Escapades of a Porno King

by George Alexander

  Cindy had just reached Joan, and had undertaken to break Joan's grip and get her arms from around her knees. Now Hank and Al placed themselves one on each side of Joan, behind her, and joined in the effort to stretch her out. Candy, pulling up her panties, and letting her flimsy dress fall down over her legs again, helped Cindy from the front, and soon had the bright idea of tickling Joan, which made Joan let go immediately. Cindy and Candy each grabbed a leg, and Hank and Al each grabbed an arm, and they swung Joan over onto the floor onto her back. Joan struggled and giggled all the while, but could not stop Hank from pinning down her shoulders while Al went to assist in the task of removing her clothes. Joan's hips bounced up and down on the floor, and her breasts flowed from side to side, as she pretended to struggle against the assault. Candy's ass stuck up in the air as she bent over from the waist to undo the buttons on Joan's skirt. Jack could see that excitement was growing even among the nonparticipants, as he noticed a large bulge in Art Kipling's pants, and noticed that Sid Landau had stuck a hand up the back of his wife's short dress and was quietly fingering her pussy from behind. He looked at Gretchen, who was standing next to Art. By this time Gretchen had ceased to be uptight—obviously since the girls were playing such a large part in the activities, and they were not going to be grossed out by it—and was now simply dazed and astonished.

  By this time the rapists had succeeded in removing Joan's blouse, and her monstrous breasts flopped loosely around. She struggled to cover them, but Hank pinned her arms down and then leaned over and began to suck one of the nipples. With this Joan could not keep herself from getting excited, and the whole room noticed that there was a more even rhythm to her mock struggling, which was gradually turning into the motion of passionate desire.

  Jack noticed Art Kipling disappearing in the direction of the bedroom with Shirley Landau. That would put him out of the picture for a while. When she saw her husband leave, Marge edged closer to the scene on the floor, and Jack noticed that she continued to puff on a rather large joint which had got as far as her and then stopped. Marge didn't usually get stoned at parties, but when she did— watch out. She had a flair for the theatrical, and Jack could see that she wanted to get into the act. Marge watched as Al and Cindy managed to undo Joan's skirt. Her eyes were wide as they drew the skirt down over Joan's full, squirming hips, and off of her. Now Joan was clad only in her panties, through which Jack could clearly see Joan's cunt, which he recognized so well. Cindy, standing up for a moment to make a few villainous-looking motions at the camera, quickly threw off her clothes and leapt on top of Joan. She pretended to try to fit an imaginary male organ into Joan, forcing Joan's legs apart with hers— as Al and Candy each grabbed one of Joan's legs and spread it outward and upward—and then finally Cindy lowered her cunt onto Joan's and began pumping away. By this time, Gretchen wasn't worried about anything anymore, although Jack could clearly see that she had a few questions for him. She looked at him with a quizzical grin that told her she suspected something. But he could tell she wasn't quite sure—that she was still trying to consider whether the whole event could have happened spontaneously.

  By this time, Marge was sitting down next to Hank as she continued to hold Joan's arms down. Jack could see Hank's hand grazing Marge's thigh, and he could see Marge's gradually working its way toward Hank's crotch. The camera was still grinding away, and it seemed to have quite a lot of film left in it, so Jack could tell it was going to be a hell of a movie. He stared at the floor before him, where Joan, spread-eagle on the floor, with her cunt pointed straight toward the ceiling, was ecstatically receiving Cindy's assaults. Cindy had sat down on Joan's stomach, and had slid backwards until her cunt covered Joan's. Now she spread her own cunt lips wide, and spread Joan's, and rubbed up and down, circling her clit around and around Joan's. The moisture from the two overflowing cunts spread over their legs, and they panted and groaned as they became caught up in their mock fucking.

  After a while, Cindy unglued her cunt from Joan's and stood up, surveying the damage. Then she crouched over Joan with her face in Joan's crotch, and her cunt over Joan's face, and lowered herself down. Candy and Al, still holding Joan's legs, reached in and opened Joan's cunt lips, preparing the way for Cindy's advance. Meanwhile, at the other end, Marge and Hank were doing the same to Cindy, to assure a good fit between Cindy's cunt and Joan's face. While Marge was doing this, however, she could not resist getting in a few licks of her own, and quite nearly got her tongue stuck up Cindy's pussy. However, in time, Joan claimed what was rightfully hers, and she and Cindy settled down into a rollicking sixty-nine, with the camera grinding away and everyone else watching.

