Darcy's Wet Dream

This is the first of two stories inspired by a visit to the offices of legendary Australian porn site Girls Out West, when I got to meet two of their staff/models, Darcy and Rosie.

Darcy from Girls Out West

“I wonder if I should bake her an apple pie?” wondered Darcy, as she luxuriated in the blue inflatable wading pool in her backyard. She was thinking about her neighbour Mrs. Jones, who had been watering the lemon tree in her front yard while Darcy was instructing the moving men where to put her furniture the day before. Mrs. Jones seemed very friendly, a warm smile lighting up her tanned face, strands of grey hair escaping the loosely formed bun.

But with the warm sun caressing her damp skin, it wasn’t long before Darcy’s mind wandered off in a different direction. She began thinking about a girl she really fancied at her work. Rosie was always getting up to mischief.

“If I were the boss, I’d give her a spanking,” Darcy grinned.

The thought of pulling Rosie over her knee and taking down her panties was all it took to drive Darcy over the edge.

“No-one’s around,” she told herself as she slid her right hand down the front of her full blue bikini bottoms and began rubbing her stiff clit.

Suddenly she was transported from the inflatable wading pool to a full-sized indoor swimming pool. And guess who was the lifesaver? None other than Rosie.

“Help! Help!” cried Darcy, pretending to drown. A very hammy performance, but it did the trick. Rosie, dressed in a tight blue one-piece with candy pink board shorts over the top, dived into the water and swam to her. The next thing she knew she was being dragged from the water. Rosie was stronger than she looked.

As soon as Rosie’s lips came down on hers to give her the kiss of life, Darcy slipped her tongue into her rescuer’s mouth.

“I don’t think you were drowning at all,” Rosie scolded her playfully. “I think you’re a horny little slut trying to take advantage of me.”

“No, really, I’m feeling faint,” Darcy insisted.

“Yes, you do look a little blue,” Rosie played along. “I think I better get you out of those tight restricting clothes.”

Back in the wading pool, Darcy untied her red bikini top and took it off. Then she slid off her bottoms and sat her nude bum down carefully on the plastic bottom of the pool. In her mind it was Rosie who had undressed her.

“What you need for your full recovery is pussy pleasure,” she declared, sucking on Darcy’s stiff pink nipples as she began running her finger lightly and teasingly across the little pink clit which stood up so proudly amongst Darcy’s curly red pubes. It wasn’t only pool water flowing from Darcy’s pussy.

Darcy wondered if they should be alone. Maybe not. What if there were a bunch of other hot girls there who couldn’t believe their luck to be witnessing such a sexy scene. Fifteen girls with their hands down their bikini bottoms - whimpering, wanting and wanking. Yes. Perfect. Darcy loved being watched.

Now Rosie needed to be naked. But how? Oh, let’s change the scenario. Now it’s a nudist swimming pool. Darcy’s been nude from the beginning and so has Rosie. And now all the wanking girls are nude too. Darcy can see their slim fingers sliding in and out of their juicy pussies. A definite improvement.

Rosie being silly

Darcy’s fantasies always began with a certain concern for realism, but the hornier she got and the faster she slid her fingers in and out of her quivering cunt, the more plot development and verisimilitude was washed away on a tide of nipple sucking, bum fingering and pussy juice showers all over her face.

By now Rosie had her bum pressed into Darcy’s face as she alternated between sucking on her clit and fucking her pussy with her tongue. With her mouth full of pussy, Rosie had to breath through her nose. It was a warm breeze that evaporated the wetness around Darcy’s sensitive arsehole. For her part, Darcy was licking Rosie’s hairy arsehole like it was a pink lollipop.

“I wonder if Rosie really does have a hairy arsehole that she likes having licked?” wondered Darcy. “Of course she does.”

Something about surrendering to the oncoming rush of orgasmic pleasure made Darcy feel like she was clairvoyant. She knew everybody’s secrets. And, by some strange coincidence, all of their secrets were really, really dirty.

Rosie brought Darcy to orgasm with her fingers and her tongue. As she quivered in an extended orgasm, each of the watching girls came over and squirted all over her face.

Back in the real world, Darcy opened her eyes and found herself looking into the eyes of another.

Apparently, when she’d shouted out “Help! Help!” in her dream, she had also done so in reality. And Mr. Jones, being a caring soul had leapt the fence to come to her aid. Instead he had spent the last ten minutes standing looking on in stunned silence, as his stark naked new neighbour played with her stiff pink nipples and fingered her juicy pussy. Understandably, he now had a very very hard cock.

“Oh, dear,” muttered Darcy, standing up and covering herself with a towel.

“Don’t worry, my dear,” he assured her. “We’re a very open-minded neighbourhood.”

“You must be Mr. Jones,” replied Darcy, remembering her manners and extending her hand.

Mr. Jones was too polite to mention that the hand Darcy had extend for him to shake was still wet with her pussy juice. By now he was so stiff that it was a wonder his cock wasn’t poking out over the top of his trousers.

That night, when Mr. Jones climbed into bed with his wife, she was in for quite a surprise. How long had it been? Seemed like ages. But now, as she felt her knickers come down, she wasn’t going to waste time wondering why. As her husband’s hands grasped the soft cheeks of her bottom and she felt the hardness of his cock slide home into her hot and hungry pussy, she was a happy woman.

Turns out Darcy had given her new neighbour something better than an apple pie.

Darcy thinks the story is funny

Pressed Together : Wank Wednesday

Today's Wank Wednesday prompt word is #echo. Today's Wank Wednesday prompt word is #echo.

For more information on this writing challenge, and to find links to the other stories visit Word Ejaculation.

Pressed Together

Did you ever see that film His Girl Friday? Cary Grant and Rosalind Russell. Very funny. All about a newspaper reporter who teams up with his ex-wife to break a big story? It's all a scheme to break up her new relationship and get her back for himself. I used to love that movie. Not anymore. Now it has bad associations for me.

I've been a reporter on the Daily Echo for twelve years now. My name is Charles Foster. For the first of those two years, Roberta Sullivan was my assistant. For the next five years, she was my assistant and my wife. We were a great team, until she discovered that, when I came home much later than she did, it was because I was putting more than just the paper to bed. Our divorce was a messy one. It was in all the papers, except the Echo.

Then, a month ago, three events occurred. They had no causal connection, but they were pre-requisites for an exquisite form of torture inflicted on me by what I can only term fate.

Roberta divorced for the second time. Intolerable Cruelty was the reason she gave in court. This comedy, starring George Clooney and Catherine Zeta-Jones, was her husband Charles Blanding's favourite movie. And he insisted on watching it at least once a week.

"If it had been The Big Lebowski or Fargo or pretty much any other Coen Brothers movie, I could have put up with it," she declared in court. After the jury were shown the film they voted unanimously in her favour.

For the four years when she'd been married to Blandings, film critic for the Senior Citizen's Gazette, Roberta had been happy to stay at home and work on her novel about a woman who spent two years working as the assistant to a reporter, fell in love with him, married him, continued to work with him for a number of years, and then caught him cheating on her.

The second thing which occurred was that Roberta received her 347th rejection slip. Reluctantly, she decided that she would have to return to work.

Since there were only two major newspapers in our town, the Echo and the Tribune, Roberta sought employment at the Tribune. The editor told her that he would normally have jumped at the chance to employ such a highly regarded research assistant, but, unfortunately, the combined influence of the financial crisis and competition from the internet mean that the paper would be folding in three days.

