Trixie and Johnny dressed as they might have for any party where possibility hung in the air—imagined or suggested. They were always alert to possibility. The possibility of encounters undefined but definable under their persuasion and readiness to ignite a moment.
Gloria and Tom, the hosts, were heavily rumored to be swingers. Yet with all the friends Gloria and Tom knew, rumors passed like grass fires—flaming hot and then put out in an instance. “Oh, they just love everyone,” said one. “Don’t think about convention.”
When Trixie and Johnny entered the house, they saw one or two couples but mostly very nice-looking straightish men. Unusual. Trixie’s radar sensed something right away. There was an air of tension and anticipation in the house. Organic. Not declared. Yet malleable, for sure.
Trixie had dressed in layers. She had on a short skirt over her naked, shaved legs. Discrete but promising. Under her jacket was a sheer-lace blouse with no bra. In an instant, she could go from Lois Lane to Super-Party-Fuck.
Johnny by instruction wore thin light pants over his tight body, an open shirt, and a light blue (signaling oral) and white bandana (voyeurism) off his neck.
The teaming water was baited. Now for the casting of line into hopefully turbulent seas.
Everyone noticed Trixie. Oh, how the sun melts wax. Oh, how the saxophone draws ears. Oh, how the red wine of Trixie’s full-breast cup intoxicates.
Trixie introduced Johnny to the men first. Something was stirring in her. Some hot ashes turned over with a dry stick. She had an idea. Trixie was, aside from beautiful flesh and blood, a moving idea. Physics really. Gravity, kinetics, celestial distortion, and time warp. In its most natural, wild fullness.
Trixie introduced herself to the men. And as they reached a hand out to her, she grasped it and put in on Johnny’s chest. Oh, yes, there was withdrawal, just out of surprise, and paralysis out of desire. Desire for Trixie as she undid her jacket and expose her near-naked breasts—and at the invite that Johnny was available. Trixie and Johnny. Available. A storm soon swept the room. Tea cups shook on the shelves. Carpets curled at the edges.
One idea was unified. Trixie and Johnny were available. In fact, Johnny, on cue, leaned into the men and touched their shoulder muscles and thighs. Brushed them any way he could, as Trixie instructed.
The alcohol was flowing. Trixie removed her jacket. And asked if anyone could count the lace threads, or estimate her cup size.
She was soon surrounded. The men touched her everywhere. She encouraged every moment. Moving hands to breast and crotch as needed to flame the fire.
Johnny on cue, again, under flash command signals, took all his clothes off and approached Trixie naked in the sea of men.
Trixie led a pack upstairs to the master bedroom. Tom and Gloria followed. The men at the party were magnetized and pursued. They stripped Trixie in a heartbeat. With a plan in mind, she dropped to her knees in the bedroom. The men knew to undress. What a frenzy. Trixie aligned with Johnny on the floor. One and two. Like a wedding line.
Trixie took the first men in her mouth. Growing them hard. She savored the precum and, circling their divine cocks, started memorizing each one: the hot warmth, the shuttering, the swelling, the shapes, the communication of animal desire to animal desire. Notes were taken in the caverns of her deepest longing. Those special ones would be called and invited into a very private circle.
Trixie stroked their shafts, one by one, two at a time, sucked them, tongued their ridges, licked their lengths, held their scrotums, and circled with her fingers the soft, dark place were later she would guide them into Johnny—bent like a boy for a spanking but receiving a man’s hidden wish for experience—all experience—under the tutelage of a woman such as Trixie.
One by one, Trixie brought the men to the edge, and moved them to Johnny. His mouth open, he received them just in time to discover their hard shapes and moist nature before they exploded—rat, tat, tat, ocean swell after ocean swell, hot squirt after hot squirt--in his mouth. Thick, thin, boyishly watery, vanilla, floral-violet and lemon peel, elegant and enveloping, juicy and with street vivacity, hot like pavement, sticky and soft as ice cream. Sinful. The ultimate wet taboo for men. To drink another’s sticky, smooth cum. With a degree of shame and lust. Longingly, savagely, with repentance and non-repentance. Ready for more.