  Cindy and Joan brought each other rapidly toward a climax. As their excitement and movement reached a crescendo, Al stuck his head in next to Cindy's, and began to lick Joan's ass hole. Meanwhile, Marge did the same at the other end, finding the tiny pink circle of Cindy's with her own tongue and running it around and around it with rapid motion. Candy managed to stick her hands in between Cindy and Joan, and massage Cindy's little nipples till they grew to such incredible proportions that Candy gasped and stuck her face in to nibble at one. Joan and Cindy were now completely immersed in a sea of bodies, licking and sucking each other like crazy, and being stroked, fondled, and stimulated everywhere.

  Jack glanced quickly at Gretchen. This time he had to laugh. She was pacing up and down like some comic book character, stoned out of her mind, making gestures of disbelief at the scene before her. At the same time, she was being very much turned on by it all, and Sid was helping her mood by occasionally reaching around in front of her from behind and cupping one of her breasts in each hand. Next to Cindy, Gretchen had the most sensitive nipples that Jack had ever seen, and one touch on them was usually enough to make her throw off all her clothes and run screaming to the bedroom. Tonight was no exception, and after about two minutes of stimulation from Sid, Gretchen unbuttoned her blouse and guided Sid's hand beneath it.

  Jack was sitting on the sofa beside Janice, and he turned his attention away from Cindy and Joan long enough to reach over and pull her to him. She came easily, and lay in his lap, with the loose material of her dress rolling down over his knees. He reached down and deftly caught the end of her skirt. Then he pulled it all the way up to her neck. Suddenly the full length of her beautiful dark body was revealed, and also revealed was the fact that she wore no underwear. Not even panties. Jack ran his hand over her breasts, and then down to the juicy slit of her cunt. Janice's legs opened, and she thrust her hips vigorously against the intrusion of his hand.

  Jack looked up to see that in the few seconds that he had taken his eyes off the rest of the group, the scene had degenerated to pandemonium. There were bodies all over, clothes flying in every direction, and, amid the thick haze of marijuana smoke, varied groans and cries. Everyone except for Art Kipling and Shirley Landau, who had gone off by themselves to the bedroom, was soon stripped naked and headed for the grand flesh-pile in the center of the room. Candy had stripped off Al Fredrickson's pants, seized his cock in her mouth, and started to suck. Marge had spread her pretty legs wide to accept Hank's monstrous organ, and he was just beginning to fit its huge shaft between her pale, delicate, glistening cunt lips. Gretchen and Sid and Dale had gravitated toward the center of the room, with Sid unbuttoning the rest of Gretchen's dress and pushing it forward over her shoulders to let it slide off her arms and fall to the floor. They slumped onto the rug, where they crawled into the monstrous pile of bodies and began licking and sucking and feeling in every direction. Soon everyone was involved but Mark, who was just waiting until Cindy and Joan climaxed to turn off his camera and join the fun. He didn't have long to wait. In just a moment, little almost bird-like cries could be heard from the center of the writhing mass of naked bodies, and a pair of legs could be seen kicking and shaking. The flesh of Cindy's face smacked onto Joan's cunt, and she rolled her whole head in rapid circles in order to lick around and around Joan's cunt at an incredible rate. J
oan, underneath, lay with Cindy's cunt and ass hole sliding up and down on her face, like a big warm sponge, and she struggled to lick at Cindy's clit as it ran by her mouth again and again. Finally there was a gasp, and a tremendous thumping on the floor as the girls really went at it, and then there were loud cries, and loud shouts, and the bodies went rigid with orgasm. Cindy's cunt was a wide open cavern as its walls heaved in and out, and the sensations from her throbbing clit spread throughout her body. Joan's legs were split so wide open that Jack, staring up over Janice's ass to witness the scene, didn't know whether she would ever be able to get them back together again. The girls lay there, transfixed, for nearly a full minute. Then their bodies gradually began to relax. Cindy's reminded Jack of the body of a little girl who had just done more swimming than was good for her and had dragged herself up on the beach exhausted. Joan, on the other hand, had a look of overflowing contentment on her face. She really did look like the Great Earth Mother.

