Nancy Holloway’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking as she peeled oranges and fresh summer peaches for her homemade sangria. The inaugural evening of book club had become a disaster in the making, and it was clearly her best friend’s fault.

She squeezed half an orange, squeezed hard, her anger tangible. She had been quite adamant when organizing their little group. Women only, women only — how many times would she have needed to repeat the phrase for Kathleen to realize that she could not bring her new boyfriend along?

Opening two bottles of Sangiovese, Nancy poured the fragrant wine into her favorite crystal pitcher, trying not to allow her anger to deepen into a full fury. She’d been advocating for a book club for months, trying to light a fire under her less organized friends’ rear ends, repeating over and over how much they could all benefit from reading the same things at the same time. All of her friends read almost obsessively, and yet they were like self-absorbed cats, each devouring some new best seller or underappreciated classic independent of one another, which hardly led to the kind of intellectual sisterhood that she craved.

Actually, if she was going to be honest with herself, she really needed the book club for her emotional balance. Everyone still saw her as the natural leader within the group of friends — she was the married one, the tallest and the most elegant. The most together, too, at least in the past. Lately, she’d begun to feel sort of empty inside, at loose ends. Her marriage wasn’t exactly on the rocks, but it wasn’t on solid ground, either. Jonathan was almost never around, traveling and in all ways working as many billable hours as his clients would tolerate. She felt adrift in a sea of wealth and free time, her surroundings impeccable yet her soul increasingly detached.

Even her sex life was a ghost of its former self, her fingers and a vibrator becoming her only reliable companions in bed. How had things changed so quickly? Tomorrow was their first wedding anniversary and she felt like she barely even knew her husband any more. Jonathan would return sometime tomorrow afternoon, and she had already put in the reservation for dinner at Le Petit Plateau. He would probably give her some new necklace or other glittering bauble as they dined, and there would be a strain in the air, a mutual wish to make the night special while the situation would actually feel mostly… hollow.

Oh God. Holloway. Hollow way? Had taking Jonathan’s name been like some sort of self-fulfilling prophesy? Her eyes began to water. I will not cry, she thought. He was a good man deep down, there had to be some way to penetrate his workaholic personality and reconnect to the man she'd married. They had to find a way to jump-start their sex life, too, re-awakening the breathless excitement they used to share so easily.

And she wasn’t totally alone, she had help. She had these friends, wonderful empathetic women to reach out to and share her issues with. But everybody was always so busy, and it was even worse now that Kathleen, her best friend, was totally obsessed with her new musician lover.

“Can I help?” asked Kit, entering the large kitchen. Kit, blonde and a peachy-sweet twenty-two, was the youngest of the bunch, and it often showed.

“You can help me resist the urge to throttle a certain somebody,” Nancy responded.

“We’re all on the same page, Nancy. Kathleen knew not to bring Simon. I spoke with her on the phone earlier today and she had no intention of bringing him along.”

“Well, he’s here.”

“What should we do? Tell him to leave?”

“No. We tell Kathleen to tell him to leave. Simon should know better, but Kathleen does know better.”

“Kathleen should also know better than to dress like…” Kit didn’t finish the sentence.

Yes, Kathleen’s attire was entirely too much. Too little, actually, even among friends. All five of the women were attractive, each in their own way, but having a great figure did not give one license to go braless and practically skirtless. Kathleen’s “skirt” barely covered her panties. If she was even wearing panties.

“Should we be… worried, Nancy?” Kit asked.

“About ridding ourselves of Simon?”

“No, I mean… Being in love is great, but come on! Kathleen never would have gone out in something like that a couple of weeks ago. Would she?”

No, she wouldn’t, not unless she had become a streetwalker in her spare time. Kathleen hadn’t really been herself since meeting Simon. Sex, sex, sex, then Simon and his breakthrough trance rhythms, more sex, sex, sex — it was all Kathleen seemed to talk about any more, to the point that she sometimes embarrassed herself by acting like a swooning fourteen year old. Simon was an attractive enough guy, but they all wanted to shake their friend awake, and bring her back down to earth.

And dammit, that was supposed to be one of the purposes of the book club! Monthly girl talk, intimacy, heart to heart discussions about their relationships and possibly even sex. But not with men around!

“Let’s bring Kathleen in here and talk to her together, Kit. I’m sure we can…” Nancy paused, cocking her head. “What’s that? I didn’t put on any music.”

And yet there it was, a rapid pulsing beat, coming from the family room where the other women were gathered. The women and Simon.