That was the third event. And it led to Roberta applying for her old job back at the Echo. Since I was the only reporter who didn't have his own research assistant, the editor assigned her to work with me once more. I tried to dissuade him, but, ever since that incident when I accidentally illustrated a story about a dirty old man who was exposing himself to young women in the park with a photo of prominent real estate developer Francis Fosdike, he has, perhaps understandably, been of the opinion that any favours are owed by me to him and not the other way around.

Let me tell you a little bit about Roberta. She is quite possibly the most infuriating woman on the face of the planet. This would not be the case if she didn't have her charms. In fact, what makes her so infuriating is that she is so desirable. A treasure you cannot surrender and yet with a price far too high to pay. That is Roberta in a nutshell.

Physically, she is still truly luscious. She's tipping forty now, but with her long red hair, pale skin with freckles, her large breasts (which just seem to get more enticing the further I know they must now hang down when she takes her bra off), her broad womanly hips and that round bottom which has a life of its own as it jiggles beneath her loose skirt and whatever conservative panties she is wearing.

Ah, conservative. There's the rub. When we were married and working together she was so beautiful and so sweetly affectionate, loving nothing more than kissing and cuddling, even in the office. But she was conservative. I won't say she was a prude. She liked sex as much as the next woman, as long as it was in the dark, under the bed covers. But I hardly ever saw her naked. I very much wanted to. Sometimes I'd walk in on her when she was in the shower, but that would put me in the shit with her for the rest of the day. And I definitely couldn't watch porn when she was around. What do you do when the light of your life cramps your style?

Now I could see that I was going to get the worst of both worlds. I wasn't going to get any nookie from her, but she would no doubt be as generous as ever with criticism of my imperfections.

"Neither of us want this," she said to me on the first day, "but let's not try to cut our noses off to spite our faces. I don't want to make it easy for you, I'll admit that. And I'm sure that you don't want to make it easy for me. But don't make it harder for yourself just so it will be harder for me."

"Oh, don't worry," I leered. "There are many women I'll make it harder for, and you are not one of them."

"Very funny," she replied sarcastically. "But it will take more than dick jokes to get under my skin. I'm not the shrinking violet I once was."

"We'll see," I mumbled.

The story I was working on was a big one involving political corruption of the worst kind. There were rumours that Mayor McLean was working hand in glove with mob boss Tony Margheriti, going light on law and order in return for drugs and prostitutes for the entertainment of important campaign supporters. To discover the truth we would have to go undercover in places where Margheriti hung out.

One of the places where he hung out, in more ways than one, was Dolphin Cove Nudist Beach.

For a while it seemed like everything might be going my way and this situation may not be so bad after all. There were two things which would give me great pleasure. One was to see my ex-wife's luscious nude body after all these years. The other was to totally humiliate her.

I would just tell her that we were going to Margheriti's favourite beach. I wouldn't tell her it was a nudist beach. In fact, I would act as if it were a surprise to me too. She would be horrified, but, her dedication to her job, not to mention financial desperation, would win out. She would have to strip completely naked. And I'd make her walk around that way in front of loads of strange men, all the time squirming with embarrassment inside and seething with anger at what I was doing to her. I was practically rubbing my hands with glee. And the idea made me so horny I had to nip quickly into the loo for a quick wank. It wouldn't do for me to get over-excited. I would have to keep at least a little of my mind on the job.

"You didn't tell me this was a nude beach," Roberta pointed out when we arrived. "This isn't my idea of going undercover."

"I'm as surprised as you," I declared. "One doesn't normally associate gangsters with nudism."

I quickly undressed.

"If you didn't know," Roberta asked, "then why didn't you bring any bathers?"

"That just goes to show how forgetful I can be when I'm chasing a big story," I pointed out. "It's a good thing I have such a perspicacious assistant. Now take all of your clothes off. We can't let your prudishness get in the way of our task."

"When was I prudish?" she asked, as she kicked off her shoes, unzipped the back of her white summer dress and let it drop to the sand. I wasn't wrong, she looked as good as she ever had in the few times she'd worn a bikini during our marriage. Then she unhooked her bra and let it drop. When I saw her full pale breasts with their nipples like strawberry-flavoured lollies dangle free, swaying loosely above her slightly rounded belly, I just wanted to grab them and bury my face in them and suck on those nipples. "Are you sure you are allowed to walk around like that?" she asked, looking down at my now rampant erection.

"Ah, this could be a problem," I conceded, as I watch her pull down her panties to bare her tangle of fiery pubes, which failed to entirely hide the pink slit of her tantalising cunt. She turned away from me and bent down to pick up her clothes. The sight almost caused me to cum on the spot. Her bum was a masterpiece and the way it was stretched before me like that filled my head with thoughts of fucking her in her pink puckered little asshole, something I'd never done before.

Girls Out West

"Oh, dear," she cried when she turned back around. And then she burst into hysterical laughter as she pointed at my stiff cock. "Did I do that?" she asked. "I didn't know you still cared."

This wasn't quite working out the way I'd hoped it would.

"Perhaps it would be a good idea if I keep a low profile," I suggested, trying to rescue some shred of dignity. "I'll observe from behind a palm tree. And take notes."

"O.K." she replied, trying to keep a straight face. "So can you see Margheriti?"

"Yes," I told her. "He's the tanned muscular gentleman wearing the fedora and smoking the cigar."

"Oh, he's cute!" she exclaimed, and trotted off across the sand towards his umbrella.

I hung back behind a large tree until I lost my hard-on and then followed the tree line down towards Margheriti's umbrella. Once there I again observed the situation from behind a tree.

"Ask that ravishing redhead if she would like to have a drink with me," he instructed one of his minions.

When Roberta was led over, Margheriti stood up to raise his hat to her. I swear his fat bronzed cock hung about half way to his knees.

"You have such lovely pale skin," he told her. "You mustn't allow yourself to get burned. I can see that you are not used to visiting nude beaches."

"No, I'm not," she admitted. "To tell you the truth, I'm a little embarrassed." And she was blushing, but whether from her exposure or the fact that she was having a hard job dragging her eyes away from the gangster's massive schlong, was a matter for conjecture.

"Protection is one of my specialties," he informed her. "Let me fortify you with 15+." And with that he picked up a bottle of sunscreen, squirted some in his hand, indicated for her to turn away from him, and began to rub it into her back.

She was certainly doing a good job of ingratiating herself with the man. As I watched, he continued to smear sunscreen over her body, moving progressively to more intimate regions. Damn, why hadn't I thought about the whole sunscreen issue. It could have been me fondling her big soft slippery breasts. My boner returned with a vengeance as I watched the gangster slide his hands all over her big bum.

"Hey, that's the place the sun doesn't shine!" she cried as he slid a big slippery finger all the way to the third knuckle up her tight pink arsehole.

She didn't complain though when he began fingering her hot hairy pussy.

"Cheeky boy," she said with a wink.

Could this be the same woman to whom I'd been married for so long? Surely it wasn't boring Blandings who had loosened her up?

The situation was serious though. At this rate, that lascivious Italian might rape her at any moment. He was a powerful muscular man and I wasn't sure she would have the strength or courage to fight back.

"You're not allowed to do that kind of thing in public!" I cried, bursting suddenly out of the underbrush.

The authorities were summoned. And I was arrested. After all, I was the one with an erection.

***

"That was very unprofessional of you," Roberta scolded me, after delivering my bail. "Threatening to report a gangster to the authorities is not the way to get close to him."

"I wouldn't worry about it too much," I reassured her. "I'm sure he won't recognise me with my clothes on. And he doesn't know that you and I are connected, so your... errr... good work has not been wasted."

