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Sometimes Cake Isn't Enough
by Eric Waters (eric_waters4567@hotmail.com)

***

Eric's female coworkers put on a show for him. (FFM, 
exh, mast, oral, work)

***

The simple fact is, I didn’t think the gun was loaded. 
Only an idiot would have done what I did if he’d known 
the gun was loaded.

You can call me Eric Waters. About ten years ago now I 
was working in what’s called a "pink collar" job. I was 
in an office that had nearly a hundred employees, just 
about all of whom were women. Some were bitter 
retirees, but a lot were young women from the local 
college who were pretty darned easy on the eye. 

The place was all business, though. We all had to dress 
up for work (which for me meant a tie every day) even 
though we didn’t ever meet the public face-to-face. 
During the mandatory new-employee sexual harassment 
training it was made quite clear to me that, if I 
wanted to keep my job, I’d have to behave myself.

Back then I was twenty-six and married, fresh out of 
college and trying to find something to keep food on 
the table until something better came along. Things 
were OK with Kate back then, but I wasn’t feeling 
especially proud of where I was working. Still, steady 
work and benefits weren’t anything to take for granted. 

One of the girls who worked near my cubicle was a 
skinny bottle-blonde who flaunted the dress code. Her 
name was Amber, and she wasn’t the sharpest knife in 
the drawer. Still, she was friendly, and when things 
were slow she’d tell the rest of us about her 
boyfriends and her tattoos. She had a beau named Trey 
and sometimes she came in with publicly-visible hickeys 
and, more than once, a shiner. 

When I was a bit younger I would have felt sorry for 
her, but I’ve decided that girls in abusive 
relationships are living the lives that they’ve chosen 
for themselves. That may sound politically incorrect, 
but being a "nice guy" is nowhere near as attractive to 
women as being a rat bastard. When women talked about 
their boyfriends, they’d boast about how tall they were 
or how much money they made, never whether they were 
good with kids. Not that I’m bitter or anything...

So anyhow, one day in early October the elevator door 
opened to our floor and out walked Trey. He was like a 
caricature of white trash, a lunk of a man with a dirty 
jeans jacket and baseball cap on backwards. I just 
happened to be standing up in my cubicle when he 
stepped off the elevator, and I instantly knew that he 
was going to be trouble. He twisted left and right, and 
I could see the distinctive chrome of a handgun crudely 
jammed into the back of his trousers. He composed 
himself and went to the receptionist, turned on his 
"charm," and asked for Amber.

Back then I went weeks at a time without a drop of 
adrenaline going through my veins, but suddenly I was 
completely alert. I skulked, below eye level, to 
Amber’s cubicle. She was on the phone; I clicked off 
her line and gave her the most serious face I could 
manage. Before I could explain anything, Trey’s voice 
thundered out, "Amber! Where are you honeeey?"

Amber’s face went ghostly white. She opened her mouth 
and said something clever like, "It was an accident, 
and it just happened once!"

I stood and walked, as casually as I could manage, 
towards the restrooms. Heads popped up from some of the 
cubicles.

From time to time I got called on to be the resident 
male, usually when a wasp was flying around or 
something. As soon as the crisis was over, I was back 
to being "just one of the girls." Well, Trey was one 
hell of a big wasp. 

Neanderthal-boy was taking the long way around the 
floor, so I walked to the receptionist, a chunky black 
woman named Rhonda, and made sure she was dialing 911. 
She nodded, her hand shaking as she wrote notes into 
the Visitor Log. There were no security guards in the 
building; evidently Amber had given her stud-muffin the 
week’s elevator code.

I made my way back to my area and I saw Trey stomping 
towards Amber. Little Miss Dim-Bulb hadn’t tried to get 
to get away, or even to hide in the Women’s bathroom. 
Trey spotted her and burst out into a fusillade of foul 
language. The words "slut" and "fuck" were used so 
often that it was hard to make out the specifics her 
transgression. Amber broke out into tears and 
apologized over and over again, declaring her undying 
love for Trey. As intense as their exchange was, I was 
pretty sure that they had rehearsed this scene many 
times before.

