The Cocktail Table

By Sue NH

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 effect 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 protector 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-eared. 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 that 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 that 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 that cuts across her large breasts, creasing deeply into her wide, brown areola 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.

Now that the women are engaged in exhibitionist masturbation, I turn my attention to the men. I tell them to take off their underwear. That command is a relief to them, since the restraining embrace of the fabric has become uncomfortable. Their hard shafts of pink flesh come springing out from their traps, and all six point straight outwards and upwards, bouncing against arms as the men bend over to push the bikinis down their legs and over their feet. When they are all standing upright again, their erections sway and bob randomly. All of the men have wet spots on the heads of their cocks, and I have to sternly demand that they keep their hands off their meat. I make them perform like the Rockettes, twitching their cocks up and down in unison, then grinding their hips so that their erections oscillate in big circles. It is sort of a masculine version of the bump and grind tit-twirling that strippers are famous for. Drops of shiny precome occasionally flip off the tips of the dancing cocks.

The ladies on the couch still have their fingers teasing their cunts, but the men's show evokes some whistling and hollering of encouragement. I have to remind them to keep up their show for them men, who I give permission to start stroking their hard cocks. Now it is time for me to take part in the show. Standing on the towel-covered coffee table, I flip off my red pumps and sway provocatively. My fingers raking through my blond hair, lifting it over my head, licking my lips provocatively as I stare brazenly at all the hard cocks and dripping cunts. I let my hair fall over my face, and twist my neck back and forth so that it flails around. My hands drop to my shoulders, pulling the spaghetti straps down onto my upper arms. One arm reaches behind me to unzip my dress, while the other holds the front over my breasts. Again, I rake my fingers through my blond hair, reaching upwards while I continue my sensuous hula dance. Released from the support of my hand, the top edge of my dress slips slowly down my body. My breasts are revealed first, as the sewn edge of the material stuck on the hard points of my nipples before releasing with an inaudible pop. As the liberated weight of my breasts sway to my dancing, the dress falls further, over my taut tummy and then past my hips. My shocking red panties are now revealed, An Tim immediately exclaims about how wet the crotch is. When I bend at the waist to look, I can see a dark crimson spreading in an irregular circle centered on my cunt. I hadn't realized how aroused I had become. I guess I was too busy being the boss of this orgy.

My velveteen and satin dress is now gathered in a pile around my bare feet. Balancing on one foot, I drag the other one gradually upwards, rubbing it against my leg. It slides up shin, and when it gets to my knee, I let go of my hair and reach down to grab the insole of my foot, pulling it slowly up further and further. This spreads my thighs wider and wider apart. I know that the bulge of my mons veneris is pronounced and apparent to the gawking looks of my audience. Eventually, I am able to position the heel of my foot right into the crotch of my panties, and when I exert some pressure inwards, I can feel my labia spread inside my satin panties. Now the blunt hard heel is pressed right into the nub of my clitoris. Yes, that feels good. In this room full of masturbating partiers, I am the last to actually touch myself. Precariously balanced on one foot, I massage my whole cunt with my other foot. My juices mix with the satin, making a slick lubricant.

I can't keep that position for long, so I let my foot down to the table and kick my dress out of the way. I then pull my panties down my legs and pick them up. Leaning over the edge of the table, I press my damp, aromatic panties into the face of each of the men, letting them smell and feel the lusty moisture that saturated the satin. The last man in the line is Tim, and he takes the panties from my hand, and pulls the crotch band away from the rest. Then he puts just the crotch between his lips and chews and sucks the sweet nectar into his mouth. That is so sexy.

I am naked. The men are still pumping up and down on their steel-hard cocks, and the women are rubbing their clits harder. Everyone is breathing hard, and again, I remind them all to hold off. If anyone has a premature orgasm, he or she will have to leave the room. Nobody wants to miss anything, and I can see several people slacken the pace of their masturbating. Facing the men, I squat down on the table and begin to stimulate my own clit. But my legs are tired, so I lie down on the covered coffee table. On my right is the line of 6 men, but all I really see are their beautiful cocks about a foot higher than my reclining body. On my left are the women strung out like beads on a necklace, starting above my head and queued up down to my feet. Their open cunts are even with my body, and when I look towards them, I am looking right up into their cunts. Everyone is so close. Their sexual organs are so red, so wet, so engorged with blood.

