Chapter 1

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, BiSexual, Heterosexual, Swinging, Group Sex, Orgy, Voyeurism, Nudism, .

Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Lia and Liz are twins, and now they've gone their own ways in life. Liz has entered the Air Force Academy, while Lia explores the world of TV and movies. TV sitcoms revolving around sex? TV soap operas on the same subject? Lia gets involved, but not the way people would think. It's a brand new genre (so to speak), and being in on the ground floor is a big plus.

Jerry was a tit man, and right now he was showering kisses on the pair lying across the front of my chest. His cock was also doing wondrous things to my insides, but his concentration was a lot higher up my body.

We'd gone out on a date, going to the Saturday night school dance after the game. We'd sort of had fun seeing and being seen, and helping squelch any rumors about wild sex parties that had percolated around the school.

Those rumors were true, but all of us involved had agreed that we had to be a lot more visible. Nothing squelches a rumor faster than absolute proof that its wrong. All of the kids who were supposed to be in some wild orgy were visible at the dance, and the most malicious tongues were stilled.

We'd left the dance early, more to just go outside and be alone for a bit. Now there's nothing wrong with this. Everyone gives a hand job or blow job to their boyfriends or dates. A proper girl, at least in this day and age, do it as a matter of course. Going farther, though, is still a no-no. So when Jerry and I left, hand in hand, the knowing looks figured he'd soon be receiving a hand job (girls know I don't really give blow jobs).

We'd walked in the moonlight for a bit. We smiled when we saw some of the cars in the parking lot with fogged windows. It was a typical Saturday night, and some of the kids were taking advantage of it.

"Want to go to a party?" Jerry asked as we saw a shadow behind the fogged windows moving up and down.

"Party? What did you have in mind?"

"I was thinking of taking you home early."

"It sounds fun." I was never one to say no to partying.

When there's a party at my parents place all of the doors are locked, even though we're a little ways out in the county. I let us in, and we paused as I eased the front door closed. We could hear the sounds of the party, and his eyes sparkled as he hung up my sweater.

"Should we go upstairs?" I asked, "or join in?"

"Let's go have fun," he said."

I shivered in excitement. We headed for the Rec Room. We could hear our parents enjoying themselves. I'd worn tight jeans and a blouse, and Jerry helped me with them (these were jeans so tight I had to lie on my bed to zip them up). His hands were warm as he eased my bra off. I pulled down his shorts; a few sucks got him "party ready". Then, hand in hand and bare-ass naked, we joined the fun.

Dad was doing Jenny Alexander. They were doggy-style, and her boobs were swinging back and forth as she rammed herself back on him. Mom was on her back, and someone was eating her. Since she'd had the baby the year before Mom had the unfortunate habit of 'leaking' when she got aroused. White milk was seeming from her boobs, and when she came she actually sprayed some into the air. Then the guy who had been licking her moved up and slid his cock in her.

Mom and Dad weren't the only ones. The group that partied numbered more than 30 (some nights there were over 40) and most of them were involved with each other. The air was filled with moans, gasps, groans, and the unnamed noises people make in the throes of ecstasy. It also smelled of sweat, the smell of spilled come, and enough women's juices to float a boat.

Jerry's cock had gotten even harder as he gazed across the room. I was so wet it was incredible. I needed something male and hard inside me. There were more than a few available, but I kept eyeing Jerry's.

"There's an empty spot," I said, looking at the couch. Jerry didn't need the hint. He put his hand on my butt, and when I settled on the couch I gave his cock a few friendly licks. I didn't give blow jobs, not on casual dates. But a blow job at a party was just a warm-up.

Jerry pulled it out of my mouth and mashed my boobs together, pressing them around his cock. That felt good, and I tried to lick the tip of his cock every time it popped out into view.

I wanted his hardness elsewhere, and he knew it (he knew me). I lay back on the couch, spreading my legs invitingly. Jerry \'s no dummy. He got into position, slipped the fat head of his cock between the lips of my pussy, and plunged into me. After a few thrusts he bent over and began kissing and tonguing my nipples.

I can't think of a single woman who would say no to a guy devoting a lot of attention to her boobs. Right now my nips were so sensitive that they seemed to tighten every time he breathed on them. Every time he licked them a jolt shot through me, right to where he was so deliciously plugging me up.

