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The Cocktail Table, Part Two
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
THE COCKTAIL TABLE part 2 of 2
By Sue
Now that the women are engaged in exhibitionist masturbation, I turn my
attention to the men. I tell them to take off their underwear. That command
is a relief to them, since the restraining embrace of the fabric has become
uncomfortable. Their hard shafts of pink flesh come springing out from their
traps, and all six point straight outwards and upwards, bouncing against arms
as the men bend over to push the bikinis down their legs and over their feet.
When they are all standing upright again, their erections sway and bob
randomly. All of the men have wet spots on the heads of their cocks, and I
have to sternly demand that they keep their hands off their meat. I make them
perform like the Rockettes, twitching their cocks up and down in unison, then
grinding their hips so that their erections oscillate in big circles. It is
sort of a masculine version of the bump and grind tit-twirling that strippers
are famous for. Drops of shiny precome occasionally flip off the tips of the
dancing cocks.
The ladies on the couch still have their fingers teasing their cunts, but the
men's show evokes some whistling and hollering of encouragement. I have to
remind them to keep up their show for them men, who I give permission to
start stroking their hard cocks. Now it is time for me to take part in the
show. Standing on the towel-covered coffee table, I flip off my red pumps and
sway provocatively. My fingers raking through my blond hair, lifting it over
my head, licking my lips provocatively as I stare brazenly at all the hard
cocks and dripping cunts. I let my hair fall over my face, and twist my neck
back and forth so that it flails around. My hands drop to my shoulders,
pulling the spaghetti straps down onto my upper arms. One arm reaches behind
me to unzip my dress, while the other holds the front over my breasts. Again,
I rake my fingers through my blond hair, reaching upwards while I continue my
sensuous hula dance. Released from the support of my hand, the top edge of my
dress slips slowly down my body. My breasts are 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 sway to my
dancing, the dress falls further, over my taut tummy and then past my hips.
My shocking red panties are now revealed, An Tim immediately exclaims about
how wet the crotch is. When I bend at the waist to look, I can see a dark
crimson spreading in an irregular circle centered on my cunt. I hadn't
realized how aroused I had become. I guess I was too busy being the boss of
this orgy.
My velveteen and satin dress is now gathered in a pile around my bare feet.
Balancing on one foot, I drag the other one gradually upwards, rubbing it
against my leg. It slides up shin, and when it gets to my knee, I let go of
my hair and reach down to grab the insole of my foot, pulling it slowly up
further and further. This spreads my thighs wider and wider apart. I know
that the bulge of my mons veneris is pronounced and apparent to the gawking
looks of my audience. Eventually, I am able to position the heel of my foot
right into the crotch of my panties, and when I exert some pressure inwards,
I can feel my labia spread inside my satin panties. Now the blunt hard heel
is pressed right into the nub of my clitoris. Yes, that feels good. In this
room full of masturbating partiers, I am the last to actually touch myself.
Precariously balanced on one foot, I massage my whole cunt with my other
foot. My juices mix with the satin, making a slick lubricant.
I can't keep that position for long, so I let my foot down to the table and
kick my dress out of the way. I then pull my panties down my legs and pick
them up. Leaning over the edge of the table, I press 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 is Tim, and
he takes the panties from my hand, and pulls the crotch band away from the
rest. Then he puts just the crotch between his lips and chews and sucks the
sweet nectar into his mouth. That is so sexy.
I am naked. The men are still pumping up and down on their steel-hard cocks,
and the women are rubbing their clits harder. Everyone is breathing hard, and
again, I remind them all to hold off. If anyone has a premature orgasm, he or
she will have to leave the room. Nobody wants to miss anything, and I can see
several people slacken the pace of their masturbating. Facing the men, I
squat down on the table and begin to stimulate my own clit. But my legs are
tired, so I lie down on the covered coffee table. On my right is the line of
6 men, but all I really see are their beautiful cocks about a foot higher
than my reclining body. On my left are the women strung out like beads on a
necklace, starting above my head and queued up down to my feet. Their open
cunts are even with my body, and when I look towards them, I am looking right
up into their cunts. Everyone is so close. Their sexual organs are so red, so
wet, so engorged with blood.