They unloaded and Johnny received. He let their rivers pour into his mouth and across his face. He drank what he could. Savored what he could in this flash flood of sensations. Trixie stood alongside the men now, masturbating them with piston-stroke finality into Johnny’s mouth and face. Her eyes were cemented on the way their jism flowed from the corners of Johnny’s mouth, as it had for her on many party occasions. Running down his cheeks and chin, onto his chest. She kissed him; some men followed suit. It was a garden of desire, hopes and fulfillment.
In another room Gloria had men, one by one, and side-by-side hanging over her, their stiff, oil-primed cocks in each of her hands, her mouth alternating between them. She embraced all their cocks on the open bed. One by one they lunged deeply and filled her, or shot at her urging, in her white-smudged mouth. Hot and moaning Gloria took them. Her flush pussy swelling in pleasure.
Trixie heard the orgasmic pleasure from the other room. But before she left Johnny, she moved him to the bedside, stomach down and ass up. She looked at the waiting men and massaged oil into Johnny’s crease. With one wagging finger, she called the first man over and stroked him above Johnny’s slim, curved cheeks. With a single thrust she pressed him into the outer, tight ring of Johnny.
The man’s symmetrical, aerodynamic-like head slipped smoothy in. Trixie, standing behind the man, pressed her pelvis into his backside—driving the man’s hot cock all the way into Johnny. Oomph. Johnny shuttered but adjusted. Bent a bit more into the dynamic object filling him. Let it find him and explore him. Its strange warmth spread. The pure sex of it struck Johnny. He relaxed his muscles. Felt the man’s cock rub his walls and never-touched, inner passage.
The sensations were blinding. Was the man wet? Would he cum, Johnny thought? How would that feel? The excitement of the act built. What was it Johnny felt ripple through his prostate and forbidden sanctuary? Was his ass like a woman’s pussy? Could he, too, cum this way? To spurt?
He let the pink, fine, hard cock—veined but delicate in features--melt his resistance and open a new chapter. Johnny felt at once slightly feminine yet fully masculine. Then the wild thrashing and pumping began. The room was heated. Johnny accepted all their ready cocks. Four or five. One by one they came in him with fits and bounds. Gripping his waist. Rotating. Pausing. Pushing hard into him. Moaning. His senses reeled. He had not realized this pleasure before. He knew Trixie had. Now he had.
One man pulled out to watch his own cum flow in bursts down the ravine of Johnny’s round, sensual ass cheeks. The man’s cum glistened in the orange lamp light. Oh, for the art of it. Pearl white, it appeared like opalescent glass, marbled and delicious. Johnny felt it run past his nest and wanted, especially, to taste it. See it on himself as he floated in his imagination above the bed looking down. Voyeur to his own raw taking. An excited bystander in the very act he took part in as submissive and sinful, bold collaborator.
Trixie in the meantime had moved to Gloria’s room. There she saw a spent yet hungry Gloria. Wet and cum-filled from the small field of men now standing around her, or bent over licking and kissing her breasts and erect, sexed nipples.
Ah, a swinger, Trixie thought, “but what else?” Trixie rolled Gloria on her side and shoulder, opened her legs, and took a 69 position with the host. Their wet caverns and vulvas met mouth-to-mouth. Together they drank the tastes of the night.
Gloria was full of sperm. It leaked to her thighs. Light and thick at the same time. Trixie felt as if she was drinking from a bottle. Out it poured, warm, beautiful, mixed sperm. A lexicon of the night. Trixie spooled her tongue into Gloria. Found the vocabulary of bedroom calls the men left in fresh rope threads of cum—hanging on Gloria’s inner walls in honeycomb fashion. Trixie listened to those wet violin and bass strings. Songs emanating from each a crystal of sperm. Resonating still in a hot, sensual temperament. Around the flower edges and stem Trixie licked, then driving her tongue as deeply as she could for the woman-and-man flavors inside.
Hmm, Trixie thought. Here she could stay, suspended in time, reading the harmonies and taste codes from all the lover’s bodies.
Suddenly—they exploded in orgasms. Gloria for Trixie; and Trixie for Gloria. Their bodies shuttered and twisted, held firmly in place by each other’s generous and loving embrace. Quickly and fully their pleasure spread from toe to neck. They wetted each other more in the small, rapid quakes that followed. Delicious, syrupy, micro-pulsing quakes. Oh, this should never stop, thought Trixie. It can’t stop with one night. This newish sex, woman-to-woman, delivered on this night in a broth of humanity, was simply electric. It had to be permanent.
