Future of Porn

All in all, I was pretty pleased with the way that things had gone at the garden center. Despite my fantasies, I had not really expected that we would have the opportunity to have Katie just walking around topless for that long in a public place. Granted, it sort of fell into our usual “restricted access” public nudity, but I felt that we made some progress both by initially surprising the boys and then by really leaving it in their hands as to whom she was exposed. They could easily have brought back just about anybody that they wanted to have see her. Of course, Katie could just as easily have put her shirt back on and the show would have been over.

Although we both enjoyed our little adventure, our intentions had been to see if we could get away from our “restricted” exposure and see what some more “public” reactions would be. Really, a lot of this came out of Katie’s “confession” of wanting to expose herself to Larry and Sharon and some of the questions that were raised when she subsequently did expose herself to Larry. The questions were not only of how far we could go, but how far we should allow ourselves to go.

All sorts of things go on behind closed doors and to think otherwise is just foolish. The question becomes a personal one of where to draw the lines? Not everyone is going to mark the same boundaries. For us, we were not looking to be swingers or anything like that. But what boundary do you make between that public life of family, friends, neighbors, and business associates and that of “play” time? Is it necessary to separate things totally? As Katie asked, do you bare yourself to a complete stranger and then a few hours later sit down to dinner with your closest friends and talk about the weather, kids, and whether you are going to go with the honey mustard or raspberry walnut vinaigrette salad dressing? Obviously, you are not going to stand up in Sunday School and announce to your fellow parishioners that you took your wife to the barber and watched while he shaved her pussy and expect them to pat you on the back and tell you that they are glad to have such people in the congregation. If they do, that must be some church! But is there a middle ground? Or are you forced to lead a dual life if you are going to even consider doing such things in your life but still maintain some semblance of decorum in your everyday life?

There was no way that either one of us would involve Larry and Sharon if we knew that it was going to harm either our friendship with them or their relationship with each other. Yet I was slowly beginning to realize my naivete when it came to certain issues. I really had not given much thought to where things would ultimately lead once I started down the path of exposing Katie to Larry. I have to admit that my initial thoughts were just that he would be safe. I knew that he would not be unkind to her and knew that with his relationship with Sharon that he would not consider cheating on her. What I wasn’t seeing was that by involving Larry I was de facto involving Sharon. And in involving Larry AND Sharon I was involving another couple and that changed the dynamic considerably.

The lessons that I ended up learning were of the differences in how men and women relate to the world around them. You can work next to a guy in the office for years or see him every week at the gym and never know that he is dying of cancer or his wife is leaving him or some other such earthshaking event. Two women sit down next to each other on a bench in the mall and within ten minutes are talking about their kids, sharing recipes, and giving family histories to each other. Ok, so I exaggerate, but women definitely have a need to share more about themselves. This is what Katie began to explain to me, that she needed an outlet for what we were doing. Sure, it meant something that we were sharing all of this together and it was bringing us closer, but I slowly saw that it went further than that.

Even if we only showed her to Larry and he kept that secret from Sharon, Katie needed someone to share her story with. The womenfolk try to make us feel guilty about what is talked about in the locker room or at the bar when it is just the guys, but let me clue you in on the fact that women share everything with their friends down to the details that would make a man blush. But these were realizations that I came to much later. Perhaps I should just stick to the story in the order of events as they happened. At this point, the only issue was that I began to realize that Katie needed a female confidant and the only question was whether we had a chance of successfully including Sharon and Larry into all of this or if we were doomed to hurt feelings and misunderstandings if we even tried.

So it may not have been the most straightforward or valid way to get answers, but what happened at the garden center was more than just a enjoyable episode for us. More than just that we had pushed the envelop a bit further with a few more people than before and in a bit more public place than before, but also that the guys had been able to treat Katie as a person even though she had her top off. And that gave us some small hope. It left us with the feeling that perhaps we were not totally out of line for thinking that we could expose Katie without it being a fully separate “sexual” life of ours.

Our initial failure with trying to have Katie’s “play” accepted in public had been that we had dressed Katie up “slutty” and then were surprised when people reacted to her accordingly. I admit that I was being naive about things. I was basing my reaction on knowing Katie as a person first and then seeing her dressed in “hot” clothes. Anyone else, not knowing her as a person first, was forming their entire reaction to her based solely on how she was dressed.

The small white t-shirt and jeans looked wholesome enough at first glance. Coupled with Katie’s natural demeanor, it came across as though she was unaware of the effect that her clothing was having on people. Even when she ended up topless at the garden center, she acted so naturally about it that the guys came to accept it as though it was not completely out of the ordinary. Don’t get me wrong, I mean they obviously got off on her being topless but they were able to still see her as a person instead of just a pair of boobs. This is really what we were looking for all along.

