Convention Town Girl

Convention Town Girl

By Ms. Screwloose (MMMF, fictionalized, but only slightly)

Part 1

My husband wrote to you about my playing around. I used to just play with other guys, flirting and touchy-feely, but recently I've actually been screwed by one man, and then another and then, at his urging, played with a whole group of men. How did I get this way? Well, it happened gradually, but he sort of started it.

We were out with my husband's biggest business client one Friday night about two years ago, having dinner and drinks. This is not unusual. Tommy takes clients out every couple months, especially this man, I'll call him Stan. Stan had been divorced recently and was not yet re-involved with anyone, so he was alone this night. He always pays a lot of attention to me anyway, looks me up and down, touches me, makes me feel a little uncomfortable, even when he has a woman with him. This night was no different. Tom always tells me to be cool about it, not to upset the client. Fully one-third of Tom's commissions come from this one customer, so he can't afford to do anything to risk that business.

After dinner we went to a bar in one of the casinos, one with music. This bar was filled with people partying -- I guess there's a convention in the hotel this week -- and with a lot of young women who have come to join the party in a professional capacity, I think. They are really sexy. I was in a nice dress, nothing flashy or very sexy, just a straight pseudo-silk, off-white sheath that buttons down the front. It's short but not too short, and I even have a slip on for modesty. But compared with most of the women there, I looked and felt positively Suzie Straight.

Tommy, my husband, had his hand on my thigh when sitting at the table, visibly. This helps, makes me feel a little sexier. When we dance, he plays with my butt, and makes no secret of it. Hey, it's okay, we're allowed. We've been married practically forever. The client asked me to dance, too, and being a good corporate wife I accepted. Then a slow song came on next, and we stayed on the dance floor. He pulled me fairly close, his hands on my hips but not quite too fresh. The guy is an important client, so I don't want to draw any attention to it. I just ignored it. He's done more than that several times in the past, anyway. I mean, he's an attractive enough guy, about ten years older than I am. It's just that, well, I am married, and my husband is right here.

When we got back to the table, Tommy was away, in the men's room, I guess, and while Stan and I were talking, he put his hand on my thigh, too. Right around the hem of my dress, on the skirt, then down on my nylons to my knee, then back up. Casually, he hitched the hem and went under the skirt onto my thigh. Thankfully, Tommy returned just then and Stan moved his hand back down to my knee.

When Stan went to the restroom later, I told Tommy that he was taking some liberties with his hands. "So?" he said. "Let him. Please." I was more than a little surprised. "Honey, this is my biggest account. It's no big deal. Just a little playing. Let him."

"Do you want him to feel me up?"

"If he wants to, well, yes, I want him to be able to do that."

"You want me to *let* him feel me up?"

"Yes, sure. I don't want to make a big deal over it."

"All over? You want him to touch me anywhere?"

"Oh, come on, Jan, it's not as though you're not tempting. I mean, you're awfully proud of your boobs, and your butt, and your legs. You work hard on them, and it isn't just for me. It's for your ego. And he's just responding to a very attractive woman."

"I think he wants to put his hands all over those assets that I work so hard on. You think that's okay?"

"Sure, let him. Touchy-feely anything. It's just playing. It's not like real sex. I don't mind. You shouldn't. Just don't do anything to piss him off, please." He leaned closer and took my hand. "He's important to *us*, sweetie. His account is the bigger house in the better neighborhood that we just moved into. And the new car you want."

I'm stunned. How far does he want me to go with this, I wonder? "Well, suppose he wants real sex? Suppose he wants to take me back to his room, to screw me like one of these hookers here?"

"It won't come to that, honey. He's not crazy. Yeah, he knows that big clients get some privileges, but he can't expect to have my wife, for Christ's sake. Won't happen. Don't worry about it."

I sat back and thought about it. He wants me to let this man paw me. My dear husband wants me to engage in a little sex play with a client. For money. Indirectly. Well, I get that money, too. More indirectly, but I still get the benefits of it. I down my drink. And then Tommy's. And order another round. A little more fortification for the night ahead.

"You want me to just let him do what he wants to do?"

"If he wants to be friendly, then I want you to be friendly, even very friendly. And that means open and receptive, too. Trust me, it won't go too far."

When Stan came back to the table, we danced again, and he pulled me to him again, and I didn't resist. I could feel him getting an erection against my belly. His hands dropped to my butt, and again I didn't resist that. I'm sure that everyone could see them massaging me. He traced the outlines of my bikini underwear with his fingers so that it was obvious that he knew exactly what I was wearing, and he made sure I knew it, too.

When we sat down again, both men put their hands on my legs. Jeezuz, what is this, a threesome? I thought. Tom excused himself again, and Stan moved his chair even closer to mine. He whispered to me how beautiful I looked tonight, and what a good dancer I was. I gulped my drink again, for courage. Stan and I were dancing again when Tom came back, and putting on a show on the floor. During fast dances, he positioned one of his legs between mine, so that I could rub down onto it, which, in good fun, I did. During the slow dances, he felt all of me that was accessible outside my clothes. Tom had come back with more drinks, and was watching this intently. I tried not to object or pull away, but I tried not to encourage him too much, either.

Stan went to the john again, and I told Tom that his hands were all over me. "Next he's going to be grabbing my boobs or my thighs."

"So? Let him have a feel. No man can resist those boobs."

"Just like that? You want me to let him touch me, feel up your wife, sexually?"

"Sure, yes, honey, why not? What's a little groping? If it's not going to get us arrested for public nudity, not a problem."

Stony silence for a minute. Then he whispered in my ear, conspiratorially, "Tell me you aren't enjoying it just a little bit. Turning on another man. A rich and powerful man who finds you extremely attractive."

I didn't answer, but just sipped my drink to think about it.

I continued dancing with both of them, more or less alternating, though I have to admit that Stan somehow got more of the slow dances, and thus more opportunity to roam over my hips and ass and thighs. By now, when he wandered down from my hip, his hand would go down the back and outside of my thigh to the hem of my skirt, and touch my bare leg. Well, not skin but the nylons on my legs. And he would sneak a finger or two under the skirt and move up my thigh. Still, I didn't object or pull away. I know what Tommy wants.

And Tommy got to watch this. When we danced, he whispered to me that he loved watching another man feel me like that.

A while later, Tommy got beeped and had to leave. Normally, I would drive him to the office and I would take the car home, but this night I can't drive, I've had much too much to drink. The client offered to see me home, so Tommy can take the car, and that solved the problem.

We stay and have another drink, of course, and dance some more, of course. During the slow ones, he pulls me really close. I can feel that my breasts are in his chest, and his crotch is against my belly and there is a hard lump in it. His hands go lower to my butt and really pull me into his erection. I continue to let it happen. He's been all over my behind half the night. Besides, it's kind of nice to know that another man still finds me attractive after I've been married for eleven years, so attractive that he's willing to risk being rejected or slapped for coming on to a married woman.

After another drink or two, I decide that I like his hands on my ass, and I push back against him when we dance. When we sit down again, his hand is on my thigh, starting from my knee, moves up my leg under my dress. This is it, now, a new level of contact. Under my clothes. This is scary. Either I stop it here or let it continue. My instructions are not to upset the client, let him play. So I uncross my legs to give him better access to my thighs.

He leans toward me and kisses me! If I weren't *****, I'd be shocked by the public nature of it. Meantime his hand moves way up between my thighs and brushes against my crotch. I jump at the touch. Here's a man I barely know kissing me and running his hand up under my skirt. This started because my husband wants me to please this man, to let this man play with my body, if that's what he wants. I think this is getting out of hand. But I don't want to stop it. I was reluctant at first. But with all the alcohol and the fondling, I'm getting into it. And not just because of Tommy's business. What I'm shocked at is that I'm not angry, I don't want him to stop. I am finding this interesting. In fact, exciting. In fact, incredibly exciting. My God, I'm getting wet between my legs.

While he's kissing me, I moan into his mouth. He can tell that I am enjoying both the kiss and the touch. I lean back and close my eyes. He can do anything he wants now. I have quite forgotten how public this is, that we're still in the club and there are other people around. I don't care. His fingers push the pantyhose into my crotch, into my slit, and I push back at the contact.

Another drink. He's kissing me with his hand full on my breast, but between us so it's hidden. Still, it must be visible. The bouncer for the club, really a burly security guard in a tux, comes up behind us and whispers to me that we ought to get a room. "I haven't seen you in here before, honey, but if you aren't a little more subtle about it, you won't be allowed to work in here again. If you don't want to be persona non grata right now, then take your business to a more suitable place." I can't believe it! The guy thinks that I'm a hooker, and that Stan is my trick! Then I realize that there were a number of hookers in the bar, and that most of them were probably much better-behaved than I was just now.

I was so embarrassed. Stan paid the bill and we headed to his car. He had to help me walk steadily. We got into his car, which was off in the middle of one of those huge, anonymous parking lots that all the casinos have. When we got into the car, he started it and turned on the radio and the a/c, but didn't drive away. He turned to me and kissed me again. He held me and told me breathlessly how incredibly attractive he found me, how he'd wanted to touch me for a year since we first met at one of these dinners. We were in a relatively dark part of the parking lot, and surrounded by other cars, so no one could really see inside the car. He was kissing me constantly, our tongues lashing, and his hands were all over me. He cupped my breasts and played with the nipples that protruded through the material. The electric feeling in my nipples went straight to my pussy, and I got hot and wet. How could I stop now? I didn't want to stop.

He unbuttoned the top of my dress and pulled it off my shoulders. Somehow the seats reclined until he was nearly lying on top of me. He finished unbuttoning my dress and took it off completely. My God, now I'm lying here in just a slip and my underwear. He pulled the slip off my shoulders and pulled my breasts out above my bra. Then he knelt down in front of my seat, between my legs, and kissed my breasts. Oh, his tongue and teeth on my nipples sent shocks down to my sex, and I breathed in gasps.

"I want you, I want you, you are so beautiful tonight," he hisses in my ear. "God, I love the taste of your lips, and your breasts. And I want to taste the rest of you." He reached up under my slip to pull my pantyhose down. I lifted my butt to help him. I was so hot, I wanted him to taste me, too. Then my panties. Now, there's just the slip around my waist. He kissed up one thigh, across my belly, and down the other thigh. Then he came up between them. He parted my hair gently with his fingers and lowered his lips to my clit. His tongue was velvet across my button, his lips and teeth gently grasped at it. I pulled his head hard into my pussy, and I came, "Oh, God, Oh, God, Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh!" My bare feet were up on the dash, and the cold draft of the air conditioning blew over my sweaty legs and butt.

