Phineas Phinephallus's Phun

(

Note to Readers:

This story is being posted in THREE PARTS, all of which have been written, and they are to be posted every few days. Part 1 should be read first, there's no recapping here. To find Part 1, click on the stories link above. This is a shameless wish-fulfillment fantasy. I saw no reason why it shouldn't go completely over the top. It may not have all that much humor, but in its rendering of the desires of a cis het male writer of smut, it's definitely satirical [of myself]. Everyone in the story is at least 18 years old, and lives in a world where pandemic worries have waned, steps are taken to avert STIs and unwanted pregnancy, everybody happily bangs as many adults as give enthusiastic consent, and nobody gets hurt. The sex includes M-to-F anal fucking, F-to-M analingus and light anal fingering, FMF, FFMF, groups, swaps, interracial, titfucking, and a vast amount of straight vanilla and oral, some of it in public. Enjoy!)

***

October 18

And I woke up alone.

There was a note on a pillow next to mine.

Dear Phineas,

You gave us a night to remember, and we hope to repeat. Now, however, we must find out if Lucy put our boyfriends in an intensive care unit. Remember all those women we helped you elude yesterday? Today you may have to embrace them. Literally. And let them experience what you did for us.

We'll be there if you need us. Or if we want you. Not if, when.

Shamelessly Yours,

R & A

Beyond the pillow, my phone was on a nightstand. with the message light flashing.

From Lucy:

Text back once you emerge from your decadent wallow.

I sent:

I'm awake, seduced and abandoned, and feeling wonderful.

There was a knock on the connecting door in the outer room, and a shout of "Get dressed and in here."

So began our 'work' day, at the round table in her outer room. She had coffee, juice, and breakfast burritos for two.

As she took me through my upcoming schedule, she was her brisk, energetic self--only more so.

I enjoyed leering at her. "Did you have a nice night?"

Her smile exceeded 100 watts. "Yes, thank you. Was yours satisfactory?"

"So much so, that waking after it was a bit of a bummer. Did you

also

tell them what a sound sleeper I am?"

All wide-eyed innocence, she said, "How would I know such a thing? You and I have never overnighted in the same bed. I merely passed along a tidbit from Gloria."

I cringed. My wife knows ever so many tidbits.

Lucy got us back on the business track. "At noon, you'll be interviewed by Isabel. Do you want a prep session for that?"

"I don't see why. She'll have me talk about my books, and plug the newest."

She nodded, looking at her tablet. "You should then spend some time circulating in the exhibit hall, at

EE

spaces and elsewhere." She looked at me. "Have you read the info packet?"

"Um, no. I thought that was for attendees, fans."

She gave me her exasperated babysitter look. "Get out your phone."

The packet was there, in an app. Lucy said, "Your badge can color-code to express your boundaries. It should help you maintain your space while you get more acclimated. How is that going, by the way?"

I recalled my solo stint at the panel discussion, and how I read the room. "I'm not ready to go nude yet. But if some of the women start feeling more comfortable about their 'liberties'...maybe I can, too."

"How about strolling over to a genital-contact area with them?"

"Only if they ask. And the contact would be limited."

She just looked at me, which forced me to stop mincing. "I could fondle and kiss breasts, and deeply mouth-kiss. And, I suppose, finger their..."

"Pussies."

"Thank you. That should tell you that my feelings about public sex are a work in progress."

"How about room invites?"

I frowned. "That's too far. I mean, I'd want to know her whole relationship situation. Like, if I'd hurt somebody, or make lasting trouble, if we, um, fucked."

She patted my hand. "Don't worry about that. I've already started vetting these ladies. While you were at the panel, I set up a table near your book sale that's labeled, 'Would you like to meet Phineas Phinephallus?' I've grilled everyone who said yes, and insisted that they prove relationship status. There's already a data bank on your phone, and I expect it to get much larger today, when I get back to the table. When you get propositioned, scan her badge with your phone. If you get a response with a green check-mark, please let her make off with you."

A smile spread on my face. "Really..."

She leaned back in her chair, looking smug. "Pace yourself. If you can make a fan happy without you cumming, do that. Try not to spooj more than four times between now and dinner."

"What's after dinner?"