  But, as Jack was not at all surprised to see, it was Cindy who first surfaced and looked around at the rest of the people. Sid was fucking away with Gretchen, and Hank and Marge were still going at it too. There was an incredible symphony of sounds in the apartment which Jack's stoned mind was sifting out only with great difficulty. After Mark had caught Cindy and Joan's climax on film, he had immediately turned off his flood lights, and now the room seemed pitch black, although it was still light outside. For occasions like this, Jack and Gretchen had purchased very heavy black shades which ran along tracks in the windows and which could make the place almost completely dark even at noon. It was about eight thirty, and Jack couldn't believe how well the whole party was going. As he thought about this, he felt Janice's mouth detach itself from his cock, and he felt her weight shift off of him. Almost immediately, another mouth—a smaller, firmer mouth, with an incredibly active tongue—covered his cock and began to work on it. He looked over to see Cindy, who had crawled her way to him through the pile of bodies, crouched between his legs, sucking like mad. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Art Kipling and Shirley Landau meander from the bedroom. Apparently, they had peeked through the door and discovered that no one was left with a stitch of clothing in the whole place, and so they had left theirs behind as well. Shirley immediately came over and stuck her pussy in Jack's face. From then on everything was blotted out as the little cunt, covered stiff black hairs, pumped up and down on his face, riding him like a horse. Seconds later, he felt the come shoot from somewhere down below him into Cindy's mouth and the feeling was hot and delicious as it spread in waves over him. Then he continued to work on Shirley, until he ground her little clit to a climax on his tongue. He did not see the rest of the action on the floor, nor could he, in the darkness broken only from the light from the bedroom, could he have seen much. There wasn't much to see anyway. There were only things to feel, grab, bite, lick, suck and fuck. It had turned out to be a typical party, and it went on that way for the rest of the night, with someone occasionally getting up to pour a few drinks, reload the pot pipe, or put on some music. There was almost always something going on—a fuck in a corner, somebody sucking somebody off in the center of the room, or somebody eating somebody out in the kitchen. The activities lasted far into the night. Sometime-Jack couldn't remember when—Gretchen stumbled over and, grinned, and whispered, “you bastard!” under her breath. She had obviously appreciated the joke. Finally Jack fell asleep, and when he woke up the next morning most of the people were gone. He got up and made breakfast for himself and Joan, who, along with Cindy, Sal, and Mark, had spent the night draped over various pieces of furniture in the living room. Then he set up his typewriter in the bedroom, slipped a piece of paper into it, and began to work.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The next few weeks went by rapidly. Jack worked hard, whenever he wasn't fucking Gretchen, or running upstairs to try out Joan or Cindy or Janice, or going to parties where he couldn't ever remember who he fucked. August faded into September, and the Kiplings called to say that they were going to have, of all things, a Labor Day party at their house. This was a novel event, for the Kiplings had always been afraid to hold their own parties in their plush East Side apartment, preferring to contribute where they could to giving parties at other people's houses, and generally ending up far from the Upper East Side, in the Village or on the Upper West Side. Now, however, they had apparently run into some East Side couples who had similar views on life, and; having attended a few parties at their homes, decided it was safe to use their own place. Jack agreed to invite the girls from upstairs for Art, and to call Mark and make sure to have him bring the movies that had been made at Jack's place.

  On Labor Day, Jack and Gretchen went over to the Kiplings with Joan, Cindy, and Janice. They were all somewhat uncomfortable, as they had not owned exactly the proper thing to wear in such changeable weather, and had made an effort to make it look as if the party at the Kipling's was to be very ordinary—very uptight and tame. There were none of the risqué outfits that had showed up at the party at Jack's, but that was alright, because however much you wore, you could always take it off. The party at the Kipling's was considerably different from other parties Jack and Gretchen had gone to. Compared with the apartments of most of their friends, which were comfortable but not elegant—and certainly not extravagant—the Kipling's face was a palace. As near as Jack could count they owned about twenty rooms, on two floors of an old-style luxury building that faced out over Central Park. As Jack glanced out the window to watch the traffic go by on Fifth Avenue, he wondered what the Kipling's well-to-do neighbors would have said had they known what land of a gathering was taking place so close to them.

  Jack was not surprised to see a buffet all prepared with Champagne bottles crowding a small table at one end, and champagne glasses carefully stacked beside them. The buffet included caviar, smoked salmon, shrimp, pate foie gras, and other delights. For the first time Jack felt his other appetites being aroused almost as much as his sexual appetite at a party. He opened a bottle of champagne—needless to say, the Kiplings, after having had their servants set up the feast, gave them the night off—poured some for himself, Gretchen, Joan and a few other people who were in the immediate vicinity, and sat down to see who would arrive next. All the people from Gretchen's coming-home party were there along with three other couples who Jack assumed were Art and Marge's swinging east side friends. The contrast between the East Siders and the people from the West Side and the Village was striking. The East Side people all wore brand new clothes, or clothes just fresh from the cleaners—the kinds of things you had to own a lot of, because they were so distinctive you couldn't wear them more than once every few months. The others wore things which obviously were not brand new, or which, equally obviously, they had just ironed themselves. But, unlike most mixed gatherings, there were seemingly no tension in the air over who was well dressed and who wasn't, or who was rich and who wasn't. Jack reflected that sex had a funny way of equaling things out.

