Chapter 1: Convening
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Mult, Consensual, Romantic, Workplace, Extra Sensory Perception, Spanking, Group Sex, Cream Pie, Exhibitionism, Water Sports, Leg Fetish, Politics, .
Desc: Fiction Sex Story: Chapter 1: Convening - Back from New York, the Parliament of Owls starts on its plan to influence politics for the good guys and good girls. Lawyers not only fuck people for profit but get fucked for fun. This polyamory also is seeking insights into human, and other, minds. The kink is happy and not subject to blackmail, although not always what the constituents want to know. A group of baboons is not a congress, as when baboons work together, they accomplish things. It's a troop.
After coming back from New York, with the delightful addition of Hal to the group, I had to consider where to go next. While I’m the leader, I know that I have a bunch of very smart people who may well know more than I do. So, team building is very high on my list.
Eating together is one of the oldest human bonding rituals, perhaps even more so than sex. I’m glad I had planned a dining room large enough for all of us.
After awakening, I felt my companion’s warm presence. It amused me that it had taken me this late in life to discover, without the slightest compromise of my enjoyment of men, that women could be just as much fun. Smiling gently to myself, I cherished Barbie, who slept next to me. Her breathing was deep and a bit noisy, but I found it comforting.
As I snuggled a bit closer to her, I became aware of another warm presence, in this case on my pillow. Of the cats whom I have loved, and who loved me, Ekaterina is the one who sleeps most deeply. She certainly snores the most loudly. I had learned that too loud an awakening could cause her to leap into the air, giving loud squeaks of indignation.
I moved my face closer to Barbie’s thick, curly, black hair, and inhaled its scent. Were someone to look at us from above, they’d see caps of my gold with her deep dark.
I realized that Anna was also in residence on Barbie’s pillow. Anna awoke before Barbie, blinking her blue eyes open, sensing my drifting into awareness.
In Barbie’s dreams, she thought of sensual petting, and that she was both human and feline. The thoughts caused Barbie to open her warm brown eyes, turning them on me. At the same time, she reached up to stroke Anna’s head. “Shall we exercise our bodies and minds?” I knew that the first part, of that invitation, is complex when Barbie says it. With many others, it would be euphemistic for “let’s fuck,” or the girl-girl equivalent. She wouldn’t exclude that, but it would come later. With an inner giggle, I realized that we would cum as well as come.
“Yes, dear. Let me get the mats.” I rolled out a pair of yoga mats. We stood. I opened the blinds to the early rays of the sun.
I thought to Ekaterina, “The humans have to think about how to stretch. Isn’t that cute?”
Ekaterina stretched and grumbled. “I was asleep.”
Barbie led me through a stretching routine, which, she had told me, began with standard movements from physical therapy, but moved into things drawn from Tantric sexuality. It didn’t involve actual sexual actions, but I felt it improving my readiness and sensitivity for it.
“Now, it’s my turn.” Starting with a mirror dance to attune ourselves to one another, we moved into Rue’s Jung-inspired meditations on archetypes, as a means of developing our empathy toward one another. Both of us were sufficiently advanced to begin to feel some of the emotions of the other. I realized that our two feline friends were inside that mindspace.
Ekaterina, the dark-furred human is close to mind-speaking with us. We must get her a feline of her own.
Eventually, we mutually recognized that our inner fires were warmed. We moved to the shower, where we languorously soaped one another.
“I’d love to hump one another when slippery like this.”
“Yes, but we’d kill ourselves in the shower. On the bed, with oil, sounds delightful. We’ll need a second shower, but to hell with that!” The water quickly went off.
I had a couple of protective sheets for just such activities. “Hey, Barbie, what flavor should you be today? I’ve got lots of flavored body oils and lubricants.” She poked through the shelf.
“Mint, I think. I’m thinking of you as lemon.” We stroked one another with the oil, licking off excesses. There was a lot of excess to lick. Eventually, we embraced and spent an interminable time kissing, more and more deeply.
Barbie whispered, “Let’s heat the oil until it boils away.” She slithered onto me, her thigh pressed against my pussy, and my leg in her crotch. She returned to intense kissing, but now added soft skin sliding sensually over my sexual center, as she pulled me against her. It was magical. Suddenly, she reached around my hips and began to tickle my anus.
