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From: suenewhamp@aol.com (SueNewHamp)
Subject: Sue's 14th: Catty Corner 1/2 (orgy, mast)
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NOTE: This story is, of course, for adults only --  so don't read it if you
don't think you can be mature about it. Reading and writing these stories
should be acts of fantasy, and I hope that you can keep your notions of real
and fantasy life separate in your mind. I know I can. If you would like to let
me know what you think, or if you have a follow-up fantasy (which is something
that I REALLY like), you can reach me at SueNewHamp@AOL.com ... but I can't
promise to return your emails... 
**********************************

THE COCKTAIL TABLE part 1 of 2
     By Sue

A few weeks ago, I received an Email from a young man who was a graduate
student at a University in a city a few hours from where I live. He said that
he is an avid fan of my stories that are posted in alt.sex.stories. He and his
girlfriend read them all. In fact, they have been sharing them with a group of
friends at the University. This isn’t just any group of friends -- they are a
sort of club that engages in mate-swapping and group sex. There are twelve of
them all together, all couples. So they have taken to reading my stories out
loud at the beginning of their gatherings as a way to get into the “swing” of
things (no pun intended). According to Tim, who is the fellow who emailed me,
my stories have had quite an affect on the group. Apparently, things have
become a little placid for them, since they have been meeting for over three
years. That is a little hard for me to believe, since I can’t see how that kind
of group could ever be boring. In any case, my stories have gotten them all
very aroused, and they have determined to be more creative about their
interminglings. The past few months have made them all big admirers of my
stories.

I wrote Tim back to thank him for his support, and I told him that I found it
to be exciting to imagine them all together reading one of my stories, and then
imagining what happened when the pages are put down. I asked which story they
liked the most. Within a day, I received another note from him. Their favorite
story was “Slippery When Wet,” partly because it involved college-age men, and
partly because they were intrigued with my fascination with large amounts of
semen all over my body. Tim said that this story had led the group to
experiment with having several men ejaculate onto one of the women. The
experiment was a success, and they concluded that this line of exploration
warranted further investigation. Those were his words exactly. It was obvious
that he and his friends were graduate students in science. But it was hard for
me to imagine nerdy science students being liberated enough to be into group
sex.

In my next message, I challenged Tim about the reality of his swingers group.
His response blew me away. His group was going to prove to me that they
existed. One week from the date of his message, I was invited to join them. He
gave me directions to the apartment where they were meeting, and they made sure
that I could retain my complete anonymity. They also assured me that they were
all completely well behaved ladies and gentlemen, and that my safety and
well-being were assured. In fact, they adored me for the inspiration that I had
given to the group, and that my presence at their gathering would be a
wonderful honor for them.

I decided to attend. It was hard to let go of my fear of strangers, but quite
frankly, these people seemed totally benign and genuinely friendly. And my
curiosity was piqued. I wasn’t sure if I would actually engage in their sexual
activities, and I wasn’t even sure if actual sex was on the agenda. Maybe this
would be kind of like a book-signing party or something. Lots of talk and
congratulations and the like.

Today is the day. Before I left home, I put on a long back dress, velveteen
lined with satin. It has spaghetti straps and it goes down to my ankles, with
slits up each side that reach halfway up my thighs. I never wear a bra, and the
vee neck of the bodice extends deep into my modest cleavage. Well, maybe modest
isn’t the best description. What I’m trying to say is that my breasts aren’t so
large as to leave a Grand Canyon between them. But there is enough to provide a
nesting place for the long string of fake pearls that drapes around my neck and
falls into the valley, accentuating the mounds of my breasts. For panties, I
chose scarlet satin panties with black lace around all the edges. All of this
was rounded out by shiny red pumps, with no stockings. I was trying to play the
part of a writer of titillating erotica out to meet her fans. It was a bit like
dressing up for the prom. 

So now I’ve driven all afternoon. Fortunately, the weather today was warm
enough so that I could drive with the top down on my Miata. It felt great to
let my blond hair stream out behind me, and the wind blew into the top of my
dress, sort of inflating it and pulling it away from my chest. The breezes
whipped across my nipples for all that time on the highway. It was the most
slow and gentle and effective kind of stimulation, and my nipples never lost
their hardness for the entire trip. I had given myself plenty of time to find
my way, but nevertheless, I got lost. So here I am on the doorstep to the
apartment, and I’m almost an hour late. Oh well, hopefully, they haven’t given
up on me. So I ring the door chime. My heart is beating a little fast out of
nervousness. I have never actually met any of my alt.sex.stories readers. Maybe
I should have kept it that way. Maybe Tim’s invitation was a scam, and behind
the door are a bunch of macho, sex-maniacs who intend to include me in some
sort of nc, sm, bd episode that they can write up for the Internet. That is not
my cup of tea at all, and I suddenly decide to turn around and flee this
potential fiasco. 