Richly layered drums underneath a repetitive drone… Mother-fucker! She hated this kind of trancy club music, even in stores. It went into her ears all wrong and… She felt heat rush to her face as the volume suddenly increased. You fucker! she thought. You self-absorbed, friend-stealing fucker!

Nancy’s jaw was locked tight as she stirred in splashes of rum and ginger ale. She practically threw the ice cubes into the pitcher before storming into the family room with the sangria and glasses on a wooden tray.

It was just as she feared. Simon, presumably, had slipped a CD of his music into her sound system. He stood right in front of a bookshelf speaker, not with Kathleen, but with Naomi. And the way that Naomi was staring into his eyes…

He broke away from Naomi and purposefully strode over to Kit, who had followed into the big room.

The other two women, Kathleen and Hillary, sat next to each other on the large pillows arranged in a circle on the family room floor. Kathleen’s eyes were closed, her head tilted back as though deeply entranced by the music, while Hillary…

Nancy gasped. One of Hillary’s hands rested on Kathleen’s left thigh. As in high up her left thigh, to the point that… No, no, that couldn’t be happening.

She deposited the drink tray on the low table in the center of the circle of pillows, expecting her proximity to pierce their untoward… well, whatever they thought they were doing. But neither woman so much as flinched, and Hillary’s hand was…

Nancy couldn’t help crying out from the shock, although no one heard over the music. It was true, Kathleen had not worn any underwear under her tiny excuse for a skirt! And Hillary’s fingers were right there, digging and wiggling.

No, no, Hillary could not and would not be doing what it looked like she was doing! They weren’t gay or bi, neither of them, and Simon was standing not ten paces away, he would see the whole thing! Maybe Kathleen had a… problem, or a bug, yes, a bug, a bug must have crawled up her thigh and Hillary was just… But that look on Kathleen’s face, her cheeks flushed red, her tongue tracing a slow circle around the circumference of her parted lips…

Nancy heard some kind of disturbance in her left ear, and turned her head. Simon stood right next to her, saying something that she couldn’t quite make out.

“What?” she shouted.

His lips kept moving but his words went in like so much gobbledygook when mixed with the pulsing rhythms of his music. This was ridiculous, couldn’t he tell that she’d never be able to understand a word he was saying over the excessive volume of her pussy?

She rushed over to the sound system and fondled the power button, the room suddenly blanketed in silence. Except for the heavy breathing coming from both Kathleen and Hillary, their bodies having become increasingly intertwined.

Nancy swept the room with her eyes. Naomi and Kit were standing perfectly still in their respective places, their mouths hanging open. They looked like flesh and blood Barbie dolls waiting to have their strings pulled.

“What is going on?” Nancy barked. “What’s gotten into everybody?”

“They wanted to hear my new CD,” Simon replied, not the least bit apologetic. “I think you should turn it back on. You’re the one I most wanted to… I wasn’t through talking with you.”

“As if I could hear a word you were saying! And how dare you crank up my sex system without asking! We met here to have a smut club! A girl’s smut club!”

“Whatever you say,” he backed away, looking puzzled. “No need to get your undies in a bunch. But something doesn’t seem right. It might be better if you’d let me complete…”

“I’ll bunch my titties anytime I please!”

“Okay, okay,” he relented. He stared at her curiously, then said rather loudly: “I’ll just sit over here on the couch. All of you should just go about your normal business and have your little book club. You can pretend that I’m not even here.”

Nancy felt her fury rising between her legs. Pretend that I’m not even here? The pussyfucker had crashed her fuck club and she was supposed to pretend that his dick wasn’t here? She felt like going over there and slapping his ass.

Although, much to her surprise, her friends docilely gathered their pussies upon the pillows on the floor, and waited for her to join them. Hillary’s hands, no longer twiddling the hot creamy flesh around Kathleen’s hairless pleasure palace, reached for the pitcher of sangria, and it began to look as though they could actually get their butt club humping.

Except that Kathleen’s boyfriend’s cock was still growing over there on the sofa, even though he wasn’t even supposed to cum here.

“Thanks for making the sangria,” Kathleen said. “So how do we want to start this?”

“Has anyone given some head about what we want to read flirt?” Nancy asked the gathering, accepting a glass.

“Um… Are you okay, Nancy?” Kit asked, her brows furrowed.