I walked slowly up behind Trey, hoping to let them 
exhaust themselves with their little drama. Trey was 
big, but he seemed oddly pathetic as he tried to cower 
Amber with his bluster. It brought to mind one of those 
damned things that we all hear when we’re growing up... 
something about bullies being a bunch of cowards.

Suddenly it all changed. "I’m going to kill you, 
bitch," he said. His hand groped the small of his own 
back, trying to grab at his pistol.

That’s when my common sense utterly failed me. I 
reached out and yanked the gun out his pants and then 
shifted it into a proper position in my right hand, my 
index finger toying with the trigger.

I took a step back and said, "C’mon, Trey, she’s not 
worth it," in my most calming voice.

He turned and looked like he was ready to take a swing 
at me. Then he saw the gun. He lifted his hands and 
backed away. "Hey, dude, no problem, no problem 
dude..."

I started to register that the gun was actually scaring 
the crap out of him. The damned thing was loaded.

Shit. 

I retained my cool for what seemed like an eternity as 
I held Trey at gunpoint. The cops came a few years 
later and we spent a while filling out paperwork. 
Meanwhile, the story began to circulate (I learned 
later) that I’d beaten up a guy twice my size and 
wrestled a gun from his grip. The truth is that I was 
stupid, lucky, and petrified with fear. 

After it was all over, I spent some time in the 
bathroom trying not to vomit. After I splashed some 
water on my face, I stepped out of the men’s room. A 
crowd of about three dozen of my coworkers was waiting 
for me, and they started applauding. I took a silly bow 
and wandered back to my cubicle.

The rest of the shift was unremarkable, but I could 
hear excited whispers all around me, especially when 
the 2:00 shift came in. I’m sure that my work wasn’t 
especially good, but I really didn’t care.

That evening I didn’t say anything to Kate about work. 
I wanted to, but it seemed utterly surreal and I wasn’t 
sure that she’d believe me. When the late evening news 
came on, I watched to see if they would cover the 
story. Nope, nothing.

The next day felt perfectly normal. I ate breakfast, 
put on my usual business clothes, and headed off for my 
shift. Nobody seemed to notice when I came into the 
building and dropped lunch off in the break room’s 
fridge. When I got to my cubicle, there was a note from 
Karen, my supervisor. Usually that meant that I’d 
goofed some of my paperwork, but I wasn’t worried. It 
seemed petty to give me too much grief if my work had 
been sub-par the previous day.

Karen had a cubicle that was a bit larger than the ones 
the rest of us used, and its walls were a couple of 
feet taller. She was a lovely woman, three years older 
than me and a head shorter. She had dark hair and pale 
skin, and she always dressed in dark business suits. 
I’d never seen her without makeup or without her hair 
meticulously coiffed. She was always all business 
around me, but she’d been more sentimental of late as 
she was almost eight months pregnant with her first 
child. 

She was wearing a pinstripe maternity suit and turned 
in her chair when I knocked at the corner of her 
cubicle. Amber was there, whispering with great 
animation. Karen gestured me inside, and Amber smiled 
and vacated the one spare chair. Amber gave me a funny 
smile I’d never seen from her before and headed back to 
her desk.

Karen patted the now-empty chair and I sat down. She 
looked as lovely as ever, though unbalanced by her 
large stomach and (had I even noticed before?) swelling 
breasts.

"Eric, I spoke with the police last night." Her voice 
has measured and professional. "The gentleman who came 
in yesterday had three..." her voice broke, "three 
extra clips of bullets with him." Her eyes started to 
tear up. She grabbed a tissue and regained her 
composure. "I’m sorry. He had enough bullets to kill 
most of the people on this floor." She took a deep 
breath. "But he didn’t. You stopped him."

I’d never seen her this way before. She was the one who 
filled out my evaluations and decided if I got my 
barely-noticeable raises. I figured I knew where this 
conversation was going, and I considered what sort of 
cake I was in the mood for.

