The Race

By Jocelyn

The party was going well.  Carla Bruni’s incredibly sexy and husky vocals were filling the large dimly lit lounge room with the beautiful song ‘J’en connais’. A pall of blue smoke hovered like a heat haze over bodies draped across lazyboy armchairs, sofas and, just propped up against the wall.  Most were intertwined with someone, in various states of undress, panting with a groping intimacy and oblivious to observation. 

Then, the music died.

“I say, everyone…”  Kristin called out, banging a spoon against a wine glass to gain attention. 

Reluctantly, figures disengaged to determine the source of the interruption.  Dim curiosity vied with resentment at being disturbed but, everyone took notice when Kristin spoke.  She was tall, slim and by far the most sleekly dressed, in a short low cut cream off the shoulder cocktail dress, and sheer stockings. Six inch stilettos. Her hair was pristine, tied up, and she looked like a blonde version of Audrey Hepburn’s Holly Golightly in Breakfast at Tiffany’s.  The epitome of every man’s fantasy.  She spoke in crystal cut glass possessed of the English gentry. 

“What about a game darlings?”  She addressed the room in general, and was rewarded by a series of groans and the odd cry of ‘bugger off’. 

“I’m already playing a good game.”  A voice in the corner piped up.

“Don’t be a little arse, Toby.”  Kristin admonished, stirring a ripple of laughter. 

“And a little cock.”  A slurred female voice joined in and the laughter went up a notch.

“This is a special game.  A race. In reverse.”  Kristin purred, and wandered into the centre of the room.  “Let’s sort out the men from the little boys shall we ladies?”  There was a murmur of interest, and the disentanglements began in earnest.  Women adjusted their skirts, one pulling up her wispy panties, without particular regard to modesty.

With their attention captured, Kristin outlined her suggestion.  “First, each man takes off all his clothes.” She paused, and the murmuring died away. “Then he kneels. We tie his hands behind him, to his ankles then each is teased to an erection.”  The room remained silent.

“I’ve already got a hard on just thinking about it…”  A voice broke in, and a girl replied. “Prat, you’ve had that all night”.

“Then, we swap partners, and each girl has to bring her newly allotted male to a climax, doing whatever is necessary to accomplish this.” 

“And?”  One spotty faced young dark haired man leered.

“And, the last one left without ejaculating has the pick of all the girls here, for the rest of the evening. To do with as he wishes”.

“That include you?”  Asked Brad slyly,  a football player, who was very well endowed if his current girlfriend was to be believed.

“But of course.” Kristin pouted. “But, there is a catch….”  The room waited with baited breath.  “The first to climax pays a cruel penalty. He gets his balls squeezed, or slapped, depending on the whim of whoever is attending him.”  This statement was accompanied by a series of oohs, and gasps of imagined pain. 

“Yeah, I’m in.”  A tubby youth, something in accounting, cried out, his sweaty face glowing with excitement.  There was a tide of wary compliance from the men then, to the taunts of their respective partners, each relented with thinly disguised enthusiasm.

The men quickly stripped - knelt - and thrust their hands behind them, which were duly tied to ankles. Each was then allocated a number on a paper slip, which was popped into a hat. The women, eyes closed, eagerly inserted their hand, and selected their ward.  “No partners,” Kristin firmly reminded them. “Your task is to get your new male to shoot as quickly as possible.” 

Within minutes the eight men were lined up. Several already had cement erections or were in the final stages of rigidity.  Hands trussed behind them, they were rendered helpless. There were nervous giggles at the sight of the line of helpless naked males.

Gently, each of the women took hold of the shaft of the man in front of them.  “Can we use anything?”  Katrina, a heavy breasted voluptuous dark haired mature woman of Mediterranean countenance asked.  Her hooded lids, mocked Toby, her finger tip playing up and down his quivering erection.

“Oh, yes sweetie, no rules.”  Kristen grinned.

“Half a mo.”  Rachel, a bubbly girl in her early twenties with a short red skirt and blue tank top, tossed her auburn hair to one side and jumped up. She exited the room and one or two eyebrows went up.

Bridget, with a saucy grin, pulled her tan pleated skirt up about her waist, to reveal long slender legs encased in green stockings and matching skimpy frilly panties, a tantalising strip of white flesh separated the two.  The older man in front of her, his greying hair falling over his forehead, closed his eyes and swallowed hard.   His prick twitched in anticipation. Bridget concluded she wouldn’t have too much trouble with this one.

Clarissa was mature enough to realise she’d have to play cunning as her male was definitely on the wrong side of fifty and overweight.  His thickening prick could only manage a struggling horizontal waver, peeking from under a pronounced beer gut. Despite a sheen of lusting perspiration across his forehead, which indicated a willingness of spirit, the flesh was definitely weak. She quickly twirled a rubber band in her hand into a double loop and slipped it tight about his scrotum. She cupped his testicles, bound tight as a ball. “If you don’t obey me dearie, I’ll just have to snip these off.” She scowled at him. It worked, and his prick speedily rose to the occasion.  Yes she thought, older men respond to a touch of sexual domination.

