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From: Nicolo Parenti <nicoloco@live.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} Wrap Party (MMMF, oral, anal, drug)
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Date: Fri, 07 Dec 2007 21:10:03 -0500
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<1st attachment, "Wrap.txt" begin>

                               Wrap Party

                 Copyright 2007, Nicolo "Loco" Parenti
                          nicoloco@hotpop.com

          You may freely distribute this story as long as you
           include the author's copyright and email address.
                            ===============


What a project.

We'd worked together for about six weeks, mostly in a compact command
post set up in a fish-bowl conference room at our main supplier's
offices. Freelancers all, we each had our areas of expertise, with some
overlap, and we all knew the complexities involved. We were a fairly
diverse bunch: four men from their twenties to forties, and one thirty-
something woman.

It was a job worth big bucks, one key part of a larger project worth
many times more. The idea of a missed deadline doesn't exist here --
like a moon shot, you go when the planets line up or you don't go. It
was especially challenging because so much depended on production teams
outside our direct control.

What a blast. Under pressure your options are to cave or to thrive, and
we weren't cavers. Designing workflows that cover a wall, then seeing
items filled in and ticked off as the million-dollar train approaches,
provides a rush like a drug.

If the people mix is wrong it can be a chore and a headache. But when
it's right, it's camaraderie squared. Bantering, bickering, inside
jokes, shared meals and miseries, all tempered with professional
respect, make for what the army calls 'unit cohesion', and we had it.

When you're going a thousand miles an hour, and accelerating as delivery
nears, you don't think about the sudden stop at the end. One day your
world is four walls and a drop-dead date, the next you've successfully
put yourself out of a job. Mixed with the pride there's a real sense of
loss -- your team will never exist again. There'll be other jobs, other
groupings, but this family is history.

Except for the wrap party...

                            ===============

"Hey, honey, another round here!"

The party started, as many do, at a bar. The five of us -- me (I'm Tom),
Randy, Mike, Bill and the lovely Megan -- were on the loosen-up rounds,
the ones before the serious drinking. We'd been fairly abstemious during
the project, but there was no reason to hold back now.

I can't say there hadn't been any indulging. I'm pretty sure a little
Peruvian marching powder got sniffed on some of those 15-hour days. I've
been off that for years, but I don't think Megan needed to do her makeup
quite that often. And Randy's been known to relax after work with some
bud. I guess that makes us a cross-section of the population.

While we weren't exactly amateur partiers, we were out of practice. That
night the booze tap was on and we were getting raucous. Bill was a fount
of industry war stories and knew how to tell them. You know when there's
one group whose outbursts are particularly loud, the cheer a bit hearty?
That was us. Don't hate us for having fun.

Let's go around the table. Me (Tom, remember?), I'm an average guy in
his 30s, in reasonable shape but hardly cut. Medium height, brown on
brown -- you wouldn't pick me out of a crowd. Married but not too much.

On my left is Mike. He's a big guy, buff and dirty blond, a little
younger than me. His size alone seems to attract women. He's also a
charmer, the way garrulous Irish dudes often are.

Bill is, well, nondescript isn't being unkind. He's the oldest of the
bunch, mid-forties and inexorably losing his shape, his hair and his
color. Great guy, mind like a trap and a non-stop wit.

On my other side is Randy. Randy's not in any danger of losing his
color, which he'd be the first to acknowledge with a grin. He's our
youngest, maybe 26, very creative, with a good eye and a talent for
drawing. And if rumor can be trusted, with the package black men are
known for but few actually have.

Across from me is Megan. You know I'm going to spend a little more time
on her, right? I mean describing her. Mind out of the gutter, dude.

Megan is a hottie. Thirty-two, five-five and I'd guess 125 lbs, pale
skin, with hazel eyes and collar-length dark red hair. Never married as
far we knew, no boyfriend, no girlfriend either -- we did speculate --
so there was a story she hadn't shared.

She always dressed conservatively, but she couldn't hide all her charms.
Maybe not an hourglass figure, but pretty damn good for thirty-two. Nice
rack, probably a C cup, with a butt two clicks short of bubble.
Definitely a Betty.