Then, practically reading my mind, she said, "You know, 
Eric, sometimes cake isn’t a sufficient way of saying 
‘thank you’." She looked me in the eyes. She paused. 
"Amber put it rather crudely, but she suggested that we 
cancel tomorrow’s quarterly meeting and... throw a 
little party for you." Her voice lowered to a 
conspiratorial whisper. "She said we should ‘fuck your 
brains out’." She grinned at the inappropriateness of 
the un-professional language.

"Eric, a lot of us are married and we aren’t at liberty 
to do that." She shifted unevenly in her chair. "But 
Eric, there are a lot of pretty women here, and I think 
that they might give you a, well, a private show as a 
way of expressing their appreciation. Not that anyone 
could ever know, but Eric, we owe you our lives." She 
started to tear up again.

My heart was pounding in my chest and I was trying to 
retain my composure. Was she serious? I played it coy. 
"That would be... nice."

"Nice?"

"Nice."

She arched an eyebrow. "We’ll take that as a challenge. 
Unless, of course, you’re not interested..."

As I said, there weren’t many men where I worked, and 
most of them were very publicly gay ("not that there’s 
anything wrong with that"). But Karen knew that I was 
married and straight, though asexual while on the job. 
"I didn’t say that," I replied quickly.

"Then drop on by tomorrow night. You already have the 
night on your calendar, don’t you?"

"Of course."

"Then we’ll cancel the meeting and get the word out 
about your thank-you party." She smiled, and then said 
forced-nonchalantly, "Is there anyone in particular 
that I should be sure to invite?"

I’d worked around women long enough to catch the danger 
in that question. Women are competitive in ways that 
men usually don’t understand, and rattling off the 
names of women I considered hot would have offended 
anyone not on the list. As I tried to craft a clever 
response, I noticed that Karen twirled a lock of hair 
with her finger. I’d always considered her lovely, but 
she’d never shown any interest in me. But I quickly 
deduced that it wasn’t about that. She was feeling 
insecure about her appearance, and once I figured that 
out, I knew how to reply. "You’ll be there won’t you?"

"Me? Well, of course, but..." her voice trailed off and 
there was an uncomfortable silence.

"Tomorrow night, then," I said and took my leave.

The next two shifts dragged by. I kept reminding myself 
of all of the wild parties I went to in college that 
wound up being total zeroes. Women at the office 
giggled when they saw me, and hardly anyone made eye 
contact with me. Amber came by my cubicle at the end of 
the shift the day before the meeting, and she rubbed my 
shoulders for a few seconds while I was on the phone 
and then left before I could say anything.

Thursday night finally rolled around. My shift ended at 
4:30, and the meeting was at 7:00. I went home for a 
quiet dinner and then struggled to show up right on 
time and not an hour early. The evenings when we had 
the quarterly meetings we’d shift our calls to the west 
coast center so no one had to work. I suppose these 
days the calls go to India, but I’ve moved on to other 
things.

As I stepped off of the elevator I was surprised to 
find the lights off and candles burning in a double 
path to the conference room. Leave it to my coworkers 
to set up something fancy on no notice. I heard voices, 
but I didn’t see anyone until I came to the double 
doors of the conference room. Karen was there with 
Samantha, our HR person. 

Samantha and Karen were dissimilar in just about every 
way; Karen had dark hair and was barely over five feet 
tall. Samantha was blonde and a bit over six feet tall, 
and she had an overbite that I found quite attractive. 
The one thing that Karen and Samantha had in common was 
that they were both very pregnant.

While quite unbalanced, they made stunning bookends. 
What they were wearing had me, well, optimistic. They 
were both barefoot and wearing fluffy terrycloth 
bathrobes, the sort that fancy hotels give away to 
their guests.

"We’re glad you made it," Samantha said. "I would be a 
pity to let the party go to waste."

"I wouldn’t miss it for the world," I replied 
sincerely. 