"What's next on our list of his hang-outs to visit?" she wanted to know.

"I think I'll take care of this one on my own," I informed her. "There is a good chance I'll be able to strike up a conversation with him."

"Where is it?" she insisted.

"His strip club - The Punctured Pussy," I replied with a casually manufactured air of indifference.

"Yeah, I bet you want to go there alone," she sneered.

"Well, it makes sense. I'm less likely to draw attention to myself," I replied.

She grumbled, but I ended up walking into the neon-studded club alone. The music thumped out a primal beat as girls with too much silicone and too much tan swung around the poles.

I saw Margheriti sitting over in a corner with a blonde on either side. I took a booth right next to him in hopes that I could overhear his conversation if any of his men joined him. But the loud music made it impossible to hear anything.

"And tonight's a very special night," announced the M.C. "It's amateur night! We have a great selection of lovelies for you tonight, all of them showing their pussies off in public for the very first time. And the prize money I have to admit is not that substantial and you know what that means! It means they're performing for you tonight because it get's them wet!"

"Bunch of sluts!" I said to myself, turning around to get a better view of the stage.

"Put your hands together for Xenobia!" cried the M.C.

"Hey, she's a bit of alright!" I exclaimed, as a busty woman wearing a turban, a harlequin mask and a Chinese blue silk dress with a slit up the side strutted out onto the stage.

"Take it off! Take it off!" I yelled lustily.

She unzipped her dress as she swayed to the music, and then pealed it off. Underneath she wore a black bra and matching panties. She was much sexier than the professional strippers with her pale skin and fleshy form. I decided to postpone my attempts at surveillance and go down and get a closer look.

She turned her back and teased us by pulling her panties halfway down to reveal a few inches of buttcrack and then pulling them back up again. Then she unclipped her bra and threw it away, turning back to face the audience with her hands clasped coyly over her big soft freckly breasts.

"Shake those ta-tas!" I cried, as she threw wide her arms and let her luscious naked breasts swing free.

She when quickly unwound her turban to reveal her long red hair and pulled off her mask to reveal that she was, as you have no doubt guessed, my ex-wife Roberta.

"What do you think you are doing?" I cried, but there was no way she could hear me over the pounding beat of the music.

In desperation I pulled out a $20 note and waved it in her direction. She sauntered over to me with a shit-eating grin on her face and squatted down to let me shove the money down her panties.

"What's the idea?" I asked.

"You don't think I'd trust you to be able to do the job alone, do you?" she asked. "Anyway, that nude beach experience gave me quite a taste for being perved at." Then she stood back up and began gyrating around the stage once more.

"God, she's gorgeous," sighed a spotty youth sitting beside me. "I love older women."

"Don't judge the book by the cover," I grumbled.

I told myself that her attitude was just bravado. She just didn't want me to know how humiliated this whole scenario made her feel. But, as a clinical observer of factual evidence, I had to admit that the dampness of the crotch of her panties argued persuasively against this conclusion. And when she pulled them down and threw them into the audience, squatting down and spreading her legs so that we could all see the pink swollen lips of her pussy (which was now clean-shaven), the creamy liquid dribbling from it down her thigh was pretty much the clincher. My ex-wife was a dirty bitch, and it was too late for me to enjoy the fact.

Roberta didn't win the competition, but, as she wandered around the club in her bra and panties, the spotty youth approached her and asked for a lap dance.

"I don't actually work here," she pointed out.

"That's O.K.," he replied. "I'll give you $200."

Roberta looked over at Margheriti. He was deep in conversation with a tall blonde man. And then she looked at me sitting in the booth next to them, once more trying to hear their conversation. I looked at her, she looked at me. And the longer she looked at me the more her eyes narrowed and her lips set in a hard line.

"Sure, why not," she told the youth as she looked me steadily in the eye and allowed her lips to curl up into a cruel smile.

We were supposed to be working undercover to collect information, not giving lap-dances. This was insubordination from someone who was supposed to be working under me. I had to decide which was more important, the surveillance or keeping my assistant in line. I wasn't making much headway with the surveillance I had to admit. And, if I allowed Roberta to get the feeling that she didn't have to answer to me it could sabotage all future efforts. I had to get into the lap dancing lounge and observe Roberta's flagrantly unprofessional behaviour with my own eyes so that I could reprimand her about it later.

"How much for a lap-dance?" I asked a slim Asian girl named Lily as she walked past dressed in bra and g-string.

"Fifty dollars for ten minutes," she replied with an insincere smile.

By the time I'd paid my money and she'd led me by the hand out into the shadowy room full of padded armchairs and couches, Roberta was already completely naked and smothering the guy's face with her big soft breasts.

"You know that there is no touching, don't you?" asked Lily as she sat me down in a chair and planted her soft bottom on my knee.

"Yes, yes," I said absently as I watched Roberta bend over and spread her arse cheeks for her customer.

It didn't take long for Roberta to spot me there in the semi-darkness.

"Why don't you feel my tits," she said to the young man. "You know you want to."

"But that isn't allowed, is it?" he asked nervously.

"I don't work here, remember," she responded. "What are they going to do, fire me? Feel me up to your heart's content."

I felt like telling Margheriti about this flagrant flouting of the rules of his club, but I realised that that would tend to undermine our investigation.

"Feel how wet my cunt is?" purred Roberta as the walking advert for pimple cream blatantly wanked her off. Then she looked over at me and poked out her tongue.

Two can play at this game, I thought to myself. And so I roughly grabbed Lily's breasts.

Crack! The sound of Lily's palm coming into violent contact with my face echoed around the lap dance lounge. But she wasn't as violent as the two gorillas who roughed me up and hurled me out onto the street.

Half an hour later, Roberta exited the club, dressed once more in her silk dress.

"That was fun," she smiled, then, noticing my black eye, "I bet that smarts."

"You've got something running down your chin," I pointed out.

"Whoops!" she giggled, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"You sucked that pimply guy off, didn't you?" I accused.

"No... Well, yes I did... But it isn't his cum," she informed me.

"Then whose?" I wanted to know.

"Margheriti's," she said. "He recognised me and asked if I was stalking him. The only way to keep him from suspecting I'm a reporter was to say that I was stalking him because, after seeing his huge cock, all I could think about was sliding it right to the back of my throat and tickling his beautiful balls with my tongue until he flooded me with his hot creamy jism."

"You really are becoming an expert at deception," I admitted begrudgingly.

"And the best part is that he was so impressed with my oral abilities that he has invited me to an orgy next Saturday night at his mansion," she beamed proudly.

***

Now it was my turn to not trust Roberta. I was desperate to get to that orgy too. And, after a bit of thought I came up with the perfect way of getting an invite. I would disguise myself as... a reporter. It's the old "hide in plain sight" strategy. Margheriti would want nothing to do with a reporter from the Daily Echo, but if the non-existent Mobster's Monthly wanted to do a profile on him his ego would not allow him to refuse.

His mansion was enormous and it was filled with a multitude of beautiful men and women in various states of undress. It occurred to me that Roberta and I could both spend the evening wandering through this libidinous labyrinth without ever crossing paths.

"You have some hot chicks here," I commented to Margheriti, after we had concluded the interview.

"Ah, yes," he smiled. "But none like the suck monkey."

"The suck monkey?" I asked, in bewilderment.

"That is what we have nicknamed her," he replied. "She loves sucking cock. And she loves the idea of anonymous sex. She was disappointed when I said we had no glory holes. A Margheriti does not drill holes in the walls of his mansion. But she has taken up residence in my bedroom with the light off. Any man who enters the room will get his cock thoroughly sucked and his cum thirstily guzzled by the suck monkey."