"The flash-story writing contest. You shouldn't look and act like you've been through a meat grinder."

She then returned us to the mostly-boring stuff, taking me through the info packet, and aspects of the badge/holder/lanyard system that I had ignored. There was room in the holder for my phone, and some condoms, and lube. The phone was also the room key, so with everything in the holder, one could truly parade around naked.

Lucy said that nudies here often moved their badges, tying the lanyards to wrists or legs, out of the way of serious action. "When I'm in the buff," she said, "and I will be, when I'm not in serious meetings, I sometimes leave the lanyard around my neck. I adjust the length so the badge nestles nicely between my girlies. This allows me to say things like, 'I appreciate that you're trying so hard to memorize my name, but I could just phone you my business card.'"

I chuckled. "You really like it here, don't you?"

She batted her lashes. "It's so much better with you."

When we parted, it was with just a friendly kiss.

***

The previous day, events were limited, because people were still arriving. Today was the first full day of

EECON14

, and the crowd in the exhibit area seemed twice as big. My VIP status got me into more than service corridors. I used it to get into the back office of the registration counter. I asked the

EE

employees there about attendance, and while giving them autographs and smiling in their selfies, I was told that the total would be about ten thousand. In past years, the male/female ratio of attendees was around five to one. This year, it looked to be closer to two to one, and the presence of more women made for this high total turnout.

I waved off assertions that I was responsible for that.

As I went through the exhibit area, I noted that attendees had an option other than full nudity. The swag bag handed out at registration included a black satiny robe, sized to cover the specific attendee to about mid-thigh. One could sash it closed for full coverage of naughty bits, or let it hang open, to assist the personal transition to exposure. The robe was emblazoned, in golden glitter, with 'Ecstatic Esthetics' on the back, and '

EE

' over the left breast.

I hadn't bothered to look in my swag bag. I was grateful that Lucy hadn't asked if I had.

There was a lot more flesh showing today, and from what I could judge, less anxiety. It was no surprise that women with conventionally attractive bodies were now going topfree, but many other women did so out of what might have been a more nudist, judgment-free attitude. I found their air of self-acceptance to be attractive--okay, yeah, enticing--even if conventionality might disagree.

There were men in full dangle, with robes and without, and they enjoyed the sights around them, but neither said nor did anything actionable or demeaning. I gathered that if anyone crossed that line, Security would intevene.

More than once, I saw couples in open robes, strolling hand in hand, chatting and smiling. Maybe they had just met here, but I saw what I thought was greater familiarity. I really liked the idea of a bonded couple attending the con, openly pursuing their pleasures.

I was my usual shleppy self, in a plain polo shirt and (loose, pleated) golf pants. But my badge was where everybody could read my name. I had spent the last of the morning writing my journal entry for yesterday (while quite flummoxed, remembering all of that), and now I had to attend my interview. But I accepted the interruptions along the way, with women stopping me for praise, selfies, kisses, and what didn't count as genital contact (female-initiated rubbing of exposed breasts on my chest and hands).

I arrived at the 300-seat auditorium on time, and grateful for the pleats and looseness.

The owner of

EE

, and thus my publisher, is Isabel Uhlander. She was fully and plainly dressed. This appeared not to be true of most of the audience.

She was seated in a lounge chair on the stage. I walked out from backstage, waving a bit sheepishly to the cheering crowd. Isabel rose and met me halfway. We friend-hugged.

Isabel has allowed herself to be comfortable in middle age, no longer chasing after fad diets to maintain the nude-model proportions of her youth. As far as I was aware, all of her modeling had been 'clean.' Her skin was fully displayed, but there was never so much as a clit poke or nipple pinch, let alone use of a dildo or contact with another person. This didn't prevent her imagery from inspiring masturbation by countless fans.

Myself included.

She still maintained the long, wavy blond hair of her youth, and often showed legs that remained sleek and well-turned. Her mid-section, however, had clearly caught up with her breasts and hips, and her chin was doubling. Yet she was content in the skin she had now.

I enjoyed the hug, and I was sure she did too. But we parted, and settled into chairs angled towards each other but also the audience.

Between us was a table with two

EE

-labeled coffee mugs, and a stack of books.