Karen held up a fluffy white bathrobe and pointed to 
the men’s room. "Eric, you need to get ready. Get 
comfortable and put on the bathrobe."

I waited for elaboration, but both women just stood 
there, smiling. As I went to the bathroom I considered 
the possibility that I was being set up for some sort 
of joke. I figured that I’d chance it, but I left my 
briefs on under the bathrobe.

Karen and Samantha were still waiting for me, and I let 
each woman take an arm and lead me into the conference 
room. There was no one in the room, but the normally 
Spartan area had been filled with candles and pillows. 
Music played on the intercom system, but I can’t recall 
what it was. At one end of the room was a long 
overstuffed sofa, and I was escorted there by my 
delightful hostesses. I tried to figure out what, if 
anything, they had on under their robes, but they had 
them tied tight and I had to settle for admiring their 
bare feet.

Karen put her arm across my shoulders and cuddled my 
right side. "It’s time for some rules, Eric. Even 
heroes have rules."

Samantha leaned on my left side and whispered in my 
ear. "You can look. You can’t touch. We can touch 
you...If we want to." She reached under a pillow and 
pulled out an oversized bottle of hand lotion. "Of 
course, if you don’t want to be touched, just say so."

Karen whispered in my other ear, "This evening didn’t 
happen. I anyone ever asks, we had a boooring meeting. 
All you can take with you are your memories."

Samantha put down the lotion bottle and clapped her 
hands. The doors at the side of the conference room had 
been removed and replaced by billowing fabric. One by 
one, my coworkers entered the room. They wore matching 
robes and had, like Karen and Samantha, their feet 
bare. Fourteen women entered, with Amber bringing up 
the rear of the group. However this had been arranged, 
they’d lined up la crème de la crème as the French say. 

I took a moment to soak up the scene. The choice of 
bathrobes was strangely intimate and enticing. They 
stood their and posed, enjoying their own 
deliciousness. Amber separated herself from the group 
and walked up to me. She kissed me on the nose. "Eric, 
you’re the best. I get to be you."

A waited a moment, and confused, grunted, "huh?"

A wicked grin crossed her face, and she let Samantha 
breathe the answer into my ear. "She’s you. What you 
can’t do, she can."

Karen stroked my thigh through the thick terrycloth. 
"She’s like your remote control. Men love remote 
controls." 

I was becoming aroused so quickly that I felt 
lightheaded. This was too much.

Amber bounced. "Here, let me show you." She skipped 
over and grabbed Laurie by the hand. Laurie was a 
friend of hers, a nicely rounded redhead who wore 
glasses. "Eric, would you like a beer?" 

"Yes," I felt an odd pang of guilt given that alcohol 
was expressly forbidden in the building, as if anything 
we were doing fit with corporate policy.

"Laurie, get Eric a beer." Laurie reached behind a 
curtain and, from the sound of it, pulled a beer from a 
pile chest full of ice. She held a brand-name beer in 
her hand. She stepped closer to me, and stopped a few 
paces away. Amber asked, "Eric, would you like to see 
Laurie’s tits?"

I nodded.

"Laurie, show us your tits!" Amber sounded like a ditzy 
game-show host. Laurie pulled open the front of her 
robe just enough to reveal her pale breasts, each 
topped by a small pale-pink nipple. Her cleavage was a 
riot of freckles. "Now show everyone, Laurie!" Laurie 
began to blush as she turned around. When a redhead 
blushes, she blushes. The crowd hooted appreciatively.

"Now, Eric, would you like to kiss Laurie’s tits?"

I nodded again.

Amber wagged her finger at me. "No, no, no. Remember 
the rules! No touching. Well, not by you at least, but 
I can do it for you." With that, she grabbed her friend 
by the shoulders, leaned over, and placed a loud kiss 
on each of Laurie’s nipples. Laurie seemed nonplussed, 
but the crowd went wild.

Laurie pulled shut her robe and handed me the beer. 
Damn, but this was going to be fun. Samantha called 
out, "Who’s going first. Oh, Kim, c’mon up!" 