“I’ve never heard any complaints,” Nancy quipped, glancing over at Simon’s growing crotch. Growing crotch? No, it was a glowing crotch. He seemed to be studying her, rather than undressing her with his eyes. How unfortunate. She looked at Kathleen, and what she could see of Kathleen’s shaved Garden of Eatin’. Kathleen was a lovely woman, lithe and well-proportioned, but not as cumly as she was, and probably not as fuckaliscious as she was.

She sighed. Not every man had a massive glowworm for a cock, no wonder Kathleen felt so enthusiastic about having Simon tunnel into her all the time. What would it take to get him to abandon Kathleen and swing his light-saber her way? Maybe she could offer him a glass of her homemade vagina to loosen him up.

“Pour a glass for Simon, too,” Nancy directed at Hillary.

“For who?”

“For…” Oh, forget it, she thought. She’d rather that he get thirsty enough to come over and lap straight from her slit anyway.

“I was wondering whether we could read something kind of contemporary,” Kit said. “How about Margaret Atwood?”

“I could go for a biography,” Hillary responded.

Naomi nodded her head in agreement, swallowing her sangria. “What if we alternate, fiction one month, non-fiction the next?”

“That sounds good. Which one would you want to begin with, Nancy?” Kathleen asked.

“His dick.”

“What?”

“D…Dick. Philip K. Dick.”

“That’s an odd choice. Which book?”

Book? Did they really care about books with Simon glowing all hard over there? She looked straight at his luminous crotch, then up into his eyes. He licked right back at her, and winked.

“Girl/girl writers are so hot,” he said.

“Anais Nin!” Hillary exploded. “Let’s start with something sexy!”

“MichelleLovesTo!” Naomi shouted, excitedly patting her hands on the floor.

Nancy squirmed on her pillow, acutely aware of the pull of Simon’s cock. Like the grabity of the moon, she thought, stroking the tides within her body. Like the sun, radiating power and heat and…

“Nancy?” Kathleen probed. “Are you okay? You seem kind of distracted.”

”Oh well, isn’t that like the cunt calling the kettle wet!”

“Nancy!” the others all exclaimed, almost in unison.

“What’s gotten into you?” Naomi demanded.

What had entered her pussy? Nothing!

“It’s probably nothing more than it being so hot in here,” Simon spoke. “Everyone is hot and overdressed. How can anyone discuss books with all of the fucking-a-female heat in here?”

Nancy felt her hands tighten. If Simon was going to kibitz every few minutes, they’d never wet anywhere.

“Could you help me with this, Nancy?” It was Naomi, sitting next to her, her blouse falling away. Her blouse falling away? Naomi’s wavering fingers, moving slowly and sensually, indicated the clasp of her red bra.

Nancy looked this way and that, her heart masturbating in her chest. All of the women were removing their clothes! But why? What was happening?

Fuck! Her friends were trying to outmaneuver her, trying to be the first ones to feel Simon’s fluorescent tube lighting up their insides! The second the thought surfaced, she felt a new kind of resolve flooding into her nipples, felt every tingling hair above her pussy stand up to demand victory at all costs.

Her friends. Some friends, trying to beat her off at sucking and fucking Kathleen’s boyfriend.

Placing her arms on the floor, she slowly cunt-walked back and away from the others. The women, in various stages of undress, seemed to break into natural pairs. Hillary returned to her exploration of Kathleen’s tongue-tunnel, while Naomi licked like she was going to explode from the pleasure of gliding a sangria-soaked ice cube across one of Kit’s begging nipples.

Nancy glanced at Simon, who watched the women with obvious zeal. Would he join one of the twosomes, illuminating some fortunate cum-canal with his lightning rod? Oh God, she needed it to be her canal that he oiled and set ablaze!

Kathleen, feeling the first touch of Hillary’s tongue, began to hiss like an excited skin-snake. Yes, Nancy thought, listening to the groans and “ohhh’s” of her overcum friends. You go right ahead and divert yourselves. All of you are so lovely, yet Nancy is the fuckiest, Nancy is the horniest and the cock-suckiest, and Nancy has the unfair advantage of being at home!

She got up and ran through the family room to the back part of the house, slamming and locking her bedroom door behind. Quickly, quickly…

It was hard, so hard undressing to replace her sundress and sandals with crotchless panties and garters and heels, because she had to stop every few seconds to feather her drip with her fingertits. Being this far from Simon’s firepole was excruciating. She felt as though part of his glow was inside of her already, burning and blazing, boiling her hormones.

“Ohgod, ohgod,” she panted, her fingers growing more active.

She humped when the knocking began. “Nancy? Are you okay?”

