Illustrated version available on request to Author
Good things were happening to Paul in almost breath-taking fashion. First, he had received a token payment for his novella, which was promptly followed by a solid $5000 retainer after the publisher had read a rough draft of the first three chapters of his latest novel, with additional funds to follow if and when the subsequent chapters met the standard of the initial pages.
Now with Memorial Day approaching Carol had called to invite him to a Memorial Day party at her publisher’s swanky home on Park Avenue.
Carol had suggested that he rent, or buy a tux for the affair and possibly others that might follow.
Paul found that buying was preferable to renting if more than one time was needed, and optimistic about his future, he had one tailored to his specifications provided it was ready two days before the party in order that any late alterations might be remedied.
Carol was stunned by how handsome he was when she opened her apartment door to let him in. She wanted to jump his bones then and there, but forced herself to settle for a long, torrid kiss and a little grouping (by each of them on the other) inasmuch as her dress might wrinkle and those at the party whom she knew would conclude that they had fucked one another either before or after cabbing over to the party.
“Will Sarah be coming to the party with us?” Sarah being the submissive that roomed with Carol who Paul had fucked along with Carol not that long ago.
“Oh, no Paul, she never goes out with me. She’s here, taking a bath. Would you care to say hello?”
“Why yes I would, Carol. That is if you don’t mind.”
“Mind, why on Earth would I mind? She’s just a toy to make use of when we feel like it.”
And as Paul ventured into the bathroom, Carol used the mirror in the living room to touchup her lipstick and smooth her dress.
The first and foremost thing he saw on entering the steamy bathroom was the lithesome Sarah in the tub with her right leg raised to her shoulder, jamming a dildo into her cunt and moaning happily. Her eyes were closed and for a good twenty seconds she didn’t react to Paul’s presence. And when she did it was with surprise, followed by a wide smile of welcome. “Did Carol send you to me, Paul?”
“No, I asked to see you, actually.”
“You look lovely in your tux. I gather you won’t be joining me in my bath tonight.” Sarah continued her masturbation as she spoke, making it appear as natural as brushing one’s hair in the presence of another.
“Yes, well I am sorry about that, but Carol has promised me a full night of sex awaits us at this party.”
“Mmm, I’ve heard about Mr. Harshaw’s parties. Carol’s been to one or two of them. Very risqué. More than that, really. She’s heard that on occasion everything goes. Everything! Can you believe it?”
Paul had to smile. Here was a beautiful girl, masturbating before him without a shred of embarrassment talking about a sex party where everything goes.”
“It certainly sounds like fun. But I wanted to ask, can I see you without Carol knowing about it one night?”
“Oh, no Paul. That’s not the way it works. I’m Carol’s not yours; if she wants to share me well ... but otherwise, no. Sorry.”
Just then Carol walked into the bathroom and smiled on seeing the look of discomfort on Paul’s face. “Don’t worry, Paul, I’ll give her to you another time. I’m sure she’ll be delighted, won’t you, Sarah?”
Sarah smiled, “You torture me in the most devious ways, Mistress.”
“That’s a yes, Paul, in case it went over your head.”
“It didn’t,” he laughed and they made their way out of the apartment and caught a cab.
Jubal Harshaw, their host, and Carol’s publisher, boss, welcomed them at the door of his plush penthouse on the twenty-fifth floor, over-looking Central Park just as Paul whipped his hand from Carol’s ass, letting her dress, actually a silky black slip fall back to its normal position before their host caught them.
A group of people stood around, chatting, glasses in their hands. Harshaw made the introductions, but the only person Paul had met before was his wife, Kayla, who looked cool and elegant and beautiful with her brown hair in a tight chignon and a blood-red strapless dress. She seemed the consummate Parisian woman: svelte, willowy, and always turned out to perfection. She was much younger than Harshaw and Paul suspected she was not Harshaw’s first wife, but more of a trophy.
Her bracelets jangled as she transferred her drink from one hand to the other and air-kissed Carol’s cheeks. “So nice to see you, my dear,” she whispered in Carol’s ear, “It’s good to have some new blood in our midst. Plus he’s handsome, very handsome and quite intelligent I hear.”