I exploded. Even with all my experiences, I felt my senses overloaded. When I stopped convulsing, I pulled her hips over my face and licked her into her climax.
We embraced and drifted off into half-sleep. Ekaterina groomed my hair.
Barbie whispered, “I’ve been thinking.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“Oh, no. I was thinking especially of Hal, but really of our younger people in general, and how they interact, sexually, with older ones. Did you and I just have a great time?”
“Did either of us get fucked with a natural or artificial phallus?”
“Yet how many men feel inadequate if they don’t rise, as it were, to the occasion? Do our women know how to make the man comfortable, and guide things such that they have a good time, if there are erectile issues?
“Hell, it doesn’t need to be a problem. Masturbation, mutually or just shared, is fun, as is oral. Many of us have fetishes; intercourse isn’t always the way to get off from enjoying the fetishes.”
“Amen. I am, however, glad we have Hal. Up to now, we have had no male perspective on our ladies. I still want more.”
Blinking into being awake, I opened my eyes to see bold green ones gazing into mine. It occurred to me that I hadn’t seen Joan’s green eyes with cat’s eye makeup on these.
On further review, these eyes, if anything, needed human’s eye makeup. O’Reilly the Orange, feline healer, philosopher, and perhaps my chief of staff, purred at me. His gaze flickered, affectionately, to my lovely bedmates, Joan, and Gerri.
“O’Reilly, I like to say this as well as thinking it. You’re my best friend, now with Joan, but I still sometimes think that you have a better sense of how I feel than does anyone else. I love you, buddy.:
O’Reilly the Orange
[Further translation and transcription by my associate, Hal. He is sensitive to my loathing of “LOLspeak”, suggesting that cats do not have a mastery of language. In fact, he hears my voice, in his head, as Churchillian. In fairness, I shall confess that I tend to be more polysyllabic than Winston Leonard Spencer Churchill.]
“Good morning. I wish attention and affection, returning it, of course. No, it is a libel that cats immediately demand food.
“Truly, I’m happy to be with you. I love you too.
“Your happiness is mine, and vice versa. Well, I did have a little snip in my past, but tomcats really aren’t great lovers, in the physical sense, of other cats. I can vicariously enjoy your experience.”
Hal, indeed, was comforted. We hugged. I groomed his hair and licked his nose. Eventually, I felt Joan’s nails on my back, on the pleasure switch just in front of my tail.
Eventually, I shifted to gazing into a different set of green eyes. The red lips below them met mine. Joan and I pressed together with increasing heat. Her graceful hand went hunting. “Oh, morning wood. How nice! Don’t get up, dear. I woke up wet.” She didn’t exactly jump, but moved smoothly to straddle me and impale herself. Before I lost my concentration in pleasure, I had the flash thought that I really wanted to see her dancing and gymnastics.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw O’Reilly shift to my other side, to exchange head bumps with Gerri.
Gerri called the kitchen with our breakfast order, turning on the coffeemaker while we waited for it. She went to her makeup table.
I’ve observed that many blondes and redheads can wake up with no makeup, but not so much medium brunettes. Very dark-haired women also can wake that way.
As a carefully bleached platinum blonde, Gerri thinks that it’s part of her submissive role to look as perfect as possible at all times. Now that more of her personality is coming out, she still likes the appearance. As she takes on more roles as our stylist and clothing expert, I can see why she wants to look that way.’
Personally, I just want to appear pleasant. My love Joan certainly can look dramatic, but isn’t compulsive about it.
Since coming back from New York, it had been a very busy week, including moving into Elizabeth’s building. Carol, the efficient business manager, had gotten me aside and given me the details of a very generous employment package.
I had had time, and financial comfort, for a little shopping in a Native American store in DC, finding some things just right for Joan. “Dear, you deserve the most precious of metals, but platinum isn’t your color.”
Joan laughed. “Even more precious is refined plutonium, but I wouldn’t want to wear it. What’s this?” I pulled out a couple of boxes.
She opened the larger one to find a Navajo concha belt of copper ovals, set with turquoise accents. With them were conchas intended as hair ornaments. “Wow! I’ve never seen these in copper, just silver and gold.”
“It was a special order. Luckily, the smith was working yesterday. Normally, they avoid copper because it tarnishes to the color of the turquoises, but this metal is lacquered to prevent it.