When I have wheeled around and taken a couple of steps toward the elevator, I
hear the door open. Should I run for it? Before I can decide, I hear a sweet
and delicate woman’s voice asking if my name is Sue. When I turn my head back
to the door, I can see the woman, and I can only feel silly for being afraid of
the occupants of the apartment. This person is hardly menacing. She is short
(maybe 5 foot or so) and pretty and I guess the best way of describing her
would be to say that she is demure, even timid. She seems more nervous to be
meeting me than I am in being met! OK, I’ll go through with it, so I turn
around and walk back to the door and into the apartment. 

In the living room, all of the seats are taken, and other people are seated on
cushions on the floor. When I enter, they all stand up and welcome me in.
Crowding around me, they are effusively thanking me for coming. Tim introduces
himself to me, and then to everyone else. All the names escape me, going in one
ear and out the other. I’ve never been so much the center of attention, and I
found my focus wandering from person to person, responding to their questions
with simple yes and no answers. My head is swimming. Eventually the woman who
opened the door (this is her apartment) recognizes my bewilderment, and offers
me a chance to wash up in her bathroom. That sounds great. The three minutes in
there give me an opportunity to settle my nerves and get back into the role of
vamping queen of erotica that I had chosen for myself. Now I’m ready, so I
rejoin the group.

One of the first things that I am asked is whether I have written anything new.
Well, I haven’t, and they seem a bit disappointed. Tim asks if I will read them
one of my previous efforts. When I tell him that I would, I also want to know
which one they would like to hear. Several people chime in that they would love
to hear “Slippery When Wet” again. I suppose I should have anticipated that,
from what Tim had told me.

I have now figured out that my hostess is Jill, and that she is Tim’s
girlfriend. They are all exactly as I might have pictured them. Not exactly
nerds like the caricatures in the movies. But definitely intensely academic
grad students. Of the twelve of them, only two aren’t wearing glasses. Most of
the men are wearing Dockers type pants and button down shirts (a couple of them
even have those pocket protectors things) and most of the women are following
the lead of Jill. They have on unpretentious and wholesome outfits that seem
like they come from the Eisenhower era. Pigtails and braids, blouses buttoned
up to the neck, white socks... the works! I’m not trying to portray them
unkindly. Really, they are all totally likable and earnest. But I still can’t
make this image of them jibe with the fact that they are apparently
wild-and-swingers. They look more like a meeting of “Catholic Virgins
Anonymous,” or something!

Jill is handing me a printout of my story. The pages are kind of worn and
dog-earred. This copy had been reread many times. Someone vacates a big
overstuffed wingchair for me, and I settle in and start to read. There is a
total of 18 pages, so it takes a while. During my recitation, they all sit
around me with rapt attention, eager smiles on their faces. But despite their
enthusiasm, they show little sign of the sexual stimulation that might be
expected from Tim’s Email. The predominant thing that they are doing is simply
sitting still with their hands folded in their laps. 

On the other hand, this story is getting to me. I hadn’t reread this one in a
long time, and it is actually pretty sexy. And having an audience had a funny
kind of stimulating effect on me too. I’ve been reading and writing stories
like this for a while, but saying the words out loud is somehow very different.
I have never done that before. It is making me physically warm, and sexually
hot. I even feel a bit lightheaded, almost intoxicated. As I approach the end
of the story, we reach the part where the four men are holding me afloat in the
big jacuzzi, and I’m sucking on the balls of one, jerking off two of them, and
the forth man is plunging his huge cock into wide-spread cunt. They all spray
their come onto my wet heaving body as I too have my orgasm. This image is an
incredible turn on for me. Usually semen is available in such small quantities.
In this story, the jets of string stuff are splattering onto me in wonderful
abundance. As I read, the listeners surrounding me become imperceptible as my
imagination focuses wholly on the cinematic images that are brought up by the
words that I mindlessly (yet passionately) read aloud.

The story ends. I let the sheaf of papers fall to the floor and take a deep
breath. I am almost drunk with arousal. I can’t see how my new friends have
stayed so still and calm. 