Several couples sat around a large magnificent teakwood table. Paul had never seen a table anywhere like it; for it was too low to be a dining table, and although the guests were seated a decent distance from each other, the table served as the depository for their drinks. Moreover, a dining table could be seen in the adjacent room replete with settings, flowers and several bottles of wine.
Paul and Carol were introduced to the others by Miranda Mars, a prominent actress, who had been nominated for an Academy Award the previous year.
Miranda was a stunning woman with auburn hair tied in simple bun as if to challenge the other women who had their hair styled and coiffed by professional hairdressers. It was obvious that she had merely showered and combed her tresses before fixing the bun. As for attire, she wore a cream colored summer dress tied loosely at the shoulders that all but defied anyone close to her to examine the ample cleavage she was able to display by leaning ever so slightly forward. She was the picture of innocence, until she did just that. The fact that she was a movie actress was magnified in that she wore a pair of cute, square glasses that gave her a sharpness that made her look like a top tier attorney.
As Paul took her in, he regretted the lack of time allowed him wanting to stop time and give her a thorough once over, but it was impossible under the circumstances with both Carol and Jubal standing next to him. He did note that Miranda--he loved the way her name rolled off his tongue--wore an apron over the dress, indicating that she was at the very least playing a role in the preparation of their upcoming dinner.
She led Paul and Carol to a vacant love seat while Jubal went to make them drinks. Scanning the room, Paul took in what appeared to be two original paintings by Matisse and Picasso, and single, large oil that dominated the far wall which he didn’t recognize. He concluded that the fiftyish Harshaw was indeed a very wealthy man.
Paul wondered why an affair of this magnitude hadn’t been catered, but had to wait before asking Carol because Miranda began introducing the other guests. Each of whom either stood up or nodded graciously as their names were called.
“On your left,” Miranda said, “is Nora Braswell and Mike Hunt. Nora is a model. You may have seen her on the cover of Vogue last December. She’s truly beautiful ... as you can readily see.”
Paul stood up preparing to greet them. Carol, already familiar with the couple just waved informally to them and remained sitting.
Miranda was not exaggerating, Nora was raven-haired, not overly thin, but it would be difficult to deny that she was the perfect model to wear the finest dress designer’s work at the biggest fashion shows in the world.
Paul wondered if her breasts were larger than Carol’s, but decided they were about the same. Her legs were unquestionably the longest he had ever seen.
He almost missed it when Miranda introduced Nora’s date. “And this is the infamous Mike Hunt,” she said, as Nora uncrossed her legs and deliberately revealed her shaven pussy to him.
Did she just do what I think she did? Paul thought, and for the first time, it occurred to him that this might be more than the usual Memorial Day party.
Paul wasn’t allowed to ponder Nora’s action, for Hunt stood and took Paul’s outstretched hand. Hunt, who stood about 5’ 10” with light brown wavy hair, had a well toned body, indicating he worked out routinely. In fact, Paul noted, all the men present appeared to be fit and in extremely good health, and said, “Pleased to meet you, Mike. But why did Miranda call you infamous?”
Hunt smiled at Paul and whispered sotto-voice, “I dabble in writing graphic erotica. It seems I found a huge audience. I’m not exaggerating ... really humungous. I only regret that I might have been ahead of my time and missed out on the E-book craze. My work is available on the net--for free. But in real life I’m in advertising. I do all right for a former hack.”
Miranda laughed and added, “Don’t let him fool you; he’s head of Craving, More & Hunt.” With that she turned toward the next couple as Jubal returned from the bar with two large wineglasses containing reddish liquor. Handing one first to Carol and then Paul, he said, “My holiday concoction. It’s original, mostly rum, but I will supply the recipe if asked. The ladies have to kiss me to get it. The men have to sell their souls.” Everyone within earshot laughed; although it appeared to Paul that the others might have heard the story before.
Jubal took a seat on the arm of the loveseat, next to Carol, and assumed the responsibility of performing introductions from Miranda.
“Now next to Nora and Mike are Joanna de Brito and Don Roscony.” Roscony, who Paul judged to be about 6’4” with the build of a competitive swimmer, got up and walked over to Carol and kissed her hand, then shook Paul’s hand vigorously.