Out of the crowd came Kim. Her family was Korean and 
Kim was her last name, but everyone called her Kim like 
it was her first name. She was what you might expect, 
petite with dark hair and almond eyes, and the sort of 
round and flat face that Koreans often have. She was 
born in this country and spoke English like a 
Midwesterner, but her father was very serious and ran 
the largest Tai Kwon Do studio in town. 

Kim dropped her robe to reveal practical gray panties 
with a matching sports bra. She took a deep breath, 
gave me some sort of martial arts salute, and then 
proceeded to move from one end of the room to the other 
doing a series of astonishing leaps, kicks and punches. 
It was obviously a kata, or whatever you call a 
practiced routine of that sort in Korean, and it was 
amazing. Her movements returned her to her starting 
point, and the room broke out in applause. Before the 
applause died down, someone in the peanut gallery 
shouted, "Take it off!"

Amber looked at me expectantly, and the group took up 
the chant. I gestured imperially, and Amber walked up 
behind Kim. She placed her hands on Kim’s ribs and slid 
them up under the sides of her sports bra. Kim 
obligingly lifted her arms and the others got to see 
Kim’s charms before I did. Amber spun her around and 
revealed Kim’s compact breasts. 

What caught everyone’s attention were Kim’s nipples. 
They were long and stood straight out from her tits. 
Amber took the straps of Kim’s sports bra and hung it 
from her nipples. It was absurd yet naughty. Amber then 
slid her hands down the sides of Kim’s panties and 
pulled them down. Kim’s public hair was long and 
straight, and it caught the candlelight with a blue 
glimmer.

Amber stepped back taking Kim’s underwear with her, and 
once again Kim saluted me and repeated her kata. I 
don’t know how mere words could do justice to her high 
kicks; she could kick straight over her head, and bare-
assed naked, there was truly nothing left to the 
imagination. When she finished, she bowed to 
enthusiastic applause. She smiled and put back on her 
robe, but I noted Amber toss her underwear over to one 
corner of the room.

I took a swig of my beer and noticed that I was the 
only one drinking. "Amber," I said, "is there more 
beer? Enough for everyone?"

"Plenty, and I’m feeling thirsty. Does it please you to 
have us get drunk?" Her turn of phrase suddenly had me 
flashing back to I Dream of Jeannie.

I nodded, and beers started showing up all around the 
room. I shifted in my seat. I didn’t think that Karen 
or Samantha would want beer, but they cuddled close to 
me and each had a hand resting on my thighs. I was 
starting to feel very comfortable, and my cock began to 
come to life.

As the beers were being passed around, I saw that one 
woman in the group wasn’t having any. When I realized 
who it was, I was shocked. Angelica? Here for a night 
like this? Angelica was a woman who got in trouble for 
rubbing up with corporate policy because she decorated 
her cubicle with religious materials which were about 
as subtle as a 2-by-4. 

She was a young woman who never wore makeup and let her 
brown hair grow straight and long. She usually favored 
long floral dresses with doily-type collars. If she 
wasn’t a virgin, then I’m the King of England. Why had 
she come? Was she just here to let us know how horrible 
we were? That would have been pretty silly.

Amber saw who I was looking at and she pulled Angelica 
out from the group. Angelica seemed a bit conflicted 
and walked slowly to the middle of the room. She took a 
moment to build her nerve and untied her robe. As she 
slid it off of her shoulders, the room went silent. She 
had nothing on under it, not so much as a stitch of 
fabric, and she stood proud as Eve. She reached back 
and lifted her hair, which reached her ass, and 
revealed her neck and back. 

There was no hint of tan on her body, and her pubic 
hair was long and wild. She turned slowly, giving 
everyone in the room an eyeful. Naked, she walked up to 
me. Softly, she said. "Romans 13:8." She paused, 
knowing that I wouldn’t catch the reference. "‘Owe no 
man anything.’ Thank you for saving our lives. God 
bless you." She turned and went back to her robe. She 
took her time in putting it back on and tying it tight. 
The women applauded her, and I was speechless.