Stan moved over to his seat and lay back. He put my hands onto his pants, and I could feel the hardness and pulsing of his cock. I unzipped him and pulled his pants down below his knees, then straddled his hips. I knelt over him, and we kissed fervently. His hands were under my slip on my hips and pushing me down. I straightened up, took his penis in my hand, placed it at the entrance to my vagina, and pushed down slowly, sliding it into my sex. I wanted to feel it inside me. No, not just inside me, inside my cunt! A word I never use, but there is nothing else that feels like the hot, wet, hungry hole that I pulled him into.

I slid up and down on his cock, moving it in and out of my cunt, slowly, long strokes, he was frantic, sweating, gasping, he wanted so desperately to come. "Fuck me, fuck me. Shoot inside my cunt. Please. Shoot. Squirt in me. Give me your come!" I felt his cock get super-hard, and tense, and he lifted his hips, and he shouted, "Agh! Oh! Oh. Oh, oh."

I collapsed on his chest. As his cock softened, I could feel the fluids running out of my hole. I grabbed the Kleenex box off the back seat, and we both cleaned up. Leather seats don't stain, fortunately.

After we relaxed for a while, I put my stockings and dress back on, but he kept my panties as a, well, trophy. He said "memento," but I think guys always want that most intimate piece of clothing as a trophy. "I conquered this woman. I fucked her. See, I uncovered the core of her sex, and I went inside her hole." Well, it's true.

Stan drove me home then. He kept his hand on my thigh and on my crotch for the entire ride. I didn't mind. I was still feeling warm and gooey and satisfied from the fucking.

When Tommy got home later, I was already asleep. I was glad that he didn't see me undress. He would certainly have noticed that my panties were missing and the pantyhose soaked with both male and female juices. The next morning, we lazed in bed and he asked me what had happened. I didn't tell him the whole story. I was embarrassed and he saw that right away. I let him drag out of me the details of Stan's dancing with me, and feeling me up. I told him that Stan even fingered me in the car before we drove home. Tommy went nuts. He loved it. He was hard in an instant, ripped off my t-shirt and jumped on me with very few preliminaries. I was horny as hell, too, I told him, from being felt and kissed and fondled and eventually finger-fucked. We both came like horny beasts.

For the next week, every time I looked up at him, over breakfast or dinner or the newspaper, he was staring at me and smiling. And he'd grab my ass or my boob every time we were near. And we made love with renewed vigor every night for a week. He loved that horny, sexy night at least as much as I did. God, imagine if I had told him the whole story!

I'm lucky that Stan did not come back for seconds or thirds. Or for a regular thing. The incident had just been something in a business context, not an affair of the heart.

Convention Town Girl

By Ms. Screwloose (MMMF, fictionalized, but only slightly)

Part 2

The next time I saw Stan was at the company's Christmas party at Tom's office. This is a big shindig, with all the major clients invited. Stan, of course, was on the list, and was in fine form that night. He was delighted to see me, naturally, and spend a lot of time with Tommy and me. As I suspected he might, he touched me a lot. His hands were on my arm, my waist, my back, sometimes on my butt below the waist. But he was discreet and didn't do anything unusual in front of other people in the company. Tommy noticed, and he encouraged it again. Of course he would. He was using me to cement an important business contact, and it turned him on no end to be reminded that Stan had got into his wife's pussy, even though he thought it was only with fingers.

At one point, Stan steered me into an office that was empty and dark, and he was all over me. I resisted a little, but I didn't want to make a fuss. Any scene here would be a disaster. At the casino, Stan and I were anonymous. Here, I'm the wife of a partner, and he's an important client. So I can't really make any noise or run out of the room suddenly. He took my indecision for acquiescence and really turned it on. He kissed me hard and held me hard, and felt my breasts, and got under my dress to the bare skin above my stockings. I had worn stockings that night because Tommy asked me to, and it made me feel sexy. I didn't realize how much more vulnerable I would be to other advances because of them. But here I was, in a dark room, Stan's hand cupping my crotch, his fingers kneading into the lips of my pussy. And I was getting wet, too. As much as I didn't want this, I did want it. I stopped struggling and let him get his hand into my panties and a couple fingers inside me. I jerked my hips, almost involuntarily, to get his penetrating fingers deeper inside me. Betraying any good judgment I had left, I pushed my cunt down on his hand, fucking his hand, and moaned my delight into his kiss.

After a couple minutes, he pulled out and licked his fingers. "I love your juice, but we can't stay away from the party too long. Later." And he left. I waited a minute, straightening out my clothes, and then left the office. When I got to the ladies room, I noticed that I was still a bit rumpled. I hoped no one else noticed.

Tom did notice that I was missing for a while, and that I was not completely fresh looking, and wanted to know if I was feeling okay. I told him that Stan had come back for some more play, but much more aggressively than before. Tommy was mainly concerned about appearances, rather than what Stan might do with my body. "Be careful not to let anyone see anything. We can't afford a scene, or even a rumor."

Stan found us then, and introduced me to his VP of marketing, Ken, a younger guy about Tom's age, and very cute. The four of us were off in a corner, so no one else could really see what was going on. Stan decided to play some more. He put his hand right on my ass while talking to Ken, who was on the other side of me. I shivered and shuffled my feet nervously. Then he went further. He pulled my skirt up in back and wormed his hand between my legs, right up against my panties. Jesus, what is he doing? I could hardly slap him or remove his hand without being noticed. I couldn't even just walk away because my skirt was up so far in back. No one could see my predicament except Stan on my left, Ken on my right, and Tommy standing right in front of me. He couldn't see exactly where Stan's hand was, but is was clear it was under my skirt and on my butt.

To make matters worse, Ken took this as an invitation and felt my other thigh, up to the top of the stocking and above, until his hand met Stan's. I just met this man ten minutes ago, and he takes these liberties. Had Stan told him that I was available as a sex toy for clients? Does the company president pass off his sex toy as a perq for his favorite VP?

Tom knows that something is up. I down my drink and swap for his, which is full. I look at him uncomfortably, he knows I don't want to do this but I can't find a way out. His eyes plead with me not to do anything that might upset these gentlemen. I remembered the conversation in the casino bar the first night Stan came on to me.

"Do you want him to feel me up?"

"If he wants to, well, yes, I want him to be able to do that."

"You want me to *let* him feel me up?"

"Yes, sure. I don't want to make a big deal over it."

"All over? You want him to touch me anywhere?"

"Sure, let him. Touchy-feely anything."

The last time, he left before the touching had gone beyond a hand on the knee. Well, this time, he was going to see what that really entailed. They were really going to feel me all over, and I couldn't do a damned thing about it at this party without ruining my husband's career. And our fancy lifestyle.

Ken asked me to dance. I thought that I would be getting away from most of the groping, so I agreed. Boy, was I wrong. He slipped his hand up onto my breast while we danced. When I didn't slap him for that, the hand went under my skirt. And he was not as careful as Stan. I was afraid that someone would see. He danced me off into the darkest corner of the room, out the door into the hall, and into another empty office. Tom and Stan were both watching as we slipped into that dark office and closed the door.

Once inside, Ken became very aggressive and insistent. I had had enough to drink that my struggles were ineffective, and at that point, I didn't much care anymore. He took my dress off, and my bra, and, while kissing me all over, my panties, my last line of defense, not that they were very substantial. Small, wispy, lacy, mostly transparent. He pocketed them, as a trophy, of course. He pushed me back onto the sofa, lay down between my legs, got inside me, and fucked me for four or five minutes. I almost didn't care.

He zipped up and left, just like that. I hunted around for my clothes, and I found my dress, which wasn't too badly wrinkled, but my bra was gone. I guess he took it as another trophy. Either that, or someone in that office will get quite a surprise on Monday morning. So now all I had was a slightly mussed dress and stockings. No panties and no bra for the rest of the party. I was sure that some of the women at the party would notice.

I found Tom, but he was still with Stan. Stan gave him an "I'd like to dance with your wife, too, wink, wink" brushoff, and Tom didn't have time to step in to object, even if he had wanted to. Don't make waves, right?

He danced me back into the same empty office, and started to make out with me. He was incredibly excited when he found that my breasts were loose, not constrained by any bra. He kissed them, and I loved it. He really does that well. Then he was delighted when he found that I had no panties, either. He put his fingers into me, gently, then roughly, then gently, and thumbed my clit until I started fucking his hand again. With my cunt. Yes, I had a cunt again, hot and yearning to be filled. I came and came, screaming my pleasure into his mouth as he kissed me hard. No one else heard, I think.

When he lay down on the sofa, I knew what he wanted. I lowered my hot, wet cunt onto his cock again, and pumped him slow and fast and slow and fast, teasing and pleasing, until he came hard. I felt the pulsing and the flooding of my insides. I got off him, ran my fingers through my hair, straightened the dress a little, and left to find my husband.

As we got onto the elevator to leave, the cum of two men started to leak out of my honey pot and down my leg. It tickled. And it shamed me. Tommy didn't notice it until we were at the car and I had to wipe some off that had trickled below my knee. "Omigod! Is that. . . ?"

I grabbed his lapel and pulled his face to mine. "Yes, Tommy. You wanted me to be nice to your clients. Well, I was. You saw that. You saw their hands all over my body. You saw them reaching under my clothes to touch me. And you wanted them to. And you wanted me to let them do it. And even to enjoy it, you bastard.

"Stan's cum is running out of me and down my leg. Ken's cum is there, too. They both fucked me tonight and left their loads inside me. You wanted them to, didn't you? You wanted me to let them feel me everywhere and put their fingers and fuckhoses inside me, didn't you? I think you ought to clean it up, since I was so nice to your clients."

He almost threw me in the back seat of the car. He climbed in on top of me, pulled up my dress, and licked my legs clean. He ended between my legs, and licked that clean, too. I came again, screaming in the garage. It echoed all over. I'm sure that anyone else in the garage knew exactly what was going on. Did we have an audience?

But that was okay, because this time it was with my husband. And even old married couples are allowed to be a little frisky around the holidays.

That night we talked about what happened. And the next day, and the next. This opening up, this freedom, this sex-play with other men, this became the most exciting thing that either of us had ever done.

Part 3a - His Version

[This part by Mr. Screwloose]

Jannie showed me the first two chapters. Wow. I hadn't heard all those details, or maybe I just didn't remember them, in the heat of the moment. She did eventually tell me about the major activities, but seeing those details in black and white really shocked me. And turned me on. She really is some piece.

She asked me to write about our next little adventure. So, this is what I saw. But I'm sure she'll have some interesting details to add, things I don't know.