Rachel returned with a bowl of hot soapy water and a bar of citrus smelling soap.  She immersed her hands and richly lathered them.  “This is special.”  She grinned knowingly at the onlookers.

Kristin took out a small digital camera, and a couple of flashes made everyone blink.  “For the record – oh, and for pinning up in the ladies loo.” She taunted, as the men mumbled their protests.  She inspected each in turn, then stood at the head of the line.  “Ok,  ladies,” She held up her forefinger. “You may start from….. now!”

Rachel instantly ran her hot lathered hand slowly up and down Kevin’s shaft. The soap made her hand soft and slippery - vaginal. Soapy lubricant trickled down around his balls and disappeared between his legs. Her eyes grinned into Kevin’s as she enclosed his bulbous tip, and his breath came in sudden heavy heaves.  He had not before known such eroticism, and whined in frustration.

Kevin’s wife Beryl was a rather plump girl with a round face, thin spiteful lips, late thirties and bored with her retail manager husband. But, what she lacked in imagination she made up for in enthusiasm, pumping away energetically and nuzzling the neck of her candidate Karl. He was a diminutive specimen, late twenties and fumblingly nervous.  She leaned back, opened her blouse and let his eyes feast on her pendulous breasts as they tumbled out, to swing before him.

Within a minute, the tubby accountant, Barry, squealed in anguish. “Oh God, I can’t stop myself… Oh God…No… No… please…”  His tormenter was a college graduate named Janet, with a pony tail, short white skirt and raven black briefs, all clearly visible to him. Her shapely legs parted and his eyes locked on the glorious sight of her bulging Mons Pubis. She formed an O with her scarlet lips and very slowly pushed her tongue through. His imagination went into overdrive and seconds later, a whale like eruption emitted from his organ. His breath expelled in long lingering satisfaction.  Janet sighed with success and released him, proudly sitting back on her shapely haunches. 

Rachel’s man was the immediate encore. Unable to resist the warm soapy eroticism of Rachel’s touch, his white ejaculate spattered on his chest. Then, it was the footballer’s turn, with a low grunting cry. Surprisingly,  Bridget’s man held out for longer than she expected, which she attributed to his age. When he finally climaxed, she frowned with disappointment and so, gave his balls a small flick of her fingers to console herself. He yelped at the spike of pain. 

Finally, only skinny Karl remained and, just before he could climax,  Beryl was required to cease her ministrations. “I hope that wasn’t a reflection on me?”  She muttered sulkily, pulling her hand away, and pushing her breasts back into her blouse, coyly buttoning it up. 

“I’m sure it wasn’t.” Kristin reassured, lacking conviction. 

The victor looked nervously pleased with himself.  Kristin, sidled up to him and gently took his stiff organ in her hand. “Well  done.” She murmured, her lips brushing his, and she gave him a gentle squeeze. He inhaled her delicate fragrance and it was finally too much for him, a white spurt shot from his penis. “Oh dear.” Kristin said, smirking.  “I hope that doesn’t spoil the rest of your evening?”  She released him and stood up.  “Now, which poor fellow was the loser?”

Barry’s eyes looked about him wildly.  “Oh, heck, come on girls, Kristin was only joking.” 

Kristin nodded to Janet who ran her tongue over her lips in eager anticipation. “Sorry Barry,” oozing insincerity. She slipped her hand between his legs to grasp his balls, fondling them, teasing. “A good squeeze I think.” She said. “I’ve always wanted to squeeze these. Actually,” she added mischievously, “I’ve always wanted to castrate a man. But this will do for now.”  The women all watched, smiles playing at their lips as Janet continued to torment the hapless Barry.

Suddenly, her knuckles went white, and Barry’s head shot back, waving wildly from side to side. He sucked in a tormented lungful of air. She finally released him and he fell forward, making high pitched mewing sounds, hunched over his agonised groin

 “No more pussy for you tonight I think.”  She whispered in his ear.

“That’ll teach him.”  Barry’s girlfriend Jessica sniggered. “I must remember that for the future.”

“Do we release them girls?”  Kristin asked brightly.

Wendy shook her head of curls. “Let ‘em stew for a while, we’ll have ourselves a teeny drink first.”  She said, giggling at their naked indignity.

“Karl?” Prompted Kristin, her head slightly tilted to one side. “Who would you like? After all, you did win.”

Karl swallowed,  “You, Kristin.” He stared down disconsolately at his limp organ. “I might not be able to do much now, but  maybe I could lick you out… Be your slave.” 

Kristin chuckled, and released his bonds. Then held out her hand.  “Come on then, Karl. But I warn you, I’m a very strict mistress.”  She gripped his testicles and led him from the room.

The men whined their protests, rolling and tossing impotently.  Jessica put on the music, and the girls all bellowed with laughter at an old Stones song complaining of not getting any satisfaction.

End