“Pleased to meet you both, he said and seemed to mean it. “My date,” he said, half turning to her, “Is the truly beautiful Joanna de Brito, of the De Brito Potato Chip
“Oh, for god’s sake, will you stop introducing me like I’m a piece of meat!” Joanna said feigning anger...
Carol raised a hand in salute to both, but Paul made it a point to walk over to Joanna, take hold of her hand, and still holding it, told her that he was pleased to meet her, “And I want to make it clear that I do not consider you a piece of meat, but a fine specimen of femininity.”
Before she could reply, he raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it much the same as Roscony had Carol’s, but lingered over it, letting his tongue flicker on the tiny veins on the top of her hand.
“OH! I think I like your man, Carol. Is he like this all the time?” Joanna inquired.
“Surprisingly, he is.” Carol replied. “He’s sexy as hell--don’t you agree?” That said Carol crossed her magnificent legs, revealing most of one leg so that anyone looking at her, and most eyes in the room were, saw the tops of her thigh highs and possibly more.
“Well I do!” said a petite blonde in a green dress that showed off her bountiful breasts to advantage. “I’m Maria and this guy is Frank Downey. Oh, for the record it’s Maria Gonzales, and yes--she cupped her breasts in both hands--they’re real.”
“I’ll attest to that,” her partner added with a wide, infectious grin that grew wider when Maria smacked him on the arm. “Frank Downey,” the man sitting next to the petite blonde. “Just for the record, I’m an investor.”
When Paul gave him a quizzical look, Downey elaborated. “I invest in people and ideas. It’s proven very lucrative over time.”
Paul took Downey in, and with the skill professional writer’s come to possess over time, concluded that Mr. Downey was a very wealthy man, and decided to leave Ms. Gonzalez alone, even if she came onto him, as Carol had warned him some of the women might.
“You being fresh blood, the women will want to test you,” she’d said in the taxi on the way to the party.
“What about you, Carol? You’re not the jealous type?”
“There’s no jealousy evident at these affairs. It’s ... unwise actually.”
“So, shall we mix with the others?”
“Yes, I recommend it, Paul.”
With that, Carol made her way over to Jubal and linked her arm in his, while Kayla leaned in against his other side. A moment later, Paul watched as Kayla laughed at something her husband said and then kissed Carol on the mouth.
It suddenly seemed that everyone was in motion of one kind or another. Paul found himself standing next to Joanna De Brito in that clinging black dress and noticed more than a trace of auburn in her brown hair. He looked around and spied Roscony now on the far side of the room, ostensibly examining the Picasso hanging on the wall with the greatest interest. Paul wondered if he’d been told to get lost for a while and decided he had and greeted Joanna with: “So how big is this place?”
Joanna laughed and replied, “Not very, but it has four bedrooms ... if sleeping is what you had in mind.”
Paul smiled and said, “I got a good eight hours last night thank you.”
She took a sip from her glass, “Oh, then you’ll be wide awake for most of the evening,” she said matter-of-factly, and then, “Follow me.”
Paul did, and they wound up standing at the entrance of an opened door to the master bedroom.
“Very interesting,” he said, but kept his eyes on Joanna, not the bedroom. There was something about her that made him want to smile straight off, he decided it was the way she kept looking off instead of directly at him when starting a sentence then immediately remembered that she should be looking at him and kind of re-centered herself. He thought it added to her cuteness. She was at least six inches shorter than him. Then too she was a brunette, with touches of auburn tinting her hair. And she was blessed with very nice breasts, perhaps 34-B from what he could see. Then too, she wasn’t modelishly slim, but the curves she was blessed with were--faultless.
Paul came out of his reverie when Joanna said, “Don’t worry Paul; those sheets will become quite rumpled before the night is over if I know Jubal and his friends.”
Paul’s eyebrows arched. “Really?”
“Oh, let’s not be disingenuous, Paul, you’ve been ogling my tits since we were introduced. You must have thought about getting me into one of these bedrooms, come on, fess up.”