We had dinner with Stan again a couple months later. We didn't really talk before about what might happen with Stan. I assumed that he would play with Jan and that she would go along with it. But just play. I didn't think that Stan would assume that he could go to bed with her again, at least not while I was around. I didn't talk to her about it. It was just sort of a topic that we didn't deal with. I just assumed that she'd be with me, and that Stan would dance with her and touch her now and then. No big deal.

The evening started as much the same routine. Dinner at a great restaurant, in one of the casinos, surprisingly. Wine with dinner, and after-dinner drinks. We were feeling no pain. Then we went to the dance club in the casino and settled into a booth. And ordered another round.

Stan was his usual friendly self through dinner, so it seemed to me. He paid a lot of attention to her, but then he always did that. Then, when they started dancing, I could see that he got very friendly with her, and that she didn't mind. Or at least she didn't stop him. On the dance floor, his hands were all over her hips and butt and thighs, that I could see. Maybe more that I couldn't see. When they came back to the booth, she sat between us and moved close to him so their legs were touching.

I did notice that both their hands were beneath the table, except when someone was actually taking a sip of a drink. From what I could see, his hands were well up under her skirt. She was squirming and her legs were open enough for him to get his hand in easily. I think his hand was probably all the way up in her crotch from the way she was moving and giggling. Was he cupping her crotch? Was he inside her pants, right here in public? And in front of her husband! Jesus, maybe he's inside her. She gets very wet when we play, and that makes it easy to get a finger inside her. It makes me sweat to think about it.

Yes, I'm jealous. And I'm hard as a rock. It's embarrassing to watch, and it's erotic as hell to watch, too. I certainly can't say anything to either of them to stop it. I asked her to do it in the first place, and she's already gone much further than this with him. Twice! Jesus, maybe he will want to have sex with her again tonight.

While I'm worrying about this, they get up to leave. She's going to the ladies' room, and he accompanies her to make a pit stop himself. After some minutes, they come back. I notice that she looks kind of mussed, but I don't get a chance to ask her about it.

After another hour or so, we leave in his car. He has rented a huge Caddie, the kind that can seat six or maybe eight, so the three of us sit across the front. While driving, he keeps his hand on her left thigh all the time. Mine is on her right, too. Both of us men are working their way up her thighs to her goodies, and she's cooperating completely. She opens her legs as much as the seating will allow and pulls her skirt up. In the passing streetlights, we can see the tops of her stockings and the white of her thighs above them.

I'm going crazy. It is so exciting to see another man's hand on my wife's thigh, inching toward her pussy, his fingers on the bare flesh of her thigh, then pushed right up against her crotch. And she is loving it, having hands on her intimate places. She lifts her hips to push against the intruding hand. (And to make space underneath for fingers to get into?) I can see how much more exciting this is for her, that the hand on her pussy is not mine.

Stan pulls in and stops at a liquor store that is still open. He asks me to pick up some cold wine, something that goes down easy, like wine coolers or rose. I get a couple packs of wine coolers of various fruit flavors. I figure these things don't have that much alcohol in them that we won't kill ourselves driving.

When I get back out, they're in the back seat. He is sitting there, grinning like the frigging Cheshire cat. She's sitting sideways, leaning against the passenger door. Obviously, I get to drive while they play in the back. Stan says, let's go to his hotel, but do it very slowly. Go out into the suburbs onto some lonely country roads where no one will disturb us. I guess this is it. He does intend to take her in front of me, to fuck my wife in front of her husband. And, from what I've seen so far, she will be perfectly happy to participate. This is all my fault, of course. I put her up to it. I told her to go along with whatever play he wanted. Not to make waves. Not to piss off the client. And then I didn't object when it obviously went further than either of us intended. To please a customer, I let him fuck my wife. (And then *he* let someone else fuck her, too, just like passing around an atta-boy award for good job performance.) And now I was going to watch it happen again.

I can see them all the way, in the mirror, kissing, feeling. He's got his hands on her breasts before we're out of the parking lot. Driving out of town, he undoes her dress and reaches inside to pull out a breast. He sucks on it while she smiles and moans and cradles his head. They are oblivious to the possibility that anyone might look into the car. The window tinting is pretty dark, so it's unlikely, I admit.

I find a very lonely road, go down it a way and stop. Time for a drink. We all have a cooler. I see that his free hand is on her tits or under her skirt all the time. It's dark, really dark, out here. I can't see all that well in only the dash lights and the city lights in the distance. I can see enough, though. Still, what I wouldn't give for a clear videotape of this whole scene. She closes her eyes, her head falls back, she moans rhythmically, he must be fingering her, jamming into her cunt and rubbing her clit. Her hips are jerking up again and again, in time with her moans. After a couple minutes, she comes, grabbing her breasts and squeezing them as she gasps in her orgasm. God, what a scene. My wife, coming and jerking and feeling her own tits, with another man's hand in her cunt pushing into her and sawing on her clit. I almost can't breathe watching it. Incredibly exciting.

Have another drink, he says. When she sits back, her skirt comes up, and I can see that she has no panties on. Where the hell did they go, I wonder? When did they come off? Maybe on some trip to the ladies room. Yes, that's about the only time I haven't seen her since we left home. Hmmm. Maybe when they went off to the bathrooms together. But maybe at the table, too. Who knows. There was enough playing going on there that I couldn't keep track of it all.

She reaches for his crotch, unzips, pulls him out. Kneels over him and licks for a while. He's very excited. So am I. My wife, licking and sucking this man's cock three feet away from me. Holy hell. He grabs her by the waist and positions her kneeling on the seat, straddling his legs. He doesn't have to pull her hips down onto him. She takes his cock in hand and guides it to her sex. I can't see this, it's maddening, her skirt covers all the details. From the front seat I can only see her back. But she is pumping up and down, he is pumping up and down, it is clear that there's a whole lot of fucking going on.

He is sweating, despite the air conditioning, and it's a cool evening anyway. After a couple minutes, he lurches up, pulling her hips down to him at the same time, he's coming in her. My god, he's coming inside my wife. I think that I must have been crazy to encourage this in the first place, except that I have a boner harder than Chinese arithmetic. All through this, at the club, then driving out here, now watching him fuck her, my dick has been up and down with excitement all night.

Her movements slow and she collapses against his chest. He's still inside her. Is his cock wilting? Will it fall out and uncork all those juices? He's thinking, too, has her move off him and kneel on the seat. He takes an empty wine cooler bottle to collect his cum from her pussy. He tells her to lift up her skirt and hold the bottle so that his cum goes into it. She takes the bottle and puts it right up to her hole. The top disappears between her lips, which are still puffy and loose. Holding the bottle is uncomfortable, so she settles down a little until the bottle is resting on the seat.

Suddenly his eyes blaze. He leans forward and whispers to her. Both his hands are on her breasts, kneading. She closes her eyes again. He continues talking to her, but I can't hear. Her hips begin to sway a little. And move down a little. She is settling down further, onto the bottle.

He whispers to her constantly and plays with her breasts. She moves her hips side to side, and back and forth, and around, and slowly down. I look down and only half the bottle is still visible. There must be three or four inches of it inside her now. Hard. And big around, much bigger than my cock or Stan's. She pushes down visibly now, her legs as far apart as they can go. Only a little bit of the label still shows. My god. She is gasping, pumping up and down now on the glass intruder as though it were a giant cock.

She says something to him and he helps her move her feet off the seat so she can sit down fully on the seat. Gingerly, she does settle down, all the way, to a normal sitting posture. If you can call it normal to have like an eight-inch glass bottle up your cunt. And your legs open like ninety degrees. She squirms on the leather seat, the lubrication of her cunt juice and his semen making the seat -- and her ass -- slippery. She's yelling Oh, Oh, Oh, with every movement. The bottle must be churning in her insides. She reaches her right hand down into her crotch and starts to play with herself.

Stan replaces her hand with his and fondles her lips. Then clit. She starts to moan again, biting her lip, moving her hips up and down in a way that I'm sure made the bottle move in and out slightly. And she starts gasping and panting and almost screaming, Oh God, Oh God, Oh God, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me! with every stroke. She comes shouting so loudly that I'm glad we're way out in the country. And then again. Two, three, four times. Finally, she's exhausted, almost asleep. Stan offers her another drink. Sure, she says, but we better start to head home.

I can barely squeeze my hard-on under the steering wheel to drive home. All the way, she has a hand, either hers or his, in her crotch, relishing every bump in the road. And she comes constantly. I'm thinking that this bottle must be huge inside her, maybe hurting her, even. But it is nowhere near the size of a baby coming out, and they always tell us that the vagina is very stretchy. And she is enjoying the hell out of this hard thing rammed up her. Every bump in the road causes another gasp and Oh!

As we get into town, we have to be a little more careful. When we stop at a red light next to another car, for instance, Stan kisses her the whole time so that her whimpering excitement and moaning and screaming orgasms aren't obvious to the cars around us. If anyone can see through the window tint, it just looks like a couple smooching in the back seat being driven home by the chauffeur. Well, maybe the woman is whimpering and whining more than usual, and bumping up and down a lot. So she's enjoying herself.

I drive to our house, and Stan drops us off. She actually managed to get our of the car and walk from the curb to the front door with the bottle still jammed up her pussy. She uses a hand to hold it in, but says that she really doesn't need it. We immediately fell onto the couch, and I fingered her to several more orgasms.

Finally the bottle came out. We still have it, in a box in the garage. If anyone finds it, we'll have to make up some story about some romantic reason for keeping it. No one would believe the real story. And I have a hard time believing that we are going to publish this and tell the world.

She sucked me off that night, a rare event in itself. I absolutely flooded her with juices that I had been saving up all night. In the morning, we made love, slowly. She was a little sore -- and a little loose. Amazingly, none of this has hurt our relationship. Still a strong marriage after all these years.

Part 3b - Her Version

[Ms. Screwloose's version]

Tommy's version of that night is pretty accurate. Of course, there are some things that he just didn't see, or hear, or feel, so he couldn't relate those.

He's right that we didn't discuss our expectations for the evening beforehand. But if his expectation was that there would be playing but no sex, boy, mine was just the opposite. I was looking forward to getting laid that night. And I had done a lot of thinking about what a thrill it would be to do it in front of my long-time husband. To open my legs to another man and take another cock into my body, to be hot and dripping and out of control wanting to be fucked by another man, all the while my faithful husband's watching and drooling. I wet my pants several times in the week before the date just thinking about it. Forgive me, dear husband, but it does great things for my ego to have, as you put it, a rich and powerful man desire me. And I wanted to drive him wild and fuck his brains out.