So to continue with our success, we took an evening to go out shopping to try to come up with some more outfits that Katie could wear that would allow her to show off while maintaining some semblance of a wholesome look. The only thing to our disadvantage was that you can never seem to buy clothing for the current season. Just as the Christmas displays start going up before Halloween anymore, it seems like they have bikinis on display while there is still snow on the ground and winter coats when you could fry an egg on the sidewalk. The benefit to us was that the summer clothing that we could find was all clearance priced. The problem was that things were pretty well picked over and we really were not finding anything that seemed to work. Most of the stuff was pretty modest and it seemed that anything that was at all revealing was downright trashy, the dregs that nobody else would buy. Trash at half price is still trash.

So Katie ended up looking at things more with an eye towards what she would actually wear and was able to find some sundresses that she liked. She picked out a few and disappeared into the dressing room with her selection to try them on, coming out to model each one for me. One of them really appealed to her but she asked me if I could try to find it a size smaller. The size she had looked good on her but did seem just a bit bulky. While she went back in to try on the next dress, I looked around and did manage to find the dress in the next smaller size. I took it up to the dressing room and stood there for a few minutes while waiting for her to come back out. The dress had looked cute on her but with its ankle length, short sleeves, and modest neckline it wasn’t anything racy. At this point I had resigned myself to the fact that we were not going to find anything “revealing” that evening and was just happy that the trip would not be a total waste if Katie found something “normal” to wear.

But standing there with the dress in my hand and absentmindedly looking at it, I realized that it was actually made up of two thin layers of fabric. Since the two layers were sewn together at the seams I could not get a real view through only the one layer of the outer fabric, but it seemed that it was translucent without being totally transparent. The wheels began to turn in my mind. The only problem was that Katie was currently considering the dress for “normal” wear and probably wouldn’t take too kindly to having it clipped apart into something that she could only wear semi-indecently. I was just thinking that if the lining were cut out of it she could still possibly wear it with a slip if she wanted to stay decent when she came out of the dressing room. The dress that she was trying on looked nice, but did not have the same style to it as the one she tried on before, the one I was holding in my hand. She thanked me for finding the smaller size and disappeared back into the dressing room to try that one on. While I was waiting, I decided to make a quick search and was able to turn up exactly one more dress in that size. I guess that luck was with me. Looking at the pricetag, I decided that with the sale prices I was willing to pay for a duplicate to play with. I went back to wait at the dressing room, stashing the dress on a nearby rack where I could keep an eye on it without Katie questioning why I was holding it.

Katie came out of the dressing room and the smaller size definitely fit better on her. As it was, the dress actually looked pretty sexy on her as it was, in a wholesome sort of way. Yet I was already trying to judge how it would look with the lining cut out of it. From a purely legitimate standpoint, it was a nice dress and Katie looked good in it. The full length, sleeves, and modest neckline gave the dress a certain respectability. The sort of thing that I could see her wearing to a church picnic without any of the matriarchs raising a snit. But without a lining I could envision being able to see the silhouette of her body through the material and with the light cream color I wondered if you would be able to see a shadow of her aureolas and pubic hair through it. If we could strip the lining out of it I was pretty sure that it would do nicely, mixing respectability and indecency in just about the right balance.

Katie decided that this dress was the only one that she really liked, not knowing my evil intentions for its twin, and disappeared into the dressing room a final time to change back into her street clothes. When she came back out with the dress in her hand, I was standing there with its twin in my hand. At first she did not comprehend, thinking that it was the larger dress and told me that I could put it back on one of the racks. When I told her that this one was the same size as the one in her hand, I only confused her further and she told me that she only needed one. I replied that this one was for me and in the way her eyes lit up I knew that she had a brief mental picture of me wearing the dress, so I interjected that she would still be the one wearing it but that it would still be for me. She held the dress in her hand up a bit to look at it closer as she began to realize what I was saying.

She commented that the salesgirl was going to look at her a bit strange when she took two identical dresses up to the counter. I replied that I’d take the other one to a different register and buy it there and would even give her the money to buy hers since she was always so willing to indulge me. I fished a few bills out of my wallet and handed them to her. We went our separate ways and met up again several minutes later each with our own matching shopping bag. I told Katie that the salesgirl had even complemented me on my taste and had said that she was sure that my wife was going to love the dress. If she only knew my real intentions for it! We both had a laugh at that.

Altering the dress took some work and Katie ended up borrowing a sewing machine from her aunt to re-sew the seams after we had carefully cut the stitching apart to separate the lining. The work we put in just to have some fun! It did turn out nicely, though. Our seams were all smooth and you had to actually look closely at them to be able to tell that they were not original. Doing so was important because we both felt that if the dress looked “homemade” then it would be fairly obvious that any exposure was intentional. If the dress looked like it was bought off the rack, then perhaps Katie did not know how revealing it was?

When it was all finished, Katie put it on and wore it around the house and outside in the yard just to see how the dress looked and how much you were actually able to see under different lighting conditions. Some people would have you believe that a material that is totally opaque and decent suddenly turns completely transparent in sunlight or some other certain condition and you could see every detail of the person underneath. I’ll admit that different lighting can make some difference, but I’ve never seen a dramatic difference that went from completely discreet to “every detail” under any normal conditions — other than getting a fabric wet.