Now, a crew of guys working together is going to have some crudity. We
weren't being dogs, but nothing was off the table. Of course we started
out cautious because there was a woman in the room, but Megan quickly
set the tone by cursing like a teamster at one of our suppliers. After
that it was anything goes.

Our work atmosphere was flirty but not overtly sexual. We had a job to
do and while we could have fun, there were limits. Not to say we didn't
have our fantasies -- I can only speak for myself, but I know how guys
are, and so do you. And I didn't just imagine the sexual tension, we all
felt it, but it never boiled over. Now here we were, and liquor was
loosening the lid.

"Hey Meg, how come you never wear like jeans and a sweater? You're so
stuffy in jackets and slacks and that shit. We don't get to see that hot
bod. It's not fair." This was Mike, mister diplomat.

"Bite it, Mikey. If I wanted to strut my stuff I'd be a stripper, not an
account exec." Megan could give as good as she got.

"I bet you don't even own anything sexy."

"If I do you'll never see it. I could be wearing flimsy silk underwear
for all you know. But hey, I wouldn't be surprised if you're wearing a
thong -- mucho machos like you are all overcompensating, right?"

"Nope, tighty whiteys. I'll show if you will, Meggy. C'mon, give us a
peek." As Mike reached for his zipper, Megan snorted, pushed back her
chair, grabbed her purse and wandered off.

The rest of the us had been talking sports while those two needled each
other, but Megan's exit shut us down. "Mike, what the fuck? Did you just
make her split with your bullshit?"

"No way, Bill. Just a piss call, you'll see. Besides, she wouldn't go
home without taking me, would she?" Mike's infectious grin took the edge
off his braggadocio.

We fell back into guy talk, and after a while I looked up to watch Megan
work her way back through the tables. I felt a little like a voyeur. She
was a fine woman, and I wasn't the only one who noticed. She was swaying
a little, but still managed to slap away an errant grope. Men.

Her eyes were brighter as she plopped back down. I knew that look. Even
10 years off blow, I remembered the one good thing -- it let me get
stinking drunk and still maintain. But oh, when the bill came due, you
paid and paid...

"Meg -- doing OK?"

"Sure Tom, I'm great. Great. So we gonna talk or drink here?"

We did both. Another round and Bill was fading. I wasn't far behind, and
my inhibitions were right there with me. I caught Megan's eye, raised a
questioning brow and tapped the side of my nose. She caught my meaning
and nodded her head with a jerk toward the restrooms. No one noticed.

"Right back, guys, too much ice in these drinks." I stood a little
unsteadily and made for the rear. A second later Megan got up too. "Good
idea, tinkle time." This caused a woo-hoo from the rest. "Don't fall in,
girls! And no dishing!" Oh, ha ha.

The restroom corridor was empty. I leaned against the wall as Megan
caught up. "You can tell?" she asked warily.

"Yeah, but only because I used to do it too. I'm sure those guys are too
busy looking at your chest to notice your pupils."

"Those fuckers. Guys are assholes." She was slurring a little -- good
thing she lived just up the street, because no way was she driving.
"Leas' you're a gentleman." Gemmin.

As she said this she leaned into me but misjudged the distance. As I
reached to steady her she fell right at me, so I ended up with my arms
around her as she pressed against my chest. "Whoopsie, sorry. God, I
hate a sloppy drunk and now I are one."

I hate me a sloppy drunk too, but a pair of firm tits and there goes my
standards. Did I mention she's great looking and sexy as hell? Yeah? I
thought so. Why wasn't this one taken?

"Nothing a little tune-up can't cure, at least for a while. Got a taste
for me?" I asked. As we disentangled, my hand stroked her breast, an
honest accident. Honest. She brought out a small vial and a tooter from
her purse. Ah, memories.

I waited for another patron to pass, then took one on each side and felt
that familiar tingle. Megan did the same, then again. Apparently not a
rookie. She got a thank-you peck on the cheek, and I hit the head with
renewed energy.

She was back at the table before me, and Mike had started in again on
the subject of her wardrobe.