Finding Roberta could wait. There was no way I was going to pass up a bit of suck monkey action. I ran up the stairs and into the master bedroom. A female figure was standing in the shadows. I said nothing. She said nothing. I threw off my clothes, lay down on the bed and waited.

Soon I felt the mattress sink as she sat beside me. Her soft hand tenderly stroked my cock to stiffness. And then I felt the caress of her hot breath on my rigid rod before it slid slowly into the warm wetness of her mouth.

She sucked my cock with all the uninhibited enthusiasm of a piglet sucking it's mother's teat. I could see why they called her the suck monkey, there was something gloriously subhuman about the way she surrendered herself to the sexual act.

Soon I was quivering and quaking and spurting my creamy load into her magnificent mouth.

"If my ex-wife had been able to suck cock like that I never would have cheated on her," I declared.

"Charles! What the hell are you doing here?" asked the suck monkey, sounding amazingly like Roberta.

Well, to cut a three column story down to a two column one, Roberta wrote the article without me and the editor was so impressed that now she is the head reporter and I'm her assistant. She even refers to me as "her boy Friday."

But I will get my revenge. I can see it now. We'll be doing an article on the bondage sub-culture. I'll trick her into letting me handcuff her to the bed. Then I'll strip her naked. She won't want to let me pleasure her body. She won't want to let me suck on her stiff nipples. She won't want me to flick my tongue over her oh-so-sensitive clit. She won't want these things because she will be humiliated by how they cause her to lose all control. She will beg me not to violate her vagina with my pulsating prick. But I won't be fooled. I'll know that is what she really wants, just like Brer Rabbit wanted to be thrown in the briar patch. So, instead, I'll jack off and squirt my cum all over her face. And then I'll laugh as I smear it all over her cheeks and her lips and her nose as she fumes in livid rage. It's going to be awesome.

But then reality intrudes.

"It doesn't take an hour to take a shit. I know what you are doing in there and it isn't appropriate in work time. Come out immediately and get back to the filing..."

The End

Henrietta Gets Hen-Pecked : Wank Wednesday

Today's Wank Wednesday prompt word is #magician. For more info on the writing challenge and for links to the other contributions check out the Word Ejaculation page.

Henrietta Gets Hen-Pecked

"I don't think you realise how degrading these gigs are for a serious magician," Henrietta complained. "I could pull a rabbit out of my cunt and those chicks wouldn't be impressed. All they want is your cock."

"It pays the bills though, doesn't it?" I pointed out. "Everyone has to have a gimmick."

"But the magician's assistant is supposed to be the window dressing," she explained. "When the magician is the window-dressing to her hot assistant something is wrong."

"So you admit I'm hot?" I teased her.

"I admit nothing of the kind," she griped. "I'm speaking from the point of view of the audience."

Henrietta is a lesbian. I'm a male stripper. We do the hen party circuit as a novelty act. She comes out as the archetypal magician in top hat and tails. I come out in tight white flares and a bright purple jacket open to reveal my hairy chest and my six pack. I'm the magician's assistant, helping her to do the usual kind of tricks involving flowers and doves, then, gradually, in a series of puffs of smoke, she makes my clothes disappear until I'm down to a skin-tight pair of gold lame hot pants. Then she makes them disappear too and I spend the rest of the evening wandering amongst the horny guests, getting my cock wanked and sucked, and usually ending up fucking at least two of the bride-to-be's friends, or even the lady herself, while all the others watch and cheer.

"At least tonight there's a chance you might pick up," I pointed out. "The party consists of the staff from Rug-Munchers Are Us porn site."

"Don't be naive," she sneered. "They're not real lesbians. It's just a job."

"Some of the photographers might be," I suggested.

"Well, they didn't hire a female stripper, now did they?" she asked, perspicaciously.

"This is true," I admitted.

"Anyway," she bemoaned, "it's hard for a dom like myself to find a girl who knows how to take orders."

"There are those who want a woman who takes the upper-hand in the bedroom," I smiled. "There are rather less who are looking for fucking Ilsa, She-Wolf of the SS."

"Just 'cause you're such a wimp," she grumbled. "Letting women push you around."

"It's kind of part of the job," I replied.

We were going to start the show in about ten minutes. While Henrietta unpacked her gear in the dressing room I went to speak to the woman who had hired us. Sharon Sappho (clearly not the name she was born with) was a gorgeous, full-figured black woman in a leopard skin mini-dress with a low-cut top which showed off a huge expanse of breast.

"I run the site and I'm the principle photographer," she explained. "Don't be fooled by my last name. I'm no lesbian, but I have an image to support. I like photographing women. I have an eye for a sexy shot of two girls enjoying each other, but when I'm at home I like a nice hairy man between my legs." She brushed her hand across my deliberately cultivated five o'clock shadow.

"So, who's the lucky lady?" I asked, looking around at the room full of gorgeous young women.

"Lucky?" she asked. "Oh, you mean the one who's getting hitched. That's Maureen. She's the skinny blonde in the pink dress."

"So is anyone here a lesbian?" I asked.

"Gertrude and Keiko are," she explained. "So don't expect them to go drooling on your cock. The rest of them are pretty much into anything. I'm the only one who doesn't eat out at the Y."

When I got back to the dressing room and began getting into my costume - I already had my gold shorts on under my jeans - Henrietta was still in a bad mood.

"For ten years I've been studying Houdini's escape routines," she told me, for the umpteenth time. "I know how to re-enact every one of them. But does anyone want me to do that? No. They just want me to make your clothes disappear."

"I'm sure we can find some way for you to do that kind of act," I tried to reassure her. "But not in front of a bunch of horny women."

She just grunted as she put on her hat.

"Wow! You really keep everything in here!" I exclaimed, looking through her massive bag of tricks, once I had my coat on. There was a big fake saw, a giant sized pack of cards, a straight-jacket...

"That's one of my Houdini props," she explained, her mood lifting with the opportunity to talk about her main obsession. "See. If you tie the knots this way, someone from the audience can pull on them and they seem tight, but they can easily be undone by rubbing against the back of the chair."

"Ingenious," I declared.

Soon we were on stage and going through the boring magic part of the show. For me the fun began as my clothes came off. Unfortunately I can't tell you how we do that part of the act. It's a trade secret.

Once I was down to my shorts, the audience were going wild. Sharon in particular was whooping and hollering.

"Let's see your dick, you dirty boy!" she shouted, pulling down the front of her little dress on one side and shaking one of her massive mammaries at me. Even at that distance I could see that the nipple was stiff.

Finally, my shorts were gone in a puff of smoke. I grabbed the base of my ten-inches and swung it around like a plane propellor as I strode out into the audience. I knew that Sharon was going to get the bulk of my attention, but I had to make sure all the girls, except Gertrude and Keiko, got their share, especially the blushing bride-to-be.

I walked up to Maureen, who was indeed blushing, and pushed my swollen but still floppy cock down the cleavage of her dress. She giggled, pushed her small boobs together and licked my belly-button.

Feeling the skin of my cock brush slowly between the softness of her breasts caused it to stiffen somewhat. She grabbed it in her sweaty hand and planted a chaste kiss on its head.

When I turned around and saw that two of the girls, a short redhead and a brunette with lots of tattoos were staring at my cock and had their hands down each others panties, I became rampantly erect. Seeing girls get really turned on, thats what does it for me. I walked up to them and let them suck long and hard on my dick. Once their lips were finished with me they couldn't wait to lick the taste of my cock off of each other's tongues.

