceilings. Two women, both nude, danced on the stage, twirling around the pole and caressing each other. This room had a definite club atmosphere, laser lights creating a harmony of colors on the ceiling and techno music pumping from speakers. A woman untangled herself from a sea of bodies on a couch and stood, walking over to us. She had fire-engine-red hair and wore a black leather mask and matching minidress. I took a discreet peek at her feet and tried not to swoon. Black spiked Louboutins. She gave me a big smile and wrapped Brad in a tight embrace, brushing her hand lightly over his package in the process.
“I’d know this hunk of meat anywhere, even with that creepy hood,” she cooed. Reaching out a hand to me, she gave me a blatant once-over, causing a blush to spread over my face. “I’m Beverly Franklin,” she said, with no trace of snobbery. “I
must
say, you are utterly gorgeous. Not that I’d expect Brad to show up with anything else,” she added with a grin, squeezing his big arm. “Brad, you go sit down, I’m going to give your friend the grand tour.”
I had a brief recollection of a strip club tour, one that had conveniently pulled me away from Brad a few weeks earlier. My eyes flickered around the room, at the numerous sexual possibilities in front of him. I felt momentary panic at the thought of being alone, away from him, and him away from me. “I, um...” I faltered, looking to Brad for rescue.
“Stick to her, Bev,” he said, stepping backward, his face impossible to read behind the black cloth. “She’s new. Remember that.” He nodded at me and lifted his glass, and I frowned at him, swearing that I could see his shoulders shaking in a laugh. I turned to Beverly and smiled tentatively, downing the rest of my champagne with a strong gulp.
* * *
B
EVERLY
,
THOUGH
IN
her forties, had an ass like a supermodel’s, and the leather clung to her perfect body as if it had been painted on. She was bubbly and friendly, not the stoic and snobby host I was expecting. She wrapped her arm in mine and navigated us out of the laser-filled great room.
“I didn’t catch your name, sweetie.”
I tensed, my thoughts bumping around in my head until I grasped a hold of a name and blurted it out. “It’s Jessica.” The tattooed makeup artist had unknowingly rescued me.
“Jessica, Brad said you were new. Is this your first party?”
“Yes. At least, of this sort.”
She laughed, a musical giggle that floated away as we walked through the kitchen, a granite-filled masterpiece, full of chefs and shirtless men who were filling hors d’oeuvre platters. Off the kitchen was a hall, and she pulled me down it, the lighting discreet and dim.
“This is what I call the sex hall—there are four bedrooms off it, and if you want to play privately, or with other couples, these rooms are available.” We peeked in the first room and I froze.
A man knelt, naked and beautiful, his back a chorus of tanned muscles, candles throughout the room creating flickering shadows on his skin. In front of him stood another man, black and naked, a dark leather mask, similar to Beverly’s, obscuring his face. The black man was huge, Brad’s size, but not as cut or defined as Brad. His cock was long, dark and
in
the kneeling man’s mouth. A woman, stunning, dressed in an azure-blue floor-length evening gown and a huge feathered mask, stood on the other side of them. Her elegant attire was contrasted by a leather riding crop, gripped tightly in one hand. As I watched she stepped forward and slapped the kneeling man, hard along the buttocks. Her voice, calm, controlled and authoritative, rang out in the quiet room.
“Suck it harder. All of it.”
The man obliged, and the black man groaned, his legs tightening. I saw a cock twitch in the darkness and realized the white man was hard.
Very
hard.
I felt Beverly tugging on me, and I blinked, stepping back, but not before my eyes locked with the woman in the room. She smiled, slowly and securely at me, and then I heard her speak to the men. “Now. Get up, both of you, on the bed. I want you to use those hard cocks on me.”
I tried to stifle a gasp, and followed Beverly, her hand tugging, pulling me to the next room. For a reason I couldn’t explain, I felt my panties sticking to me, wetness pooling.
Ten
Brad leaned against the wall, obscured by the shadows, invisible. He watched the two women walk away, watched Julia, her face as she looked in one of the bedrooms with Beverly. He saw her expression change and wondered what she saw. Maybe it had been a mistake bringing her here. Maybe she wasn’t ready.
Movement in his peripheral vision caused him to turn and he watched as a girl entered the room. Alone, wearing white, her face covered with a veil. Even in the dim light he could see through the sheer fabric of her dress, erect nipples and bare skin underneath, nothing else. She was nervous, tentative. She gripped a glass of white wine tightly in her hand and looked around the room. He stood upright and moved out of the shadows, his steps sure and confident.
* * *
“I’
M
SORRY
,
WHAT
did you ask?” I had missed whatever Beverly had said, my mind still filled with images from the first room.
“I was saying that we decorated the four bedrooms in color themes—kind of to fit different fetishes. Me, myself, I just like straight sex with different men. I don’t travel too far outside that box. But I like watching all sorts of things. That room back there was the red room.”