Under moderate lighting, the light cream color and minimal pattern of Katie’s dress only kept her barely discreet. You could not see any detail, but if you looked you could see a bit of the shadow of her aureolas. The light color of her pubes combined with the fact that Katie kept them closely trimmed did not leave much to give a shadow down below, though. She’d have to wear a black thong to give people the impression that they were seeing her bush. Backlighting did a nice job of showing off the silhouette of her legs, but the light and the viewer would have to be positioned exactly for anyone to see the outline of her nether lips. Brighter lighting and especially fluorescent lighting did bring out the contrast of her aureolas through the material. It still was not to the point that you could really see any detail, but it was fairly obvious that she wasn’t wearing anything else under the dress. The other benefit of removing the lining was that now there was only one thin layer of fabric covering her and it draped across her body in a more revealing way than the two layers had. Most noticeable was the way that Katie’s nipples poked into the thin fabric. We actually switched back and forth between the altered dress and the original one a few times to see exactly what differences the lack of a lining made.

Katie did find an excellent way to show off when she stood over one of our landscape lights in the backyard after dusk. The dress lit up like one of those oriental paper lanterns, showing off her body quite clearly up to her waist. The waistline kept the light from traveling any further up her body under the dress, but if she leaned forward she could get the dress to fall away from her chest a bit and give some tantalizing illumination up to the underside of her breasts. So there was a way for the dress to become completely transparent and show her off in all her glory without resorting to rain or sprinklers!

For our first trip out with Katie’s new dress, we ventured out to the local town park on a Saturday morning. We briefly discussed the odds of running into a neighbor or someone else that we knew, but decided that the odds of that happening were pretty low. Besides, the dress was not totally lewd and the whole point was to get people’s reactions. We agreed that the dress was not indecent enough to warrant any really slanderous comments around the neighborhood if she was seen in it.

We parked the car and started out just walking around, holding hands and talking like any other couple in love. Katie was wearing her dress (obviously) with a pair of white Keds for a casual look. I was wearing my usual jeans along with a knit shirt. Katie gives me a certain amount of grief at times for always wearing long pants. As a kid, I was always getting into things and scraping up my knees. I ended up always wearing jeans to give me some protection and it’s something that has always stuck with me. Even on the hottest days it is rare to find me in shorts. Completing our outfits, we were both wearing sunglasses so that we could check out other people’s reactions a little easier without being completely obvious.

We strolled down along the treeline, skirting the open area with the ball fields, tennis courts, and basketball courts. We passed a few other couples and a number of families as we walked. We got the usual glances, but nobody really stared and we did not seem to get the hairy eyeball from anyone. Then again, we did not really come up face to face with anyone either, so perhaps nobody got a good enough look to be either intrigued or offended.

We bypassed the main playground area. There were maybe a half dozen younger kids there with a few parents. We figured that parents might be a little more protective of their children and take offense with Katie’s outfit. Off to the side a ways were some swings that were being ignored by the kids, so we wandered over that way and Katie sat down on one of them and I got behind her to start pushing her gently.

It was probably only about five minutes before a little boy and girl separated from the other kids and came running over to us, full of questions. Where were our children? Why was I pushing “the mommy” on the swing? Where did we live?

A young couple quickly hurried over to “save” us from the inquisition and apologize to us. Katie laughed and reassured them that it was not a problem and said how cute they were. Introductions were made and Katie and Melissa were soon sitting on swings talking while Andrew and I ended up pushing the kids on the swings.

What was I saying about how women relate?

The women were sitting on their swings facing opposite to the kids so that they could they could face them and keep an eye on them. That left Andrew and me facing the women as well. As Katie and Melissa talked and we swung the kids, I was beginning to think that we had been too conservative with Katie’s dress.

I figured that my fears were realized when I overheard Melissa complementing Katie on her dress and telling her how much she liked it. I was saved when she paused for a moment and then giggled, saying that she was sure that Andrew liked it too. I had not really noticed him looking, but apparently his wife had caught him.

Katie looked down at herself for a moment, gave a laugh, and told Melissa that she knew it was a bit revealing but that I had convinced her that it was not that noticeable.

Melissa laughed at that, saying that Andrew was the same way.

The kids were young enough that I did not notice that they were picking up on anything that was being said. I think that Andrew felt a bit guilty about being caught, because he didn’t comment and seemed to do his best not to gawk at Katie anymore. Melissa had seemed to have a sense of humor about it, so I sort of thought that it was a shame that nothing more was said.

After awhile the kids decided that they wanted to play on the slide and the group of them left with hurried good-byes as the kids drug their parents off to the other side of the playground. Katie and I stayed at the swings for a bit as I resumed pushing her on her swing before we decided to move along.

We walked around the park a bit more, getting a few whistles from some guys playing basketball. Truthfully, I don’t think that they got close enough to really see the full effect. Their loss. Not exactly the most exciting episode, but it let us know that it was conservative enough that we could get away with her wearing it in public while still being daring enough to provoke interest based on Melissa’s comments.

