Disclaimer:(standard) Do not screw up. Do not do anything illegal.
This includes specifically (but not limited to) reading on if you are
under 18- 21 in some localities If you are underage you must leave
now. If you're and curious, this is not the place to get the
straight story. You act like this and people will look at you strange
and give you a wide berth. Also, don't try this at home. Some of this
stuff is just plain wrong, most of it is unsafe in the present viral
climate and some of it doesn't work in this universe. They are stories.
They deal with ideas, fantasies and thoughts that might not even be
pleasant in real life. Thoughts are like that. Fantasies are there so we
can toy with the sensations without feeling or inflicting the pain,
despair or humiliation. End Sermon.
At a party last Hallows e'en
There really was quite the scene.
When Madame Pompadour
Passed out on the floor,
She pulled a train that was fit for a queen.
BOO! BOO!
Jenny and I were both excited. Even the most veteran movers,
as she and I were, suffer a period of discomfort in new surroundings.
But here in St. Louis, we seemed to have been assimilated into the
community of large houses spread on the hills north of the city as if we
had always been there.
We had moved in late September, so it was little over a month
and already our neighbors greeted us as if we were friends. And
now we were busy choosing costumes for the Halloween party at the
biggest house on the hill.
It was not our own happiness alone that made the air crackle
with excited energy. It seemed the entire neighborhood looked
forward to this fete with great anticipation. We didn't understand- yet,
but we were happy to be included so quickly in the social swirl.
With less than a week until the party, Jenny was still in a tizzy
over the costumes. This, obviously, was not a party to which one wore
and sheet. She was trying to choose a costume worthy of remarks,
but not pretentious, given our recent entry to the crowd. It was the kind
of decision that had her in a happy quandry for days.
She ran through the historic figures and recent roles,
making subjective judgements left and right until she settled on an 18th
century serving wench costume for her and a hunstman's costume for me.
She said it sent the right message that we understood the aristocracy
and were not yet trying to push ourselves to the top of the set.
I thought the knickers were silly and the waistcoat confining, but
I did like the soft three-cornered hat. Her own was made of layers and
layers of nearly transparent crinkly material with a black felt vest, an
apron and bonnet.
She even went so far as to wear pantaloons under the many skirts,
though I wondered who she thought was going to look under there.
Then it was the night of the party. My dear had again done
me proud. There were many puritans and French royal costumes,
a few Zorros and fewer cowboys and costumes from the roaring 20's.
We fit comfortably right in the middle of the majority.
In no time we were trading compliments and polite conversation
with the guests, as we all attempted to remain anonymous while
discovering the identity of each of the others. Foolishly, I thought our
recent arrival would help shield us, but instead our newness made us
stand out.
That became evident as the witching hour approached. Marquise
de Poumpadour, our hostess, tinkled a silver bell to call for silence.
"I want to thank you all for coming," she began and a titter
rippled through the guests.
"Now behave," she reprimanded them, "I wanted to announce
that there will be no need to draw lots this year. (disapproving murmur)
Well, you all want 'fresh blood', so to speak, don't you? (sounds of
assent) Then we will defer to our newest members."
My ears were growing hot. Nothing she had said was clear, but
I was getting an uneasy feeling in my stomach. My intuition was
confirmed a moment later.
"You, serving girl," she commanded Jenny, "come attend your
mistress."
Louis XV, her husband?, escorted Jenny to the front of the
room. Then she searched the room for me.
"Unless you wish her to be honored alone, you better get up
here," she said.
What was the worst that could happen? They would embarrass
us for being pretentious or boring and make sport. If that was the way
they were, fine. I would be transfered out again as soon as the branch
was on its feet and they could keep their stodgy soceity.
I stood beside Jenny as our hostess 'introduced' us by our
personas.
"How appropriate they are dressed to serve," she said. "For by
acclaimation I declare them the master and mistress of the ball."
My favorite part, the tri-corner hat, was set aside and Jenny and
I were festooned with tall, feathered headgear that would mark us
wherever we went in the room. It wasn't as bad as I feared.
I noticed the the powered-wigged catrerers slipping out of the
room as the clock slid to midnight, but my senses were not alerted. Even
the doors to the large hall closing escaped my notice. But as the clock
began to strike, the very air in the room changed.