Isabel opened with "It's about time! Welcome to

EECON,

Phineas!" This generated a crowd roar, which I acknowledged with a smile and a wave until it eased back.

Isabel did what I'd expected, tossing me softball questions about how I write in general, and what I considered while working on specific stories and characters. She also noted that during my time here, I would negotiate for some of my novels to become sexually explicit, but high-quality, feature films.

This got the crowd even more amped, and that carried over to the Q&A. Amid all the other statements from the mic stand in the audience, including detailed requests to thank me physically for my works, there was this:

"When can I audition for your movies?"

It was the young, dark-haired woman whom I'd seen at the sales table, and then recognized as one of those who'd sent me a video.

This led me to an appreciative response. "I believe you already have."

The crowd hooted, with many perhaps knowing what that meant, having sent their own.

She laughed. She wasn't just nude under her open robe, she had the sides swept back with her hands on her hips, showing not just all of her high, conical breasts, but all the rest of her torso and trunk, including a hairless quim. "But that was a solo," she returned. "You haven't seen what I can do with a partner."

I held out a placating hand. "Any casting decisions would be made by the people who buy the rights."

"I don't care," she said brightly, "I just want to get on a couch with you, even if there's no casting."

The crowd whooped, and I could tell she was playing for it. This helped me think, to at least some extent, that this was a joke. That, with some shifting of my weight, helped prevent my erection from being obvious.

It didn't help that Isabel was enjoying a wicked grin at my expense.

Somehow the session ended without me completely losing my composure. I never saw Ruth or Alyssa, so I gathered that I had to get through this on my own.

Isabel and I strolled off the stage together during the final applause.

Once we were behind a curtain that assured that we were completely out of view, Isabel spun and embraced me.

This was not a friend-hug.

"Ohhh, Chet, it's been too long!" she said amid kisses, hers and mine. "

Any

time without you is too long!"

"Missed you too," I mumbled. It was true, not a buttering-up of my publisher. When we screwed (eight in-person sessions, over the years), I didn't have to imagine her in her modeling days. She was a ferocious lover, and seemed immune to genital soreness. More than any other woman I'd ever banged, she came the closest to wearing me out. In the sessions we'd shared, she wanted as many as six orgasms, to be sated.

She chuckled as she wrapped a leg around mine. "But I have to leave you alone! It's best for both of us if your fans get all of your manhood."

Lamely I said, "The convention has to end sometime."

"I'll take that as a promise, mister. While the booths get taken down, you and I will have a flabfest."

"I hope so," I groaned, with no idea whether staying that long would be feasible.

She backed away enough to haul off her turtleneck. "I gotta have

something!

Please, mouth above, hands below. Or I'll see to it you never publish anything again!"

I took that as permission to unhook her bra. Mouth began enjoying above while she was still baring below.

I dropped trou and lesser trou, just so I could thicken without external pressure.

I was happy to help my dear friend enjoy an orgasm, and I was way geeked to suck her pebbled nips and finger her warm cleft. She chomped her lower lip, and the noise she made probably didn't draw undue attention from the departing crowd.

"Thank you Chet," she murmured, labia still pressing on my fingers. "Now please use that boner for the good of all womankind."

***

There was no immediate opportunity for that. Fortunately, I'm not prone to blue balls.

I was halfway calm when I confronted the moment of truth. I was outside the

EE

space, in an aisle between a kiosk for customizable dildoes (via 3-D printers) and a multiple-genders strip show. There, I was set upon by roving pack of eight women, I think all of them from the panel last night. (Maybe also from the interview, but that was a much bigger crowd.) Four were topfree, one wore a closed robe, two were in open robes, and the other was fully nude.

I had set my badge color to the shade of orange that meant 'open to chat and light touching.'

This included selfie posing, which is what I did first for them. I also asked if they had been to the meet-Phineas table. Six said they had. Once the other two heard what that was, they departed to find it.

I checked my phone. All six had gained Lucy's green check-mark.

With only a slight stammer, I said, "What would you ladies like to do?"

They answered all at once, differently, so none of it made sense. In fact, they didn't know each other, they just happened to be on the prowl at the same place and time.

I looked through a gap between exhibits. There was an open space, like a vast lobby outside a set of ballrooms, where a few people seemed to be in genital contact. "Why don't we go over there," I said, "and sit down, and talk about it?"