We didn't have much chance to play at the restaurant, but when we got to the club, we started in immediately. His hand on my ass while we danced. Sometimes, he would pull up my skirt and run his hand up to my waist under it. We had to be careful with this, to do it only on a side that was not visible to the crowd. But grab-ass, and the occasional hand on the breast, no problem.

Tommy missed a little on the trip to the ladies' room, too. Stan was the perfect gentleman as he guided me there. But when I came out, he met me, and he wasn't alone. He introduced me to a business associate of his, Wilson, a very distinguished looking man, fifties and gray hair. He introduced me as his "Genie," like the genie in the bottle, that catered to his every wish. "Oh?" asked Wilson, just making conversation, so I thought. "Genie, give Wilson your panties," he commanded.

What? Did I hear this right? He's asking me to do what? He leaned over and whispered to me, "Young lady, do as I say. Reach up and take your panties off and hand them to this man. I insist."

There was no one else around. Still, I didn't think that I could slap him or march off without making an embarrassing scene. Don't make waves. It's not as though I wasn't intimate with him. But to show that publicly in front of his friend, that was shameful to me. Cheapened me. Our sex play was one thing. Humiliating me for one of his friends was another. But I had no choice. He looked at me sternly. I reached down with both hands, under my skirt, grabbed the sides of my tiny panties, and ran them down to my knees. I let them fall to my feet. Then picked them up and handed them to Wilson. "You are a most remarkable and attractive lady, thank you. I will treasure these." He lifted them briefly to his nose, nodded goodbye to Stan and left. Stan kissed me hard and reached under my dress to finger me for a minute, and then we returned to the table. My husband says that I looked a little mussed. Outside, maybe. Inside I was boiling and seething and my pussy was dripping. And my mind was racing. Was Wilson now also on the list of people that I should go along with to avoid offending a client and risking Tommy's job and our income? Will I ever see him again? Will I be expected to play the whore for him, too?

I was a little concerned about Stan's driving when we left the casino. I was really glad when Tommy took over. And, well, that gave Stan and me uninterrupted time to make out in the back seat. Stan was nibbling on my breasts before we even left the city lights, but I didn't care. And he had one, two, or three fingers in me most of the time out of the city. When we stopped out in the country, the main difference was that now my husband was watching full time. So we shifted into high gear. First, Stan fingered me to a delicious orgasm. Wonderful. Then I unzipped him and climbed on.

Yes, I felt really naughty pulling another man's cock into me while my husband was only a couple feet away and watching intently. I couldn't see him, my back was to him, but I heard him breathing and gasping as raggedly as I was. He must have been incredibly horny. My pussy was so wet and open by then that Stan's cock slid in with almost no effort. I just slid right down on it and pumped away like mad. And in a couple minutes he came. A real gusher, too. He must have been saving up for days.

I could feel that his cock was shrinking, not as hard or long as it had been just a minute ago. Then he told me to get off but to try to catch his semen in one of the empty wine bottles so it wouldn't drip on the seats. (Ooh, kinky, kinky. God, he can't possibly know about my little adventures back in college, can he? How would he? No, this is just a fluke.) He put the bottle right up to my pussy, between the lips. It was cold and hard, but, after all the handling and the screwing, cold felt good. Holding it was hard, so I settled down a little until the bottle was resting on the seat.

As Tommy said, suddenly Stan's eyes blazed. He grabbed me and told me his idea. That, instead of my being his little Genie in the bottle, that the little bottle should be in the Genie. That I should just relax and gradually take the bottle into my body, into my pussy, into my cunt, and fuck myself with it while it collects his semen. God, what an idea! My cunt flamed with the idea. So I looked at him, and I looked at Tommy, and I started to wiggle a little dance with the bottle. My hard, little lover. My passive lover that I can control. I can take him in deeper, or push him out, or pump him until I'm satisfied. I pushed down and pulled up, and then down further and then up, and then down as far as I could.

Stan was constantly going on in my ear, "Genie, take the bottle. Take it all inside you. Genie, fuck the bottle. Fuck yourself with the hard penis. Up and down, in and out. Jump down on it. Shove it deeper into you. Plant your pussy on the glass prick. Plant your sex on it. Genie, take it inside you. Sit down on it. Take it deep inside your body. Take the whole thing." He just went on and on and I tried to do everything he said. I had to move my feet so I could sit down flat on the seat. The whole thing will be inside me! God, it must be like eight inches long, and wider than two cocks. I felt it stretching my cunt walls and pushing deep into me, deeper than cocks go, it hurts but what a delicious hurt!

Then my flesh-and-blood lover joined in and rubbed my clit, round and round and sawing back and forth. I couldn't stand it, the pleasure was so intense. I came several times. It took minutes, I didn't keep track but I was thoroughly washed out when I finished. I'm sure I could have come more, too, but I grabbed Stan's wrist to stop him and let me recover.

I fell asleep for a few minutes, then we started home. Each bump in the rural road was exquisite agony. When we got into more civilized areas, Stan started fingering my clit again and kissing me deeply. He said that was to keep me from waking the neighbors with my screams.

When we got home, I was just dead. My last conscious act was to do something for Tommy, who hadn't come all night, at least not that I saw. I can't believe he watched all that sex, all that slutty performance, and didn't come. I sucked him all the way, and nearly choked on the flood. And that's the last thing I remember.

The next day, we made love several times. I was still sore, but he kissed it and made it better, wink, wink. Overall, one of those evenings for the record books.

(More about the college adventures later.)

Convention Town Girl

Part 4 (MF, toys)

By Ms. Screwloose

Okay, okay, Tommy has been bugging me to tell you about the "little adventures back in college" that I mentioned. This is really kinky. It was back in my "If it moves, fondle it" stage back in college. Remember those days? Well, it was actually more like, "If it moves, fuck it." He knows only a little about some of those kinky times, so some of this may come as a shock. Sorry, baby. I mean, I was really horny and loose back then, much more than the suburban mom that you know now. It was a different time back then, and I was a different person. However, I think that the titillation will far outweigh the shock value. If this doesn't make you hard, I'm losing my touch.

Sometime in college, back in the late sixties (boy, am I showing my age!), my then-boyfriend and I went to a foreign movie at an "art house" theater in town. I can't remember the title of the movie, unfortunately. (Somebody please tell me if you can. This movie contains one of the most erotic scenes I've ever seen, and I would love to see it again. I'm sure my memory and lust over the years have enhanced the film with details that weren't really there, but what the hell.) Some Italian flick, like "La Dolce Vita" but five or ten years later. At some party, a bored girl does a dance on a piano. You think it's going to be a striptease, but it's not. She's very conservatively dressed in a nice blouse and straight skirt. Short skirt, that was the style then. She sits down on the edge of piano, removes her shoes then stockings from under her skirt. And then her panties. But she carefully shows nothing. She gets up on the piano top and dances around sort of lazily, slinking as much as dancing, all the while pulling her skirt higher on her thighs. You still don't see anything of her goodies under the skirt, but you can imagine like crazy.

A man with sunglasses brings a long-necked chianti bottle to piano, places it in front of her. (You know the kind of bottle, a round bottom covered with wicker, and a long neck, maybe two feet long. You used to see them in stores and bars -- and in college dorm rooms -- back then. Very dramatic to pour, but the wine was usually pretty sad.) In any case, she dances over to it, reaches out with her long hand and fingernails and touches the top, dances around it, pulls back from it, looks at it. She dances up to it and around it. Her hands push her skirt up her thighs more so that the hem is above the neck of the bottle. Now she dances up to it, right up to it, and the neck is under her skirt. She closes her eyes and dances hypnotically, shoulders and hips just moving with the music. The bottle is now between her legs, and we know she is not wearing any underwear, we watched her take them off. Jesus, is she going to do this? I thought she was just going to dance *around* the bottle and maybe fondle it suggestively. Boy, was I ever square. The camera pulls back for a better look. Her knees bend and she gets lower, the neck of the bottle disappears under the skirt. She bends down a little further, her hips down toward the bottle, she gasps a little, she bites her lip for a minute and then bends even a little lower. The bottle is now inside her! Ohmigod! We see her sink down on it in little jerks, half a foot or so, then up, then down again slowly. Then she pumps it regularly, clearly fucking herself with the object though the crowd can't really tell, they can't really see. The onlookers applaud softly. But soon they get bored even with this exotic, erotic scene. One by one they return to the conversations they were involved in before. The movie continues with a discussion while she fades into the background, still pumping away at her inert lover.

Absolutely the most erotic thing I had ever seen. I nearly slid off my seat in the theater when I saw this. Holy honey-pot, was I turned on. I didn't care if her lover was inert. It was unbelievable to watch her take control, take that thing into her body, into her most intimate pussy space, and fuck it and fuck it. Ignoring the crowd. She just wanted to fuck herself. I melted.

My boyfriend was turned on, too. (And fortunately we were already intimate. I can't imagine how embarrassing it would have been to watch that scene with a casual date.) When we went back to his room later, this image played a part in our lovemaking.

We shared a bottle of wine to loosen up, which we often did, by the light of a couple candles, romantic and sexy. When he drained it, he made a show of licking off the neck of the bottle and looking at it lasciviously. "Would you dance with the bottle, for me?" he asked. I was kind of expecting it. I took the bottle and put it on the floor. "Leave the skirt on," he said. "It's much sexier that way if I can't actually see it but have to imagine it going inside." He was right, that was part of what made it so sexy. (And permitted the movie to be shown in art theaters in college towns rather than in porno theaters in slums. But never mind that.)

I got up and found some suitable music on the radio. I started swaying to the music as I came back over to him. He was sitting on the floor, back against the couch. The bottle was on the floor, too. I danced up to him, put my crotch under my (relatively short) skirt right up against his nose for a moment, then backed away. I reached up under my skirt to grab the waist of my pantyhose and pulled them down a little. I realized I would have to sit down to remove them, so I pulled out a chair and faced him, worked the pantyhose down my thighs and calves as sexily as I could, giving him whatever peeks under my skirt. When they were off, I threw them over to him. He sniffed them, dirty boy, and held them in a little ball. So I reached up under the skirt again and pulled my panties down, slowly, a bit at a time, teasing and tempting. When I threw them to him, he sniffed them, too, deeper and longer. I got up and swayed slowly over to the area of the bottle. Around it. Then right over it.