All of this attention was certainly having an effect on me. I'm one of those lucky girls who can come from doing it, and I certainly did so. Jerry had done me enough times to know when I'd popped, and he redoubled his efforts. I was close when he finally couldn't hold back.

Guys go to parties because every woman is available. A woman goes to a party because she isn't tied to the male rhythm of excitement, climax, and recovery. She can get going, stay aroused, and sort of peak from time to time. Jerry, being a teenager, recovered faster than most of the men in the room. It didn't take long before he got involved with Dale. She was a teacher at school (history and civics), and he feasted on her soft boobs. I'd already mounted my best friend Jodie's Dad, holding my boobs as we did it.

I came with two more men by the time things ran down. At a regular party people head home because they're drunk or sleepy. At one of these parties it's because the girl is too sore and the guy can't get it up. Couples began to get up, find a shower, and then their clothes. Jerry and I sat on the couch, watching some of the last bits of action. I had my hand on Jerry's cock, and he had his hand between my legs. It was a great way to end the evening.

"I suppose I should head home," he said. One of the rules was that nobody stayed the night.

"Are you sure you won't fall asleep while driving?"

"I'll chance it," he said. He leaned over and kissed my boobs. "I do love these."

Men's clothing is so complex that I felt I had to help him dress. Of course that gave me the chance to run my hands over his entire body. Guys get fixed on our boobs, our legs, and our bottoms. Girls like far more about a guy's body than just his cock and balls. I was sort of turned on by everything, even though I knew nothing was going to come of it (pun attended). I was just too tired.

We kissed good-night, me still naked, then I collected my clothes and went up to the en suite bathroom and my bed.

My twin sister Liz was home from her date, and she was in her robe and nightgown, and looked up from her textbook.

"Have fun?"

"I enjoyed myself."

"I thought it was just a date."

"It was, but we got in the mood for a party."

She nodded, and went back to her textbook.

Liz and I are identical, but she didn't party any more. When our brother Brad had been born a few months before she'd sworn off recreational sex. I sort of understood her reasoning. Mom had made a mistake during a gangbang (Mom loved those), and we now had a baby brother. Liz is on the same birth control as me, but she didn't want to take even the slightest chance. She kept her legs firmly closed, and was as celibate as I wasn't.

"Lea!"

"What Mom?"

"Can I see you down here?"

I grabbed my robe. It was one of those funny things. Just a few minutes ago Mom had seen me naked with sweaty skin and wild hair, but once the party was over I was supposed to be covered.

Mom was in the Rec Room, and she was holding up a bra. "You left this down here."

"Are you sure it's mine?" It was a black demi-cup bra. "I don't have a demi-cup in black, either."

She held it out. "34D, isn't that your size?"

"No, I'm a C cup."

"Count your bras."

Reluctantly I went to my underwear drawer. I counted twice; seven bras, four of which I didn't wear any more.

"What kind is it?" I called down.

"Bali," Mom said.

I padded downstairs. It looked familiar, but that was a larger cup than I normally wore. Reluctantly I tried it on.

"It fits," Mom said.

The week before I'd gone to the store to get a new bra. I was beginning to spill over the top of the cup, and even had a little bulge on the underside, where you don't want any. I'd found one that looked just like this, but hadn't checked the size.

"I guess it is mine," I admitted reluctantly.

Mom just nodded. She was checking under the furniture, so I checked between the cushions. It didn't take long to find more underwear. We couldn't tell who the collection of bras, panties, and shorts belonged to. She'd let people know, and take them in a bag to the next party.

I looked around one more time. The room still smelled of sex, but Mom had picked up the blankets and pillows. "Somebody left a mesh stocking, too. Just one."

When Liz had taken in the parties it'd been both of us helping clean up. Now it was me and Mom. Sometimes I thought Liz had a point.

I finally got to bed long after Liz had turned out her light. On some nights I'd lie awake after a party, still too wound up to sleep. Guys have it lucky; they get sleepy after sex. A girl has to find a way to fall asleep. My head hit the pillow, and the next thing I knew the sunlight was lighting the curtains.