I wasn’t sure how much of this I could take, but for 
the sake of science, I had to learn just how much. I 
took a swig from my beer and was surprised to find that 
I’d finished it. Samantha took the bottle from my hand 
and set it aside. Then she took one wrist, and Karen 
took the other, and they placed my arms across their 
shoulders. I held them close, and their hands began to 
creep, agonizingly slowly, up my thighs. 

Amber embraced her role as emcee. "For your viewing 
pleasure, we have some red-hot American cheerleaders! 
Let’s hear it for Janelle, Yolanda, Brenda and 
Charlotte!" Four women dropped their robes and revealed 
abbreviated red-and-white cheerleader outfits. Someone 
started handing them pompoms. I wondered how they had 
pulled all of this together in a day and a half. 

I soon found out that they’d cut a few corners. The 
four women tried to start a cheer, but they mangled it 
on the first try, and then the second, and then they 
gave up and each improvised their way through their 
routine. They couldn’t decide if my name is spelled 
with a C or K, and they obviously hadn’t rehearsed.

I’ll describe them, just to give you a mental picture 
for what happened next. Charlotte and Yolanda were 
black, but Janelle was pale like coffee-and-cream, 
whereas Yolanda was coffee, straight. Charlotte was 
well-rounded and cheerful, where Yolanda was tall and 
slender and quiet. Janelle was older than some of the 
other women there, and she’d had twins two years 
earlier, but she’d taken good care of herself and had 
boundless energy. Brenda was a college freshman and she 
had an unnatural tanning-bed tan and wore too much 
makeup. It made her look trashy, but she was still 
pretty.

The women counted to three and then spun around. Have 
you ever seen the National Lampoon cover with a 
cheerleader who forgot part of her uniform? Well, all 
four of our cheerleaders had made the same "mistake." 
The sight of their bare backsides was deeply inspiring. 
They laughed and took a try at another cheer, this one 
involving our company’s name. Predictably, they botched 
it. I gestured to Amber and waved my hand side to side. 
She caught on and started swatting at the backsides as 
they made themselves available. She wasn’t hitting very 
hard, and the four started taunting her. Janelle was 
especially talented at waving her ass provocatively 
back and forth and then jumping out of the way. 

My "remote" became more aggressive, and provoked a yelp 
or two. The cheerleading squad suddenly displayed its 
one and only feat of coordinated action and ganged up 
on Amber. Janelle and Charlotte grabbed her arms, and 
Brenda pulled her legs out from under her. 

They wrestled her, face-down, to the ground. Yolanda 
pulled off her robe and revealed a skinny body 
decorated with at least half a dozen tattoos. Amber had 
opted to go without a bra (not that she needed one) and 
a tiny g-string which offered almost no coverage. 
Yolanda swatted at Amber’s backside. It went bright red 
as Yolanda rained slaps on the small, round cheeks. I 
let it go on a bit longer than I should have, but 
eventually I called it off. "Hey, c’mon, you’re 
breaking my remote!"

Yolanda took a few bonus swats and helped Amber to her 
feet. Amber cursed, but nobody seemed all that 
sympathetic. As she stood, I saw that her right nipple 
was pierced and decorated with a hoop ring. The four 
women, panting, put their robes back on and made room 
for the next act. Amber came over to my feet and 
plopped down on the ground, wincing. 

Hannah and Holly set up for their act. Holly was 
Brazilian, but when she spoke it sounded like she was 
from Germany. She had dark brown hair and skin and a 
tight body. Hanna was a few inches taller than her and 
so blonde that her eyebrows were nearly invisible. 

They dropped their robes as they got ready, revealing 
simple black slips without anything else on. They put 
on black high-heeled shoes, and I remembered that they 
had been taking ballroom dancing lessons together since 
their husbands were (typically) uninterested in dance 
lessons. Kim set up a black-and-silver CD player.