"Unmask, unmask," Madame de Poumpadour called out as the
tolling began. "Before the final stroke."
I reached to pull off the simple mask across my eyes, but I was
under the Madam's arm and she prevented me as Louis was doing for
Jenny.
"You are the main attraction, we will wait until the others are
done," she whispered to us and set my skin aprickle with her intensity.
Then I saw what 'unmask' meant here. The other guests were
struggling to beat the 12th stroke as they wriggled out of their costumes.
Some 30 people stood naked from the waist when the clock struck
twelve. Then I could see why period costumes were so popular.
The Hessians still wore coats that hung down coquettishly
over their buttocks while their penises dangled in full view. And the
nudity stopped where the calf-high boots began. Likewise, the costumes
of the same era as our own featured high stockings, the women's with
exquisite figures, and with ornate garters to set off the nakedness above.
Even the few renegade Zorros and cowboys had high boots completing
their nude ensemble.
I was mindlessly making these assessments when I felt Jenny's
hand clamp down on my arm. She looked at me with a wide-eyed
questioning look. I shrugged. We had been invited to join swinging
groups before, but nothing like this evident orgy. I really had no opinion.
Our options were few. Make a terrible scene and live like pariahs or
go along and see what happened.
Doing nothing was the easy way and we took it.
With everyone's full attention, our hosts began ceremoniously
reducing us to the same state as the rest of the guests. For Jenny it was
the loss of skirt after skirt after skirt as 'Louis' pulled each successive
garmet down her legs. Madame Poumpadour took her time releasing
the buckles of my knickers and the broad belt, but she had me naked
from waistcoat to knees long before her consort reached Jenny's
pantaloons.
I joined all the rest in watching my denuded before my
eyes. 'Louis' was mumbling something as he peeled away the layers and
I was happy to see Jenny stifle a giggle at whatever he said.
Then came the moment for drama as he untied the silk ribbons
holding up the pantaloons and pulled them down, leaving her in her
slippers, high socks, thin chemise, vest and, after a wry smile, her
apron.
He held the concealing garmet waist high as we were presented,
letting it fall after Poumpadour's words.
"I give you the master and mistress," Madam Poumpadour
announced. "See that you attend them as would befit their station."
We were led to two armless couches arranged side by side and
laid down. The apron now modestly covered Jenny's sex, but I was
afforded no such cover. Beside us, our host and hostess remained
fully clothed as the guests began to form two lines.
"It is a point of honor to show restraint during the adoration,"
my hostess said to me in an aside.
It was more than an honor, it was a torture to be restrained as
the women, one by one, knelt down and paid tribute to my organ. Some
only kissed daintily, but others licked lovingly and yet others betrayed it
was a point of honor among the women to puncture my restraint as they
took me deep in their mouths until their noses pressed on my belly.
My tragedy was that they were still masked or made up so I
could not be sure which of them it was that were so accomplished.
Jenny, obviously had no such caveat. She rocked gently at first,
but became quite the trollop as each in turn ducked beneath her
apron and adored her womanhood. I must have hear her mewling in
orgasm two or three times as the 15 or so took their turn beneath
the shielding apron.
"Now you must thank them," my hostess said in a husky tone.
She pointed me to the end of the line that had formed in the
reverse order of their adoring and I went. I was unsure of my duty. Was
I to satisfy each in turn or simply bestow a kiss like unto the one I had
received. I lingered a bit at the first dark bush until the owner was
shifting foot to foot as I peeked at Jenny with her first man.
She too seemed unsure of what was required as she took the
first organ into her mouth and sucked. But soon the touched her
head as if he had had enough. We moved together to the next genitalia
exposed for us. I was nowhere brief, but some longer than others as I
waited for a response from the lady. I was lost in lust and besmirched
and besmeared with spendings and fluids as I pushed my face into the
final crotch.
She groaned nearly at once, but I persevered with wild abandon.
I don't know when I would have stopped if I had not felt a strong hand
pull me back. It was a strange who lifted me and without a word
turned me toward the couch I had recently occupied.
At the moment, Madame Poumpadour reclined on its mauve
embroidery, her skirts thrown back, exposing for the first time the
dark chink between her milk-white thighs. I was pushed to my
knees where the women had knelt.
"Time to repay the hospitality," she rasped in a tone only for me.
