## Archive-name: Maxie.and.the.party

From: jfriday@westmark.Stanford.EDU (The Crazy Archivist)

Subject: ARCHIVE: Maxie and the Party

Newsgroups: alt.sex,alt.sex.stories,alt.sex.bondage

Path: boulder!ub!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!usc!apple!snorkelwack- er!bloom-beacon!world!fhapgood >From fhapgood@world.std.com (Fred Hapgood) Newsgroups: alt.sex.bondage Subject: story Message-ID: <1990Sep3.153810.546@world.std.com> Date: 3 Sep 90 15:38:10 GMT Distribution: alt Organization: The World @ Software Tool & Die

I was bizarre when I matriculated, bizarre all through college, and bizarre when I moved to the city. When people asked my age I gave it in days and then laughed. Out loud. For like a minute. I glared at questions like 'How are you?' or 'How do you like Chicago?' I mean, what can questions possibly mean? What's so polite about demanding an answer to a question with no logi- cally coherent content?

You see what I mean. I was especially weird, even among weird people as a class, in that I knew what I was and was con- tent with my fate. I mean, think of the alternative. So after some bad years during my teens I came to accept and even be proud of my role. But there was one side of the weirdness schtick that I knew I would lose patience with and one day I did.

See, I was a virgin. I'm not shy exactly, but when I get alone with a girl, even another techie, I just get weirder and more wound up than ever. But as I said, I'm not shy, and the time had come, so I made a plan. It was a little weird, of course, and I wasn't sure how many women I'd have to ask to find one to agree to it. I was willing to ask twenty if I had to, but not fifty. So I looked for a woman I could use to probe the normal distribution curve -- somebody perfectly average in every way. I settled on a customer service rep named Maxie. She laughed at stupid jokes. She asked people how they were. She dressed out of the ads in the first few pages of the newspaper. She was perfect.

I laid the whole thing out for her man-to-man, so to speak. I said I thought the whole courtship fandango was phony through and through. People wasted whole evenings racking their brains to avoid talking about the one subject on their minds. Maybe there was a reason for that, but it wasn't my way. I told Maxie my problem, and I said if she could help me with it I'd do anything she wanted. I said for example I'd heard that women liked a lot of foreplay and didn't always get enough. I told her that wouldn't be a problem here. She wanted sixty full minutes of foreplay, no problem. She'd wanted to get licked all over, that'd be fine. That was point one. Point two: I would remem- ber her forever. There's a small but real chance that I might be famous someday. If I were, there would be one famous person at least who would always return her phone calls.

To my surprise Maxie just asked me to keep my voice down and then agreed, right off. She told me to give her a week to set a few things up and then come to her apartment -- she named a day -- early, at around seven.

I won't bore you with flowery metaphors about my state of anticipation, which built steadily over the week, except to say that on the morning of the day Maxie had named I was so excited I ejaculated when I leaned against the sink to brush my teeth. I managed to get through work and went straight to her apartment.

When I walked in the door Maxie was wearing casual evening clothes, which was a little disappointing -- I'd been hoping for one of those lace and fishnet numbers -- but she gave me a kiss like nothing I had ever even imagined. "I had no idea the auricle was so physiologically responsive," I said. Maxie just smiled, handed me a bathrobe, and told me to get undressed and take a shower. "Wash all over," she said mysteriously. What could she have meant by that? While I was soaping myself in the shower I ejaculated again.

When I came out I saw she had a ton of food ready. it looked like she'd been cooking all week; maybe she had. We wouldn't have to go out for a week! There were two tables, side by side. (The two of them together nearly filled her apartment. Probably she'd rented one for this evening.) One rectangular, crammed with dishes, including what looked like a dinner setting for about eight people, and a circular table that was empty, except for what looked like a circular pad lying on its surface.

Maxie asked me to lie down on the circular table on my back. I did, and to my surprise she started buckling strap bracelets with D-rings on my wrists and ankles. "What's this?" I said.

"This is part of it," she said ambiguously. It is? Part of what? I knew I'd never read about this in Playboy.

