One should refrain from wearing a dangley bracelet to an orgy, as it impedes one’s ability to give handjobs.
This I have learned from attending my first orgy.
I entered the designated play-room clutching my security-blanket red dildo and the arm of the sweet girl who’d offered to introduce me around. Everyone looked up as the door opened; my new friend shouted out my name to everyone’s assorted greetings and sizings-up.
“Look at her eyes get wide!” someone said.
“This is her first time. Give her a minute to take it all in,” someone else responded.
I’m sure I looked like a nervous bug as I peered into the room. On what did my eyes fix first and then finally return? The massage table set up in the corner, upon which reclined a very tall naked man. Two women wearing only panties flanked him. A bottle of baby oil sat between his thighs. When the massaging women paused to welcome me, the naked man looked over too and gave me a friendly wave.
I turned to my guide. “Can we go help with the massage?” I asked her.
“Let’s ask. I’m sure they’ll let us.” Permissions secured, I rolled up my sleeves and dug in.
And this is when my bracelet began causing trouble, rubbing against the man’s skin and getting besmirched with oil. I uncoiled it and looped it around my neck, where it quickly got in the way of the blond man on my right who asked (and received!) permission to play with my tits.
When the tall man flipped over, I’m sure my eyes grew large once again. The other massage-girls had promised that I’d enjoy the sight of his 9″ cock, and I was not disappointed. While my tits were massaged by the blond man on my right, I used one hand on the reclining man’s thighs and balls while my other hand explored the panty-clad ass of the woman on my left.
Soon enough, the tall man moved off to other pleasures and the blond man removed his hands from my tits long enough to push me gently toward the table. “Your turn next,” he demanded. I declined on the basis that I was still easing into things. My tit-caressing companion started to repeat his request but was interrupted by another man, one whom I knew very slightly from email correspondence.
“No means no, dude. Give her a chance to warm up to things,” he advised. He’d been watching the scene from a nearby bed, naked but for a towel thrown across his lap.
“I’ll get there in time,” I said to the blond guy, who apologized for his over-enthusiasm and wandered off into the crowd.
I helped myself to some antibacterial hand cleanser and thanked my towel-wearing friend for the nudge. The massage table didn’t stay empty for even a minute. It was claimed by a stocky man who was marched over by his Mistress girlfriend, and I had a very pleasant playtime with my first ever uncircumcised cock.
After watching that gorgeous work of nature go from tiny and hidden to throbbing and exposed, I am even more horrified at the routine circumcision of newborns. Here ends the editorial section of today’s posting.
My massaging companions took turns taking the stocky man’s dick into their mouth. When the turn came to me, I declined again on the grounds of easing into things. I kept my hands elsewhere, including (still) on the bottom of the girl next to me. She ground back onto my hand particularly hard when it was her turn with the cock in her mouth.
When the stocky man had taken his fill, his Mistress was helped onto the table. After a quick drink and another hand-washing, I returned to find five men and women stroking her golden skin and chocolaty nipples.
I nudged back into place and when my turn came, I let oil fall all over her smoothly-shaved cunt before dipping in my fingers. I was slightly shocked to find what I thought was a mole centered directly above her clit, but as I’ve never before had my fingers on any other pussy than my own, I asked no questions.
When my turn was over and the girl next to me slid her fingers in, she exclaimed, “You didn’t have your clit pierced last time! When did you get that done?”
Oh! A clit piercing. Not a mole. My bad.
After the golden girl had come, clutching my hand hard as she shuddered, we helped her to stand on her trembling legs. She and her boyfriend embraced, then left to find the showers.
The next resident on the massage table was my towel-wearing acquaintance mentioned above. And you’ll have to wait until later (possibly much later, depending upon my whim) before I can tell you what happened when he climbed aboard the table…and what happened with him later.
.
