I mostly talked to Gina, Jason’s former girlfriend, with whom I’d bonded the most since arriving yesterday. She was one of the organizers of this annual sex party, or whatever you called a long weekend of sex with sixteen smart and attractive people you’d never met before. My husband of six months, Jason, was sitting with Leslie and a guy who I thought was her boyfriend. I also kept an eye on Charlie, who the day before had given me the best sex of my life (sorry, Jason, it’s true). That is, best sex of my life to that point. This all happened almost seventeen years ago, when I was only 23. I hope you read about it.
The women, including me, were topless, although unlike the others, I had on a crocheted white cover-up, a kind of netting that was more holes than fabric. We all had on bikini bottoms, except for Leslie, who was constantly naked except when eating. The guys wore t-shirts and bathing suits, probably for fear of spilling coffee on their private parts.
“Let’s go outside,” Gina said to me, “I think it’s warm enough.”
We were the first ones out and I helped her spread the blankets across the lawn, near the pool. They were a little funky from all the sex the previous day, but we laid them funky side down. Gina took off her bottom and sat. Her pussy was as bald as mine.
“Join me?” she asked.
I felt self-conscious about being the first ones on the blankets. After all, I was the only newbie in the group. But in for a penny . . . I untied the string, but left on my tunic. I had the idea that it made me look thinner, although I’d never be as alluring as Gina. I had finally remembered who she reminded me of – Gwyneth Paltrow, but with red hair. She looked delicious wearing only a straw cowboy hat with a wide blue band.
“Here, get in the middle of the blanket,” she said, pulling on my arm.
I figured this was the beginning of some girl play like last night and I was good with that. Gina put a hand under the cover-up and massaged my boob. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the sensation, along with the warmth of the sun on my skin. A second hand began on my other boob. While the massage continued, my cover-up was pulled off. Three hands? My eyes snapped open.
Leslie had my other boob, not Gina. Four women gathered along my right side, three knelt on my left. We were all naked. Behind them, the men were almost as bare, a semi-circle of both uncovered chests and t-shirts – and nothing below the waist except their hardening cocks. Gina placed a pillow under my head and knelt behind it.
Gina said, “This is sort of a tradition, at least for newbies we really like. Sean, who’s not here this trip, introduced it a while back. He said it’s based on encounter groups from his youth, back in the early 70’s. It’s not like a regular massage. Just close your eyes, honey, relax and enjoy it.”
So I did.
Their touches were whispers on my skin. Gina’s fingertips caressed my face, wandering everywhere, along my neck, my ears, everywhere above my shoulders. My ears were sensitive and her fingers traced the contours. I tried to picture the invisible designs others brushed on my boobs, but found no pattern except a lot of lingering on my now-hard nipples. Fingers grazed my hips, wandering ever so close to my pussy, but veering off just when I thought I’d get some relief.
Hands under my legs pulled them apart and I could feel the beginnings of a breeze. Each thigh enjoyed the faintest contact from two hands stroking up the inside of a thigh, then back down the front, an endless loop of caresses taunting, but never touching, my slit. A pair of hands massaged my feet with just enough pressure that it didn’t tickle.
I felt drowsy. I felt loved.
Fingers apart, Gina soothed my forehead, her fingertips drifting down my face and neck, tracing my nose and lips. She brushed my cheeks and traced the folds of my ears, while Leslie and Hayley each rubbed a boob. Their fingers floated over my skin.
While Leslie never wandered far from my erect nipple, circling it and squeezing it gently, Hayley’s fingers traveled everywhere, including the underside of my boob, near a middle rib, where I’m extra sensitive. Hayley used all parts of her hands, not just her fingers, especially on my nipple. They gave my arms some attention, but mostly stroked my boobs.
Many fingers brushed my hips. They approached my cunt like they were edging toward a chasm, but none ever climbed in. Occasionally fingers circled my navel and one would spiral in to it, a particularly pleasant sensation. I mentally pleaded for anyone to push a finger into my hole, but no one did.
The most exquisite pleasures other than teasing my nipples were from the fingers roaming the insides of my thighs. In addition to tantalizing without touching my pussy, they ranged below, along the crack of my ass, grazing near, but never penetrating, my asshole.
Emma rubbed my feet with pressure point skill rather than the faint strokings of the others. There was a spot near the bottom of my right foot that somehow, when kneaded, jolted my clitty.
All of those hands, mostly unsynchronized, finger-painted me to a warm tension. I sensed an orgasm near, but always just out of reach. The urge to masturbate consumed me.
“How are you doing, Diane?” Jason asked.
I opened my eyes and my husband was standing between my legs. He was jacking his cock and, when I looked around, I saw that the other eight men also had erections and several were fondling them slowly.
“I’m great, sweetheart,” I said. “You have no idea how . . . “
“Yes, I do,” he said. “They did that to me my first time. They made it a game, tried to make me come without touching my cock. I’ve heard it worked for some guys, but I, uh, needed a little help.”
“You masturbated?” I asked.
“Gina sucked me off,” he said without his usual embarrassment. It didn’t take her long.” Perhaps remembering, he was jacking faster.
“Are you going to come on me?” I asked.
“Do you want me to?”
“Whatever makes you happy,” I answered.
“Do it,” Gina said from behind my head, and the other women picked it up, a chorus of, “Do it! Do it! Do it!”
Ever the good wife partner, I slid my hand slowly down my front, smiling at him, savoring the watchful eyes. My whole body lurched with relief when I touched my clitty. Several of the women and most of the men followed my fingers speeding back and forth, the rest intent on Jason’s busy hand. I saw that my husband was breathing faster, stroking himself quickly, his eyes laser-focused on my cunt.
“Do it! Do it! Do it!” A few of the men had joined the chant.
“Come for me, sweetie,” I said, although he probably couldn’t hear me.