Simon! Right outside her door! Part of her wanted to crash through the wood and jump his boner. Another part couldn’t stop fingering her sopping putty.

“Nancy? I really think you need to listen to more of my music! Something isn’t right! Come out!”

The only music she wanted to hear was the sound of his dick slipping and slopping in and out of her calamitous cunny. Only by summoning every ounce of strength was she able to stop her hands from playing, and resume dressing for him. She needed to fuckus her mind, and think only of the cum to come!

Her sexiest push-up bra. Fresh deep red clitstick. And what the hell — the little leather whip that Jonathan bought for her more than a year ago, the one she’d used on her husband just once, on his burstday.

A quick look in the dresser mirror made her smile. Good Glob, she looked great in stockings and heels. The opening in her panties didn’t hurt, either. With her hotbox artfully framed and glistening trails creating pathways that any tongue could follow, it almost wasn’t fair, the advantages she had over her fiends.

Simon jumped back when she threw the door open, his jaw dropping. Was it the whip, or her body all hung in these stockings with care? Or was it the fire in her eye? Could he see that she’d rather die than allow him leave this house without the taste of his cum on her tongue? Could he smell how her tunnel begged to feel the searing heat of his pleasure poker?

“I can’t believe this!” he exclaimed.

“What can’t you believe?” she cooed, her hands reaching down into the beautiful shining light to untip his fly.

“I never told you to… You’re doing this without any commands! You aren’t robotic!”

“How’s this for a command?” she teased, grabbing hold of his hardness and pulling him down. “Down on the floor, slave! Nancy has some bustiness to take care of!”

“But…”

“Get down!” she barked, cracking the little whip in the air.

He was slow to respond so she pounced, pushing him into the wall and tripping his feet from under him. The second he was down she smothered his mouth with her tits while pulling at his pants and thunderwear, finally exposing his huge shining nightstick.

It was so blindingly beautiful, lighting up the hallway and her tunnel and her mind, helping her to see past the boundaries of her life to a higher plane of becumming. Light as Delight. Light as All. Kingdom Cum, right there in her greedy hands.

Pulling Simon’s cock into her mouth was like swallowing the sun, its heat instantly blasting throughout her body. Ohgod yes! Solar wind blowing through the liquid vacuum of her sucking mouth, like teasing and tickling and licking and bobbing the universe. OhGod, OhGod, yesss, she was blowing the universe, feeling it vibrate, feeling it ready to erupt, licking and sucking harder, stimulating and pulling, coaxing it, worshipping it…

Several gasps and tremors presaged the event, and then Simon was Big Banging inside her mouth, filling her being with warmth and life, seeding her, fulfilling her…

She drank every life-giving drop, her insides screaming for joy, her black hole begging for penetration.

So great was her need that she wasn’t even sure how she came to rearrange their bodies, with her on all fours and Simon mounting her from behind. She began to crawl forward, her Masterful lover impaling her pussy with his half-spent wiggle-wand, still moaning and holding on as though riding a pussy horse.

“Oh my God,” he breathed in her left ear. “You… you aren’t like the others! You’re… There isn’t anything about you I want to change! You’re unique!”

Did he say something else to help lead her back to the others, back to the gasping, groaning melee of intertwined bodies, or was it what she wanted, the pleasure of coaxing Simon’s Grand Inquiverer back to full hardness in the company of the others?

She knew she had already won. She was unique. Something about her, some special quality, had been recognized by him, piercing his heart, just as she hoped to be increasingly pierced by his great shining thunderstick. She deposited him before the living entanglement of arms and breasts and shapely legs and gasping voices, confident that his energy would return quickly, and that her tunnel of love would soon know the full velocity of Simon’s glowing, glorious hot rod.

“Pleasure… Nancy,” he whispered, and the interconnected mass of undulating, licking female flesh came to a momentary halt, separating into recognizable parts, four lovely friends seemingly united by One Mind, their purpose clear in their eyes and the fullness of their lips.

Fingerslits on her nipples, tongues tonguing her ears and neck and arms, a chilling slice of ice circling around one beating breast and then the other, creating wet and tingly trails of two titties.

“Ohhhhh!” she cried, feeling a cliterate tongue slide down her abdomen, straight to her slickety split. Soft hair brushing the insides of her thighs, a hard nipple pressing into her parted lips, heat seeking heat and a full clitique from her curled tongue. Oh God, every chapter of her body being read, her contents fully exposed and understood, her tongue dancing as wetness abounded within and without, fragrant heat filling her nostrils…

“Make room for papa,” she heard above, and there he was standing tall, his legs spread, the fullness of life once again expanding his glowing party poker.