“You’ll note that it’s about the color of your hair.”
A loud meow indicated that another redhead just might want a copper collar himself.
“Stay where you are.” She slipped out of bed, and took some copper crotchless pantyhose from a drawer. After slipping into them, she clicked the belt around her tiny waist. Joan dramatically threw herself on the bed, copper on her legs, her trimmed pubic hair, the belt, and the cascade of red hair from her head. She slipped a couple of conchas into her hair. “Take me, darling.” She spread her legs wide.
“I shall. But you missed the little box. Gerri, please help.” It contained a red leather collar, with matching metallic but much smaller conchas. Gerri helped her put it around her neck. “It can be worn in mundane life without question, but we can agree it’s the sign of our special bond.
“Joan, I love you.”
Joan began to drip happy tears. “And I you, Hal.”
“And Gerri is our little one.”.
Dropping to the bed, I licked her, for our mutual pleasure. I loved her scent and taste. After filling my head with them, I flipped her onto her belly, and slid my hard phallus into her damp vagina. This sort of rear entry is among my favorite experiences, with one more adjustment. My legs went outside of hers, pressing them together so I could feel their hot, slim, muscular, long, length. I began to hump hard, knowing that is what my love wanted. It didn’t take much time for either of us to explode.
“I’d like something. Will the two of you lie side by side, in heels and hose, so I can indulge my fetishes?”
“Of course, dear!” Gerri nodded with Joan, got up, and put on black stockings to complement Joan’s reddish tan ones. I kissed up and down, as the two women began to get excited by the idea and the naughtiness. They stroked each other’s legs, but also flexed them to flaunt them to me.
“Hal, I want you to jerk off onto our legs. Can you do that?”
“That would be great!”
“Gerri and I will lick the cum off our legs, and then share with you.” I found myself lost in the world of sensation, flashing to all the times that I took secret looks at lovely limbs. It didn’t take me long to explode.
Before I fell asleep, I mock-remembered one more box. “Gerri, please take this and put it on. I haven’t mentioned it to Lady Joan, but I hope you think of this as from both of us.”
Gerri opened it to find a similar color, but with black leather. “Oh, my God. Wonderful! I think of it as signaling our bond.
“How about I bring you coffee to celebrate it? In the morning, that’s better than champagne.”
Elizabeth had given me some extra directions for dinner and a meeting to follow. She told me to find someone to escort besides Barbie, Joan, Carol, or Gerri. O’Reilly explicitly was invited, but, if he so desired, I was to carry him or let him walk along.
“Joan, do you know what this is about?”
She giggled. “Do you know how many radical feminist Dianic witches it takes to change a light bulb?”
“Well, I can’t tell you. You’re a man. That applies here.”
This was not to say that there was not an abundant range of ladies. In fact, I was surrounded by Linda, Charlene, and Molly. When we entered, Elizabeth was standing at the head of the table, flanked by three special pieces of furniture, reminiscent of babies’ high chairs. In this case, however, two were already occupied by her feline colleagues, Ekaterina, a Russian Blue, and Anna, a Siamese. Anna and Ekaterina apparently had practiced, jumped into the double-wide one, and then searched the little table for treats. Clearly, the empty chair between them was for O’Reilly the Orange. He took one look and jumped into it, just behind Elizabeth and me.
After that, I noticed some other furniture: a chaise lounge, which I realized was on a small raised platform. A chair was near it. Elizabeth stood on the platform. As always, she was elegant.
The Orange One jumped out of my arms and into the chair, and exchanged nose kisses with his colleagues.
There were place cards at the table. I took my seat, next to O’Reilly, noting that while Joan wasn’t coming in with me, her place was next to me, with Gerri on her far side. It did seem that Elizabeth was being a bit of a matchmaker, although the reality was that she was behind the speed of events.
At the door, there was a bit of commotion. Angus, in full Scottish garb, opened the door, and then stood next to it, at parade rest. Charles, his wheelchair being pushed by Carol, was preceded by an honor guard of two apparent superheroines. They all were in wet-look jumpsuits with white belts and boots. Joan wore blue, with a red cape. Carol’s outfit was her favorite white, with a blue cape, and Gerri wore the red jumpsuit with a white cape.