And so I worked my way around the room, enjoying the feel of hands and tongues on my rampant member. I deliberately left Sharon until last as I was determined to fuck her in front of all of her staff. And I really hoped I'd be able to get her as naked as myself. She might not be as used to showing off her gorgeous body as the models were, but I could tell she wanted to.

"It took you long enough," complained Sharon, as I sidled up to her.

"Just saving the best until last," I smiled.

"You ain't kidding," she chuckled, and then stuck out her long pink tongue and ran it up the length of my prick. She fondled my balls and sucked on my shaft like she was Lawrence of Arabia sucking on an ice-cold popsicle. She also fondled my arse cheeks. I don't know if she did that like Lawrence of Arabia or not.

"Have your employees ever seen you naked?" I asked, pulling her to her feet.

"No," she replied.

"Well, they are just about to," I grinned, as I slid the straps of her dress over her shoulders and set her lovely big boobs free.

"I don't mind being nude," she laughed. "Just as long as you take full advantage of me."

"Oh, I intend to," I reassured her. "Don't you worry about that."

Off came her dress and down came her panties. They were soaking wet. Without them, her shaven pussy was dribbling its excitement down the inside of her spread thighs. I walked around behind her and spanked her big brown ass cheeks, first with my right hand and then with my stiff prick.

"Fuck her like she fucked us on the last employee contract negotiations," yelled out Gertrude.

"Hey," cried Sharon, as I bent her down and slid my cock deep into her dripping wet pussy, "there's plenty more cunt-licking sluts where you came from."

"Just kidding, boss," chuckled Gertrude. "I'm jealous. I dream of doing you with a strap-on."

I don't think she was the only one who fancied the boss. Several more girls had pulled off their panties and were wanking as they watched me pound her pussy.

I looked briefly over at the stage were Henrietta was looking at her watch.

Sharon cried out and started quivering all over in a body-shaking orgasm. One of the rules of these kinds of shows is that everyone has to get to see the cum shot, so I pulled out, lay her down across a table and began jacking off. She grinned and licked her lips as she saw me sliding my hand up and down my cock.

"Oh, yeah, baby!" I screamed as I shot spurt after spurt of creamy cum all over Sharon's belly and boobs. Some of it even reached her lips, which she licked clean hungrily. She looked so beautifully wanton laying back with her legs spread, her wet pussy on display and her brown-skinned body splashed with puddles of white cum.

I was determined that the party wasn't going to end there though.

"Guess what?" I addressed the crowd, standing there with a string of jism dangling from the tip of my now wilting cock. "Henrietta fancies herself as a female Houdini. Who wants to see her escape act?"

Everyone seemed a little bewildered, especially Henrietta, but I had them in the palm of my hand.

Soon Henrietta as tied up in her straight jacket, sitting on a chair in the middle of the stage. I was still naked, as was Sharon, who was licking my cum off of her boobs.

"Henrietta will escape from her bondage within five minutes," I announced. "If she fails to do this in the required time she will be eaten by sharks... Hmmmm. Damn. No sharks.... Well, she has to escape or else. We'll leave it at that."

She writhed around in the chair for a moment and then looked at me with some annoyance.

"You've tied the knots the wrong way," she complained.

"Uh, uh," I shook my head with an evil grin. "I've tied the knots the right way, instead of the wrong way you wanted me to."

"I can't get out of this," she told me.

"I know you can't," I informed her. Then I bent down and unzipped her pants and pulled them off.

"What are you doing?" she cried.

"Getting my revenge for all the whining I've had to put up with from you this evening," I replied, grabbing the sides of her white Cottontail panties and pulling them off to reveal her pert pink cunt and landing strip of dark pubes.

"Well, ladies," I addressed the room. "It looks like the lovely Henrietta, who is a very lascivious lesbian, is completely at your mercy. She has a truly lovely cunt, and she tells me there's a rabbit up there somewhere. Does anyone feel like helping to find it?"

Keiko was the first up on stage. She got down on her hands and knees and shoved her face between Henrietta's legs and lapped away at her pussy.

"I'll get you for this, you prick!" Henrietta spat at me.

I knew that she liked to see hot naked women, so I made my way around the room, teasing all the rest of the girls out of their clothes. Most were happy to part with their attire in return for the opportunity to lick their boss's cunt-juice off of my cock. Soon all that sucking and the opportunity to fondle all those nude girls meant that my cock was once more rock hard.

Ten girls took turns to lick Henrietta's clit and finger her horny hole. She was deeply humiliated by her predicament. All the more so because she'd already had five orgasms and made a big puddle on the floor.

Then someone came up with the bright idea of laying her out so that one girl could lick her out and finger her while another could ride her face. Gertrude, who, along with Keiko, had stripped naked without any help or encouragement from myself, sat her lovely pink bottom on Henrietta's face and rubbed her cunt all over the poor woman's prominent nose. The molested magician licked out the juicy box which was drenching her pretty face in hopes that such a strategy would more quickly relieve her of its presence. But her strategy proved a poor one as, no soon did Gertrude squeal and squirt, than her place was taken by Maureen.

By the end of the evening, every girl except for Sharon had ravished Henrietta with her horny cunt. She was laying back exhausted and drenched in girl cum.

I walked over to Sharon and asked her if she thought she'd got her money's worth.

"You can say that again!" she exclaimed. "This show made my porn site seem positively tame."

I fondled her nude bum and she stroked my stiff cock while we made plans to meet up back at her place after the girl's had had their night on the town. She wanted me in her bed that night, and I couldn't think of anywhere else I wanted to be.

"I suppose I better set Henrietta free now," I smiled and walked back up onto the stage.

Henrietta is a gorgeous woman. I'd always fancied her. But, given her aversion to the masculine member, I had never thought I'd get to see her pussy.

"You can't honestly tell me you didn't enjoy that," I grinned cheekily. "Watching it certainly turned me on."

"You're a fucking arsehole," she grumbled.

"God you look gorgeous all trussed up like that," I leered. "What a lovely cunt you have."

My cock jerked up and down in its stiffness as I gently caressed her leg.

"Don't you dare!" she cried. "I don't do dick!"

"You're telling me," I responded. "It's me who has to do all the work."

I turned her over and untied the knots that held the straight-jacket secured. Then I turned her onto her back and deliberately held my stiff cock just about two inches away from her disgusted face as I pulled off the sleeves.

"Get that revolting thing away from me," she insisted.

"So what's it like to have the shoe on the other foot for a change?" I asked.

"O.K. So I came a few times," she huffed. "But I don't need any new fetishes. I'm perverted enough as it is."

"I think we both did well out of tonight. I'm hooking up with Sharon the pornographer later this evening," I told her with a smug grin.

"I wonder if we could come up with a new magic routine in which I saw your cock off on stage," Henrietta replied.

The End

Time to Fold : Wank Wednesday

Today's Wank Wednesday prompt word is #paper. To find out more about this writing challenge and to find the links to the other stories check out Ruby Kiddell's Erotic Notebook.

Time to Fold

Journal of Eccentric Sporting Tournaments (JEST), October 2011

An Interview with Sam Kensington, World Champion in the Art of Freestyle Erotogami (The Ancient Japanese Art of Sexually Explicit Paper Folding), 1970-75.

JEST : Paper folding isn't a physically demanding sport, so why retire in your mid-sixties?

Sam Kensington : That's where you'd be wrong. Sure it doesn't take strength, but it takes precision. And the truth is that I haven't folded paper publicly since I lost the championship to my future wife in Tokyo in 1975.

JEST : But you have continued to be active in the sport as tactical support for your wife.