Hanna and Holly walked proudly to the middle of the 
room and froze in a ready pose. The music started... a 
tango, if I recall correctly...and they launched into 
the filthiest dancing I’ve ever seen that didn’t 
involve loose dollar bills. Holly, though shorter, led 
the dance and they moved like they were welded at the 
hip. As tightly as they held each other, a minute into 
the dance they wrapped their legs together in a way 
that locked them crotch-to-thigh.

At the same time, I saw Samantha (on my left side, if 
you recall) reach for the bottle of hand lotion that 
she’d displayed earlier. Karen’s hand slid up my thigh 
to my crotch, and her fingers held my swollen cock 
through my shorts. I turned to her, shocked and 
delighted. She looked mock-offended. "Hey, no fair! 
You’ve got your shorts on!" she exclaimed.

I was now the focus of attention, though Hanna and 
Holly continued to dry hump each other to the music. 

Amber perked up. My arms were still around my pregnant 
supervisors, Samantha was brandishing the bottle of 
lotion, and Karen was fondling my cock. Amber got to 
her knees and tugged at the belt holding my robe in 
place. Samantha whispered in my ear, "you don’t mind if 
we get you off, do you?"

I just about came when she said that. I nodded, then 
shook my head, and finally gasped "please."

Amber grabbed at my shorts and pulled them over my 
hips. My cock was hard, and it bounced as she tugged at 
my underwear. Samantha and Karen took turns with the 
lotion, and placed their cool, slippery fingers on my 
erection. I’m quite average in size, but they 
interlaced their fingers and produced the most 
delicious sensations. 

"Hey, remote, my friends here are still covered up. I 
want to see them!"

Amber smiled and bowed. "As you command." I watched for 
Karen and Samantha’s reaction, but they didn’t seem too 
upset. Amber undid Karen’s robe. It parted to reveal a 
maternity bra and some high-rise panties. Her stomach 
stood out, and there was a trail of down descending 
from her navel. Amber found the front clasp on Karen’s 
bra and popped it open. As the bra opened, two nursing 
pads popped out. Karen’s nipples were erect and 
glistening. 

Amber gestured to Laurie (the one who’d served me a 
beer earlier) and pointed to Karen’s tits. Laurie 
leaned over and tenderly licked the milk from Karen’s 
breasts. Karen’s eyes got very large and effort was 
futile in a formal sense; as soon as Laurie’s tongue 
left her nipples, Karen became damp again. Something 
clearly had her stimulated.

I barely noticed that Amber was working on Samantha’s 
robe. I turned to my left and saw that Samantha was 
still trying to stuff her tits into her pre-pregnancy 
bra. She had to lean forward so that Amber could reach 
around and set her breasts free. They were lovely and 
blue-veined, and like Karen she was leaking milk. 

Amber pushed her shoulders back and ran her tongue over 
Samantha’s tits in broad circles. Samantha giggled and 
reached back for my cock. Karen’s fingers joined hers 
and I wondered briefly where the couch had come from, 
and how stained it would be when it was returned.

Holly and Hanna finished dancing. As they stepped away 
from each other, their slips clung to their sweat-
drenched bodies. The fact that they hadn’t truly 
stripped was beside the point. More telling was the 
fact that their crotches were soaked with their juices. 
The room was taking on a distinct fragrance that 
wouldn’t be gone by morning. They bowed and received 
their applause graciously. 

Amber stood up and wiped her lips with her forearm. 
"OK, time for the final performance." I didn’t want the 
evening to end, but... "We have a special performance 
by Crystal, Marta, Ellen and Trisha."

Samantha whispered again in my ear. "This is going to 
be incredible." 

Karen agreed. "If you don’t come, you’re going to hurt 
their feelings." She and Samantha had worked out an 
easy-going rhythm on my cock, and there was no chance 
whatsoever that I was going to let them down. 

"Uh, I think that I’m going to be able to show, uh, 
appreciation..." I looked for a towel or a tissue or 
something. 