"Ah, you know jack. I've got lots of other clothes. A closetful. I can
dress for business and I can dress for... not business. I got church
clothes and party clothes and dance clothes and..." Megan was oiled up,
and motor-mouth had set in.

Randy interrupted, getting into it for the first time. "But Meg, we're
at a party now and you're not wearing party clothes."

Megan gave him a narrow look, the kind that lets you know drunk logic is
at work. "We came right here. Didn't change. But I got 'em."

"Oh really? Can you prove it?"

Prove it. The challenge was laid, the glove cast down. "OK, mister
Randy, I live right over there..." -- an arm swept vaguely toward the
north -- "...and thass where they are. You don't believe me, I'll go
change and you'll see. Party cloze," she concluded smugly.

"Aw, Meg, you're too wasted. You go home now and we'll never see you
again. C'mon, we'll all go. You can show us at your place."

Megan was indeed more wasted than us, which was odd considering her
fortification, and she couldn't find the right way to deflect that. So
she just said, "Fine. Fine. Go to my closet. I'll show you."

There followed a confusion of polishing off drinks, settling the tab,
finding coats and totes. Bill begged off, so we poured him into a cab.
The rest of us set off down the block at a merry reel to continue the
party at Megan's. Fortunately there was a liquor store along the way.

                              ===========

The fresh air had revived and steadied us by the time we got to her
building. We managed the two flights to her floor, but as she found her
keys she had an attack of regret. "Uh, guys, I'm not really ready for
visitors. If I'd known, I'd have straightened up. It's kind of a mess."

Mike answered for us all. "Meg, you're talking to men here. 'Straighten
up' -- what's that, Russian? I don't recognize the words."

She shrugged and unlatched, leaving us in her wake as she moved in for
some quick housekeeping. Hell, Mike was right. No pizza crusts or Thai
cartons, no beer cans or underwear on the TV -- it was Martha fucking
Stewart compared to a typical bachelor pad. After some fussing about it
looked like my mother could stop by.

We shifted the seating into a circle and settled in: Mike in the lone
chair, Randy on an ottoman, and Megan and I on a small sofa. What you
call a settee, if you're Martha F. Stewart. We popped some of the beers
we'd picked up, and eased back.

Randy asked if he could twist one, and Megan found an ashtray. It felt
like college again, with a joint going around and a longneck in every
fist. I guess this was my night for regression. I should have known that
the youngster would have da kine -- two tokes and I was halfway toast.

So was Megan, who got animated and feely. Everything was funny, and with
no real thought we drifted hip-to-hip. Another few minutes, another
toke, and she unselfconsciously snuggled against me. No complaints here.

Mike couldn't stand it. "Hey, Meg, you remember why we came over, right?
You were going to show us how you aren't all button-down and pinstripes.
So where's the party duds?"

Megan stretched and groaned, "Ok OK! Give me a few minutes. Put on some
music." She stood, with a little help and a little grope, and headed to
her bedroom. Mike found her docked iPod and started scanning for tunes.
Once he got it going he poked through her CDs as Randy and I told lies
and swapped jokes.

A minute later Mike let out a soft whistle. "Uh oh. Guys, you are not
going to believe this. Holy fuck. Jesus. No wonder Megan doesn't have a
steady. Look." He held out a stack of polaroids -- yes polaroids, still
the safest way to take snaps you don't want lingering on memory sticks
and hard drives.

We glanced nervously toward the bedroom door, which was open just a
crack, as we crowded around Mike's find. And what a find. There was a
dozen or so, each one showing Megan naked and engaged with multiple
partners of both sexes. Let me repeat that: multiple partners, both
sexes. Naked. To quote Mike, "Holy fuck."

Here was Megan on all fours with a cock at each end. Here she was
licking the slit of a gorgeous blonde, and here was the blonde returning
the favor. This was so at odds with our professional Megan that I almost
wanted to look away, to erase this new knowledge and go back to the
innocence of an hour ago. Almost. Instead I flipped to the next snap.