I knelt down to my trusty knees again, and looked up at him. My pussy had been bone-dry until then — I was concentrating too much on getting him in the room. Then I was concentrating on keeping his mouth busy so he couldn’t talk. But as soon as my knees hit the floor, I got “wet”. I felt a flood of warm juiciness flow through my cunt, “oh man!”

If you ever want to give me a signal, Tyler, to blow some guy? Just tap my knees. They’re my new erogenous zone. Any time I get on my knees, my cunt gets wet, my mouth starts to water. I mean, I start drooling. It’s stupid, the way my body is wired now. If you tap my knees, I won’t be able to say anything but “yes.”

So I capped my mouth over his cock, and I thought he came just then. But no, my saliva was running out of my mouth, down his shaft. I bobbed down and sucked it all back in, making a big slurping noise.

“Oh, shit,” he gasped. “You’re so wet!”

“Mmmm-hmmm,” I agreed. “Sorry I have to go fast.”

“You’re on a schedule, I know,” he said.

He was hard in under thirty seconds (unlike the older guy in Queens). I had his shaft in my hand, and I was pumping it like crazy, my mouth over the top half. I used my tongue to slather all up and down it. Every now and then, I just zoned out, working his cock.

I could smell him, and he smelled like the guy in Queens. When I closed my eyes, half the time I was picturing myself in his shitty little newspaper stand, gunking up my knees. It’s like the rest of the day didn’t occur, like it was just one long blow-job from morning to afternoon.

That’s what sent me over. Plus the pressure of his cock on my lips, moving them in and out. Plus his pubic hair on my cheeks, when I sucked him all in. You know how I like feeling your stubble on my face? Same thing, but with his cock hair. The stubble makes me know I’m with a man, and that pubic hair made me “really” feel like I was with a man.

I sort of sank my mouth down on his cock, and buried my nose in his pubis, and rubbed my cheeks against him. It made me come. I came, just by sucking some guy’s cock. And it was a different kind of orgasm.

I think, as women get older, they get more, better, and different orgasms. This one just hit the base of my throat, and spread down my chest, into my stomach, into my cunt. I really knew what ‘cunt’ meant then, as a word. I was “all” cunt, but my cunt was my mouth, and he was pissing this orgasm-feeling down my throat.

I was simply working my jaws, throbbing his cock with my tongue, and swallowing against the head with my throat. I had him “buried” in my face, Tyler. This pretty face you’re staring at. My pretty little lips wrapped around his tool.

My orgasm passed, and I pulled back just as he shot off. It hit my cheek and slid down my front. Then I had him back in my mouth, and I was pulling hard as he spurted on my tongue. I kept it up until he started getting soft.

“Did you come, too?” he asked incredulously.

I rocked back on my heels, breathing hard. His eyes were devouring me — my tits were flushed, with cum streaked on them. My mouth was open, a pool of his cum floating at the top, dripping over my lips.

I nodded, swallowing. “Shit yeah, that’s never happened before.”

“You were… I don’t know the words. Awesome. I didn’t know a blow-job could be like that.”

“I get a lot of practice,” I teased him. “You should’ve been at my initiation!”

We pulled ourselves back together. He said, “We should do this again.”

I realized that, oh crap, he had just asked me back here for another blow-job. That was the first time he asked. Because — remember? Just ten minutes before, we had agreed on the ‘Ask 3 times and I say yes’ rule.

“I don’t think so,” I said demurely. I was trying to get the cum off my chest, but I was just spreading it around. He was watching me play with it, trying to rub it into my tits, licking my fingers. With all that going on, how could I act all innocent and firmly shoot him down?

“No, really,” he insisted. “This was so wonderful. You have to do it again.”

He had now asked twice.

“This time was just a dare,” I explained. “You’re sure you want me to suck you off, every Thursday, in this study room, at this time?”

Trust me, Tyler, he was just a guy. I’m getting pretty comfortable with guys, and I knew he was nothing special. Just a normal, nice guy. But I guess I gave him that opening because I had this cool new rule, and I wanted to use it.

“Your boyfriend wouldn’t have to know,” he said. “I wouldn’t tell anybody. Just ten minutes every Thursday! Please?”

That was the third time he asked.

You asshole, Tyler. You knew that would happen. You knew guys would be begging like puppies. I think it’s the begging that turns me on the most. So in a way, it all works out just fine.

“Yes,” I said. “Every Thursday.” I had to say that. It was the rules, wasn’t it?

“Really? You mean it?” He was exultant. Someone in the next study room over banged on the wall — he was being too loud.

“Yes, I mean it,” I whispered.

I’d given up trying to deal with the sperm on my chest. I’d only spread it around, and it was glistening on my neck and tits. I’d have to visit the bathroom and wash it off. I pulled my dress back up, and it was sticking to my tits, going all transparent like it does when I sweat in the subway.

“You’re the best, oh, man!” He grabbed my face and gave me a hot kiss. And as I opened the door, he honked my tits again. “Your mouth is awesome!”