Sam Kensington : Exactly. So my decision to bow out is really her decision to bow out. She's retiring to concentrate on composing boogie concertos for the theremin. And I have no interest in working with any other folders.

JEST : Tell us how you did end up losing your title.

Sam Kensington : It was by default actually. An injury took me out of the competition.

JEST : An injury?

Sam Kensington : Yes, a rather nasty paper cut. Mildred beat out the rest of the competition. But let it be known that I have no doubt she would have beaten me. It was her first year of competition and she was, and has always been, a genius when it comes to making paper penises. My specialty, of course, was vaginas. And it was a conflict on this very issue which constituted our first intercourse. Verbal intercourse, of course.

JEST : She was not keen on your vaginas?

Sam Kensington : Well she thought they were too easy. 'Sam,' she said to me, 'it just won't do. That's just a salt cellar with one of the corner's bent over.' 'That's the clitoris,' I explained, 'and the two sides are the labia.' 'But the clitoris is in the wrong place and the whole thing is split two ways,' she insisted. 'Vagina's aren't.' 'Well,' I replied. 'It looks more like a vagina than it looks like a salt cellar.' 'Well, they never really did look like salt cellars, did they?' she agreed. 'I'm not sure where that came from.'

JEST : She specialised in penises?

Sam Kensington : That's right. All kinds of penises - flaccid, erect, circumcised - she could make them out of a single piece of paper. 'Sam,' she insisted, 'my penises don't come easy. Sometimes I have to work on them all day long.' I had to admit that they did make my vaginas look kind of wet by comparison.

JEST : And out of this argument over the relative artistic value of masculine vs. feminine paper genitalia sprang true love?

Sam Kensington : If our story had been a Hollywood movie, they would have described it as a "meet cute" beginning.

JEST : But you had a secret up your sleeve, even if you were out of the competition.

Sam Kensington : That's right. Of course the sensible thing would have been to keep it to myself and use it to win the next year. My secret was that I was not planning on making a vagina in the competition. The year before I'd made a secret trip to Hokkaido to meet with a Zen monk who knew the secret of single sheet copulation. It seems impossible, but it isn't. If you know the secret you can create a couple fucking doggy-style from a single uncut sheet of paper. Not only that but, when you pull on the sides of the figure, the man's penis goes in and out of her vagina and her eyes open wide each time this happens.

JEST : We wouldn't believe it if we hadn't seen it ourselves. But what convinced you to team up with Mildred Hatrack and let her take the honour of presenting single sheet copulation at the 1976 competition in New York?

Sam Kensington : Well, I had to admire her folding ability. But it was my admiration for something else which really brought us together. Mildred was one hot potato back then. Hell, she still is. Dress is kind of conservative in the world of paper folding, but it was pretty obvious there were some serious curves hidden beneath all those clothes. I didn't think I'd get a chance to find out though as the organisers of these contests are very conservative and discourage any fraternisation in the hotel rooms. We were staying an a very old-fashioned hotel in the middle of Tokyo. It was so old-fashioned in fact that it had traditional paper walls between the guest's rooms. When I noticed Mildred going into the room next to mine, I decided to do something very reckless, something of which I would be very ashamed if it hadn't been for the fact that it was a part of the process which led to my marriage.

JEST : What was it that you did?

Sam Kensington : I cut a small hole in the paper wall so that I could watch Mildred getting undressed. What I didn't realise was that a bright blue staring eye is pretty obvious when it is all that is breaking up an expanse of white paper and some brown wooden slats. She was onto me from the very start. But she'd taken a shine to me and she was also a bit of an exhibitionist on the quiet. So she pretended not to notice me watching her as she slowly undressed. I myself was already naked. And as she shed her clothes, I had to push my penis back firmly between my legs so that I could continue to stand close to the wall as it stiffened. It wasn't comfortable, but drinking in every detail of Mildred's gorgeous pale and curvy body was my main concern. Soon she was completely starkers, her big round boobs swinging loosely, her pink nipples erect and the gentle curve of her belly and thighs perfectly framing her hairy snatch. But she was determined to put on a show I could never forget, so no sooner was she naked than she lay back on her futon and began vigorously masturbating. That was my undoing.

JEST : That's when you fell in love with her?

Sam Kensington : No, that's when my stiff prick shot from between my thighs and ripped a huge hole through the paper wall.

JEST : How did she react to that?

Sam Kensington : She leapt to her feet, ran across the room and grabbed hold of my dick with both hands. 'Now I've got you, you little pervert!' she cried, but she couldn't stop herself from giggling. At first I wasn't sure what to do. She wasn't going to let go of my dick. I pulled back, but she held on for dear life. Then it occurred to me that I might as well take advantage of the situation.

JEST : How did you do that?

Sam Kensington : After I'd pulled my dick back as far as I could, I pushed it forward again. The loose skin was held tightly in her warm soft hands, but I could push it in and out, and derive quite some pleasure from doing so. 'Are you trying to get me to wank you off?' she asked. 'As long as you keep hanging on to me like that,' I replied, 'I don't see that you have a choice.' The next thing I knew I felt something stiff and wet rubbing around the head of my dick while she tugged on it. 'What's that?' I asked. 'It's the folded over bit on my salt cellar,' she chuckled. Well, it wasn't long before my cum was hanging off her pubes like tinsel on a Christmas tree. I know because she showed me through the big cum soaked hole that now acted as a window between our rooms. So that is how our relationship began. After that we decided to team up. She would do the folding and I would travel the globe looking for the most arcane and remarkable of folding techniques.

The End

Unbridalled (sic) : Wank Wednesday

At Aussiescribbler's, and at many another fine blog around the blogosphere, every Wednesday is Wank Wednesday. Today the prompt word is #bell. (You'll be glad to hear that I've resisted the temptation to write an erotic version of The Hunchback of Notre Dame.) For more about Wank Wednesday, and to find everyone else's contributions, check out Ruby Kiddell's The Erotic Notebook :

Unbridalled (sic)

"'Therefore, send not to know / For whom the bell tolls, / It tolls for thee' as John Donne once said," declared Teresa soberly.

"I remember him," said Cara. "He was the bartender down at the Tropicana Lounge."

"He was a poet," explained Teresa, shaking her head.

"I never knew that," Cara replied. "But he made a mean Cowboy Cocksucker."

"John Donne was a British poet from about four hundred years ago," pointed out an exasperated Teresa.

"But he was talking about death," added Fiona, "not wedding bells."

"Same difference," put in Brenda, lighting a cigar.

"I never thought that Alice would find a man," said Teresa. "Many men, yes, one in particular, never in a million years."

"Not just any man could make an honest woman of Alice," Fiona added. "It had to be a man with lots of money."

"A dishonest woman, you mean," Brenda corrected her. "Pretending that she only has eyes for her husband and doesn't actually want to be gang-banged by every hot guy in sight ; wearing designer dresses when she'd rather be rocking a boob tube and some super-tight Daisy Dukes ; staying home every night watching TV and bringing her hubby beers from the fridge instead of being out on the town with the Slut Pack fucking random guys in club toilets and waking up the next morning in the gutter covered in her own puke. That doesn't sound like honesty to me."

"That's the problem with the idea of marrying a rich guy like Manfred," explained Teresa. "It would give you the money you need to do anything you want, only you wouldn't be allowed to. It's a veritable Catch-22, as Joseph Heller would have said."

"I know," exclaimed Cara, "he was a famous baseball player, right?"

"American novelist," sighed Teresa. "One of the best."

Alice was off at a fitting for her wedding dress, and the rest of the famous Slut Pack were taking advantage of her absence to discuss how they really felt about her upcoming nuptials.