I nodded, vaguely remembering that the room had a red theme—dark red walls, cream carpet, red lamps and bed coverings. In another world it might be considered designer disaster, but in this setting, it fit the mood of excess.
“This next room is the blue room. I find more mellow couples tend to use this area,” she whispered, pushing the door open farther. We peered in.
Now, aware of the color schemes, I noticed the room itself first. It sported robin’s-egg pale blue walls, white furnishings, and large abstract art on the walls. There was discreet uplighting, but the room was mostly lit by candles. Two couples occupied this room, one on the bed and one on the floor, cushioned by large pillows. Both couples seemed to be caressing and kissing each other, hands gently moving everywhere. We moved on, me needing less encouragement this time.
The black room was next. “Whips and chains?” I asked, reading into the color choice.
“Not here,” she laughed. “S and M is a whole other culture, one we don’t participate in. Not because we don’t agree with it. It just has its own groups and parties. What you saw in the first room—that’s as dominant as it gets here. The black room is mostly for GB stuff. It’s the largest guest bedroom we have.”
I didn’t have a chance to ask what GB stood for, and didn’t need to, once we peered in. Six men surrounded one girl. She was voluptuous, with large natural breasts, a soft but slim stomach and wide hips. She was bent over, on a large bed, two men at her feet, one in her pussy, another in her ass. She screamed, loud and in pleasure, and they both moved in unison, fucking her deeply, then pulling slowly out. She supported her body with one hand, and used the other to jack off a skinny man who knelt, naked, before her. The other men touched her, squeezing her breasts, smacking her ass or waiting impatiently for a chance at her mouth. Everywhere I looked in the room, there was movement, skin-on-skin, mouth-on-skin, and sounds filled the space. Slaps, moans, muttered phrases.
I watched, transfixed, as the woman came, long and loudly, her body shaking with the exertion and clear juice squirting from her pussy. The man who had been fucking her, a thin man with a cock like a fucking Clydesdale’s, swore in amazement at her gushing pussy and pulled out, using his fingers to finish her off. He wore a dark green mask, and pulled the mask up to get a better view. His handsome face was filled with desire and wonder and sex, and I felt sudden familiarity, as I realized that my emotions matched his. What was I doing? Standing here gaping! I had an image of what I must look like and turned away suddenly, ending the view of the room and my hidden fantasy.
* * *
K
ATE
WAS
R
USSIAN
,
in the States on a six-month visa. A visa that could be extended if her boss—and sponsor—Mr. Gunter, agreed to continue her employment and fill out the necessary paperwork. Mr. Gunter had strongly suggested that Kate accompany him tonight. Her hesitancy at his request had displeased him, and the request had turned into a demand, complete with consequences if she did not comply. So she had yielded, and now here she was.
Earlier she had stood in front of him, naked, washed thoroughly by his staff, and he had picked out this outfit, a ridiculous white mesh dress that showed every part of her, and a white veil that did nothing to disguise her young face. He had dressed her, slowly, touching her skin and groping her curves as he pulled the material over her body. He had not tried to have sex with her. Not yet. But tonight must be the night. Here, at this party, where Americans were having sex everywhere, on couches, in pools, against the wall right next to her. She saw movement in the shadows; then a hulk of a man appeared, stepping into the light.
He had impossibly broad shoulders and muscular arms that his expensive dress shirt couldn’t hide. Standing, silent and sure, he looked straight at her, waiting. She took a few steps forward, tentative, wanting to see more but needing to be closer to do it. He turned slightly and was fully illuminated by the light.
He wore a black hood, simple dark loose fabric with two eyeholes cut out. She wasn’t sure if it was the hood or his body, but danger radiated from this man. His eyes, the only part of his face she could see, were dark brown pools of sexual intensity, blatant arousal in them. She paused, scared of him and the sexual heat that emulated from him, even with ten feet between them. Then she felt a hand on her back.
Mr. Gunter’s voice purred in her ear and she stiffened, closing her eyes briefly. Thin hands ran down the sides of her body and then moved up her front, squeezing her breasts and massaging them. She opened her eyes, looking into the eyes of the hooded stranger briefly, then looked away, ashamed, her lip trembling. She tried to be strong, tried not to cry. The hands moved up and gripped her neck, turning her face, and she felt Mr. Gunter’s pursed lips on hers.
* * *
I
WHIRLED
,
RUNNING
into Beverly’s big breasts, our faces almost colliding, and she took a step back with a wince. “Sorry,” I whispered. “Are you okay?” The girl’s squirting pussy was imprinted in my mind, and I clenched my legs together, wanting Brad here, now, instantly.
“Sure,” she said slowly, looking at me intently. “Is this too weird for you? It can be a lot to take in—”
“No,” I interrupted her, shaking my head and trying to smile. “I like it here. I just remembered something I wanted to ask Brad about.”