Ah, but that is not the case. Jill stands up and tells us all that she doesn’t
care what they agreed on before, she needs to do something to deal with how
turned on she is. Now they all start talking. It turns out that they had
decided in advance of my arrival that it would be rude to have an orgy with me
there. Somehow, they had felt that I was “above” that kind of thing, and that
they should be well behaved and proper with me, their special guest, in
attendance. 

And Jill isn’t the only one who wants to abandon their rule for the evening. So
then Tim tells me that they obviously can’t restrain themselves, but they would
fully understand if I choose to leave the party now. They have no desire to
hurt my feelings, but they now want to take care of their “more important
needs.” 

I ask them if they are encouraging me to leave, or if it would be all right if
I stayed. Their faces light up when I ask that, for certainly, they would like
that more than anything else. They had just been too timid to ask. I realize
that this is my chance to live out a bit of a fantasy that I had been playing
with in my day dreams recently. The “Slippery When Wet” story involved four men
spurting their semen onto me. Why not more. After all, Tim’s Email said that
their group had been experimenting with this kind of thing. So this is my
opportunity. Yes, I’ll most certainly stay and join them. I have one request
for them. Would it be all right if I get to provide them with the basic
scenario for our group play?

They are thrilled that I will stay, and more thrilled that I will direct them.
Somehow, they have built me up in their minds into some kind of guru of
uninhibited sexuality. I am far from that, but what the hell. If they want to
think of me that way, who am I to argue.

They push all the furniture over to the walls, leaving a wide space in the
middle of the floor. The couch and three big arm chairs are all on one wall,
with a big coffee table in front of the couch. Jill has gotten several bath
towels which she has spread in layers onto the table, making for a comfortable
position. Now I tell them all to undress. I myself remain fully clothed (for
now) in my provocative outfit. My full attention is on the twelve bodies being
transformed from conservative to libertarian dress code. I notice at once that
the plain apparel that they wore in public is only a cover for an array of more
interesting underwear. Most of the men are wearing tight bikini pants in dark
colors. One of the guys is has his cock encased in a tiny strip of a cod-piece,
held up by string straps that circle his hips, with a single string
disappearing into the crack of his ass. The women are similarly attired in sexy
panties and bras which cry out with bright reds and neon greens. A couple of
them have nylons and garters, and Jill has a black strapless push-up bra which
cuts across her large breasts, creasing deeply into her wide, brown aereola and
leaving her nipples exposed. And she has crotchless panties, which I notice
when she puts her foot up onto the arm of a chair to remove her white sock.
This spreads her thighs apart, and her entire pubic area bulges out of the
crotch. She has an incredible amount of hair around her cunt, and it is dark
reddish-brown, like her head hair. This provides a great contrast to the shiny
black of her panties. 

They are all now stripped down to their underwear, but by some unspoken
agreement, they are waiting for my instructions before going on. So I have all
the women go over to the couch and chairs and make themselves comfortable, and
the men stand in a close line facing the women, with the table separating them.
I stand at the end of the table, and tell the men to observe the women closely
as they all slowly remove the last scanty semblances of modesty. In unison,
with me as their “conductor,” they reach behind their backs to unclasp their
bras, and then they lift their hips to slide their panties down their legs. The
women with garters leave them on. The men keep their tight bikini pants on,
outlining their anxious erections within the tightly stretched material. Now I
have the women untie, unbraid, or unpin their hair, and also take off their
glasses. 

This last set of actions is the most transforming of all, more than the process
of undressing for the men. Whereas I had once lumped them all together as nerdy
intellectuals, I can now abandon that stereotype and see them as individuals.
Six women of all sizes and shapes, different color hair, all sorts of nipples
and different amounts of pubic hair. No longer the mousy librarians, these are
hot-blooded women with hunger in their eyes. When I ask them to spread their
thighs so that the men can see the buried treasures, there is no hesitation or
modesty. The three women on the couch actually hook their knees over each
other, and the others arrange their legs by taking advantage of the arms of
their chairs. With the gaze of the men taking it all in, women follow my
instructions and start to play with their nipples with one hand, and with the
other, they tangle and twist their cunt hair. Gradually, they work their
fingers into the wet and open folds of their cunt flesh, and gently start to
probe and caress their labia and clitorises (Shit! what is the plural of
clitoris? Clitori? Or maybe it is like “deer” or “pants,” both singular and
plural at the same time!). The hungry look in the women’s eyes is being
replaced with a kind of glazed-over stare that lets us all know that they are
happy, and getting happier.

Continued in part 2


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