"You know the definition of a man?" asked Brenda, knocking the ash off of her cigar and taking a swig from her bottle of Jim Beam.

"I don't know," Fiona played along. "What is the definition of a man?"

"A life-support system for a cock," Brenda guffawed. She lifted the hem of her mini-dress to reveal she was wearing no panties. Then she scratched her labia as she took another swig of bourbon.

"A bit of cheese on the old taco?" queried Cara.

"No way," declared Brenda. "My cunt is in perfect health, but it is just itching to get fucked."

They all laughed.

And they laughed even harder when Fiona let out a loud fart. It was hard to believe such a loud sound could come out of someone so small. Fiona was only 3 1/2 feet tall. Her friends knew her affectionately as Mini-Fi. And she was given to flatulence.

"Are we going to allow Alice to split up the Slut Pack?" asked Brenda, tapping more cigar ash into the ashtray that she had now positioned between her massive breasts.

"What can we do about it?" asked Cara, whose blonde hair, according to scientists, had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that she was as thick as two short planks.

"Manfred's parents place a lot of importance on appearances," pointed out Fiona. "As Alice's bridesmaids, we are central to the decorum, or lack thereof, at the wedding."

"Are you suggesting sabotage?" asked Brenda, eagerly.

"We have to stop this marriage 'by any means necessary' - as Malcolm X put it," enthused Teresa.

"I remember Malcolm's ex," piped up Cara. "She was a super-bitch from Hell. I'm not surprised he dumped her."

*          *          *

"They weren't kidding about you being the best man!" exclaimed Fiona, as she unzipped the fly of Manfred's best friend Brad's formal trousers, only to be slapped in the face by his massive erection. She tenderly stroked his balls as she licked up and down the underside of his shaft.

"I've never been sucked off by a midget before," Brad told her.

"Little person," she corrected him.

"Oh, sorry," he said, tenderly stroking her hair as she slid her lips over the bell end of his cock.

"For a little person, you sure have a deep throat," he groaned.

Little did he know that as this was taking place, Brenda was behind him casually slipping her hand into his pants' pocket and stealing the wedding ring.

Fiona removed her mouth from Brad's cock.

"You probably want to shoot your load all over my pretty face," she explained, "but the wedding starts in just a few minutes so I can't have you messing up my make-up. I'll just have to keep you safe inside my mouth where I can suck out all your yummy jism and swallow it all down so that no-one will be any the wiser."

She smeared her ruby red lipstick all down the length of his already saliva-coated cock and tickled his balls with her gloved hands until he exploded a thick hot river of cum down her throat.

"Never has doing one's duty by a friend been so much fun," giggled Fiona, reapplying her lipstick as she approached Brenda. "Did you get the ring?"

"I sure did," smiled Brenda. "And I've found the perfect place to hide it."

"Where's that?" Fiona wanted to know.

"In my ring," laughed Brenda, lifting her dress and bending over. She was wearing no panties, and, as she pulled apart the cheeks of her sizeable arse, the diamond could be seen winking ostentatiously from her sphincter.

"Perfect," smiled Fiona. "Well, can't hang about here gabbing. There's another cock to be sucked."

*           *           *

"I had my doubts about this girl," Manfred's father Mr. Mann said to his wife as they sat in the front pew of the ornately decorated Catholic church, "but I am now beginning to understand that she was just a diamond in the rough. She can be our kind of people."

"Of course she can," replied his wife Eugenia. "All we have to make sure of is that nobody finds out about her past."

"Well, we all have one of those, don't we?" he reassured her. "Money can cover up a multitude of sins."

"Ah, here comes Father Dominic," Eugenia pointed out. "I've always thought he looked too sexy to be a priest. It seems such a waste. Is it naughty to think like that?"

"Where's the other bridesmaid?" asked Mr. Mann.

"You mean the Munchkin?" Eugenia wanted to know. "She's probably just standing behind someone. It's so easy to lose sight of her."

At that moment, their driver ran down the side aisle of the church with something hidden beneath his coat.

"I found this out on the lawn," he explained in an anxious tone, discreetly showing them Fiona's bridesmaid's dress. "Her panties and brassiere as well."

"My god!" exclaimed Eugenia. "There's a nude midget on the loose! I hope she's not in the church."

Mr. Mann did the best he could to hide the evidence beneath their pew.

Father Dominic was now standing behind the altar. He was preparing himself to begin the ceremony, when he felt a breeze up the back of his cassock. He was no longer alone under there. Someone small and nude was pulling down his y-fronts.

"Manfred, do you take Alice to be your wife?" he asked, a little nervously. "Do you promise to be true to her...oh, that feels so good... in good times and in bad... bad girl... , in sickness and in health, to love her... oh, Jeez, suck my balls!... and honour her... gobble my knob, you slut... all the days of your life? Oh, fuck that's good!"

"I know Alice has always been keen to help out the disabled," said a family friend of the Mann's, "but hiring a  priest with Tourette syndrome is going a bit far."

"What the hell's going on!" Mr. Mann wanted to know.

Once she had succeeded in depriving the spunky young priest of his virginity, Fiona let him finish the vows in peace.

"Now for the exchanging of rings," he said.

"Whoops!" cried Maid of Honour Teresa. "It's stuck on my finger!" She wiggled the middle finger of her right hand, which was, indeed, decorated with a man's gold wedding band. "It's stuck on my wanking finger! Does anyone have any lube?"

"Fuck!" cried Brad. "I can't find the ring! It was in my pocket!"

"Has anyone seen the bride's ring?" asked Father Dominic.

"Practically very guy on the East coast!" cried Cara.

"I see something down there!" exclaimed Brenda, bending down to look at something imaginary on the floor and simultaneously lifting her gown to bare her buttocks to the assembly.

"Oh, my God!" cried a male voice from the crowd. "The ring's in her ass!"

Federico, the videographer, zoomed in for a close-up.

"Has anyone seen my gown?" cried Fiona, running out from behind the altar, naked as the day she was born. "Oh, there it is."

She ran over to a bright red Mr. Mann and pulled her dress out from under his pew.

"Why are you hiding my clothes, you naughty man?" she scolded him, leaping up into his lap and kissing him on the lips. "If you wanted to fuck me, all you had to do was ask!"

Federico was getting it all on camera.

"Turn that camera off!" cried Eugenia. "The wedding's off and you're fired!"

"None of this is my doing," he pointed out in his own defence. "You hired me to record the event and that's what I'm doing."

"If you think you are going to get paid for putting this schmozzle on film you've got another thing coming," she told him.

"YouTube, here I come," he smiled.

"O.K., O.K.," she relented. "We'll pay."

"Come on, let's get to the reception before Mr. and Mrs. Mann get there to lock the gate!" cried Brenda, grabbing the arm of the bewildered Alice.

"You've completely fucked up my wedding!" she cried, as Brenda dragged her out of the church.

"You would have been miserable with those snobs," Brenda pointed out.

"Manfred's not like his parents," Alice told her.

"But you would have had to live by their rules to get their money," said Brenda. "And, while Manfred is super-cute and can fuck me any day of the week, do you really think you would have been satisfied with only one guy?"

"Mmmmmm, maybe not," she conceded. "But you still deserve to have your bottoms spanked, the lot of you."

"I tell you what," Brenda told her. "As soon as all this is over, you and Manfred can take turns spanking my bottom until it is red as a beetroot. And then Manfred can fuck it with his big stiff knob."

"How do you know he has a big knob?" Alice wanted to know.