I dodged out of the room, but not before he’d cupped my ass, too. “Oh, thank you!” he whispered.

I got out of there.

He was hot on my tail, but I just walked along, ignoring him. I knew you’d want to see me coming back, so I went out on the main path again. I looked into the lounge, but I couldn’t pick you out from all the faces there. They were all pointed my way, but I was back to not caring.

Before coming into the lounge, I turned off and went into the women’s bathroom, to clean up.

And when I came out, you were there by the door with my bag.

* * * * *

We were back in my apartment. As she talked, she gathered the frock in her hands and pulled it up off her head in one smooth motion. It was dry — there wasn’t much of it to stay wet — but it had a crusty imprint where it had covered her chest and soaked up the cum. And yes, people had noticed. And more would probably notice as she rode the train home that evening.

She joined me in the bed, climbing on top of me.

“There’s more to this story,” I told her.

“Oh, really?” She liked both telling the stories and hearing them.

My cock slid into her without any resistance. She gave a little shout that I’m sure our roommates heard. It sounded like tonight, she was primed to go multi-orgasmic.

“Yeah,” I grunted. “We all watched you drag that poor guy away.”

She snickered at that.

“And we all watched you come back, with him chasing you. And your tits all shiny and messed up.”

“Everybody could see?”

“I bet they could. If I could see it, they could.”

“I’m such a fool,” she groaned. It was a sexy groan, not a humiliated one. Or maybe they were mixed together. “I was just thinking “you” should see.”

“We all saw, baby. It was hot. You know that thing goes transparent when it’s wet?”

“The thing “is” transparent,” she smiled. “In the right light, you can see right through it. I think it’s my riskiest dress.”

“But it’s beige, and usually people have to guess, or look closely. But it was see-through. Wow. And you jumped into the bathroom.”

“I sure did. I told you I didn’t manage to do much more than spread the cum over my tits.”

“That was the best,” I added.

“You like that? Should I wear cum every day, do you think?”

She was teasing me, but there was an edge of seriousness to it that made me consider it. I asked, “Do you think you could get turned on, by the feeling of cum drying on you? And wearing it around, like clothes?”

She bit her lip, looking down at me. Her hips were rocking back and forth, milking my cock. “In one day, my knees have become an erogenous zone. I get turned on by being on my knees. I think I could get turned on by cum spattered all over me for the world to see.”

“We’ll have to try it,” I said.

“Just a splatter, here or there, drying into a crust? Like, I put on my earrings. I put on my lipstick. I put on my watch. I rub some cum on me?”

She was testing it out. The concept was totally turning her on. I could feel her getting wetter and wetter.

“Somewhere where the air can hit it–” I added.

“And people will notice it.”

“And it’s shiny, but it dries into a white little crust. Like a streak.”

“Like a little dribble of semen that I missed when I was cleaning up.” She groaned, louder than ever. I heard the TV in the other room get turned down. My horny room-mates, turning down the volume, so they could hear Carol having sex. “On my neck. On my shoulder. On my tits.”

“There’s more to the story,” I reminded her.

“Forget the story for a second. Make it a rule. Make the “cum-rule.” “Fuckit:” I’ll make it myself. New rule — when I’m blowing a guy, I have to take one of the spurts on my body. I have to let it dry. And if people ask, I have to be honest about it.”

“That’s a great rule,” I said.

“You think so? Are you proud of me?” She had a marvelous smile on her face.

I dug into her deeper, to make her louder. I was thinking of how my room-mates looked at her. Especially after she’d just had a screaming orgasm. She never mentioned it, perhaps she thought the door blocked the noise.

After sex, I decided, I’d ask her to go out in a towel to take a shower. And I’d ask her to stay in the towel while we all hung out and watched TV. Yeah. She’d do it, too. By this point, a towel was more modest than her street clothes.

“After you went into the bathroom, that guy came into the lounge.”

“He did?” she peered down at me.

“He went to the big table. All your buddies were there, staring at him expectantly. He said, ‘Guess which girl named Carol, also known as Cock-tease, just gave me the best blow-job of my life?’”

I’d rehearsed it, to make it come out smoothly. I had to give credit to the guy — he had delivered the line like a pro.

Carol was frozen above me. “He… He knew who I was?”

I nodded, smiling.

She said, “He knew my name? He knew my name is Cock-tease?”

“Your name is Carol,” I said.

“Whatever,” she said. “He knew, and he didn’t tell me?”

I said, “His friends were all slapping high fives, saying stuff. Carol, they “all” knew you.”

“Oh, fuck!” Her hips were shaking, driving my cock wild. Her fingernails clenched my chest. She was coming, but keeping it under control.

I said, “And you, Carol, didn’t recognize him! He was laughing, about how every day you and he hang out, and you kiss him. They were pressing him for details. I heard, first hand, what guys think about your cock-sucking. He said you were the best, and you had an orgasm because you love cock so much.”

My voice was lashing her, making her lose control. She was building a bunch of small orgasms into one big one.