Martin and Melissa were behind them, pushing the wheelchair of Charles, Carol’s husband.
Barbie, wearing scrubs, came in with Mrs. Lim, the chef. “I trust Mrs. Lim not to poison anyone, but I sometimes want to be sure all of you can be trusted with knives.” To that comment, Angus indignantly saluted with the sword he pulled from the scabbard on his back. I winced, as it looked like he just missed the ceiling.
Barbie knelt gracefully, patted the skean dubh dagger in the traditional stocking scabbard. “Perhaps this is preferable, for indoor use, to a metal sword.” Her hand tapped his sporran, hanging from his belt, over his groin. “I won’t check what is worn under the kilt, but perhaps I might be interested in the shortsword below this.”
Angus recovered, sniffing, “Madam, nothing is worn under the kilt, for everything under my kilt is in perfect working order.
“I am, however, under-armed tonight, having no battle kitten in the sporran.”
Our juniors, as Elizabeth called them, Linda, Charlene, and Molly, came in more quietly. I did a mental doubletake at calling them juniors, as they were closer to my age than to Joan, Carol, or Barbie. Was this a residue of patriarchical thinking? I felt an empathic twinge, and turned to see Joan squeezing my leg and giving my leg a squeeze of agreement.
Linda reminded me of a younger Elizabeth, on the sexy side of preppy. She was very slender, but was spectacular in a short, tight, skirt that still looked as if it had come from a store like Ann Taylor. Lord & Taylor, perhaps? Something tailored, anyway. I thought of the way that Joan bought suits with an extra skirt that was tailored to a provocative length.
Linda’s blonde hair, lighter than Elizabeth’s, darker than Gerri’s but clearly natural, cascaded loosely onto her blue sweater. The appropriate string of pearls was around her graceful neck. The sweater looked so soft that I ached to touch it, to say nothing of what was underneath.
With Charlene’s beautiful dark skin, she could carry off bright colors that wouldn’t work for many of our women. I wondered if her bright orange outfit actually was dancewear, with a flaring cover-up skirt over a leotard.
Molly was more toned-down than I’d seen her, but still stunning in stretch jeans, white blouse, a denim vest, and matching heels.
Barbie returned with Elizabeth. Elizabeth was spectacular, in a bright blue, leather, strapless, floor-length gown. Barbie held her own in a mini-length black cocktail dress, with her signature white stockings. When I looked more closely, I could see Elizabeth’s nipples under what had to be very thin leather. Perhaps it was a thin, stretchy PVC?
Angus took his guard seat behind Elizabeth. Barbie was next to her, Anna, and Ekaterina behind.
“Enjoy the dinner, and then some discussion afterwards. Not all of you know Mrs. Marcia Lim, who is of a fascinating culinary family. She was born in Tucson, but her family mostly is from the Philippines. They draw on the Min Diaspora of China, so they have connections to many places in China, as well as Korea and Vietnam. The Filipino influence picks up Spanish influences. She grew up with American Southwestern cooking. Marcia brings in some amazing fusion.”
This was a real nice clambake,
We’re mighty glad we came.
The vittles we et were good, you bet!
The company was the same.
Our hearts are warm,
Our bellies are full,
And we are feelin’ prime.
This was a real nice clambake,
And we all had a really good time.
Rogers & Hammerstein, Carousel
After the main meal, we had a dessert and drinks buffet. While I tend to socialize over tea, fine coffee is a fine postprandial beverage.
“While I might be the official leader, I’m of a wonderful group, not above it, and without special privileges. Barbie dear?” As they had obviously rehearsed, Barbie moved behind me and opened the top of my gown. It fell to the floor, revealing my naked body, even without stockings, and just with high-heeled blue shoes. I took one step forward into the classic modeling pose.
“As I say, I am one of you. I will share with all of you at the mental and physical levels. I don’t want to present myself differently. No, there’s no need to strip if you don’t choose to do so; I’m making a point.
“Let me go on. The Parliament isn’t about putting men down, but about equal opportunity. The difference from other women’s organizations is that we’re private, and that we’ll use sex.
“To speak of the physical, while I’ve always loved men, my experience with women is fairly new. Barbie cured me of my phobias there.” I licked my lips. “She’s delicious.