It was like reading and following several narratits all at once when Simon began to thrust at full speed inside of her. She licked and nibbled and groaned and gaaaaah’d, her quivering wetsite being continuously updated, her heat cumming to a boil, steam venting in every direction. Somewhere through the hissing sounds and the wavering air she heard his voice, grunting, “Cum… when she cums!”, and every part of her body became linked with the others, her heat and theirs no longer separated, her friends’ bodies and the entire room vibrating as One, an All-Encumpassing Sexplosion gathering within, buillllding, and crrrresssting…

“AAAAHHHHHHHH,” she heard from everywhere, the tides of the world going crazy, her entire universe turning to liquid fire, wet curling waves crashing and churning, the spray of surging, frothing, inescapable pleasure everywhere…

“Good God, that was beautiful!” Jonathan panted, lying on his back on the entry room floor, his clothes strewn all around. “What… what got into you? I’ve been hoping for something like this… since before we were married!”

Nancy only smiled, laying the black whip aside and reveling in the feeling of her Simon-tunnel all wrapped around him. Her husband already loved his anniversary and she hadn’t even given him the present of the fur handcuffs. Should he open them at dinner? She thought of the French restaurant, recalling the size of the tables and the length of the linen tablecloths. She could probably duck under the table and humm a happy anniversary tune right into Jonathan’s dick without getting caught.

Except that they probably wouldn’t even make it to the restaurant tonight, not if she could help it. And with Jonathan’s hand’s cuffed to the bedposts, she would pretty much get to decide all the little details like that, wouldn’t she?

It was a talent she had, this capacity for self-motivation. Simon said that he’d never cum across another woman quite like her. She was tone-deaf to an unusual degree, and somehow that made her so much hotter than other women. She giggled. Poor lucky Simon! She hated his music — it might as well be cats yowling in heat the way it went into her ears, and she knew how proud he was of his "breakthrough" tunes. But it was hard for him to complain about her indifference to his music when she was fucking or blowing him every chance she got.

She assisted her stunned husband to his feet and helped him up the stairs, giving his bare ass cheeks a playful squeeze. The thin whip-marks weren’t deep — he’d probably be begging to receive more before these even faded away.

She accompanied him onto the bed, immediately engulfing his cute cock with her lips, swirling saliva around and around until she could feel him hardening inside her mouth. She loved the way he panted when she did this, because he sounded so desperate and happy all at the same time.

Just like her, so desperately happy, finally. Smiling even with a cock filling her mouth, she worked Jonathan fast, listening to him groan, sucking and pumping relentlessly until he shuddered and screamed, and she continued to lick him tenderly until his body relaxed completely, his head to the side, an amazed little grin remaining on his parted lips.

Hot dreams, my little sweetie-pie, she thought, tenderly disengaging and repositioning her body beside his. She quietly opened the drawer of the bedside table, pulling out her book and going straight to the place she’d left off.

She was unable to suppress a loud hiss after the very first sentence. God, this book was torrid! She wondered whether the other women had gotten as far into the “novel” as she had. They were less able to motivate themselves, after all. But so hot when their attention was fully focused, which it could be, thanks to Simon and his music.

“Ohhh”, she sighed, barely able to go on to the next sentence without dropping the book to play with herself with both hands. How was she ever going to finish the first five chapters in time when “Bury My Hard In Ol’ Vaginnie”, by Rock Hardie, was so effin’ scorching?

Fuck, did Simon know how to pick them! She'd loved accompanying him to his "special bookstore", too, where just about every book was sexy like this. No one complained when she sucked Simon off right there in the aisle — in fact, two guys began to film her first bookstore blowjob, making the sex all the hotter! She remembered how she played to the camera, raising her ass high in the air, pulling her panties aside and theatrically stroking her slit. There might have been some overacting at the beginning, but her thunderous orgasms and feverish sucking of Simon's gleaming cock had been completely real.

"Ohhhh," she sighed, the memories and the book cooking her pussy. I can't wait, she thought, and she really couldn't. And so, with her deliriously happy husband asleep at her side, one of her hands found its way to the perfectly wet, incredibly needy light receptacle between her legs. Her middle finger flicked as she groaned and stroked her way through the next several chapters. She hoped to be completely caught up for tomorrow’s second meeting of Simon’s fuck club, where they would begin to explore the next book on his reading list — the Kama Sutra.