I glanced up to see Jenny in a similiar position before the stiff
stander of 'Louis' and then lowered my face to the slot before me. This
was not a woman and her taste was dark and musky, but like
aged wine, it released character the more I tasted it. No Liebfraumilch,
rather it was a full-bodied Cabernet Sauvignon with a spicy finish.
I had but begun to appreciate the body and backbone of her
offerings when I felt an impatient hand behind my head.
"That is not your calling," she said, breathless, "I am to be the
first to feel the thrust of the master of the ball."
Again glancing at Jenny, I saw she was well into the same
activity on the other couch. Her apron concealed nothing as it lay on
Louis' belly while she rode the St. George on his lap. I could see the
others also appreciating the compact heart-shape of her bottom riding
up and down his stiff pego.
Madame Poumpadour was surprisingly tight and released an
even more heady fragrance when I penetrated her. Her feet remained
properly at the sides of my hips, but she used them to raise her sex to
my entrance.
"Not that I did not enjoy your tongue, dear boy," she said
quietly as I settled to the root inside her, "But I have been lusting for that
proud tool since it brushed near my face at the uncovering."
Ever the gracious hostess, even when entertaining her lover. She
was less proper in her acceptance of my thrusts. Her hips betrayed the
experience of long practice as she moved to my rhythm, trapping and
releasing me as I slid in and out of the grip of her soaked satin sheath.
My concentration was broken at one point as Louis gave a cry
and pressed Jenny tight on his lap. As the commotion died, he held her
in place and and looked over. He caught my eye as if to say, we will
wait until you have finished.
"Do not mind me," she gasped finally as her hips lost their
coherence, "Go on about your business."
She climaxed most precipitously with a sudden arch of her spine
and most lady-like mews as her woman part trembled around my
redoubled thrusts. As quickly, she was again riding my charging member,
urging me to join her in orgasm.
"Don't be shy, release it to me," she scolded lightly, "Bathe me
in your fountain of youth."
I'm not sure if her stilted words hindered or helped my efforts,
but the knowing rock of her hips were undeniably a spur. Even as I
sent my seed jetting into her, her hips pulled at me, urging more of my
salty semen inside her welcoming warmth.
"Now the others will want you, welcome to the club," she said
after a pause to catch her breath.
Jenny and I were allowed one brief kiss as we accepted the
applause of the guests and just enough time for her to whisper quickly,
"I swear no one told me any of this."
"I won't mind if you won't," I replied quickly as hands drew us
away into a milling group of admirers.
I scarcely caught a glimpse of her the rest of the night beyond the
top of the feathery headress that loomed above the masses. It seems that
as 'new blood' we both were in great demand. When the copulating
bodies parted so that I did see her, she was unreservedly participating
with a partner or partners as she held a court of her own.
For my own part, I was more cautiously reserving my resources
so I would not become useless too soon. At the start, that was of little
concern as a bevy of puritains and one near-naked flapper attacked
my limp organ in a pack.
But when I rose to the occasion, the flapper pushed back the
rest staking her claim because of our headgear.
"I've got a feather," she said, indicating the peacock feather on
the diadem of her outfit, "And you've got feathers. We belong together."
In truth, it took some doing for us to be together. Her face was
twisted in an ecstasy of pain as she pushed herself down onto my
member and I was forced little by very little indeed into her too tight
opening.
"Are you a virgin?" I asked with concern as so much effort was
expended to so little embedding of my organ.
"Just alum," she said.
Only later did I learn of the folk remedy for a profligate life. That
a douche of alum solution could so contract a woman's nether parts that
she could pass again for innocent when she had led years of debauch.
At the time I privately cursed her excess while I enjoyed the
effect. In itself, it made our coupling exquisite, but I feared for the effect
on my continued ability to please my admirers.
She did succeed in again draining my passion- after which her
sex opened to a normal state. And I again was beset by hungry mouths
fighting to restore the worm. I forgave her for all as I suffered the glad
torment of the mouths.
I manfully acquitted myself for the rest of the evening, leaving my
signature of DNA in one more womanhood and another mouth before
I was truely drained. Jenny was sprightly still, but had no takers as the
night ground to a close.
Kissed all at the door, Madame Poumpador sent us out to greet
the first rays of the morning of All Halllows Day. It was going to be a
memorable stay.
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