And whoa. Maybe I'm just naive, but I don't usually imagine my friends
having butt sex. That's probably very last century of me, but it's what
it is. And yet here was my lovely friend Megan with one in the bush and
one in the tush. Megan being DP'd -- oh man, now I really wanted to turn
back the clock. I didn't need to know any of this. My eyes were probably
going to burn out now.

We quickly stuffed the photos back behind the CDs where Mike had found
them, and reclaimed our seats. Of course we were as stiff as donkeys, so
we started reciting boxing stats and horsepower ratings to distract our
little heads back to normal. It helped, some.

But then Megan made her entrance. It hadn't been a lie, she did have
'party cloze'. She was dressed in black for dancing, with a mid-calf
skirt and a silky spaghetti-strap top that fell nicely across her
obviously unencumbered breasts, complete with pokies. If you hear a
noise it's me biting my lip and clenching my jaw.

Mother Mary, what a set of legs. All these weeks and not a glimpse, not
a hint what she was hiding. She gave a quick spin to flare the skirt,
and couldn't quite stop at 360. She had the dancing spirit, but the
flesh was weak. She laughed and tumbled back onto the sofa, tucking her
legs in and snuggling up to me again. Uh-oh. Megan was as high as a
fucking kite. First the booze and coke, then the beer and pot, and now
she'd obviously dipped back into her little vial while changing.

"So now do you believe me? I'd say this qualifies as non-business, right
Mike? Can you picture me out clubbing in this?" We could picture a lot
more than that, in a lot less than that. Pictures. Oh christ. My cock
was back to full mast and it didn't help having Megan, blissfully
unaware Megan, practically draped over me.

"Oh, you started some music. Randy, is this your mix?" she asked as I
slipped an arm around her to make us more comfortable. It felt very
natural, to both of us I guess, because her head found my shoulder and
her eyes drifted closed.

Randy replied, "No, Mike found them. Found it. The music. You have my
tastes, though." He was having trouble adjusting his position to hide
the bulge in his jeans and for a second I flashed to those rumors.

"Mmmm" into my shoulder was Megan's only comment. Conversation paused as
we retreated into our heads. Megan might have been trashed, but none of
us was exactly straight. My thoughts were just where your own are now,
and my superego was still down on the landing. Those polaroids, the
sight of Megan in party regalia, and the scent of perfume mixed with the
unmistakable aroma of an aroused woman pushed me into what-the-hell
territory. I went for it.

The arm around Megan became a hand on Megan's breast. Cupping and
fondling Megan's breast. I slid my hand under her top to tease a nipple.
This was a moment of truth: I'd either get whacked or get lucky. Mike
and Randy saw it all, in fact couldn't look away if they'd wanted.

"MMMMmmm!" Just the response I was hoping for. Her nipple tightened and
she squirmed around to give me access to the other side. Bonus! I was
in. No one spoke, but we knew -- we were all in.

With my free hand I stroked her leg, gradually moving toward the inside
and pushing her skirt so the guys could see. I kissed the top of her
head -- god, she smelled great -- and she raised her face to mine, eyes
still closed, still purring. As our lips met she opened like a flower,
moaning in lust and thrusting her breasts in time with her tongue.

My leg hand -- as I thought of it -- had reached a fork in the road, to
find that Megan had forgone more than a bra. All of us now knew what
parts she waxed. As we continued kissing, I caressed her outer lips and
toyed with her few remaining russet curls. She responded by stroking
down my chest to my slacks, then clasping at the thoroughly engorged
member encased therein. She copped my johnson, all right? Plain enough?

The other guys had to be content with stroking their own trousers, as
the scene unfolded along with Megan's legs. Breaking our lip-lock, I
whispered, "Meg, I've got to have you, right now. Shouldn't we take this
into the bedroom?"

She opened her eyes, now bright with passion. "Yes. Find a bed."

"What about the guys?"

She gave a smoky glance at Randy and Mike, then lowered her eyes and
said something I couldn't catch. "What's that, Meg? I didn't hear you."

She looked up with a hint of defiance. "Fuck them."

"Fuck them? Or fuck them too?"

She bit her lower lip and nodded a little shyly. "Too."

I don't think any of us could have imagined it, not in our fantasies,
not even in dreams. It looked like this cool professional woman, our
gorgeous friend and respected colleague, was going to fuck us all.