“Joanna ... I swear...”
“Here, please take this,” she said, handing him her wineglass. He accepted it and glanced over Joanna’s shoulder at the large window that looked out on the street below. The window itself was almost opaque, replete with reflections of people standing in groups and moving around in the living room while also providing a view of traffic far below flowing along the perimeters of the park.
Paul turned around and glanced inward. The figures reflected in the window weren’t dancing, but they were paired off and standing close to one another. Very close. In fact, Carol was now whispering into Mike Hunt’s ear, and he had a hand on her jutting ass. Moreover, she appeared to be welcoming the squeezes he was applying to it.
Kayla was now laughing at something Jubal was saying, and he too had a hand on her rump, lightly caressing it. Paul’s subconscious registered Joanna’s hands going up to do something with her hair--a typical feminine move that meant next to nothing to him...
WAIT! His mind shouted at him. WHAT THE HELL IS SHE DOING?
She, being knowledgeable woman, gave a flick of the shoulders that caused the top of her dress to fall around her waist, leaving her bare-breasted in front of him.
“Like them, Paul?”
“Um, yes--yes I certainly do!” he replied.
“Why not touch them, then?”
“In front of...” he paused, and then added, “Everyone?”
“Paul...” she said, and like Paul, she paused. “Look the fuck around you.”
He did, and saw that at least two men were casually touching the woman beside or next to them inappropriately at least that would have been the word in normal circumstances.
“It is a Memorial’s Day party, Paul. One should expect some form of advances being made inasmuch as no one here is married to anyone else--here at least.”
Paul needed no additional encouragement from her and reached out and squeezed each breast in turn.
Joanna did something with her hips and the dress slid down pass her derrière. “Oops,” she giggled while caressing his face with her right hand and murmured, “Mmmmm,” she moaned. “Now thumb the nipples with one hand and squeeze my ass with the other, baby. Mmmm, that’s my boy, that’s soooo nice.”
Her left hand rubbed over his erection, eliciting another favorable comment from her. “Oh, I like that--you’ve got a whopper there. I do hope I get to use it tonight. Promise me you’ll save some of that big boy for little old me?”
“I’d like to think the evening will present the opportunity, Joanna,” he said his voice husky with lust.
“Mmmm, quickly now, squeeze my ass. With one hand and finger me with the other!”
A moment later Joanna, lightly removed his hand and said, “Perhaps I’d better I put them away now; Jubal’s about to make a speech, I think.”
And with an adroitness that surprised him, Joanna pulled her dress up to its former level and adjusted her breasts so that it remained up despite their obvious weight. Less than four seconds later, Joanna had turned from him and left him standing there. Then as if it was staged, and perhaps it was, Carol appeared at his side.
“Having fun, Paul?”
Although surprised, Paul managed to remain cool and answered, “I’d say as much if not more than you and Mike Hunt.”
She giggled into her hand and whispered, “Try saying his name three times in a row.”
He did, but saved face by saying it in his mind and smiled when he understood her asking him to say it aloud.
“Someone’s got a dirty mind, Carol.”
“Someone better wash those hands before dinner,” she shot back then laughed lewdly.
“So have you spent any time talking to the men here?”
“We’ve only just got here, Carol,” Paul protested.
“Really? Well you’ve already had Joanna’s tits in your hands.”
“She all but put them there,” he protested.
“I know, I’ve seen her before--wore the same dress too--so much for being a wealthy heiress.”
That made him laugh, and Carol leaned in and kissed him, and when his mouth opened, she sent her tongue inside to duel with his. Moments later, Paul’s hand began squeezing her ass, much the same as Hunt had earlier. Ending the kiss, Carol murmured near his ear, “You have a much nicer squeeze, darling. No doubt about it,” and they both began laughing.
He kissed her again and they took a moment to look out the window together at the dreary gray sky, the patchwork of illuminated windows and the rain drops. “Weatherman says we might get two or more inches of rain,” Carol said.
“And you in such a skimpy dress,” Paul said drolly. “But I guess my hands can help keep the chill off you.”
“Not to mention that big heater of yours. Maybe I’ll have you stick it in me and ride you home.”