“And he told them how, afterwards, you smeared the cum all over your chest, as you talked to him. And you promised to do him, every Thursday. You didn’t even get a signed note, for your ’sorority’ dare!”

She mewled like a kitten. She might’ve been past words, but she wasn’t past hearing.

“And all your buddies heard about it, and half the lounge. And every time you walk into that lounge, those people will know you suck cock. And all the guys you meet — all your ‘friends’ — could be guys who know you’re a cock sucker. You don’t know. You don’t even know which of your friends you sucked off. You have so many kiss-and-touch friends now, you don’t even know who they all are! A guy could walk up to you, put his hand on your thigh and kiss you, and you’d kiss right back, and let his hand slide up your leg, never even knowing he was a complete stranger!”

Her pelvis was machine-gunning against mine. I kept talking, trying to get her to come with my voice alone.

“And you were playing with his cum. Rubbing his cum into your tits. Sucking his cum down into your stomach. Walking past all his friends with cum on your chest. The same friends you talk to, hug, kiss — all of them will now be checking you out for cum stains.”

She gave a screaming orgasm. It lasted about fifteen seconds, and she was sobbing afterwards. I had come, meanwhile, and I hugged her to me.

* * * * *

I was laughing, she was laughing and crying both. “You’re the best. We have the best sex in the world!”

“You’re the best, too,” she whispered.

“Next time we fuck, you gotta leave the door open a crack. I want my roommates to hear what I do to you.”

“Okay,” she said simply.

“And, in a few minutes, you should go out and apologize to them. For being so noisy.”

“Okay, sure,” she sighed.

“Just wear a small towel when you go.”

“Okay.”

I hugged her even closer. “I love it when you just say, “yes yes yes.” And I know you mean it.”

“I love it too. Always saying yes, never saying no. Everything’s perfect. I love it when you make me so mushy — so happy that I can’t say no.” She squeezed me with her pussy, and my cock slid out. “You want me to go talk to them in a towel?”

But instead of Carol going out to antagonize my roommates by being nearly-naked and available, she fell asleep. We both dozed off, comfortably nestled together. When she woke up it was eight o’clock, and time for her to go home.

She insisted she was okay, she didn’t need me to walk her to the subway. She kissed me good-bye, and let me snooze peacefully. When I woke up again, well rested at 11pm, all I had was the memory of her amazing day, and the scent of her perfume in my room.

I felt guilty.

Carol was the perfect girl. Beautiful face, with widely placed green eyes, full lips and a strong chin. Crazy, thick, curly, expensive-looking blonde hair. Strongly muscled body — she jogged every morning, and ate like a horse. Intelligent, getting A’s in all her classes, soaring through papers and midterms. Intensely interested in everything, frequently drifting into question and answer sessions with strange men about oblique topics. Innocent, ambitious, willing to forgive, unwilling to judge. When we weren’t playing our sexy games, she had a goofy sense of humor that always bubbled to the surface.

I was suffering crisis of conscience. I wrote her an email, detailing all my plans for the next night. I knew she’d check her messages in the morning, and this would be the first thing she read when she woke up.

I wrote everything I planned, and when I finished, I added:

“”I love you, but it’s a crazy love, and I’m addicted to everything about you. If you’ve read all this, you know I’d like to take us to the next level. If you don’t want to do this, don’t come to dinner. I will still love you, but I’ll know that we should make our relationship more normal. If you do show up, I will love you and keep you safe for as long as you want me.”"

I reread the message, and before I lost my nerve, I pressed Send.

When she felt the first tongue, a look of faint surprise crossed her face, and then she got a crafty expression. After that, she got more liquor “on” her than in her, by closing her mouth or turning her head suddenly. Unreproved, her friends held her more tightly, and dove in to give long licks on her cheek, chin, neck, and even chest.

*Body Shots*

Yes, even her chest. In every group of men, there’s always one poor guy who is worth feeling a little sorry for. One guy with a reversed baseball cap, a little short and a little too thin, had positioned himself in front of her. He stared into her face from six inches away with a moony expression, lost and dreamy — he was completely drunk.

When the next shot went down her front, I craned my head to see what he was doing. He had two hands under her arms, and he pushed in with the heels of his palms, mashing her chest together. Then his head bobbed down and he was bodily licking the tops of her breasts.

Carol ignored this heavy-duty attention. She was still shouting and accepting congratulations, still with her arms above her head. Everybody else noticed, though. In the group-grab, her dress meant little. Her breasts flashed in and out from under the small silk triangles over her chest, and the straps were sliding all over her shoulders. “The drunk girl is letting him lick her tits!”

They all wanted a turn. So did I. I shouted, “Body shots! Let’s do body shots off Easy!”

Suddenly I was a genius. Without even consulting her, they swept Carol off her feet and back to the bar. She was laughing at their frenzy. A wild, uncontrolled laughter that she couldn’t stop, even as they lifted her to sit on the bar.

Everybody was yelling, “Body shots!” and the bartenders quickly complied. They swept the clutter off the bar top, and even kindly ran a towel over the surface before they pulled her down.