It was just a normal wine bottle. It was so short, it was clear I would have to kneel over it rather than squat down that low. So I knelt just behind it, from his point of view, and walked up to it on my knees. I had to raise my skirt many inches to get the hem over the neck of the bottle, just like the girl in the film, but not quite up to the goodies, so the audience couldn't see anything, just imagine it. Just imagine my sopping pussy hovering over that bottle. Hard, vertical, smaller than a cock, at least this bottleneck was. But quite enough to penetrate me. I moved forward a little more and started to sit down on it. Not quite in the right place. I moved forward a little more, then down some more. Right there, that's the spot. Holy shit, it's nudging its way between my lips, right up to my little hole.

I look over at my boyfriend. His mouth is open, his eyes are staring wide, he's almost drooling. He looks up at me with lust I have never seen before, and with love, too, and with pleading that I continue this act. I gently, slowly, relax my legs and, sure enough, the bottle pushes its way past the entrance of my vagina, pushing open the muscles and inside. It's a little cold, cooler than any cocks or even fingers have ever been. I haven't felt this kind of cold, hard intruder since I was a teenager experimenting with my hairbrush, my favorite shampoo bottle, my candles. I relax more, down further onto it, until the shoulder of the bottle is too large to go inside. I have the whole neck up me. Up my cunt. I might as well say that, because that's what it was at the time. A hot, hungry, drooling cunt that wanted something hard to fill it. How depraved, and how sexy, and how thrilling it felt.

I pulled up a little, and I was wet enough that the bottle slid out. So I could pump up and down on it without having to hold on. Just like the movie. So I started fucking the bottle, up and down, in and out, I was in complete control of how far it penetrated into my cunt. With guys, they are always pumping, too, trying to get farther in. It's hard to keep a rhythm with two people wanting to move at different speeds. But the bottle was just my slave. I push down, he goes in. I pull up, he comes out. Slippery, slippery. I need to touch my clit so I can come. I reach one hand under my skirt and find my button, which is on fire. I can feel the hard neck of the bottle right behind it, going in and out slowly. I'm fucking myself with the bottle and with my fingers! I'm so hot, I don't have to rub long before I climax. Shuddering. I almost lose my balance. He holds onto me as I come down. He wants to feel the bottle inside me. I take his hand and pull it under my skirt up to my pussy and I sit down hard on the bottle to take as much of it as I can. He feels around and plays with my clit and I move up and down until I come again. I raise up until the bottle leaves. I don't want it to go, but I have to lie down.

He held me until my breathing and nerves relaxed. Later, we made love so he could get off, too. The feeling of a cock, hard and hot and gorged with blood, is different and more intimate, for sure. Still one of the sexiest nights I can remember.

(You kids who don't think this was very radical, remember that this was way, way back then, long before the vibrator became standard equipment in every girl's and boy's nightstand.)

That one night wasn't the end of it, of course. "Dancing with the bottle" -- really, me fucking myself with it -- became a special part of our lovemaking. Once a week, maybe. Then one day, sitting in the corner of his room, was a bottle of chianti. A very tall bottle of chianti. Ohboy, I can guess what this is for. I wondered if it would actually work. So I walked over to it just to check the, uh, height. It was just about right, even when I had flat shoes on, several inches below the, uh, goodies.

Sure enough, he asked me later, after dinner and wine, if I had noticed the new addition to the d?cor? Yes, I had. Did I think I might want to try it out? Well, maybe. He carried it from the corner to the middle of the room. I noticed then how rough the top was, foil and wax and such, and I commented that this would have to be smoother. (I also noticed then how large it was in diameter, bigger than I had expected, and certainly as big as anything I had ever used before.) We decided that, for tonight's performance, we would put a condom over it. (Yes, we did have condoms way back then, though we didn't use them very often.) I put on a slinky slip and a dress. He lit the candles and opened another bottle of wine.

I danced as slinkily as I could in the dress, and, over a few minutes, managed to unbutton most of it and then drop the dress. All I had left was a lacy, short, blue slip. And matching bikinis. While dancing around the bottle, I managed subtly to get the panties down to the hem of the slip, and then I suddenly pushed them to the floor and kicked them over to him. I danced up to the bottle, letting the neck of it push on the slip so the material outlined my crotch for him to see. See where that's going to go? Yes, right in there. With the condom on it, it even looks sort of like a cock. I backed away from it, picked up the K-Y and squeezed a little onto it. I made quite a show of spreading the jelly down onto it as I would onto a real erection. He was gaping with lust.

When I finished my wine, I started seriously dancing up to the bottle. Bunching the slip at my waist until the hem rose above the top of the bottle. I stepped over it and let the slip slide down a little to cover the top. My eyes were closed then, and I didn't see anything. I just wanted to feel my way around. I bent my knees and moved around to explore the area. I bobbed down and up a few times to center myself over the giant cock, then let my hips settle down onto it until it pushed my lips apart and my hole rested right on it. Jesus, did it feel large. And hard. I relaxed another inch to push down. My pussy was wet, but not open enough to accommodate this large intruder. I relaxed a moment and moved down again. The ring of muscles of my vaginal hole popped open and it came in. God, it was huge, and hard, and a little cold. But mainly huge. Now I settled down more and more to embed it firmly, little ups and bigger downs to get more and more inside.

I had to arch my back and move my hips back to angle my pussy straight down over the shaft of it. Then I could push down as far as I wanted. After a dozen or two strokes, it was in me right to the back of my vagina. I couldn't push down anymore. So this is what the girl felt in the movie. Or acted, if she didn't actually do it. She got it right. Her face full of ecstasy. I'm sure mine was, too, ecstasy and a little pain. But don't they always go together? I pumped up and down, down and up, down, down and up, to feel it hard and grinding in me. Oh, oh, how wonderful. And I can control every inch of its movement, deeper or shallower, hard and fast or slowly just sliding. I sort of came just pumping it. I wasn't paying any attention to my clit particularly, but then I thought that it would be dangerous to come as hard as I usually do, I wouldn't want to lose my balance for a second standing over this post.

I opened my eyes and looked at my boyfriend. He was in ecstasy, too. He was staring at me, flaming lust in his eyes, his pants and shorts gone and his cock -- only normal-sized compared to this monster I have in me -- hard as a rock. I looked down to see what he was seeing. My legs well apart, my knees bent, and this giant post sticking straight up between them, buried in my cunt. I moved up and down again just to see what it looked like, knees bending more, hips moving down to take inches more of the giant cock. Obscene as hell. I looked right in his eyes and pulled up until the bottle left me with a little sucking pop sound.

I went over to him, pushed him down on his back, and climbed on. He was smaller but hotter. More active, more urgent. He held me tight to his chest and we moved slowly until he screamed and squirted. I lay on top of him until he shrank and fell out and his juices dribbled back onto him. We slept a while like that, then got up and went to bed for the night.

(A damned shame all this happened long before home video. I would love to see myself do that. But I'd die if it got out, so it's just as well.)

That still wasn't quite the end of it. I did the big bottle a few more times. Not so intense as the first time, a little more mechanical, but I learned to balance and come on it, and that was incredible.

Then one night we were, well, in the parlance of the times, "smoking cigarettes with no name on them." Wine with dinner, and we opened another bottle after, and a couple joints, and I was thoroughly wrecked. And horny as hell. And then some friends stopped over with more alcohol and more alternate intoxicants. Two guys, frat brothers of my guy, and one's girlfriend. I knew them all fairly well. We socialized a lot.

We all got wrecked some more and, when we were dancing, I was sandwiched by my boyfriend and the spare guy. And everybody was kissing everybody, and hands were taking liberties, and I had been hot and bothered an hour ago before the others arrived. At one point, I was between my boyfriend, his hands on my thighs *under* my skirt for all to see, and the other guy clamped behind me with his hands firmly on both my boobs. And my guy whispered to me, Wouldn't I like to do my special dance for him. And he started to pull my panties down. And we swayed there, four male hands kneading me all over in sensitive areas. I was melting. And he kept whispering dirty things to me and nibbling on my ear. And the other guy must have heard and he started asking me to dance, too. And I guess I sort of moaned a yes while one of them was kissing me and the other was cupping my crotch and slipping his fingers into my wetness.

They lowered my panties and took them off, showing the other couple. Somebody got the giant bottle out to the middle of the room. They stood around me, voices encouraging me to dance, dance, dance, but I knew what that meant. It meant fuck. I was ready to do that, too. God, that was so perverted and so private, I can't believe I did it. I fucked some *thing* in front of a bunch of people. But at the time, I wanted to.

As I got close to it, I closed my eyes and did everything by feel. I had to take some of my sexy pussy slime and smear it onto the neck of the bottle, and that caused a few gasps. Eventually, I got down on it, and pushed it inside, and started pumping away. When I opened my eyes, all the guys had their cocks out, and the girl was playing with two of them. Her boyfriend pulled her skirt up and her panties down, bent her forward toward me, and got into her from behind. The other two guys tried to put her hands on their cocks, but she needed them for balance, so they had to play with themselves. I was off in my little world, fucking that pipe up into my hot box, just fucking and pumping. Both guys quickly came, all over me. And the couple screamed and finished. I rubbed my clit until I came, louder than all of them. And I stood up, and we all embraced, and we flowed down to the floor in a heap, hands and cocks and tits and lips everywhere. When I woke up later, we were all lined up like five cuddling cigars, boy- girl-boy-girl-boy. There were sort of embarrassed good nights mumbled and everyone went home.

I don't know what the others thought of that night or of me. If I picked up a reputation as the campus kink-slut, I never heard about it. We didn't really talk about it later, he and I. I didn't set foot in that frat house again. And we broke up when we graduated a couple months later. And I never mentioned it to a soul, until now, all these years later.

So you can see why *I* was a little shocked when Stan wanted me to take that bottle in the car. At first I thought, Ohgod, my secret is out. How does he know about it? Then I realized that it had nothing to do with me, it was just what he wanted at the time. And it seemed like a good idea because I was so hot and juicy. I must say, it fit better than the previous bottles. Its length and girth are just at the limit that I can possibly take inside without pain (or lots of practice, probably). That huge, hard, glass dildo, and the bumpy ride, and everyone playing with my clit, I came and came and loved it. Dirty girl. Oooh.

Well, that's it. Tommy, I hope you're not too shocked. This was all long before we met, and we were different people then. And even recently, who pushed whom into sex play and then sex with others? This all started because you wanted a big client to have his fun playing with *my* T&A.

And, besides, don't you like secretly having a raging hot babe in your bed?

So, finally, here's the story of the title of this series. One of the big high-tech conventions came to town, and our friend Stan was the manager of the booth and the host of the hospitality suite for his company. He needed some babes to look nice at these company functions. Computer geeks may not get girls, but they still like girls, and these conventions are well-populated with "Demo Dollies," models who attract a lot of attention and hand out literature at the display booths.