“It’s a nice image,” he said.
“Mmmm, I like it,” Carol giggled. “Actually, Jubal will have a limo driver take us all home. He always does.”
“Keeping us drunks from getting into trouble?” Carol laughed, “Not exactly. But getting a cab on a night like this is nearly impossible, and look at the number of people who will be looking for one.”
“Oh I don’t disagree. In fact, I’m in favor of the idea.”
Then Paul switched topics, saying, ““You don’t really know the people at this party do you?”
Pursing her lips, Carol replied, “Well, I do know Jubal and Kayla, and to a lesser extent, Joanna, but as to the others--no, some yes, but mostly no.”
Paul gave her his devilish grin and said, “Here I was worried about having to talk with a bunch of strangers having to rely on my natural gregariousness to see me through, but you’ve been talking to me almost the whole time.”
“Let’s get another drink, darling. Maybe someone else will take pity on you and talk to you.”
“I’m afraid the guys will only rub my ass,” he said with a smile. Laughing, Carol retorted with a gleam in her eye, “Maybe I’ll let a straying hand slip inside my top.”
Paul now unafraid of making a spectacle of himself did just that and pinched Carol’s left nipple which immediately hardened. Carol moved closer to him, partly to block others from seeing what he was doing and partly in hope of his continuing the exquisite torture,
Only to draw in her breath as Paul adroitly moved to the other nipple and squeezed even harder. This evoked even more exquisiteness as it extended the interlude of pleasure.
“I want to suck your cock!” Carol moaned.
“We could have done that at your place, but you wouldn’t allow it,” he whispered.
“I still want to suck it,” she whispered back.
“We’ll see,” he answered. “The opportunity may arise.”
“You’ve already arisen, darling.”
Paul pretended to glance down, and said, “Why so I have! Want to grope me?”
Carol burst out laughed and brought immediate attention to them.
Don Roscony was the first to move into their area. “Care to share the joke? It seems the group could stand a good laugh.”
“Sorry Don, it is Don isn’t it?” Paul said before continuing. “Yes, I’m sure it’s Don. Well, I’d love to share it but Don, it’s a private thing, you know? But there’s this one about the Priest, a Rabbi and a Muslim terrorist go into a bar...”
But Roscony had already turned away to mix with Jubal and Miranda.
“You are bad,” Carol said, pleased with the manner in which he had deflected the unwanted overture from the tall Italian.
Jubal chose that moment to tap on a glass with a spoon to garner everyone’s attention. “May I have your attention, please?”
The room grew quiet, and Jubal continued. “We’re all present and accounted for, so let’s begin shall we? Miranda, my dear, what do you have for us to start with?”
Ever the actress, Miranda leaned forward as if to adjust her shoe, revealing both breasts to anyone caring to look down the front of her summer dress.
Then with a smile usually reserved for greeting red carpet party goers, Miranda strode to Jubal’s side, gave him a light kiss on the cheek and took over so smoothly it’s safe to say that it was doubtful anyone noticed him move off to one side and then take a seat.
Miranda was a professional of that there was no doubt. But before this audience, she stood still, but her entire body appeared to move non-stop, her braless breasts jiggled incessantly; her hips swayed so that Paul thought she was performing a motionless rumba, if such a thing were possible.
Suffice to say, Miranda was such a sexual creature that every man in the room, and a few of the woman as well desired her. Only when they realized that she was inviting everyone to join her and Jubal in the dining room for a light supper, as she put it, did they put away their sexual desire for her; and with the gentlemen trying their best to conceal their erections, and women flushed with anticipation of what was to follow, made their way into the adjoining room.
Enroute, Paul whispered to Carol, “Why Miranda? Why not Kayla?”
“I don’t know. Jubal has an almost violent temper at times. Perhaps she pissed him off. I admit it’s unusual for a husband to act like this. You can see the others; at least some of them picked up on it.”
“Miranda handed it flawlessly though,” Paul noted.
“She is an actress, Paul.”
“Point taken. Let’s eat, I’m famished.”
The dining room was aglow but with subtly diminished lighting; its white tablecloth and gleaming silverware reflected the flames from a two matching pair of lit candelabras.