"You think we don't take a peak at your emails?" Brenda asked.

"Quick, give me a piggy-back!" cried Fiona, leaping onto Brenda's back. She had her dress back on, but the buttons weren't done up. "They're after us!"

Teresa, who was a fan of the movie The Graduate, had stolen the crucifix off of the wall and she used it to bar the doors to the church, allowing the re-unified Slut Pack to get a head start on the rest of the congregation. They all hopped into one of the limousines, and Alice drove them to the Mann's mansion where a lavish reception had been laid on.

"It's cake farting time!" cried Brenda, lifting her dress and sitting her nude arse down into the sumptuous wedding cake. She ground it all around, and then stood up, bent down, spread her cheeks and broke wind. Cream, frosting, and a diamond wedding ring, sprayed from her butthole.

Alice, giving way to the euphoria which follows release from an anxiety-provoking situation, was next. She pulled off her lacy knickers, planted her delectable bare ass deep into the cake, and blew a rip-snorting rectal raspberry.

"You chicks are real pigs!" cried Brad, who, along with Manfred, had almost beaten them back to the party.

"I'm so sorry about all of this," Alice told Manfred. "I do love you. But the girl's are right. I could never live the kind of lifestyle your parent's would expect of me."

"Don't worry," he assured her. "I love you for who you are. And if who you are is a girl who likes farting in wedding cakes, so be it. After today my parents will probably disown me. But if I can't make my own way in the world then I'm not a real Mann, am I?"

"So what are you guys going to do to the cake?" asked Cara.

"I'm going to fuck it!" cried Brad, dropping his pants to reveal his prodigious nine inches in a state of rock hard erectness. He ran at the cake and shoved his stiff prick deep into the frosting.

"What made you stiff?" asked a cheeky Alice.

"Thinking about your cake-filled cunt," he confessed, as he slid his cock in and out of the confectionary.

"That's my would-be bride's cunt you are talking about!" cried Manfred in mock disapproval.

"You were that close to getting exclusive right's to my cunt," Alice pointed out, holding her finger's close together. "But you missed out. So if Brad wants to eat wedding cake out of it, he is welcome to."

It was too good an invitation for Brad to turn down.

When Manfred's parents arrived they found : Brad licking frosting clumps out of Alice's vagina ; Manfred fucking Brenda in the ass ; Teresa and Fiona both stark naked and engaged in an act of lesbian lust involving Fiona sucking on Teresa's clit while Teresa used the groom from the top of the wedding cake as a dildo in Fiona's pussy ; and Cara had her dress up and was squatting down on the table pissing into the punch bowl.

"We'll have to lock them up in the cellar and take away their mobiles," Teresa pointed out. "We don't want them cancelling the honeymoon before we even arrive."

"The honeymoon?" asked Alice.

"Well, there's a hotel room with a super large bed booked for the next week," Teresa explained. "We might as well use it. You go in as normal and then the rest of us will sneak our way in."

"Does that include me?" asked Brad.

"Of course it does," Teresa replied. "We all want to make things up to Manfred by being very nice to his cock. But one cock isn't enough for five women. Well, four and a half anyway."

"You watch it!" cried Fiona, biting her on the bum.

*          *          *

"Rudeness, crudeness, and, above all, nudeness, shall be the order of the day," declared Alice, once they had all snuck into the bridal suite.

"Strip for us!" cried Manfred and Brad in unison.

The girls all did slow elaborate strip routines out of their now rather soiled dresses. The guy's remained dressed, but unzipped their pants and pulled out their stiff cocks. The girl's kissed their cocks and gave them lap dances as they slowly lost their lingerie. Finally, the guys were so turned on that they wanked off and spurted cum all over their formal attire and had to remove it. Now everyone was naked and feeling very frisky.

It would take a while for the guys to get stiff again, so the girl's had to resort to pleasuring each other while the guys watched.

Since Alice was the girl of the moment, they lay her down on the bed and licked her all over. Cara and Teresa sucked on a stiff nipple each, Fiona was between her legs licking out her pussy, and Brenda was on the floor sucking on her toes. When she really started to moan and writhe around, they flipped her over. Fiona was still underneath her sucking on her clit, and now Brenda crawled up behind her, spread her bum cheeks and started licking her butthole. It wasn't long before she squirted all over Fiona's face.

All the girl's had a turn having their pussy licked, and the boys helped out too. They're tongues were up to the task of pussy-pleasing, even if their cocks were still at half-mast.

"Dwarf-tossing competition!" cried Brenda, when it was time for Fiona to get her pussy licked.

"Do I have a beard?" asked an exasperated Fiona. "Do I work in a diamond mine? Do I sing 'Hi Ho Hi Ho Hi Ho'?"

But Brenda just picked her up and threw her across to Manfred who began fucking her pussy with his tongue.

"Oooooo! Me! Me!" cried Cara. "Throw her to me!"

Manfred threw her in Cara's direction, but unfortunately he didn't know his own strength and she sailed straight out through the open window. A moment later there was the sound of a loud splash from far below.

"Whoops!" cried Manfred.

The phone rang and Brad answered it.

"There's a nude midget in the swimming pool," the desk clerk informed him. "Does she belong to your party?"

*           *          *

Half an hour later, Alice and Manfred were fucking on the bed as the others all watched and provided commentary. Fiona was sulking in the corner. She'd towelled off, but her hair was still damp.

"Nice cock, you dirty bastard," cried Brenda. "Now tease her stiff clitty with the pre-cum-slippery head of that beautiful boner."

"Cute butt!" exclaimed Cara, slapping Manfred's arse playfully.

"Fuck her! I did!" cried Brad, who had been hitting the room's mini-bar a little too heavily.

"And so the wedding that never was has been consummated!" yelled Teresa.

"That stuff looks a bit too thick to be consumé," quipped Brenda, grabbing a miniature bottle of vodka in one hand and Brad's stiff cock in the other.

"Let's have a masturbation contest," suggested Teresa.

"How does that work?" asked Brad.

"We all wank off and whoever can have the most orgasms wins," she explained.

"We guys will be at a bit of a disadvantage," put in Manfred. "Especially me."

"It's a contest for we girls," said Cara. "But if you guys feel like wanking your wieners while you watch, that is not against the rules."

"Close that window first," said Fiona, climbing up onto the bed and spreading her legs. She was the champion when it came to wanking contests, so she was beginning to forgive her friends for their previous behaviour towards her.

The girls all lay in a row along the bed, each with her legs thrown over the legs of the girls on either side. And then they all started fingering themselves. Some also played with their nipples. After about fifteen minutes Fiona began screaming with her first orgasm. The others followed. Soon the room was ringing to a veritable cacophony of cums. Wet cunts were puddling the bedspread, and the two guys were rock hard and stroking themselves in appreciation of what they were witnessing.

As expected Fiona was the winner, although Teresa got a special mention for squirting so hard at one stage that she showered cunt juice all over the guy's cocks fully a metre away.

"I'm hungry," declared Brenda. "Let's call for room service."

They ordered enough food to feed an army. And a short time later there was a knock on the door.

"Come in," cried Alice.

Nobody bothered to cover up as the waiter wheeled in the trolley full of food.

"He's cute," Fiona pointed out, pulling down his trousers. "Let's keep him."

*          *          *

"It was a case of mass demonic possession," Father Dominic told the Bishop. "I think we need to cleanse the church."

His explanation was accepted that time. But a year later, when the Bishop discovered that he had drilled a glory hole in his confessional and was asking for a very unusual form of penance from some of his lady parishioners, he was forced to retire and take up a position in the porn industry.

The End

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