"Meg, I have to confess -- we saw the pictures. Your polaroids. Mike
found them over by the CDs."

She gazed at me deeply, not shocked or surprised, but with an old, old
look. "I know. I saw. I wanted you to find them. To know me." That crack
in the door -- it worked both ways. 'Put on some music'. Man, any time
you think you'll outfox a woman. And I realized now that Meg wasn't
acting quite so drunk any more. Oh.

No more needed to be said. I hefted her into my arms and kneed the
bedroom door open. I always did like a dramatic gesture. Then I slid on
a throw rug and she splayed onto the bed. Look, I never said I could
pull off those gestures. At least no one got hurt this time.

She raised her arms so I could slip off her top. I'd just seen pictures
of her boobs in diverse positions and gravitational influences, but this
was live and direct. I took one in each hand and knelt to suck on them.

I'll own up to being a 'tit man'. That doesn't mean I like huge tits, I
don't actually, it just means I like tits. Small is fine. These were
beauties. Megan laid back as I nipped at the tips, stroked the flanks,
sucked in a mouthful and tongued a nubbin. I changed sides just often
enough to keep the sensations fresh.

Women sometimes go for a guy's nipples, to give pleasure back, but it
does nothing for me. I don't know about you, but mine aren't hooked up
to anything. Hers were, and she loved every second.

Mike and Randy were getting randy. Cocks were out, pants discarded and
briefs forgotten. This was new territory for me. Again with the naivete,
but I'd never been in the room with another rampant penis, or two, and I
expected to feel a little uncomfortable about exposing my imagined
inadequacies. After all, Mike was 6-4, and Randy had rumors -- would I
measure up? And ah, I wouldn't have to touch, would I?

Megan wasn't in a measuring mood. She writhed and moaned as I licked
down to her navel, pulled off her one remaining garment, spread her
thighs and dove into her minimal muff. This left the north 40 open, so
Mike moved in, presenting himself to Megan's eager lips. I wasn't
studying, so much, but I did look. Huh. Proportional for a big guy, but
not intimidating. So OK. And Megan seemed to find it tasty.

Meanwhile, Randy had attacked Megan's breasts the way she was attacking
Mike's dick -- con mucho gusto. It's a cliche of sorts, but his cocoa
against her alabaster made an exciting contrast. There's something
primal about black on white, even for those of us who've left race
behind, something that never quite goes away.

Megan's hand groped for him, and found a tool worthy of the name. The
fucker had to be a foot long and as thick as an avocado, his nut sack
the size of my fist. Damn, and I'd been doing so well. In reality it
wasn't quite that huge. I later learned it was a lousy 10 inches, but I
mean shit, that's still time and a half for guys like me.

Megan's determined suction had brought Mike to the brink, and my own
efforts had done the same for her. As I chewed on her lips and tongued
her hooded clit, I slipped two fingers in. She responded by gripping
with muscles I don't even have, and soon she arched her back and stuffed
Mike deeper into her mouth, gave a muffled moan and pressed my head down
with her free hand.

With fingers firmly in, I stopped all motion except for a light wiggle
against and behind her clit, and she went off. Randy pulled and tweaked
her nipples, and Mike, well, what could he do? With a growl he blasted a
pulse down her throat, then pulled back and let a couple more spray
across her face and chest. I chuckle at the typical 'money shot', but I
could see how it had a good side. Context is so important.

Megan was zoned, Mike was drooping, it looked like it was all over. But
wait, there's still these two dicks, one of them pretty damn big. Whyee,
Miss Megan, whatever will we do? Arrr.

"Whoo." That was Megan. "That much, just from oral, and I'm betting on
the trifecta. Lucky for me, there's two more racers." She took our cocks
in hand and drew us forward. I had to be on her left, because she needed
a strong right hand for Randy. Bastid.

"You ate me like Erika does, and that's saying something. I'd repay in
kind, but my mouth had its treat already. We'll have to find another
hole," she said with a mock pout.