We lifted her legs up to the bar, and then pivoted her around so she was lying on the length. Her clogs fell off, and were ignored. Her knees were bent and her bare feet dug into the wood, giving purchase. It was a foregone conclusion — her panties were on display under her thighs.

Her ass was hard on the counter, and the backs of her thighs, with the curves of her ass, all made a sunken little cove where the panties covered her snatch. The panties were lit brightly, and some lucky guy cupped her ass, his fingers on the delicate skin where her inner thigh met her torso.

I was mesmerized by the hand so close to her sex. I didn’t see when the rest of it happened. As Carol was laughing and shouting things that went unheard in the throng, the brooch on her hip was undone. Carol didn’t undo it — her hands were crossed behind her head, cradling it so she could look down at herself. The dress was flipped open, and there she was: reclined on the bar covered in nothing but her panties. She was naked, except for two little straps over her hips and some thin fabric that was, for all intents and purposes, sheer.

I gathered from the bartenders that this was not an uncommon occurrence. They had a procedure — they were putting bottles of vodka out, and one of them was already standing on a box beside Carol and running an ice cube down her stomach to her belly button.

We were all standing over her, she was chest-level with us. The pressure of the crowd was intense, as everybody pushed forward to see what was going on. Now that Carol was bare, with her breasts pointed at the ceiling, she seemed to have some sort of shield up — nobody wanted to grab her, or, nobody wanted to be seen groping the girl. Us guys can be just that civilized.

(And I may disparage guys in general, but really the guys in our group were funny, handsome, and very nice. It’s just that I don’t think anybody is good enough for Carol.)

“Who’s first?” yelled the senior bartender. He took a bottle, and aimed it at her sternum. The liquor glugged out of the nozzle, and ran down the sunken causeway of her stomach to her belly button, where it pooled.

The guy with the reversed baseball cap was first. He didn’t give anybody else a chance. He layed his ear on her lower stomach, below her belly button. He just let his head lie on her lap, and he sucked the vodka off of her stomach. His eyes were fixed on the two high mounds of her chest, or on Carol’s green-brown eyes — she stared down at him through her tits as he tongued the liquor out of her belly button. To her, it mostly seemed ticklish — her stomach crunched (muscles rippling), her breasts shook, and she kicked her little feet on the counter and screamed with laughter.

Much encouraged, the next guy drank his body shot from her belly button, and then licked his way up to her sternum. There was always a bartender ready with a rag, to wipe off her body — even where she didn’t exactly need it. I watched them more closely — “yep”. They had that “professional” thing going for them, like a masseuse or personal trainer; their hands were everywhere on Carol and it seemed fine, their touches weren’t lecherous, but they certainly weren’t clinical either.

By now, Carol had another bartender serving drinks off her. He let his bottle drizzle alcohol off the inner sides of her chest, where it ran down and pooled in the nape of her neck. The shot-taker nuzzled her neck as he drank the alcohol, his cheek rubbing against the tops of her breasts.

Carol had “pairs” of men drinking off her, their heads down like pigs at a trough. She kept her hands behind her head, even as hands, rags, faces, lips and tongues ranged up and down her naked torso. The crowd was hooting and cheering, Carol shouting along with them. No sooner was one guy done, than he was jostled aside and replaced by another.

“Put whipped cream on my nipples!” she yelled.

They poured shots off her everywhere: neck shots, belly button shots, stomach shots, mouth shots with nipple chasers. Then one guy, done emptying the liquor from her belly button, turned his head and planted a long, sucking kiss on the mound of her vagina.

Carol screamed, “I was “wondering” when you guys would think of that!”

The guy on her neck had his hand wrapped around her nearest breast, seemingly casual, with his thumb sliding over her nipple. The next guy mostly ignored the vodka, instead scooping her body up in two arms and rubbing his face up and down her stomach. The audience was starting to get out of hand.

She was only up there for about ten minutes. I guessed most girls giving body-shots only stayed for one or two, but Carol could have stayed up there all night, until she was plastered from the alcohol soaking through her skin.

Finally, the senior bartender whispered in her ear, and she nodded. The bartenders lovingly buffed her dry and she got to her feet — to the groans of everybody who had lined up for a body shot. The lights went on full power, and she danced to another song. Her dress hung from its straps off her elbows, so she was twisting, turning, and squatting on top of the bar in nothing but her soaked panties.

She played the crowd. Barefoot, she traveled short distances up and down the bar. The hands caught at her feet, her calves. When she squatted and shook her chest at the crowd, the hands palmed the round rocks of her calves, or roamed up her thighs.

The music cut off, and the lights went down again. Carol, waving at the pandemonium, walked back to her group and slid off the bar. I grabbed her clogs for her. By the time I’d turned back, it was a repeat of her earlier bar-dancing episode.

She was dripping with guys, getting pulled between embraces like a tug of war. The straps of her dress were back on her shoulders, but in the tight press, she had her arms up again. It was useless to try and close it. More shots were being proffered to her, and a few were upended over her in the throng. Her hair, once so carefully coiffed, was wet with liquor and perspiration.