Paul remembered his manners and complemented Kayla. “Your home is spectacular, Mrs. Harshaw.”
“Thank you, Paul, but it’s Kayla, please, we’re all friends here,” she said while performing a last second review of the settings, and adjusting a glass an inch or so to the left. “There’s no need to be formal.”
Kayla stopped next to Paul and laid a hand on his shoulder. “Jubal really likes you.”
“I’m very glad to hear it. I’m hoping he likes my next novel as much as the first.”
Kayla shrugged her elegant, angular shoulders. Her tanned skin shone in the candlelight. “Oh, I’m sure he will. You’ll make us all a lot of money,” she said, gaily.
Seated around the table, the conversation was animated and turned from lively to licentious as inhibitions fled the room when the half inebriated Maria Gonzales raised her voice to recount a piece of gossip to Don Roscony, whose erection she had a tight grip on under the table. “ ... Anyway, the man found his wife in bed with his twin brother, who was staying with them at the time...”
Maria waved her arms as she spoke, causing her huge breasts to test the strength of her dresses’ fabric, but continued talking as the rest of those seated joined Roscony in listening in. “The wife claimed that it was simply a mistake, that his brother had climbed into her bed in the dark after a couple of drinks and she had assumed it was her husband giving her a rousing fuck until they were interrupted by her actual husband--who was understandably shocked by the sight his wife copulating with his brother--twin or otherwise.”
After the laughter subsided, discussion broke out. Joanna de Brito using a decidedly superior tone opined that it was highly unlikely that it was a case of mistaken identity. “Dark or not, I think it nearly impossible that she didn’t recognize the cock between her legs as not being her husband’s. Every woman knows that.”
“Are you so sure?” Kayla asked, standing on what the others assumed to be wobbly feet.
“I mean one dick is pretty much like another, especially in the throes of heated lovemaking. And the man was his brother’s twin.”
“I disagree,” Joanna smirked. Each penis has its own particular qualities.”
“And you are an expert at this, Joanna?” Miranda inquired with a smirk of her own.
“OH! You’re such a snide cunt, Miranda!” Joanna shot back.
Roscony and Paul readied themselves to prevent a fight between the two women, but it failed to materialize. At that point, Paul realized he was being provided with an almost surreal glimpse into this normally closed and cliquish world of people who controlled what mattered most to people, and began to study them in preparation to include them in some future novel or article.
Jubal Harshaw sat at the head of the table, playing the magnanimous host. He lounged back, one arm carelessly flung over the back of his chair. In his other hand he held a half-empty glass of expensive Port. His thick hair was shot through with silver strands. He had a strong neck, a very square jaw and rather intense brown eyes. He was handsome in an arrogant sort of way. From time to time, his eyes rested on each of the women, as if assessing them.
Paul felt Carol flinch next to him. Jubal obviously made her uncomfortable, and she took refuge by squeezing Paul’s thigh and murmuring something to the person to her right.
Kayla spoke up, saying: “Well I’m not convinced that I would know, I mean if it were a lively penis I might be distracted to notice one way or the other.”
“I think that is a distinct possibility,” Jubal opined. “However, that assumes the man in question is ... how did you put it my dear? Ah yes, ‘that he be lively.’”
Laughing, Mike Hunt said, “This is a very interesting after dinner discussion to be sure. I don’t recall ever addressing the situation, or anything like it in any of my stories. Um, there was the one with my wife, June and her long time friend, but that was a threesome, and they had no difficulty in determining whose penis was fucking them.”
“Do you have a point, Mike?” Miranda inquired coolly, and then drained her glass of wine, waited patiently for the wine steward to refill it, glanced at it and took another gulp.
“Oh, sorry, Miranda. Yes--yes I do. Let’s just turn out the lights after finding a feminine volunteer and have each of the males here provide said volunteer with a quick fuck and let her decide which fucker is her partner of the evening.”
The males laughed. The females did not.
“Well,” Hunt said, sensing a rising resentment from the feminine side, “perhaps that was put rather crudely. “Let’s have the “volunteer” call things off the moment she can identify her partner. Now by partner I mean the gentleman who brought the lady here this evening, for to the best of my knowledge, no one here is married to anyone here--with the exception of our host and hostess.”