"And no offense, Tom, but I want this in my pussy," she said hefting
Randy. "A girl doesn't see one like this every day. Don't feel left out,
though -- there's a surprise in every box. Anyway, that has to wait
because I need a break. I hope I can get you both up again when I'm
ready." We laughed, and she licked us by turns, teasing and promising.

I found beers, Randy rolled another, and Megan had a taste of the lady,
which not surprisingly surprised Mike and Randy. See, I knew they hadn't
noticed. I took hits of everything that went around. How could I get any
more wasted?

Mike sponged Megan clean of what she hadn't swallowed. My momma always
said, a gentleman wipes his splooge. Megan salvaged a blob from her
upper lip, saying it had been way too long since she'd had that taste.
Damn project had ruined her sex life.

The pictures we'd 'found' were now an open secret, so Randy grabbed them
and had Megan take us through the deck. She and the blonde, Erika, were
oldest friends who had started down this road together. The guys were
their college buds, very discreet, still taking regular turns with this
sexy duo. This was what Megan did for sex.

Megan had never gone outside their circle, but as we'd grown close at
work, and with no play time, she'd grown horny too. Her fuck pals were
her outlet, and she'd gotten unplugged. She swore she hadn't planned an
orgy, it just grew as the night went on. All right, yes, she picked a
very hot outfit once we arrived, and OK she hadn't hidden those photos
very well. Really, at all. But plan?

Her favorite picture was the DP (mine too) because it was her first
time, but being double-teamed at the ends was also pretty great. There
was -- according to our lover, and I accept it because I'll never know
firsthand -- nothing like sucking a big hard cock while another one
plunders your ass. I guess in theory I could experience that, but it
ain't gonna happen.

                              ===========

Randy and I had flagged, but with Megan's help we rose again. Mike was
going to sit out a round. Megan turned her attention to Randy, pushing
him onto his back while stroking his cock. "Oh, you're a lovely one, you
are," she cooed to his member. "You're gonna open Megan up tonight."

She squatted over his face, saying, "Tom left me juicy, but you better
give me a touch-up." He obliged, and I was captivated anew by the
contrast of her pale sex on his dark lips. I think I was pretty high.

After a pretty lengthy touch-up, a moistened Megan scooched back and
straddled him cowgirl. "Watch, I'll make this thing disappear."

She pressed the opening of her sex down onto his shaft, and after an
exquisite moment of resistance, gave way to it. By inches she descended,
ratcheting up to spread her natural lube, then back down so that now
half was in, and now three quarters. She groaned and chanted, "Sooo
full" as he met her cervix, and conquered that barrier too.

I came around to give her a full kiss, to suck some of her passion for
my own. Flicking her nipples, I whispered, "Don't just sit there. Meg.
You climbed the man. Now fuck him."

She peered at me as if from a distance. "Oh, Tom, oh god, oh, I got it,
I got it all." I gave her clit the merest touch, and she came. You could
see it spread in a ripple from her womb, as a convulsion nearly bent her
spine. She held a soundless shriek until we worried for her breath, then
gasped and came back to earth, one shudder at a time.

Now up she rode, and down, skewering herself erratically on our good
friend, never settling into a rhythm. I got out of the way and Randy
reached for her breasts, tweaking the nipples to add to her sensory
overload. Then he pulled her forward to give her a soul kiss, folding
them into a true yin-yang and taking control of the pace.

He fucked up into her with piston-like deliberation, and the observer in
me marveled at the sight. Forget black and white, this was a big dick in
a small lady. Each time he pulled back I could see her inner lips
stretch out with him. Mike was as aroused by the sights and sounds as I
was, because he once again sported wood, and was keeping it polished.

Randy caught my eye and nodded toward Megan's rear, while reaching down
to spread her cheeks. Oh, fuck, he's offering me her ass. Could I do it?
This meant intimate contact with another guy, which irrationally scared
the shit out of me.

Ah, but rational schmational, I had an unsatisfied boner and the sight
before me was irresistible. We knew she liked the DP, and her ass was
slick with her juices. From what I'd seen of Megan's wiles tonight, I
bet she'd already prepared. So I did it. The second my fingers touched
her asshole, she yelped "Oh yes, oh god YES, fuck me there, do it Tom!"