She shrugged. “Okay. You don’t need to see the last room. I can just tell you about it.” She looped her arm through mine and leaned close, her breast touching me. “It’s called the snack room, and is a lot of fun to visit during the party. It has lots of fun food you can eat off each other, or you can lie on the buffet table and have everyone nibble and lick things off you.”
I smiled politely, trying to listen but not able to get my mind off the woman in ecstasy and the circle of hard, waiting cocks.
The bedroom hall led back to the crowded foyer, and as we eased through, Beverly was stopped by several people. I finally leaned to her and whispered in her ear that I would see her later. She nodded gratefully to me and started chatting up a couple by the bar. I moved quickly through the crowd, avoiding eye contact and beelining for the great room. I stopped at the entrance, my eyes adjusting to the change in lighting, trying to find Brad in the dark, pulsating, room.
I saw him, alone by the window, huge and imposing, and felt a flood of relief. He was watching a couple on the couch—a young blonde with an older man—Brad’s eyes unreadable but dark. I quickly walked to him, and he slid an arm around my waist, pulling me to him.
“How was the tour?”
“Good. Interesting.”
“Good. Interesting,” he mocked, his hand trailing down my hip, teasing the skin at the bottom of my dress.
“Stop that,” I muttered, trying not to lean into his touch. “Yes, it was interesting. Beverly is very sweet.” A breath caught in my throat as his hand traveled higher, pushing up my hem. His attention was focused on me, thoughts of everything else disappearing, and the intensity was unnerving. “Why don’t we find a private place and—”
He grabbed me, shoving me hard against the wall, yanking my dress up till my lace panties were exposed, and spread my legs expertly with his knees. I sputtered a protest, but all that came out were whispered curses, my desire to not draw attention to us overriding my need to get him to keep his fucking hands to himself.
“Why don’t we skip the private place?” he said, his voice strong in my ear.
He slid two fingers in me, his eyes flickering at my soaked wetness, his fingers moving in and out, his thumb gently making delicious circles around my clit, the sheer fabric increasing the pleasure. I protested, quietly but fervently, but my words dropped off and my legs weakened. Sagging, I let my head drop back as I entered an unworldly plane of pleasure and arousal. He pulled on my dress, sliding the red fabric off my shoulders, and I felt the silky material fall away from my skin, leaving my breasts exposed, my nipples puckering in the open air. I looked around desperately, worried about who might see. My eyes met with one man, then two, who watched with aroused interest before my head dropped back and I felt an orgasm hovering.
Brad did incredible things, his fingers and thumb making my clit stand hard and juices ooze from between my shaking legs. I gasped, gripping his shoulder and looking gape-mouthed into his smoldering eyes. “Do you like people watching you?” His voice was authoritative, demanding, and my rebellious side tensed at the tone. I protested weakly, my words turning into unintelligible moans, his words ringing true in my slutty core. “Do you?” His voice was now a rough whisper, and I moaned, opening my eyes for a moment, long enough to see another face, another pair of eyes on me. A man walked by slowly, close enough to hear, and I let out a strangled cry despite myself.
His fingers disappeared for a moment; then I heard a ripping sound as my panties became victim to his strength. I sagged against the wall, waves of pleasure growing in time to the vibrating bass, the slow circle resuming around my clit, the fingers sliding back inside my soaking pussy.
“God, you are wet,” he growled in my ear, and I could hear the wetness, the slick sound of his actions. “Almost as wet as I’m going to make that sweet little blonde on the couch.” Opening my eyes wide, I saw carnal activity all around and tried wildly to focus, to see who he was talking about. Perverse snapshots of different possibilities battered my mind.
Brad with me, Brad’s hands, cock, mouth on someone else, her pleasure, my possession.
My mind desperately tried to grasp on any form of sanity, but the sexual need, the slutty side of me that was in full unadulterated glory, took the thoughts and savored them, the competitive side of me feasting on the challenge. Then I saw her, the young blonde on the couch, her body lying back, perfect cream tits exposed. The sight, the thought, the jealous arousal sent me over the edge, and an explosion of pleasure erupted in my core, my screams bursting out, unable to control myself.
My orgasm was long, hard and insanely good—visions filling my head, my eyes opening intermittently, seeing faces, hearing words, knowing that a room was watching—the knowledge stretching out the orgasm, and I was close to sobbing when it ended, my body collapsed against him, legs useless.
I sagged in his arms, my thighs wet, body quaking. I had just come, in front of this whole room, men staring, my breasts hanging out, my panties ripped and tossed on the floor. I should have felt like a slut, a dirty whore. But instead I felt liberated, aroused. It was an interesting discovery, to know that I liked being dirty. I wanted to be stared at, pointed to, to have men lining up to fuck me. Inside, I felt a release of some tie, some leash undone, and I knew my descent into sexual awareness was just now starting. I wasn’t sure if I could ever tie it back into orderly place.