Women alone can’t do this. They need male allies. Sometimes, we’ll want to rehearse and get a male perspective. They may well need male support and physical loving.
“Ladies, if for no other reason as our pleasures and support at home, the Parliament needs a few good men. By pleasant surprise, we found Hal. He’s helping in a number of non-physical ways. It turned out, for example, that he has experience in the empathy-increasing techniques that Barbie and I use. He also brings computer and information skills to the Parliament -- Charlene, you two will presumably work together.
“Do you know more good men?”
Linda spoke up first. “This might be a little complex. I’ve mentioned my sister, Donna. She has a boyfriend, Dave. I gather that they both are interested in polygamy at the personal level, but also swinging or something else exciting. Maybe both could fit with us. Why don’t we meet?”
Molly smiled. “You can guess, I’m sure, that I test men. You wouldn’t have had me here if you didn’t think of me as more than a playgirl.”
Charlene looked thoughtful. “My luck with men hasn’t been that great. I’ll have to reflect. Maybe someone else will have one or more for me.”
After our dinner, Elizabeth asked. “No huge hurry, but would you and Hal meet with me later, or tomorrow?”
Melissa also called me aside. “You asked me to do some detecting, so I did. The results are rather interesting.
“Joan, I may need to get Elizabeth’s consent to share some other detection that I’ve done. It is, however, probably OK that I mention that there are some reasons why the Parliament might be interested in Diane. I think I can mention that she’s gotten divorced recently, and has taken back her maiden name, Breton.”
“Until I talk to Elizabeth, I’ll just say that she has some interesting connections.
“And yes, I’ve seen her, and I agree with Hal’s assessment of her legs. Should we have the opportunity to compare you two, it will be most interesting. Yours have more of a dancer look but she’s slightly taller, and perhaps even more short-waisted.”
“You certainly wear short skirts, but perhaps you might want to check with Gerri and see if she can provide some that are as short as possible while usually covering the essentials.”
“Intriguing again. You’re suggesting that Diane’s are shorter than mine usually are?”
“My dear, Diane wears skirts shorter than anyone’s can be, but still a skirt, not a belt.”
My friends rarely accuse me of full-contact shopping, or even being a clothes horse, but I do like pretty things. Gerri, I’m discovering, is a fashion genius. She is eclectic, not bound by the dictates of the fashion world. She helps me find what is best for me.
“Elizabeth, you’ve done a lot for me. You’ve made it clear that your group is likely to involve sex, but I’ll have choice in the matter. That’s perfectly fine. People clearly are frank here, so I’ll be direct: I’m hot for you, as well as for pretty much everyone here.” She smiled to the group. “Perhaps someone would invite me for the night?” Carol’s hand shot up.
“Now that I have more confidence in the Parliament, perhaps Barbie and I -- and maybe Hal and Joan -- can talk to me about some of my issues. Ideally, your empathy techniques might help.
“Now, my sister Donna is my rock. Yeah, she and I have played a bit. In addition, I’ve made it with her, and her boyfriend, Dave.
“That’s the sexual part. You know that I have an academic background in education and arts policy, and am a certified high school art teacher.
“I’ve gotten interested in military history, both the formal, and a cultural quirk: I’m fascinated by women who used sexuality in a direct way. That could be espionage, political manipulation, or prostitution. I’m working on a portrait of Belle Watling from Gone with the Wind.
“Molly, let me not monopolize the discussion. You and I have had some chats that are worth sharing. With no false modesty, I’m a fine-looking blonde, but not to the extent that you are.”
“Thanks, Linda. You and I need to talk about military history, which also has become a passion of mine.
“You make an excellent point about passions. As you know, the better you look, the harder it can be to get men -- hell, and lesbians -- to accept that you have a brain.
“Somewhere along the higher end of the appearance spectrum, though, one acquires some near supernatural powers. Who’s played Dungeons & Dragons?” There were several nods. “Remember the discussion of player and deity ability scores? 18 is officially the maximum human charisma, but there are scores, for demigods and deities, above 18. They confer a power of paralyzing with awe.
“For practical purposes, when I’m fully dressed, made up, and carrying myself in an appropriate way, I have awe power.
“So, Elizabeth, how can I use it, as well as my knowledge skills, to advance our goals?”