He had enough models working the booth during the day, but he needed extra girls/women to serve drinks and canapes at the parties several evenings at the hospitality suite. In the booth, they wore costumes in keeping with high-tech theme of week, and he wanted the same in the hotel. Little silver dresses, like Star Trek costumes, really short, basically a silver-lame tennis dress and pants. These dresses were a little more exaggerated than the TV costumes, tight in the torso, and heavily darted to emphasize pointy breasts. Oh, and silver go-go boots to top off the look. Sort of a Hollywood Barbarella techno-chippie look. It was a well-made theatrical costume. It just looked cheap.

Most of the cocktail waitresses were to be local models or dancers picking up some extra money. Stan hired as many models as he could find but still needed more. Busy town. At some point, he asked Tommy to ask me. Tommy the Voyeur, of course, was very enthusiastic about seeing me run around in skimpy outfit with a bunch of drunken conventioneers. He asked me to do it, rather forcefully, for the sake of his business relationship with Stan, so I was stuck with it.

When I got the costume, it included some very nice, dancer-grade tights, essentially metallic, shiny silvery pantyhose, too. Warm, but nice. And warm is not a bad thing in Vegas air conditioning. The silver panties went over the stockings. Good thing, too. The skirt was really, really short. Tennis is one thing, but an evening party with all men looking up your skirt is quite another.

Then I find out that some of the girls will actually be hookers, more than half of them, because, I guess, Stan wanted lots of them. Hmmm.
This is a high tech convention, computers and things that people do with computers, which back in those days was like 90% male. Turns out that the attendees will all be told on the sly that the girls are hookers, so it will be open season: the guys think that the girls are trying to make connections, and some of them will be.

I'm not happy with this, but Tommy is busting a zipper. He wants to see his wife felt up and fondled and propositioned openly by lots of guys. I don't mind at all being ogled and propositioned. Lets me know that I'm still a sexy wench. Being felt up by strangers is another thing. I will have to find ways to minimize it without making a scene. This is turning out to be a lot more than just "satisfying his big client," but I already said I would do it, so I'm stuck.

When I put on the costume, I note that the tights/pantyhose are shiny but very sheer. The silver tennis pants go on top, and a bra, and then the dress. The silver boots are high heels, of course, just over four inches, which is not high by Vegas hooker standards but hard to maneuver in. Silver eye shadow and light reflective lipstick finish off the sci-fi look. A 23rd century concubine would look like this, I think. Barbarella a go go.

The party is in a huge suite, half the floor of the hotel, with three cavernous living rooms, bedrooms and baths off to the sides, but most of the furniture replaced by food and drink tables and groups of chairs.

The hookers don't look at all like hookers. They must be expensive escorts or call girls. You can't tell who's who. We all look like models, over-dressed and over-made-up. The guys, who know only that most of the waitresses are professional hookers, can't tell which are and which aren't, so they will probably be aggressive with the women as the night wears on.

It starts okay. Everyone arrives early to get the free food and booze. Food first, as always when it's free at these events. It is some time before the guys get enough alcohol in them and start getting fresh. Many guys crowd me a little when I push thru the crowd, copping a little feel of my ass. Stan is the first to be really obvious about it, fondling my butt while I'm handing him his drink. A lot of men see it, and some of the other girls. I can't do anything about it because it's Stan, the Big Client. So they all figure I'm one of the hookers, too, allowing this blatant sexual touch. Tommy is with Stan most of the time, and he watches me any the time I'm in the same room.

Then Ken shows up. Ken is naturally much more aggressive even than Stan is. When I first see him, he is sitting with another man, acting slightly deferential, so I figure the guy is probably one of Ken's clients.

I have to bend with the tray because he's sitting. He reaches to the back of my thigh and starts moving up right to the pants under the skirt. And lots of guys see it, including the other man. And Stan and Tom. From then on, most of the men would feel my thighs and my ass, and most of them under my skirt. So long as they stay just on my hip or ass, that's not so bad.

Usually I'm not in one place long enough for them to move from my ass to between my legs, but they tried. When I stopped to hand out a drink or some food, someone would be beside me or behind me, and his hand would start at my waist or my thigh and move onto the bulb of my butt. I can't slap hands away, or twist away, or move away too quickly if I have liquids on a tray. I am getting nervous, so I have a couple drinks "for courage" while waiting for orders at the bar. They relax me a fair degree.
The other girls were getting the same treatment. Most of them encourage it, because that's what they are being paid for. A couple of the actual non-hooker models were objecting, but still gently because no one wants to make a scene. They won't get paid until tomorrow.

Other than the big rooms, most of the side rooms are set up for meetings, tables and chairs, and some of them have meetings going on, with big clients, I guessed. One of them has a card game. And a couple of them are empty some of the time, door ajar, and seem to be closed other times.

Around the middle of the evening I'm taking a break, leaning against the far end of the bar, out of the traffic. Stan comes over to me, puts his arm around me, and walks me down the hall. He says how pleased he is that I'm there, how glad he is to see me, and how accommodating I am being, and how that pleases him more. He guides me into one of the empty rooms and closes the door behind us. He holds me and kisses me passionately. He has been drinking a lot more than I that evening.
We have played with sex before. I was certainly expecting that he would take advantage of his position, and of me, sometime during the party. His hands are all over me. I try to keep him away from my breasts so that he doesn't mess up the costume in an obvious way. That's okay with him. He reaches under my skirt. He pulls it up and forces his hand into my pants and stockings.

We roll them down so he can get at my pussy, and then into me. His favorite thing, putting his fingers in my pussy, making me hot and wet. This is familiar territory, he does it very well. I don't want to get laid right here in the middle of this party where I am on view all the time. So I take out his cock and stroke him as sexily as I can. Scratch his balls with my sharp fingernails and pump his erection with my hand, being careful to point it away from me. He comes in a minute, all over the floor. The maid will not be surprised in the morning.

I start to rearrange my clothes, but he takes the silver pants, "No, you can't wear these anymore."

"But Stan, there's not much under here. It's awfully short."

"Do it for me, baby," and he puts the pants in his pocket. When he opens the door, I have no choice at that point, I go out with him.
I go back to my "job," resume serving drinks and finger food. For a while, there is no change.

But Ken is still sitting down, and he notices the absence of the pants protecting my goodies. As he reaches for his drink, he slides his hand much further down my ass between my thighs to the heat of my slit. The seam of the stockings is in the slit holding my lips open. When I bend over like this, even a little, I can feel the seam deep between my labia holding my pussy open. He runs his fingers right down the seam between my puffy lips.

Tom sees this and comes over to us. His hand replaces Ken's on my butt. I try to stay calm but they're not. Tom says, "Oh, baby, you're much more accessible now, that's great, I love the feel of these tights on your delicious ass. I hope you'll let my friends feel this, too." He slides a finger up and down the crease, down to my slit, and the nylon there is hot and wet. Yes, very wet. Well Christ I've been fondled by thirty guys in the last couple hours. And fingered by another, an expert, but they don't know that yet. Sure, I mumble.

The very next guy who touches me discovers right away that I have no pants under the skirt, and slides his hand into the seam, forward, between my legs until he's on the goodies. Which makes me even hotter and wetter. I have another drink from my own tray, for more courage, and continue my rounds. Tom and Stan are watching me to see who will take how much advantage of my pantiless state.

As I'm heading back to the bar, Ken takes my arm and steers me away. His friend or client, the man he was sitting with, takes my other arm, and between them they walk me into one of the side rooms. Ken closes the door behind us. I'm alone in here with two guys and I know what they want, but what can I do about it? I can't exactly scream ****! because these guys and two dozen others have had their hands all over me tonight, and everyone saw it. And I don't want to make a scene, of course, to embarrass Ken, or Stan, or Tommy.

So as Ken is kissing me and pushing me into his friend, who reaches around to cup my breasts, this is what is going through my mind. They hold me tightly. Ken kisses me hard and pulls me to him. Then his hands are on my hips and down the outside of my dress and up under the skirt. He pushes his knees between mine and his hand into my crotch. He wants to screw me here in this back room and in front of this other man.

He cups my sex with his palm, and his fingers push the seam in between my lips. He tries to push a finger into me taking the stocking with it. When he pushes, the rough seam of the stocking scrapes hard across my clit and the sensation is exquisite. Oh, god, it's like he's scratching over my clit and labia with a rough, wet finger. I'm close to coming. Then the fabric of the stockings gives way. His finger has poked a hole in them, and the finger jumps up into me sharply, deep into my hole. I gasp into his kiss and pull my hips up for a moment and then I want to push them down, to get him deeper inside my cunt. He moves his finger around and in and out, and I pump my cunt down onto it in time with his movements. God, now I really want this, too. I want them to fuck me here and now.

They can both tell when I come. Ken lifts up my waist and they move me over to a table. Now my legs are around his, and he has an easy shot up my skirt and directly into me. I lay back on the table, and the other man kisses me and continues to knead my breasts. I hear a zipper, and then he plays with the hole in the stockings, enlarging it I guess, and I feel a cock pushing into my pussy. I push back up to meet it and lock my legs around his waist. The other man releases me a moment, and straightens up. Then his cock is in my face. Ken is pounding into my cunt at the one end, and now I tilt my head back over the edge of the table to take the other cock in my mouth as far as it goes. They fuck me at both ends in rhythm, both cocks sinking further into me at the same time. This is unbelievable. I would never have guessed that such a thing would happen to me. The man in my mouth, the stranger, I still don't know his name, even, comes first. I almost choke on the first couple squirts. A short time later, Ken finishes, too, dumping his load into my very juicy pussy. We all relax a minute.

There is a bathroom so I can drain the cum out of me and clean up a little. Fortunately, I keep my hair short, so that isn't a disaster. I try to make my face presentable again, but I don't have cosmetics here. I have to go out and get my purse from the bartender, and a lot of people notice me on the way. Now I'm really in for it.
With no panties for protection, and a ripped seam in the pantyhose now, it's easier for guys to go further than they could just an hour ago. They notice, and the word spreads, I guess. The girls notice, too. While I am waiting at the bar, one of the working girls sidles up to me and, while whispering in my ear, runs her hand up the inside of my right leg, right up to my crotch, and puts her hand over the rip in the stockings. Totally brazen. I jump when I first feel a hand on my thigh -- I don't "swing both ways" as they say, and I haven't done anything with another female since a few experiments in college -- but now I can't move. We are right up against the bar so no one else can see much, not directly, anyway. Yes, it's in public, but if I make a big deal of it, it will be much more public.