If nothing else, Hunt’s rambling served to bring the females tempers down several degrees, and everyone realized that the idea as originally proposed was still alive and well for another lively discourse on the subject erupted moments later.
“I’d say she could tell him from the others,” Frank Downey said imperiously. “After all, most men are of about the same size. Don’t you agree, Jubal?”
“Damned if I know,” Jubal replied. “Cocks come in all sorts of shapes and sizes.”
Several people, of both sexes glanced around to see who would speak next.
“Are you so sure?” Carol asked, her tongue loosened by the alcohol. “One cock is pretty much like another, especially in the throes of vigorous lovemaking. And the man was his brother’s twin; Joanna didn’t say, or possibly didn’t know if the brothers were identical twins. If they were, and I say if, it would seem that they might be identical in that department too. Don’t you agree?”
Mike Hunt came to Carol’s support, saying,”She has a valid point there.”
“Yes, well,” Maria chose that moment to break in, “Twins may not be the best analogy. What if we took a random group of men... ?” She glanced around the room and licked her lips.
Paul picked that moment to jump in. “I saw an article in the Times a week or so ago that quoted some expert in the field as determining--please don’t ask me how--that most men’s penises, or is it peni? “ Several guests at the table laughed. “At any rate,” he continued, “the survey or whatever, concluded that the average man’s penis is 5 ¼ to 5 ½ inches when erect. That being the case, then applying the usual norm for such ranges, at least 10% are smaller; and since we know that some men are in the 8 to 9 inch bracket, at least the X-rated videos prove they exist, (more laughter and a few titters from the ladies) and the exceedingly rare male blessed or cursed with the 12 inch whopper--I give you Mr. John Dillinger, whose private parts are on exhibit at the Smithsonian--a zillion high school kids see it every year on their school trip to our nation’s capital. And I’ll shut up now. It seems like I’ve been talking forever.”
Kayla Harshaw got to her feet before speaking. “Of course there are men with big dongs; why else would woman the world over go mad for those big boys?”
The room broke into laughter, and then went quiet.
“Why not have a contest?” Mike Hunt suggested, as he glanced at the women seated at the table.
“Oh, don’t be such a pig!” Miranda Mars called out sharply.
“We’d need some sort of rules,” Frank Downey offered, blatantly ignoring Miranda.
“You’d need a woman to volunteer to participate and you won’t get one,” Miranda groused then looked at several of the females for support. Surprisingly, she didn’t get any.
Instead, Paul slowly got to his feet and said, “I think it was Masters and Johnson who postulated that most women have a recurring fantasy in which they are fucked by more than one man. Or at least they have two cocks to play with, as most prefer coitus and oral sex simultaneously -- according to Masters and Johnson.”
“Kayla will volunteer, Jubal said in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Oh my God!” Miranda said, obviously exasperated. “You--you’re all going to do this--this experiment!”
Almost all the women were embarrassed by Miranda’s comment and the room went quiet for about a minute, and then Jubal stood up and waited a reasonable period until he had everyone’s undivided attention before speaking.
“Stand up, Kayla,” Jubal said quietly. “Let’s show them how it’s done.”
Kayla rose slowly to her feet, and in a kind of slow motion, began to move the place setting away until the table in front of her was entirely clear.
Paul’s jaw dropped open as he watched this beautiful, sophisticated woman bend over the table until her upper body was resting on it. Everything in the room seemed surreal to him:
“Will ten be enough my dear?”
“Mmmm, I should think so, Jubal,” Kayla replied, seemingly unperturbed by the sudden turn of events at the dinner party.
Paul no longer wanted to be there, but there was something that kept him from rising from the table and leaving. It was a sudden unquenchable lust. He felt it in his throat. He felt it in his chest and he felt it in his loins.
Frank Downey stood up and tried to reason with Jubal. “Harshaw, for God’s sake, we don’t require any demonstration. We’re all adults and...”