  Jack was particularly struck by a girl who arrived soon after he had. She came in with an older man, and while he was conservatively dressed—Jack guessed him to be a banker or an insurance executive—she wore a rather daring dress, which she had covered with a light coat while on her way to the party. The dress was white, and swept to the floor, but was slit up the side—or you could say was connected only at the shoulders—and the slits were held together very loosely by links of gold chain. When she moved, very little was left to the imagination, as the dress billowed and swirled like a sail in the wind. The girl, whose name Jack soon learned was Sharon, was an exciting mixture of what Jack thought was Latin and American Indian blood. Her high cheek bones, dark skin, black, and wide, dark eyes, reminded Jack of a deer. Her movements were rapid and sure, as she flitted about greeting people she knew and introducing herself to others. The man she was with was named Robert—that was all he offered for a name—and obviously took pleasure in the attention that his escort was receiving from the other
people at the party.

  The party was well under way, with people drinking, eating hors d'oeuvres, and talking among themselves. Jack noticed Mark arriving with a projector and several cans of film, and was anxious to see their contents, because Mark had told him that the movies of the “great subway robbery” had turned out incredibly well—that with a little cutting and editing, there was material for a first rate, hilariously funny stag movie. However, Art and Margie obviously had their own program lined up. As soon as everyone was present, they set up three card tables, and began putting out cards and poker chips. Sharon, who was already feeling affects of the champagne, watched Art with puzzlement. “What are those for?” she asked.

  “Did you ever play strip poker?” Art asked.

  “I used to play it sometimes in college,” she said, “but we never had any use for poker chips.”

  “This is a new form of the game—more interesting,” Art told her. “It takes longer for somebody to win—or rather, for somebody to loose—and it's more exciting this way. Everyone gets a certain amount of chips to begin with. You play just like a regular poker game, only when you run out of chips, you have to use articles of clothing to buy more. It usually takes about an hour there are enough people undressed that the game disintegrates into—well, I can let you guess what it disintegrates into. Anyhow, I think you'll like it.”

  The people at the party gravitated toward the tables. Jack found himself sitting across from Sharon and realized that she had very little to take off. But the rule was that everyone was allowed eight units of clothing before they were stark naked, and since Sharon wore only a dress, panties and shoes, she had four “free” chances to buy chips before she took anything at all off. Robert sat next to her, and Joan next to him. Then there was Jack, with Gretchen on his left, and Sal Fortunato completing the group between Gretchen and Sharon. The other tables were all set too, and the game began. Jack dealt the first hand, choosing seven card stud, which assured lots of betting and therefore rapid progress toward their ultimate goal. An inspection of his down cards revealed an ace and a queen, and since he had a queen face up, he tossed in a heavy bet. Gretchen, following him, quietly folded her cards, and everyone else stayed in. On the next card, Sharon paired the seven that she had been dealt on the first round, making it her turn to bet. Jack was dealt a six, which improved his hand not at all, and noticed that one of his queens had fallen to Sal. Each player had chips in denominations of ten, five, and one—blue, red, and white respectively. They had ten blues, fifteen reds, and twenty five whites each, for a total of two hundred units. Jack could see it taking all night for somebody to go completely bankrupt, down to the elemental birthday suit, and made up his mind to bet heavily, win or lose. So he followed his first bet of ten with a completely unjustified bet of fifteen. This suggested that perhaps he had a queen and a six in the hole, to match the queen and the six that were showing. It bluffed Sal and Robert out of the game, but Sharon came right back at him with a raise of fifteen more. That put the stakes right up there, for including the antes the players who remained—Jack, Sharon, and Joan—were already in for fifty chips each. That was fine with Jack. On the next round, he dealt himself an ace up. Although Sharon was also dealt an ace, lessening once more the chances that Jack would get the right card to complete the full house, the ace didn't help her hand, and this time he laid on twenty five chips. But Sharon came right back at him with a raise of twenty five, and Joan went along with her, counting out her chips quietly and shoving them out into the center of the table with long, slim fingers. Jack felt obligated to raise Sharon back again, and the round of betting alone counted for seventy five of the remaining players' chips. Jack began to get curious as to why Joan was staying in the game so long. Glancing up over at her, he was met by a sort of sly smirk—but he didn't know whether it meant that she-bad some really good cards, or simply that she wanted to be the first to lose her clothes. Glancing down at her hand, she saw the seven of spades, the four of clubs, and the jack of spades. He couldn't figure out what the devil she was up to, but he saw her break into a giggle, and assumed she was just playing around. Jack dealt the last round of up cards, and gave Sharon the King of hearts, Joan the ten of clubs, and himself the jack of clubs. He couldn't see how anybody's hand could be improved, but this time Sharon opened with a bet of fifty. Joan, still giggling slightly, her unfettered breasts bouncing beneath the cloth of her white flowery dress, followed suit. Jack saw that he would have to start taking off clothes already to buy chips if he wanted to raise Sharon's bet by more than twenty five, so he kicked off a shoe and yelled over to Art Kipling, who was sitting a few seats away at another table, “Hey Art, we need some more chips over here!”