I pressed through and got close to her. She was shouting something at one guy. On the other side of her, another guy was working on her neck with his mouth. Hands were wrapped all up and down her torso, with errant, anonymous fingers reaching out to flick her nipples, or cup her chest momentarily. No less than three hands were on her ass.

The most amazing thing was — hidden in the massive confusion, there was a hand down the front of her panties. A “whole hand,” the knuckles covered by the fabric, was down her panties, the fingers working in her snatch.

I looked closely at her delicate skin in the uncertain light, and I could see the full-body blush that went over her breasts, up her neck, down her back. Her whole body was a sensory zone, sending information about hands and fingers on her skin. Whoever it was — and I never discovered who — was getting an epic feel of her pussy. She was subtly complicit, she had her legs were splayed wide, for balance.

I came up behind her. Her view of life: dozens of male faces floating in and out of focus. Arms and hands reaching towards her over other people’s shoulders. Drinks getting pressed to her lips, or being poured down her front. It was chaos.

I shouted, “Do you want to go home with someone?”

“Fuck yeah!” she shouted, past all caring. “I want to go home with someone and fuck them silly! I want to fuck them so hard, their daddies feel it! And then I’ll do the daddies! And then I’ll hand-hump their daddies’ bosses! During an important conference call! Fuck “yeah” I want to go home with someone!”

“How about me?” I shouted.

“Okay! Sure! Bye everybody!”

The faces on the guys around us were classic. Surprise, shock, despair, I couldn’t help but laugh. But I knew I had to get her out of there.

I brought her arms down. Rather than covering herself, she put her arms behind her back, which lifted her chest and brought her breasts up to full magnitude. With her clogs in one hand, I wrapped my arms around her and lifted her off her feet. Before anybody could organize a general objection, or even collect her digits, I turned and carried her to the door.

She was still uncovered, her bare feet kicking the air, as I pushed her through the crowd tits-first. I know for a fact that people were copping feels — hands everywhere. Her head was leaned back on my shoulder, she was laughing at the ceiling.

Outside, it was still crowded on the sidewalk. I put her on the pavement, and turned her towards me. I gave her a deep kiss, which she returned with her incredibly wet mouth. Then I held her at arm’s length as she composed herself.

When I’d carried her out, the hand down her panties had been forcibly removed. Her panties now hung low off her hips, quite low, the top of her pubic bone two inches above the elastic. She looked delectable — and she was already drawing a new crowd of admirers.

“Drop your panties,” I whispered to her.

She was breathing hard and looking around wildly, but she understood me well enough. She hooked her thumbs over the straps of her underwear, and pushed them down her thighs. They slid to her feet and she left them on the sidewalk. Then she got into the clogs and refastened the brooch on her dress. She was still soaked, reeking of liquor, but she now looked more presentable.

She put her arms up and said, “Ta-da!”

“You’re incredible,” I told her.

“I’m a treat for the crowds,” she agreed. “Some night we should just stay there, and see what happens. Think I can go an hour in just my undies?”

I dragged her to the sidewalk and signaled for a cab. It was easy to get one, with Carol on my arm. We slid in, and I told him to take us to 42nd Street.

“Some guy was “in” me, baby,” she told me breathlessly. The lights of the city reflected in her wide eyes. She was a bundle in my arms, vibrating with energy. “Up to the knuckle. “Right” on my g-spot. I hope we find him again. Him, or any number of other guys.”

She looked up at me. “Was that slutty enough for you? Because it wasn’t slutty enough for “me.”"

“Just hold on,” I told her.

Because for Part 3 of our night, we would be visiting what was then the sex-capital of NYC. Our big night was still just beginning.

By the time he dropped me off, I had a free ride, and a phone number in my pocket. I promised to call him in a day or two.

“That” was sexy (to me, at that moment). Talking about Carol like she was a sex-toy, promising her to strangers. “That” was hot, not this nihilistic ‘give myself to the world’ crap that had taken over her mind. I imagined ‘giving’ her to all sorts of guys, for all the wrong reasons. It was a turn-on, one she shared — I’d thought.

Giving Carol away, “lending” her out to guys — It was just so “wrong”, especially if you knew the wonderful, smart, funny Carol. It was a work of art, seeing such a girl become so “depraved”, and then turn around and dissolve in giggles at a corny joke. And she knew it, too. I had thought we were exceptional, two split-personalities blinking on and off in tandem, incredible, incredible, incredible. Man, but I loved her.

Then I remembered that she was gone, off on her “own thing.” I felt alone, but forced my mind back into its fantasies.

I jacked off endlessly to those fantasies that night. (And I also had a stack pictures of “my” Carol in the glory hole booth.) I hadn’t come the whole evening, and I had more than a little saved up. Here I was, like a fool, fisting myself. I had a bit of fun with it nonetheless, until I realized my fantasies were ways of punishing her.

In the end analysis, I didn’t want to punish her. I only wanted to find out what she was thinking. I was hoping I’d continue to be a part of her life.