So I stand there frozen while, for the next minute, she runs two fingers in and out of me and pinches my clit. She tells me how hot and wet I am, how slippery inside, what a nice cunt, what a fine piece I must be and how many guys are going to get into this cunt tonight. I am weak in the legs from the erotic heat of her touch. She is almost nibbling on my ear while her fingers slide into my lips and hole and rub my clit. "I know you're an amateur, honey," she hisses, "and that makes me want this even more. I'll get you later." When the bartender finally brings my tray of drinks, I'm relieved, but I really don't want to pull away, the feeling is so delicious. She really knows how to get a girl going. When I have to go, she pulls her hand up and sucks her fingers right there and then. It does not go unnoticed by some in the crowd. Yes, Tommy is there watching, too, and even he gawks at the brazenness of her display.

When I come around to Stan again he has found a chair. He insists that I sit on his lap. I argue that I have to continue serving, but he parries that it is his party, he's the host, he can excuse me for a few minutes. "Besides, I saw you take a break earlier and I want you to take one with me, too." As I sit down on his lap, he puts his hand down, palm up, at the last instant, so that my butt comes down firmly on it. His fingers are right on the seam of the pantyhose, or right where the seam ought to have been. His first two fingers go through the tear, curl upward, and slide right between my slippery lips, and he pushes them hard up into my hole. I move my legs a little and sit down harder on him. I hope my movement covers the groan as his fingers fuck into me.

"I see you're opening up a bit, my dear. That's very good. You shouldn't hide your charms from your fans, who are many, and many are here tonight." Tommy leans over to hear what he is saying. "Tell him, my dear, tell him what's going on."

I whispered to my husband, "Tommy, he, um, I'm sitting on his hand, and there's a hole in my pantyhose, and his fingers are up inside."
"Inside what?" Stan asked. "Tell him what they're inside and what they're doing."

"Oh, god, Tommy, they're up inside me, inside my cunt, inside your wife, between the lips and up my hole, and they're fucking me while I sit here on his hand. And I am embarrassed but it feels wonderful." I wanted to shock them. I looked at Stan defiantly. "And they're swimming in the cum that is still dripping out of my fuckhole."
Tommy's dick is so hard he can barely stand up. Stan's, too. When I get up off his lap, he has to cover his hard-on. He smells his fingers and then wipes them off with a napkin. Guess he doesn't like to eat other men's semen.

As I stand up, I have to put one foot down before the other and anyone who is looking gets quite a view of my crotch up my skirt. With no panties hiding anything, just the sheer pantyhose, my bush is broadcast to the room.

It's all over in a minute and a half, maybe two minutes, but I feel as though I'd been thoroughly ravaged. I'm dizzy and sweating, even in this hyper-air-conditioned palace.
The rest of the night was anti-climax. It was late and the crowd had thinned considerably. It was easier to avoid clumps of men with Roman hands.

Stan had rented us a room for the night so we wouldn't have to drive home late. We went downstairs. Tommy attacked me as soon as we were in the room. I got the dress off so we didn't ruin it, but the pretty silver tights got shredded. We were both hotter than blazes and needed release. It was great. Hotel sex, you know. In the middle of the night, we got up and went at it again, this time more slowly, less urgently, more gently. And again before breakfast. Wow, not bad for an old married couple. We just need the right kind of stimulation.

A few months later, Stan was in town again for another big convention. As before, he was the manager of the booth and the keeper of the corporate suite at the host hotel.

The night before the convention started, Stan invited Tom and me over for drinks, at the suite. This was one of the best hotels in town. It was one of those large suites with a living room and dining room and bar in the middle and bedrooms on either side.

I went there straight from work, so I still had on my suit. This one was a nice, dark blue with a modest straight skirt. And of course, I had a white silky (but not silk) blouse, a lacy bra underneath, and pantyhose.

Stan ordered appetizer trays and brought out the good champagne. The really good champagne, Dom Perignon, which even back then was outrageously expensive. Well, we were among his favorite people, not surprisingly. My husband was a good agent that catered to him, and he had been in my pants a number of times. The customer gets to fuck the agent's attractive wife. That isn't officially part of the "catering," at least not at first, but it happened that way.

We eat and drink, and after a couple bottles, I am swaying. My suit jacket is off, my scarf is untied, and I'm feeling no pain. Both of the men want to dance with me. After a few more glasses, they both dance with me at the same time. I'm sandwiched between them sometimes, feeling very close, and they hold me close. The lights in the suite are mostly off, with only lights from the Strip coming in the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, and one little light in the hallway.

When I dance with Stan, his hands are all over me. He pulls me close to him by holding onto my ass. His other hand snakes between us to grab my boob. I don't mind. My husband does the same on his dances. It's a little less exciting with familiar hubby, but still nice to know that I'm still sexy sexy, that they still desire me, nice to be fondled so gently. Gently at first. Stan dances with me most of the time, and feels me up more aggressively.

Boy, I'm getting woozy. And I'm getting turned on from all the attention. I keep my eyes closed now all the time we're dancing. Stan sits me on the edge of the modern wood coffee table, all teak and straight lines I recall, and has me lie back along the length of it. My knees are at one end, my feet on the floor. He kneels next to me, kisses me, raises my arms up over my head and forms my hands around the legs of the table. I hold the legs firm after he lets go. This forces my back to arch, pushes my breasts up tight against the blouse. He kisses me more. Now his hands are on my breasts, rubbing over, up and down the smooth blouse.

Tom joins us on the other side. He begins to play with my left leg. He runs his hand from my knee up onto my thigh over the skirt, then back down. He pulls lightly on my knee until it is off the side of the coffee table, and my foot is straight down on the floor. The straight skirt doesn't spread much to allow movement, so Tom has to pull up the hem. Stan sees this and does the same, raises my skirt even higher as he pulls my knee to the side off the table. Now both my feet are on the floor, well, my heels are, my skirt is barely covering any of my thighs, and my knees are far apart, the entire width of the table. Geez, I must be an erotic sight.

Stan and Tom take turns kissing me and kneading my breasts. Tom's hand leaves my top and goes back to my knee. He comes up the inside of my thigh under the hem of the skirt, I can feel it through the stockings. Higher, way up my thigh. Can he feel my heat? Now he's almost up to the crease of thigh to hip, tickling, touching lightly, teasing. Oh, I want him to touch me harder, there, in the middle, right on my sex, Don't play around on the leg so much anymore! I raise my hips to let him know he's in the right place, and he trails his fingers over my mound and over my pussy, up and down, deliciously. I can't feel much through the pantyhose and panties, but I know where he is and I love it.

Stan matches his movement on the other side. Hand on my knee, slide up the slick stockings. Up, under my skirt, up my thigh to the hot center. Tickle my sensitive lips under the fabrics. I jerk my hips up to increase and lengthen the contact of his fingers with my crotch. Put your hand on me harder, press harder, don't go. Oh, I want to come. There are two hands on my thighs, playing with my sexy center.

They whisper a little that I don't get, then their hands go all the way up over my belly and grab the waistband of the pantyhose. Yes, please take them off. They're hot, they're tight and constricting. They're in the way. I lift my hips and my ass off the table so they can pull easily past them. I have to raise my legs up and together so they can get the pantyhose down off my feet. They have to take the shoes off, too, but Stan says to put them back on, so they do.

When I put my legs back down on the sides of the table I feel a cold draft on my pussy. Oh God the panties must have gone with the pantyhose, and my sweaty and wet sex is directly ******* to the air. The skirt is still covering me modestly, ha ha, or so I think, but I feel *******. Well, the panties probably wouldn't have lasted much longer anyway. Saves a step.

Now the hands go back, to my chest, to my legs. One of them unbuttons my blouse and opens it so he can kiss my chest, and kiss my breast through the thin material of the bra. He blows hot breath through the bra onto the nipple. I love that. He kisses my nipple, my belly, my chest, my neck. His hand is at my waist.

A hand goes down my hip and thigh over the skirt. It touches bare skin of my knee. It begins to travel back up. It saws from the top of the leg to the inside, back and forth, lightly touching. Oh, it's at the top now, tickling the hairs of my sex, the few hairs left, splitting the hairs on my lips. Oh, I jump up to bring my lips up to the fingers, and they split the outer lips. My clit craves to be touched and it is touched, lightly, rubbing, up, down, around. I open my legs wider, the skirt is probably completely up to my hip joints now to accommodate the angle.

The finger strokes down from my clit to the inner lips, to the hole, which is wet and swollen and wanting. It pushes at the entrance and I jerk my hips up again to take some of it in, oh, God, past the first tight ring of muscle and he's inside. He waits for me to relax, then pushes a little, then more, then more, until it's deep inside me and swirling slowly to caress all my vagina and my G spot and flick my cervix. Oh, I can feel my womb twitching and grasping. My cunt and my womb need this. Yes, it's a cunt again now, hot and wet and wanting, not just a pussy and certainly not a clinical vagina.

The finger leaves for a moment and then two fingers come back into me. They slide easier this time, all gooey with my juice. Maybe he added some. Did he lick off the first finger and add saliva to the lubricant? Then the two fingers start to move in and out, around, and I notice that they are doing different things, one in one out, one deep one shallow, one rubbing one stretching. They are two different hands! They're both inside me at the same time. The men are sharing my sex, both probing my cunt, both driving me wild. Knowing that makes me much hotter. My hips are moving constantly now, up and down, pushing toward their fingers to get them in deeper. Then there are three fingers, then four, and they're moving all over in all sorts of directions, and the rubbing of my clit at the same time makes me come screaming. My cunt grabs their fingers tight, squeezing, relaxing a little, squeezing again, pumping as they do. And the come doesn't fade away, it stays at a high level peaking again and again half a dozen times until I am sweaty and exhausted and it is too sensitive to touch anymore. I put one of my hands over my mound as a signal to them to stop moving before the pleasure turns into pain.

We all stop and relax, my hand on theirs, their hands still inside me, both of them, and both kissing my neck and resting their heads on my chest. Eventually their fingers slide out of me and back down my thighs, holding them open still.

Ken and the other guy from the party, who turns out to be named Jeff I find out later, are standing over us watching. How long have they been watching? Long enough to have seen me with two men drilling my pussy and me screaming and loving it? I am too ultra-relaxed and satiated to be embarrassed. Besides, Ken fucked me at the party a couple months ago, and I sucked the other guy off and swallowed his come, so we're not exactly strangers. They have both known me intimately, used my body intimately. Stan gets up and Ken kneels beside me and starts kissing me. I feel my heat rising again. Then Tom is replaced by the other guy, and they both kiss and caress me. And fondle my breasts and my legs. And they lift my skirt up to my waist and go up under it again to touch me, touch my core, my sex, my pussy, my clit, and, by the time they get there, my hot cunt.