Maxie then pulled straps up from under the table and ran them through the D-rings, so I was spread-eagled. This may sound absurd, but I was more curious than apprehensive. Maxie was so mattter-of-fact, as though this was something everybody did, and I'd just been out of the room when the subject came up. Which was possible, God knows. Besides, I'd given my word in the cafeteria. What was going to happen was going to happen. Then Maxie pulled a blindfold down over my face.

"Maxie?"

"I'm right here, sweetheart."

"What *is* this?"

"It's just part of it, honey. Don't worry. Now I'm going to put on a little music and do some housework. You just relax."

"Housework?"

"Just relax."

"Maxie, I have to say this isn't anything like what I anticipated."

"I know, baby, but believe me, everything's going to work out fine. Now just relax."

It might seem absurd to anyone reading this, but I did trust her. She certainly seemed totally relaxed herself. So I just lay back and let my mind drift. I even lost my erection for the first time that week. Meantime Maxie bustled back and forth around the table. I could hear clinking. Then the doorbell rang.

To my horror I heard her open the door. I heard somebody came in.

It was a woman. For the first minute I was too shocked to speak because she was there, in this small apartment, presuma- bly looking at this naked, blindfolded man spread-eagled on a table. The second minute I was silent because neither she nor Maxie showed any awareness I was there at all! They had sat down somewhere and were chatting about some mutual friend's business. I felt totally invisible. But by the third minute, I decided I had to say something.

"Maxie?"

Silence.

"Maxie?"

Silence.

The third time I opened my mouth somebody shoved a gag into it.

At this point I totally lost it. I arched myself against the ties on the table and threw myself from side to side. I think I peed, I was so panicked. But nothing gave. I had the feeling that some of the ties were being drawn *tighter* as I struggled. Finally I "collapsed" back, exhausted. And the doorbell rang again.

Over the next fifteen minutes it seemed like a dozen more women streamed into Maxie's apartment, but after listening to their voices for a while I counted only six. Not a one said a word to Maxie about my presence. They acted as though they saw naked men tied up on tables, gagged and blindfolded, ten times a day. One by one they sat down around Maxie's little studio and started to eat. They talked about families, work, doctors, movies, everything except me.

Several of the voices sounded distressingly familiar. Without doubt one of them was my boss's AA. Did she know it was me here under the blindfold? Probably; it didn't cover my lower face. Could she have guessed I recognized her voice? The answer there was probably yes, too. Great.

After about half an hour somebody took my gag out. I started to speak and instantly it was shoved back in. When it was removed a second time fifteen minutes later, I stayed silent. The evening wore on. The voices around me got louder and happi- er. I could smell herb. Suddenly a hand touched the inside of my calf.

Aside from the gag, that was the first sign I had had that anybody knew I was there. The hand ran up my calf, ran down, ran up, crossed my knee, and began to walk, finger by finger, up my thigh. My penis shot up in the air. Somebody giggled. Somebody rolled a condom down the shaft. Somebody climbed on the table -- I felt it rock -- and sat down on my penis. There was no underwear there. In a second I was inside. I came in about ten seconds. "Oh," I said.

Whoever it was climbed off and for maybe ten minutes nothing happened. Then a couple of hands began to roam under my ass. Boing! And a second (?) person sat on my lap. This time I stayed hard a lot longer.

I have no idea how long I was on that table. Hours. Days. Weeks. Again and again a pair of hands would work me over, somebody would slip me inside her, or just rub my penis on skin. Whenever I detumesced those hands would bring me back. Sometimes I felt as though there were thousands of fingers prob- ing and stroking my skin. I fell into an erotic delirium. I could've been flattened with a street grader and I never would have noticed.

Finally, in what seemed like years later, my blindfold came off. Maxie was alone in the apartment. She untied me; I rolled over, tried to get up, and fell on the floor. "Girls' night out," she said with a smile. I dragged myself into a cab, went home and missed the next two days of work.

When I finally went to work nobody said a thing, and I realized that the blindfolds and gags gave all the excuse anybody needed to pretend not to have recognized each other. Sometimes I even wondered if Maxie ever wanted to throw another party. But she kept her distance and I sensed that if I said anything she'd just smile and wander off.

And maybe that's just as well. Like I say, I've always considered myself weird, but Maxie taught me I didn't know weird from mashed potatoes.

Last modified (10/09/96 12:15:35) by Eli-the-Bearded.

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