After an awkward moment of settling in I pressed myself against her,
expecting to have to work for it. But Megan had my back. As she felt the
contact she pushed her ring open and I slid slowly in. It would have
been a tight squeeze under any circumstances, but this woman was already
quite full of dick, and I was second banana, so to speak. Randy pulled
out some to give me room. He'd done this before.

We've all read about the weirdness of having another cock rubbing yours
through that thin membrane, and some have experienced it, but it was new
to me. I tried to stop over-thinking and just feel. The sensations were
amazing, and it was driving Megan wild. "Dear Jesus fuck, oh fuck that
feels good, oh fuck me!" Girl was saying fuck a lot, you notice.

For just a moment I stayed at full depth while Randy started up again,
then I began moving in opposition as I caught the beat. Our alternating
strokes quickly gave Megan another major orgasm.

This proved too much for Mike. He headed for familiar ground, slapping
his dick lightly against Megan's mouth. Instead of taking him in she
panted, "Camera. Get the camera. Kitchen." He did, and we saw the flash
and heard the whirr twice as he framed us up.

He offered her his cock again, and she sucked it in. He'd set the self
timer, so another flash caught our lovely Megan being made watertight.

The slick heat of Megan's ass, the regular thrusting, and the utter
depravity of the scene overcame me. I went rigid and let loose with the
loudest, hardest come I've ever felt, pumping my seed deep into Megan's
bowels as the others continued to stroke. If I'd died right then, to
quote Samuel Goldwin, I couldn't have been a more fortunate man.

I slid out with a slimy pop, beyond satiety, and watched Mike and Randy
pick up the pace. Randy had terrific staying power, because he outlasted
a guy who'd already gone off once this evening. Mike let out a howl and
this time Megan held on, taking his second load fully in her mouth. He
too fell back, leaving Randy as the lone fucker.

With the field clear, Randy had Megan sit up, and encouraged her to
seesaw at her own pace. She was really out of it, having come almost
continuously since before I'd filled her ass. I snapped off one more pic
of Megan proudly riding her black stallion. Take that, Walter Farley.

Randy came like a fountain. Megan's pussy couldn't contain it, so semen
squished out everywhere. Megan quickly hopped off and bent her head to
catch the excess. As she fitted what she could (not much) of Randy into
her mouth, I watched her stretched hole slowly closing. It didn't seem
likely that it would ever be tight again, but who knows what the body
can handle? I did know one thing -- that hymen wasn't growing back.

Megan flopped over next to Randy, who sat up and stroked her gently. I
moved in to do the same, and soon we were all lightly massaging her as
she purred contentedly. Her hands reached out to caress our limp cocks
as she said, "That... that was the most incredible thing that's ever
happened to me. And you," she said to Randy, "are everything I'd heard.
No names, but the word on you is righteous."

Randy chuckled. "Nothing like word of mouth to attract new business."

"Well, I can't wait to introduce you to Erika. Seriously though, guys,
this can never get out, it has to be our secret. If the story gets on
the street, this'll be the last time." The implication was clear, and it
made my cock twitch: keep it quiet, and we can keep it going. Uh, deal!

I got us drinks, just water this time, and we passed around the new
polaroids. Megan's was the only identifiable face, which suited me fine,
though anyone who knew Randy wouldn't have any trouble figuring him out.

Meg declared the last picture her new favorite, and I had to agree.
Here's a beautiful woman, proudly impaled on a tree branch of a cock,
her breasts thrust forward into a lover's grasp, her head thrown back in
ecstasy. And I was there. It doesn't get any sweeter.

                              ===========

As I type this I still have trouble reconciling this scene with the
weeks we'd spent slaving in that fishbowl, with no inkling of what was
brewing below the surface. We'd shared so much, never realizing how much
intimacy was left to share.

Sometimes I wonder if maybe there were intimacies we hadn't plumbed.
Then I remember fingering and sucking Megan as she took Mike's goo on
her face, and I decide, nah. This was as deep as it goes.


                               -- End --


With love from Nico, December 2007
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