MY calves are hooked over the sides of the table leaving me spread open wide
for all to see. I take the index and middle fingers of my left hand and use
them to spread my labia wide. The large bump of my clitoral hood is the lone
pinnacle in the wet flatlands between my fingers. And my clitoris is poking
out from its protective shield, looking for a friendly finger. My right hand
slides down from my breasts, and I use my middle finger to tease my clit up
and down, then back and forth. I may have been the last to start pleasuring
myself, but I make up for the lost time quickly.
I ask the men to gather closer, so that their knees are bumping up against my
right side. Their cocks are extended right over my writing body. The women on
my left lean forwards so that they can see how their men masturbate. Some of
them pump straight up and down, and other use a sort of twisting motion. One
guy is using the palms of both hands, as if he was making a snake out of
clay. Another is pinching his nipples with his free hand. A couple of the men
are fondling their balls. Some of the men are using saliva to lubricate their
hands, either by drooling onto their cocks, or spitting into their palms.
Others have so much precome that their saliva isn't necessary. Tim has the
largest cock in the group, and he has 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 have varying techniques. One woman has her three middle fingers
deeply embedded into her vagina, while the palm squashes down onto her mons,
stimulating her clitoris. A couple of women are employing the technique that
I am using. One of them is flicking her finger over her clitoris so quickly
that her motions are a blur. One woman is pinching her nipples extremely
hard, and pulling them way out from her huge breasts. That would hurt me, but
she is obviously enjoying it. Jill has her cunt the closest to my face, and I
can smell her flowing juices. She isn't rubbing her clitoris at all. Instead,
she is using her index finger to hook into the entrance of her vagina, where
she has found her G spot. She is getting incredible satisfaction from stoking
that sensitive little bulge hidden inside her cunt.
I'm getting close, and my muscles are vibrating with excitement and
anticipation. It's time for the countdown. "Five"..... I tell everyone to
start to build up to their orgasm, cause we want to all come at once.
Four"...... Ladies, spread your thighs wide so that we can all see
"Three"...... Men, lean thrust your hips forwards so that we can see your
throbbing hunks of solid man-flesh, "Two".......... you can all be so proud
of your prowess, your natural beauty, and your sexual awareness.
"One"........... Everyone let us show us if you are really here, really
involved, really ready. "Blastoff"
Suddenly the room is 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. And the semen shooting out of six hard cocks, splattering onto my
face, my breasts, my stomach, my churning fingers, my thighs. Blasts of come
arching over me and onto the faces of the women on my left. Faces contorted
my racking orgasms. 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 they make fake pearls out of!)
When I ask the women to help me clean up, I expect that they will use their
fingers to scoop up the come. But they were not strangers to sapphic love.
They all get on their knees around the table and lick all the sticky stuff
off of me, lapping up every ropey strand. My post-orgasmic bliss is extended
by the light stimulation of six tongues rasping over my nipples, lapping into
my navel, and kissing through my cunt hair. The men massage the shoulders of
the cat-like women, and they talk about how original and exotic this group
masturbation had been. It turns out that they thought they had tried
everything in their group, but they had never watched each other masturbate.
It has been most enlightening to see exactly how all the other members of the
group choose to stimulate themselves. There are so many ways to do it.
Everyone is getting dressed to go home, transforming themselves back not
their nerdy scientists personae. I remain splayed out on the coffee table (or
should I call it the "cock-tail table"). I can still feel the coolness on my
skin where the remaining semen and saliva are drying. What a night! How am I
going to have the energy to drive home this evening? Perhaps Jill and Tim
will put me up for the night. I'm sure that we can think of some good ways to
pass the time.
Note: "Slippery When Wet" is mentioned in this story. It is also known as
"Sue's 9th," which is a two-part story. Watch for it to be reposted from time
to time, but please don't ask me to send it to you by Email.
Another Note: despite the fact that this story purports to divulge the
details of an encounter between myself and some people that I met through the
Internet, I want to make something very clear: this is purely a figment of my
imagination. This is not real life. I am not interested in meeting real
people in these kinds of ways. On the other hand, I'd be glad to hear about
your fantasies about meeting me... Fantasy.,...... get it?
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