There was general agreement, and three of them started trotting that way.

As we gathered hotel-ballroom chairs into a circle, we chatted. This seemed to calm things a bit. There was outright sex going on nearby, I think all of it oral, and I believe the sight of it gave my fans second thoughts. When Claire, open-robed and a bit rowdy, asked me to strip, I thought it unlikely that doing so would trigger an orgy.

I was right, but forgot that my package is considered exceptional.

Six jaws dropped. Claire said, "Stand, please."

I did.

Six phones recorded the moment, and some of them shared with adults-only social media.

"What else would you like?" I asked.

Five of the woman hesitated. Claire blurted, "You, in my room. Like I asked yesterday." Now I recognized her voice from the panel discussion.

I looked at the others. "I'll accept this gracious offer, unless there's an objection."

Claire begged them, "Please, let me do this!"

"Yeah," said a tall, topfree black woman named Linda, squirming a bit in her jeans. She looked at me and said, "She can break you in, Mr. Phinephallus. After that, what'll you do?"

I looked at Claire. "Let's see how this goes. Then maybe I can visit someone else."

There seemed to be a murmur from the exhibit area. I saw several women heading this way.

"I'll take phone numbers," I said, while scrambling to get back into my clothes. "You can share mine with them," I said to the other five, nodding towards the approaching phalanx.

Somehow Claire and I got to the hotel, and alone into an elevator, without any of the twenty-plus other women getting upset. If anything, the indication of my willingness boosted their mood.

Claire, brazenly bawdy while in public, bashfully held my hand as the elevator ascended.

"I haven't been good at relationships," she said quietly. "I've been thinking, maybe I'll just do hookups. But it's scary."

"If you want me to stop, and leave," I said, trying to match her tone and sound supportive, "and I don't do that right away, call 911."

"Oh no, this is fine," she said, looking my way. "I never even did this kind of thing in college. I...guess I'd like to know if it can just be fun."

In her room, we shared a whole body hug while she stripped me again and I slid her robe down her body. She was medium height, with wavy brown hair to the nape, and a body that was mostly trim, but with excesses around her knees and in her arms. She might have been thirty, or older, or younger.

"Circumcised," she said with relief, fingering my shaft. "I never know what to do with a foreskin."

"What do you like?" I asked.

She laughed. "That's what Nelson says to Lana Westbrook," she said, referring to my novel

Lana, At Last On Her Own.

"She said she liked cunnilingus. I do too, but only for a little while,"

Once I was licking her, however, she wanted it to continue. "Ohhh," she said. "If I cum, do you have to leave right away?"

I sure didn't want to. I was now very, very ready to fuck, and cum. My cock had been teased plenty so far today, and I thought it should be allowed to exert itself.

I chuckled, and between lavish licks of her clit and labia, said, "We haven't made any rules. I'd also like to, um--"

"Fuck me?" she yelped, head snapping to look down her body at me. "Yes yes! Please!"

Perhaps as a result of that, she came from my nether kiss, writhing hard. She grabbed her small breasts, and I did too, and she gave out a guttural groan.

I moved to lie even with her. We hugged and kissed for a few minutes. My dick wanted to poke into her navel, and I shifted to send it towards open air.

"I'd like it now," she said, breath shortening.

She had condoms. I didn't ask why.

She lubed both her quim and the latex. We arranged for missionary. As I entered slowly I said, "I'll try not to be greedy."

A hint of her rowdiness curled her lips. "Go ahead! It's a kick to know that the writer who makes me stuff fingers in my pussy is hot to make his big dick go off in there!"

I wanted exactly that. Maybe not specifically because of Claire's sex appeal. To be honest, none of the six women in this first wave was especially good-looking. But they all seemed to be decent people, frisky but reasonable, and they enjoyed what I had done for them already. If I could give them something more direct to enjoy now, I would meet my main goal in life.

I was thick and hot and ready to fill the scumbag.

Claire quivered as I pumped to her comfort limit, which left about half an inch of me outside.

I clenched my teeth, demanding,

Hold back! First, her!

But my control isn't always perfect. It had been a long, grueling, erection-denying time since Alyssa last night.