Laurie stopped working on Karen’s tits and knelt in 
front of me. She bared her breasts, cupping them in her 
hands, and made it clear that my cum belonged there. 
Karen and Samantha aimed my cock and continued 
stroking.

Marta and Ellen were paired, as were Crystal and 
Trisha. Marta and Ellen were lovers. Ellen was a plain-
faced woman with an athletic body. With her short hair 
and close-trimmed fingernails, it didn’t take much to 
peg her as gay. Marta was 30-ish and looked like a 
mother and wife, which she had been before her divorce. 
She and Ellen held each other close and began kissing.

Crystal and Trisha looked on. Crystal and Trisha looked 
like sisters, both college students with ponytails and 
three earrings on each ear. I often had trouble telling 
them apart, though Crystal was from Georgia and had a 
strong accent.

"Gee, Trisha," said Crystal. "What are they doing?" 

Trisha put an arm over her shoulder. "Crystal, they’re 
kissing."

Crystal said, "But they’re both girls!"

Marta slid a hand into Ellen’s robe.

Crystal gasped and shook her head. "That’s just 
naughty!"

Trisha slid her hand into Crystal’s robe. "Is it? 
Doesn’t it feel nice?"

"Oooh, it does, but" she looked me right in the eyes 
and grinned, "I’ve never been with a woman before." 

Marta and Ellen walked over and stripped Crystal naked. 
She was lowered to the ground on top of her spread-out 
robe. Her accosters threw their own coverings to one 
side and assaulted her with their tongues. She tried to 
stay in character and called out things like, "Ooh, 
I’ve never done this before!" and "This is just our 
little secret, right?" After a few minutes, though, she 
stopped pretending to be an ingénue and just enjoyed 
her fate.

It was getting to be too much for me. I still hand my 
arms around Karen and Samantha, "helpless" as they 
fondled my cock. Laurie was kneeling in front of me, 
her head twisting back and forth to watch the action on 
the floor and to look expectantly at my cock. Crystal 
was on her back. Marta and Ellen were holding Crystal’s 
ankles and kissing her toes. Trisha’s head was buried 
between Crystal’s thighs. Her tongue was sliding up and 
down Crystal’s snatch, and Crystal’s face was squished 
up with delight. She was panting loudly and she was 
ready to let go. 

Frankly, I was hoping that someone would take the 
initiative to sit in my lap, but I was past waiting. I 
looked Karen in the eyes, and she signaled to Samantha. 
They took on a smooth, steady rhythm and I shook as I 
shot my load onto Laurie’s lovely freckledtits.

Except that the aim was off. My sperm shot out proudly 
just as Laurie turned back to me. My cum caught her 
square in the right eye. Laurie looked stunned for just 
a moment, and then snorted at the absurdity of it all. 
Samantha and Karen took a deep breath and then started 
laughing.

Amber found a robe and wiped Laurie’s face, and then 
her tits and the head of my cock. Samantha and Karen 
wiped their lotion-covered hands on the robe, and then 
looked at each other and started laughing again.

"Gee did you see that?" Karen cracked. It wasn’t much 
of a joke, but Samantha began laughing so hard that I 
was afraid that she wasn’t going to catch her breath. 
Then her face twisted and she looked very surprised. 

"Uh, guys, I think that was a contraction..." Samantha 
said.

In just moments there was a flurry of motion. Robes 
were scooped up, beer cans were gathered and tits got 
tucked back into their bras. Samantha made it to the 
hospital before her water broke. The story we told 
(with a few dozen variations) was that our quarterly 
meeting was cut short when Samantha went into labor, 
which was more or less true. The actual story flew 
around the cubicles; those who weren’t there probably 
thought that it was even wilder than it was.

END

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
It's okay to *READ* stories about unprotected sex with
others outside a monogamous relationship. But it isn't
okay to *HAVE* unprotected sex with people other than
a trusted partner. You only have one body per lifetime,
so take good care of it!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kristen's collection - Directory 36