Their faces freshly steamed in honey and milk—the remaining men in the room rushed to kiss the charged earthiness from the women’s lips, cheeks, and chalice-full mouths. Long, passionate, searching, probing, affirming kisses ensued. The women opened completely to the men.
Trixie reentered the other room with Gloria in tow. Johnny lay paused across the bed. They exchanged knowing smiles. Trixie and Johnny then lay together toward the triangle part of the mattresses’ edge where they could best be seen or touched. They kissed excitedly in front of the others—sharing the ripe tastes from the night’s many lovers. And whispered to each other—did you? Yes, I did! Did you? Yes, I did!
Husband Tom had been a voyeur for most of the night. He enjoyed seeing Gloria penetrated. He felt a sharp pang of replacement with each new man that mounted her, their dripping cock-heads at her soft, moist entrance, rubbing her flower bud with their hot, early secretions.
But his heart raced with wild excitement to see her give herself wholly to new men. To see men touch his wife’s treasures made her more original and archetypal. To see her make them cum validated his secret lust and value of her. He relived his first magical night with Gloria with each mesmerizing sex act and ejaculation the men had with her.
Now Tom had one more lust to meet. There on the bed lay Johnny, naked and stained. Tom and Gloria talked about and hoped for such an opportunity. So did Trixie and Johnny in near parallel.
And, so, Tom leaned in to kiss Trixie, whisper to her, and coax Johnny toward the center of the bed. There, he lay opposite and now in reverse to Johnny. Cock-to-mouth 69. The two men swept hands over buttocks, found everyplace to touch, and squeeze in massaging motions. Each followed the other’s gestures.
Tom slid his two fingers into Johnny’s creamy, drenched butt passage. He could feel the warm, male jam sloshing on Johnny’s insides. Tom reached in as far as he could, exploring Johnny’s coated walls and textures. What a rush this sent through Tom. It felt so sexual. Forbidden, yet easy. His mind spun in envy, and pleasure, at his own touch of it. He settled on softly massaging Johnny’s smooth prostate. Pooling the jam in his fingers to lubricate the magic spot.
Johnny cooed in ecstasy. Never had he felt this unique intimacy with a man. It widened his consciousness. He experienced a profound need to blend with Tom. To be indistinguishable. Johnny also placed his fingers inside Tom. Turned him softly yet eagerly.
At the same time, the two men had lifted each other’s penises to the sensitive, once virgin line of their lips. There they felt, in fine tingling detail, the different cylinder geometries now reforming the bend and turns of their lips. Both were highly symmetrical, pink-white, finely ridged cocks. Hard cocks. Aching cocks. Moist with pre-cum in oozing amounts. Thicker or thinner by a bare measure. Now they drew each other in. Full head at first. Tongues finding the ridges. Luring out sap-lines of waiting sperm.
Tom and Johnny hungrily explored each other’s shafts with pursed lips. Running their sloppy mouths down the shafts to the base of their cocks. Memorizing each nuance of the other. How new was this! How naughty and enthralling. Even more so with Trixie, Gloria, and the men watching. The breathing in the room was like sails, filling and collapsing from a swift coastal wind. The other men were stroking as they watched.
Mouths plunged the length of cocks. Sperm glistened on the two wet shafts. A fury was building. Fingers still turning in the dark, alert, cheek-spaces of the men, they felt everything in its moment of beauty, its perfect place, time, and synchronicity—and focused now on relief. Knew it was time. Held each other so. And moved mouth and hand across hardened, fleshy heads until the angst of the taboo, the so-waited-for moment, was about to release like arrows.
And they came.
Painfully sharp, longed for, a delay of walled-in dreams, they came in lust, sin, joy, curiosity, and wonder, in airborne gushes and flints of intoxicating cream. Liquid incense, salty, pearl-like, and translucent; handsomely the hot rivers flowed into each other’s mouths, where they cherished, privately, deeply, its long-sought tastes and dimension, revolutionary as a continent discovered.
Now the group’s robes of secret desire had dropped. Stripped naked. They were steel-hot and moist-flower soft, in a dynamic, fluid, sexual community; initiated, one-and-all, for all to enjoy and nurture. No turning back. No reason not to go forward and beyond.
