We may observe our Veronica, lying on her own floor, the buzz of her pleasure stick a low hum, her lights turned low and the sweat of complete concentration beading on her upper lip as on a workman. We may venture a guess that she had a good thing going, and be on sure footing.
Veronica slowly rose to gather her senses and take a stab at the situation. Let's see, she thought. I've got an entire weekend and one love life to review – that should be simple enough. She made up her mind: a dirge, a marathon (sexathon), a situation of please do not disturb, for there was a relationship to draw with John, but this ending, the ending in her mind's eye (which was as real as any if it could get to her cunt) would be far better than actuality: she'd add her own twist.
CHAPTER TWO
Veronica had a party to go to. After all, that was in the script, the course of events with her friend John, the turnface before the turn of face, another move of prince charming before he got around to detail his marital status and the resulting connubial confiscation.
This party would not be difficult to remember: it wasn't that long ago, but something about the atmosphere cemented the whole thing in her mind. A few twists and turns and the vibrator and she'd be in the middle of it once again, making time, getting soused or stoned (the customer chooses), and generally reaping havoc on an otherwise affluent and sturdy beach house.
It wasn't her first orgy but it was her first first-class orgy. What actually happened was most unfortunate in that, Vern had got cold-feet and didn't participate. Okay, she's been new on the coast, and it all was a bit much for her to take in one big slice, especially when doled out by as aggressive a stud as John. But now was her chance to rewrite the script, to fantasize and make it happen all over again, but this time really happen, not just booze and talk.
She began to create the story, half fact but more fiction, beginning her thought in the tub, drenched in bubbles and warm water which softened her skin a gave a pink glow to her cheeks and tits. Vern took the soap and stuck it into her cunt, first halfway and then all the way in, until she began to moan and get into the mood.
She saw herself enter aggressively and be confronted by a room full of hot studs and maidens. John's eyes almost popped out of his head. Veronica pictured at least ten guys and dolls, half of them topless, the other have sporting alluring brassieres and bikini underwear. It didn't take long to get things started. Like the Red Sea, or a communal meeting house, the party divided in half, and Veronica chose her group, disappointed but going along with her plan.
There was something new in all of this: girls. Veronica had thought about if before. She read widely. She was aware of certain literary circles in which lesbianism was accepted, or for that matter knew of its implications in the feminist movement. She'd probably been approached for that matter, sure Rose Knollwood in the office, with her heaving bosom, who always stood just a little too close and was always asking Ron up to her room for a drink. But somehow this wouldn't be quite so kinky. The presence of men made it a-okay.
One of the men left, and eventually a foursome was left in the bedroom, two mammoth women, and two extremely well-hung men. The studs had the women lay back on their back, then each concentrated on one and stripped to taste, which is to say nakedness. Vern couldn't help in her imagination, as she sat there steaming in her tub, comparing her own assets with the other broad. One thing was certain: they were both stacked, stacked as hell. It was hard to tell who was larger, but Vern had an idea she was a bit firmer, possessing better muscular support (and she knew guys really went for that).
Suddenly, Vern decided to orchestrate the scene by accelerating the pace. The two studs got on the bed, lowering their shorts: both were large, almost gigantic. What had really happened was that Vern joined a couple of women who had cold feet and never got to see these cocks, although she could have bit her tongue for being such a prude later that night. Now, she'd make up for past frustration.
Ron imagined some positions. Sam – the tall, blond guy – decided to help her and Cecile get acquainted so he pushed their bodies first on the side and then together. It was the first time Ron even thought of such a situation, and she imagined it to be nothing less than fantastic, the feel of woman tit pushing against her own, the hard nipples digging into her own cherries, and the fantastic, smooth legs entwining around her own. "Oh, yes, yes," she said out loud, "push those things into me."
"Why not give her a little body rub," Sam suggested.
Ron was rising out of the tub and already drying herself with a terrycloth as she imagined what it would be like to give a job to a broad like Cecile. I know, she thought, I'd start on her back and then make my way around the front, first kneading her around the back of the shoulders and then pressing into the flesh of her back. I'd move down, all the way down, to the beginning of her ass and then I'd shamelessly rub her buns. Then I'd start at her ankles, moving my way up to the calf, the inside of her thigh, and I'd stop just below her cunt to make her ache for it. I'd keep rubbing, stopping at the sides of her breasts and making her ache for it.
Ron decided to make the scene happen in her trusty imagination.
"Turn over," she said to Cecile. Cecile graciously obliged, exposing her two huge, titan tits, which seemed to be the very center of her entire body. Ron could hardly hold herself back, but she knew that half the fun was the tease. Her tactile titillation grew to a new plane of excitement as she worked her way down from Cecile's shoulders and pounced on her tits. The glorious splendor, the sumptuous epicureanism, the boundless hedonism was almost too much for Ron to take, but her mind's eye was not about to mitigate a full frontal attack, an attack on tit, on nipple, and finally, juicy, throbbing cunt.
"Feel them, feel them all over," Cecile begged. A tall woman – generously stacked and big-boned – she seemed to dominate the entire area over which she lay. Ron imagined her to be even more impressive than herself, more of a temptation to their masculine audience, a duet of spectators holding themselves back with decreasing success. Ron felt the erect left nipple, then bent down until she was able to touch the teat with the tip of her tongue, a delicate, tingly sensation, a nerve impulse beginning at the point of inception, traveling up the spine, and ending up in the pleasure center deep within convolutions of gray matter. As Marv and Sam resorted to tooth grinding, fist clenching, hyperventilation and other tricks of the celibacy trade, so Vern continued motions created for the sole purpose of tricking up the tricks – and our young lady was quite successful, you may believe that. "Suck them, suck them!" Vern's newly found friend began, "I want you to ravish me, ravish my knockers!" Quick to oblige, Vern dug her teeth right into the womanly flesh. "Oooh," Cecile moaned out in pain-pleasure. "More, more!" Vern positioned herself on the side with efficacy until her arm reached entirely underneath Cecile until her fingers coyly emerged around her side and made their way up the side of the woman's tits. Then Vern looked down, and much to her pleasant surprise, was rewarded with an eyeful of pussy.
She looked inside Cecile with wonder and lust: wonder-lust. The hair on her vulva formed a neat triangle, formally truncated at the tip of the slit, making the crack all the more clean, all the more tempting. Veronica wanted to enter the lass with her tongue, or with her fingers, or with her hand, or with anything attached to her own body and able to send sensations into her skull. Veronica moved her hand lower at this point, right down under her friend's buns. The trick, of course, was to inconspicuously negotiate a full frontal assault into that slit and get a portion of a shiny lubrication which was all but too visible.