Ken gives me some more champagne, helping me sit up to drink it, I really need it. I'm so thirsty and I drink a lot. I lie back down again and put my arms up to grab the table legs again, an invitation to all of them to use my body for their pleasure and mine. Ken is kissing my mouth and my neck and my nipples and my chest, surprisingly gently. Then he takes one of my hands from the table and puts it on his pants where I can feel his erection throbbing when I grab it and tighten on it.

The other guy crawls down to my feet and pulls me further to the end of the table. He lifts my skirt out of the way and lowers his head to my hips, his mouth coming down on my sex. He spreads my legs as far as they'll go, uses his fingers to open my labia, and puts his mouth gently on my clit. His tongue licks gently, he sucks on it, his tongue flicks harder, and he sucks more. Ohmigod this is wonderful. He is repaying me for my oral sex at the party. And he is really good at it. His beard's a little scratchy but who cares. He slides a finger under his chin and into me while he's licking and sucking. Deep into me, and around and around. And that does it. After a minute or two I come again, my pussy grabbing his finger and holding it, pulsing and pulsing, clamping to hold the intruder. He stops and I stop and we relax, his cheek resting on my thigh, and I can still feel his breath on my sensitive lips.

Now I am really exhausted. Jeff leans back against the sofa, where Tom and Stan have been sitting watching. I just lie there. Someone has pulled my skirt down a couple inches to cover me, but that's no protection. If they want to use me some more, they can go right ahead, I won't stop anyone at this point. Let's have some more champagne. Well, that bottle is empty -- the second? third? -- open another. Stan looks at the bottle, and looks at me, and looks back at the bottle, and he puts it on the table between my legs.

I get it. He comes over to me, holds out his arms to help me up. I stand up but he's so close to me I can't move away from the table. My knees are straddling the corner of the table, a good two feet apart. My skirt is hanging down to cover me, but it must still be a fairly obscene pose. With my knees this far apart, the skirt barely touches my thighs. Blouse open, straddling the table, and they all know there is nothing under that skirt to stop anything from penetrating me. Including no resistance from me. I'm in a sex-hungry daze at this point, I'll do anything that feels good. The bottle is there right in front of me, the glass phallus pointing straight up at me. Stan pulls me forward until my skirt brushes over the top of the bottle and it is pointing up between my legs. Oh, God, he wants me to sit on it, to fuck it in front of them all. This is not just a little wine cooler bottle that I can hide entirely inside me, but a large bottle with a long neck that can go up six or eight inches into the goodies. This is more like the big Chianti bottle back in college.

He kneels down in front of me to hold the base of the bottle with one hand, the other on my leg behind the knee. I can still hear the music that we were dancing to earlier, much earlier, back when I had all my clothes on and was still an innocent. I look at Tom and his face is filled with lust. He stares back into my eyes with pleading, he wants me to do this. All the guys are staring at me, they all make eye contact and nod and look down.

Okay. I put a hand out on Stan's shoulder for balance and I start to sway. Sexy sexy, just moving my hips a little, and the hem of the skirt sways gently. I can't see the bottle anymore, it's directly below my hips. Stan is looking up at me and then down at my hips and down at my knees. I bend my knees a little as I sway and move down a few inches. I don't have to go far, the height of the table and the bottle are very near my crotch level, especially with my legs this far apart.

I put both hands on Stan for balance and bend further. And I feel it. It's cold and wet. And I'm hot and wet. And I feel the hardness on my lips. I'm not quite on the opening. I push my hips an inch forward to align the entrance. God, this is obscene, doing this, fucking myself in front of these men. Well at least they can't actually see the penetration. But they will know it from my reaction and my movements.

Push down now and the wide neck of the champagne bottle pops in past the front of my slick hole. I gasp. Now they know for sure. I look down at Stan, who is staring with lust at my face, over at Tommy, who catches my eye and nods again. Down, down. Ken and Jeff are looking at my hips, about waist level or below, imagining what is going on in there, under there.

I relax my legs more and slide down and the bottle slides up into me. Cold, hard. But getting warmer. Down up down up, it slides easier now, oh, boy. I have my eyes closed, hanging onto Stan for support. I use my left hand to grasp my breast, squeezing it and pinching the nipple. Down harder now, and faster, real fucking, not just a show. Down as far as I can go. It's hard, it pushes deep into me and stretches the opening. I think it hits my cervix and stretches me wide and deep. Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! I want it in me, I want it as deep as it goes.

I reach inside the bra to get my nipple, every touch of the nipple sends a shock straight to my clit, and the bottle stretching my lips and clit. And I push my cunt down onto it hard and long and I come again. Shout Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Slower, slow down, settle down onto the bottle for maximum penetration, as deep and as wide as I can get it into my hole. God, I'm dripping all over it. God, my ass is almost touching the table. How much of that glass monster must I have inside my insides! It hurts and it pleases and it fills me, and I want to just relax down and take it all, but I know that's not possible, I know that's not safe.

I open my eyes and look down at Stan, and he nods up for me to move off it before I fall. I put both hands back on his shoulders and pull up slowly. No, I don't want to leave just yet. I still want to feel that hardness inside. So I pump it some more, until my legs hurt so much and start to shake. I come off it with a loud pop. I'm embarrassed. What a sound. My cunt was so attached to my inanimate lover that it tried to hang on. I sit down hard on the table and Tommy moves in to hold my back so I can sit up. Someone hands me another glass of champagne and I can finally catch my breath. I'm gasping and my throat is so dry. Was I not breathing while I was doing that? Was I just gasping for air and shuddering with pleasure?

They help me off the table and onto the sofa, where I lie down for a while to recover. God, three series of orgasms in what, an hour? And I'm still high from the booze. Good booze. Great booze. More booze. I have to take a nap.

When I open my eyes it's fifteen minutes later? Twenty? The guys are still around me, and touching me again now, and they've pulled my legs apart, way apart. They're undoing the rest of my clothes. There goes the blouse, the skirt, the bra, that's it. I'm still on the sofa. Two of them grab my legs and pull them wide and then up to my chest, fold me in half. My pussy is completely ******* and wide open like this. Wait, they're all undressed, too. I didn't notice that before. Oh, jeez, they're all going to fuck me.

Tommy is first. He kneels on the sofa down by my butt, what would be between my legs if they weren't being held up in the air by my head. He slides his cock into me gently, slowly, because I might still be a little sensitive from so much use earlier. Oh, it's not bad, it's good, it's a real cock in me, it's wonderful. He slides deep and I move my hips up to meet him as much as I can in this position. He bends down to kiss me between my knees and I love him. He pumps a few more times deep, deep into me, and I feel him pulsing. As he squirts his cum I squeeze my cunt around him to milk him, to hold him in.

He sits up and pulls out, and Stan is next. He slides in easily because my fuck-tube is so wet now with Tommy's cum and my juices, too. I don't know how long he lasts, but it feels good just to have him there, warm, sliding into and out of my pussy. Slowly, then a little faster, then pushing in hard as he comes, too. That's two loads now when he pulls out. Nothing runs out because my cunt is still pointed straight up with my legs held over my head.

They change places again, it's a Chinese fire drill, and someone goes next. I have my eyes closed again so I can feel everything more intensely, concentrate on the sensations in my sex, the lips being stretched and drawn in, then pulled out as the cock moves in and out of it. What a feeling, just lying there, being held in that obscene position, hot cock drilling into my cunt over and over and over, until it gets super-hard and leaps and spurts its payload into my womb. Fabulously depraved. I concentrate on the feelings as though I can sense every nerve fiber, every individual bit of skin, every contraction of his muscles and mine.

All four finished, came inside, and then two of them went again. I don't know which, I didn't look, I was just feeling. I'm a mess, overflowing, six loads of cum in me now, and stretched wide enough to accommodate all of them. They pumped more in and drilled it out at the same time. I'm a mess, it's all over my pussy and ass. They still hold my legs. I want to put them down now to relax, but Stan whispers his idea to me. Remember when you drained my cum into the wine cooler bottle? Well, let's put our collective liquors back into the champagne bottle. At this point, I don't care, I just want to be held and to sleep.

All four of them pick me up and move me over to the window. If anyone were looking in, they would see one naked woman being held by four naked men directly in front of the window for all Vegas to see. Stan, I think, had the champagne bottle and put it on the floor. The others hold me upright and lower me onto the neck of the bottle. My pussy, my thighs, my ass, the whole area is sloppy covered with their juices, and mine, too. Cum is pouring out of me. This time everyone can see the penetration, and the flow of thick white semen from me onto and then into the glass container. Please don't drop me, I thought. They lower me down onto the bottle until it stretches me tight, then up a few inches, then down again. Oh, they're all fucking me with the bottle. Or are they fucking the bottle with me? I'm moving, after all, not it. They carefully lower my knees to the floor so I can support myself and control the depth of penetration. How obscene would all this be if someone were watching!

After a couple minutes, I figure that I am well drained. I'm so tired I can't come again, so there is no point in continuing the fucking motions. I pull up off it and the guys help me to my feet and into the bedroom. I'm not completely drained, though, and cum is still running down my legs. This time I'm not embarrassed. This is a badge of honor. I fucked out all these guys, drained them, and put on a show they will never forget, even put on a show for all of Vegas to see if it had the sense to look. I don't care. They pull down the covers and I lie down to sleep. Tommy lies down with me and holds me until I fall asleep, which was probably only a minute or so.

I woke an hour or two later and had to pee like crazy, all that champagne I drank. The guys were still up in the living room, talking and drinking. I wondered if they would all want to, or expect to, fuck me again. I didn't have a lot of protection: my clothes were still out there, probably strewn all over the place. And if four guys want to fuck me, clothing isn't much of an obstacle. And I had willingly let them all fuck me earlier, even some more than once. If I had been a professional whore, instead of just an enthusiastic amateur, I'm sure they would all have just come in for seconds and thirds when they felt like it. Since I couldn't do anything about it, I just went back to sleep.

Tommy came in later with my clothes, what he could find of them, and we left. As we left, all the guys kissed me goodnight, and hugged me, and fondled wherever they wanted to. They all felt me up again on the tits, and they all reached under my skirt to put a finger into my juicy pussy once again. I didn't mind. I wasn't sore, I guess being so well lubricated during all the action, and it felt good and it even felt right to have them be inside me again. I willingly opened my legs wide and pumped down on their hands to get their fingers deep. And they took their time, but I didn't manage to come again. Oooh, I didn't want to leave after all that, but leave we did.

Is this going to happen every time Stan comes to town?