Ignoring Downey’s protest, Jubal reached down and pulled the hem of Kayla’s blood red dress over her hips. Kayla wore nothing beneath it. The candlelight flickered on her gleaming buttocks.
The first slap caused Kayla’s body to flatten out as she skidded halfway across the table leaving her derrière perfectly poised for the next smack. She never made a sound.
“That’s enough!” Paul said, “There’s no need...”
“Be quiet, Paul,” hissed Carol. “Don’t spoil the fun. This is the main reason I came to this party other than the fact that I had too--he is my boss, remember.”
Paul’s first thought was that Carol had lost her mind, but then he remembered she was Sarah’s dominant other, and how much did he really know about her after all this time spent with her? Not that much. Not that much at all.
Joanna de Brito, virtually silent to this point, looked over at Paul and giggled. “It’s nothing more than she deserves, Handsome.” There was a gleam in her eyes that he hadn’t seen since he’d played ‘piano’ on Sarah’s clit with Carol looking over his shoulder.
Jubal’s hand caromed off his wife’s derrière and the very sound of flesh on flesh caused several spectators to wince.
“Four,” fluttered from Kayla’s mouth with an urgency that told the onlookers that she wanted Jubal to hurry--that she was nearing a climax that would be denied her until the final blow was rendered.
Kayla yelped at the seventh strike. Paul saw the pain of the blow fleetingly register on her face before leaving it, somehow, utterly impassive except for slipping both hands under her chest and squeezing her own breasts as the spanking continued.
For his part, Jubal appeared totally unconcerned with his guests and how they felt about what he was doing. He dealt out the ten blows impassively, concentrating more on the reaction of his guests than his wife’s painful moans.
Paul decided to take his leave. Carol could stay, probably had to, for she worked for Jubal, he didn’t. But then the spanking ended. He found himself staring at the red hand prints on Kayla’s lovely ass.
He felt himself nodding in approval as Jubal lovingly rubbed his hands over Kayla’s red blotched derrière. His wife moaned as if wanting more.
Joanna protested, “Finish it, Jubal. Don’t leave her like that!”
Jubal laughed. “Really ... you want me to finish her?”
Joanna nodded her head vigorously.
“Well then I for one cannot resist the plea of a beautiful woman.” And, without taking his eyes off Joanna’s face, he slid his hand between his wife’s derrière and began caressing her.
There wasn’t a person in the room that could mistake the sound his fingers made as they slid in and out of Kayla’s sodden cunt. For her part, Kayla was panting like a bitch in heat--which she undoubtedly was at the moment--as she rode his fingers and pushed back against his hand, grunting with the effort.
Every woman in the room was dripping between their legs. Every man in the room had precum flowing from the eye of their cock. Kayla wasn’t the only one grunting, for the room seemed an echo chamber filled with the sound.
Finally Kayla grunted twice in succession then shuddered causing the whole table to shake as the tidal wave of relief swept over her.
And it was over, just like that.
Kayla whimpered and pushed herself up off the table, smoothed a couple of stray wisps of hair from her face and primly pulled down her dress.
Jubal glanced at his fingers now slick with his wife’s juices then looked out over the table at his guests. “Desert anyone?”
Paul was stunned to hear Mike Hunt call out, “Yes indeed!” Quickly followed by Maria Gonzales and Carol say in tandem, “Yes, thank you!”
Kayla smiled inanely and nodded her head as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.
As desert was served, Frank Downey broached the subject that had led to Mrs. Harshaw’s punishment. “So where do we stand on the previous question?”
“What question was that, Frank?” Paul inquired as he wiped at the corner of his mouth with a napkin.
“Mmmm, whether a woman can recognize her lover’s penis from someone else’s during lovemaking in the dark.
“There was some talk about rules,” Mike Hunt threw in for good measure.
“Should we, or should we not take a vote on the matter?” Downey inquired.
“A show of hands?” This from Joanna, who received a scathing look from Miranda.
Kayla raised her hand. Jubal nodded at her, encouraging her to proceed. “Umm, it seems to me that before we vote we should make it clear as to what’s being voted on, don’t you think? I mean, here we are talking about penises, and the like, but no one’s said how we’re going to do whatever it is we intend to do.”