I suppose, in a theoretical sense, we're supposed to feel guilty because we'd been "sinning" the night before, I was one of those who came home from Vacation Bible School with a boat load of questions, not a set of rules that I could automatically apply to everything. Ministers should not try to give behavior rules to girls who are intensely interested in sex, and is the daughter of people who treat sex as a recreational sport.

Girls can talk themselves into almost anything. Liz and I were worse than normal as most girls have some friends who can provide balance. The two of us didn't think that different, so the balance that society in the form of other girls would provide was missing. Liz and I got into the whole party scene.

What this meant was that after a night that started with dinner and a dance, and ended with sex with at least three men, including my date, we had Church. We got dressed up in our Sunday go-to-church dresses. Mine was pink with white highlights, while Liz's was white with pink accents. We both had on white stockings—hers were tights, mine were stockings—black shoes, and barrettes in our hair, pink for her, white for me. We looked like the perfect example of butter-wouldn't-melt-in-our-mouth young Southern Womanhood.

Not everyone who parties goes to church., but enough do. One of the things I'd had to learn was how to look at someone I'd had sex with the night before, and not even blink. Mrs. Green, for example; her husband was the largest man in the party crowd. I always had doubts when I felt his cock pressing against my entrance, and it always felt like he was nearly ripping me open. One time, when he'd been really excited, he'd actually hit my cervix with his thrusts. By the way, that hurts. Still, a guy can't get any deeper in you than that.

When you go to church everyone takes note of what you have on. You're not going to show too much, not at church, but there'll be those instantaneous judgments on your hair, make-up, clothes, and presentation. The slightest flaw can make you the object of whispers for several days. In that case the only thing you can pray for is someone else messing up.

If this sounds like going to church can be a great social gamble, that isn't the half of it. Liz and I were at that point in our lives where we were moving between worlds. We were seniors in high school. Technically speaking we were right at that cusp between girl and woman, and we had to be both. It wasn't easy.

Mom's twin sisters had given us the clue. When you had questions about the proper social response, sit up straight, keep our knees together, and be polite to everyone, especially older women. It was okay to look at boys, but ... No, that was a couple of generations ago.

There were dangers to sitting up straight, especially with boobs like mine. I sat up and moved my shoulders back with a rustle of cloth. Every male eye in the pew checked out my chest. At least my nipples weren't sticking out. I'd have probably died if that had happened. It's funny what you fixate on when you're in stressful situations.

Liz jabbed me in the side. "Down girl."

A lot of girls get self-conscious about their boobs, and roll their shoulders forward in an attempt to minimize them. Dad didn't let us. Every time he saw one of do it he'd poke us in the back. It was good for our posture, and certainly attracted attention from the boys. You can be ashamed of your body, or embarrassed, which to a teenager is about the same thing.

I felt stifled in my slip and dress, but a Southern Woman doesn't show any discomfort in public. I clenched my teeth and put on a brave face. But when we got home I stripped down to a halter under a blouse I tied up beneath my boobs, and shorts. I settled in the backyard, in the shade, and relaxed. Much better.

Liz was out, doing some community service. In the past we'd both done this counting it toward some Girl Scout badge. Now I didn't bother. Liz, though, had an objective in mind, and kept busy. I think it was meals to shut-ins or something. But she was gone all afternoon, and I could work on a letter to my boyfriend.

When we'd been at that town in the Caribbean I'd fallen (sort of) with a guy named Dick. We'd had sex every day, but I soon got beyond that and liked him for himself. Everyone had told me it was a summer romance, but he'd answered my letter, and now, when he could, stopped in to visit me three or four times a year. He had even put in a recommendation that got me an interview with the company he worked for.

We'd talked about that. The company had a market niche that was unique: they offered a safe sexual vacation, sex-related programming, and a host of other sexual or nude items. They also did a lot of things not related directly to sex, and I thought I could leverage an entry into that part of the company to working for them elsewhere. Dick, or Rick as I took to calling him, had some misgivings, but he liked the company, and after a talk, agreed to do what he could.

That was my big plan for the future, one I had already sent some pictures (of me fully clothed) in to a photographer in Atlanta. I was as eager to take those first step as Liz was on her Master Plan.

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