MY calves are hooked over the sides of the table leaving me spread open wide for all to see. I take the index and middle fingers of my left hand and use them to spread my labia wide. The large bump of my clitoral hood is the lone pinnacle in the wet flatlands between my fingers. And my clitoris is poking out from its protective shield, looking for a friendly finger. My right hand slides down from my breasts, and I use my middle finger to tease my clit up and down, then back and forth. I may have been the last to start pleasuring myself, but I make up for the lost time quickly.

I ask the men to gather closer, so that their knees are bumping up against my right side. Their cocks are extended right over my writing body. The women on my left lean forwards so that they can see how their men masturbate. Some of them pump straight up and down, and other use a sort of twisting motion. One guy is using the palms of both hands, as if he was making a snake out of clay. Another is pinching his nipples with his free hand. A couple of the men are fondling their balls. Some of the men are using saliva to lubricate their hands, either by drooling onto their cocks, or spitting into their palms. Others have so much precome that their saliva isn't necessary. Tim has the largest cock in the group, and he has both of his hands on his cock, one pumping and pulsing on the lubricated crown, and the other pistoning up and down on the rest of the shaft.

The women too have varying techniques. One woman has her three middle fingers deeply embedded into her vagina, while the palm squashes down onto her mons, stimulating her clitoris. A couple of women are employing the technique that I am using. One of them is flicking her finger over her clitoris so quickly that her motions are a blur. One woman is pinching her nipples extremely hard, and pulling them way out from her huge breasts. That would hurt me, but she is obviously enjoying it. Jill has her cunt the closest to my face, and I can smell her flowing juices. She isn't rubbing her clitoris at all. Instead, she is using her index finger to hook into the entrance of her vagina, where she has found her G spot. She is getting incredible satisfaction from stoking that sensitive little bulge hidden inside her cunt.

I'm getting close, and my muscles are vibrating with excitement and anticipation. It's time for the countdown. "Five"..... I tell everyone to start to build up to their orgasm, cause we want to all come at once. Four"...... Ladies, spread your thighs wide so that we can all see "Three"...... Men, thrust your hips forwards so that we can see your throbbing hunks of solid man-flesh, "Two".......... you can all be so proud of your prowess, your natural beauty, and your sexual awareness. "One"........... Everyone let us show us if you are really here, really involved, really ready. "Blastoff"

Suddenly the room is full of sound, the sound of 13 simultaneous climaxes. Whimpers, grunts, ragged breathing, tight little screams, Tarzan-like hollers, shrill squeals, full-moon howls.... all mixed into a symphony of ecstasy. And the semen shooting out of six hard cocks, splattering onto my face, my breasts, my stomach, my churning fingers, my thighs. Blasts of come arching over me and onto the faces of the women on my left. Faces contorted my racking orgasms. Onto heaving breasts and big gumdrop nipples. Dripping in stringy dollops from nipples into the hot foaming cunts, intermingling with the pungent cunt juices. Pearly semen spewing onto the pearls of my necklace (maybe this is what they make fake pearls out of!)

When I ask the women to help me clean up, I expect that they will use their fingers to scoop up the come. But they were not strangers to sapphic love. They all get on their knees around the table and lick all the sticky stuff off of me, lapping up every ropey strand. My post-orgasmic bliss is extended by the light stimulation of six tongues rasping over my nipples, lapping into my navel, and kissing through my cunt hair. The men massage the shoulders of the cat-like women, and they talk about how original and exotic this group masturbation had been. It turns out that they thought they had tried everything in their group, but they had never watched each other masturbate. It has been most enlightening to see exactly how all the other members of the group choose to stimulate themselves. There are so many ways to do it.

Everyone is getting dressed to go home, transforming themselves back not their nerdy scientist personae. I remain splayed out on the coffee table (or should I call it the "cock-tail table"). I can still feel the coolness on my skin where the remaining semen and saliva are drying. What a night! How am I going to have the energy to drive home this evening? Perhaps Jill and Tim will put me up for the night. I'm sure that we can think of some good ways to pass the time.

Note: "Slippery When Wet" is mentioned in this story. It is also known as "Sue's 9th," which is a two-part story. Watch for it to be reposted from time to time, but please don't ask me to send it to you by Email.

Another Note: Despite the fact that this story purports to divulge the details of an encounter between myself and some people that I met through the Internet, I want to make something very clear: this is purely a figment of my imagination. This is not real life. I am not interested in meeting real people in these kinds of ways. On the other hand, I'd be glad to hear about your fantasies about meeting me... Fantasy.,...... get it?