Alphabet: P Is for Possibility

The noise and bustle of the restaurant kitchen. A young woman in an olive-colored shirt dress and sport sandals, her brown hair in a messy bun, looks about as if she has followed something she has now lost. Her eyes flash when she sees the door marked "Service." She opens it and disappears into the room beyond without even getting a second look from the kitchen staff.

She enters a new realm. A foyer with leather padded walls, red carpet, dim red light. A thumping of electronica. A beautiful, tall young woman in a corset, black thigh highs, stiletto heels immediately takes Judith by the arm.

"Welcome," she says, speaking with a Slavic accent and leaning close to Judith to be heard above the music. "I'm Marla."

Judith is suddenly aware exactly how NOT appropriately dressed she is for this. She's come in with a sheen of sweat from the humidity outside. The dress clings to her. She feels shabby standing next to this girl. Maybe she should go.

"It takes a moment, yes? To get used to the light?" says Marla.

Judith nods and in that second also allows herself to be led. Marla takes her down a beautifully bannistered staircase. They pass an exquisite young woman in a Claudert de Moen mini and white blouse pressing a handsome young man against the wall, kissing. He has a hand on her breasts.

Marla squeezes Judith's arm. "Mmmm," she says. "It is your first time?"

"Yes," says Judith, her senses awhirl with the light, sound and interesting activity. "I almost didn't."

Marla pats Judith's hand. "But we're glad you did!" she says.

Judith tells herself that in this place of all places no one will judge her. She doesn't have to do anything but watch. And not even that if she decides it is too much.

On the lower floor is a bar and lounge with crimson, velvet wallpaper and tufted ottomans and leather couches, low tables with banker's lights. There is all manner of young and old people gathered here, all well-dressed, an intermingling of conversation and music. Topless, twenty-something waitresses in tiny skirts balance drinks on silver trays. A petite, dark-haired woman in her early thirties sits under the pink neon lounge sign: "What Do You Dare?" She looks up with some concern at the new arrivals, then fusses with her phone. Perhaps she is waiting for her date.

Marla leads Judith to a short corridor with a single door at the end. "And here we are," she says.

An elegant, small theater. A platform around extends out among the seats. Velvet. Lots of red velvet. Marla guides Judith to the aisle seat in the third row. "Your seat number is your performance number. If you are called, it is your choice what happens next. I'll come to fetch you after," she says. "And if you need anything--condoms, toys, towelettes, anything--just press this button here."

The audience comes in from the lounge and the theater fills. The lights dim into darkness. A spotlight. On the stage, the emcee. An attractive young brunette in a silver gown and high heels. The usual cautions to silence one's mobile. No photography. The spotlight widens to show a large fishbowl on a wooden stand. In the fishbowl are balls with numbers. The woman reaches in. "Shall we begin?"

She calls number twenty-three.

The petite dark-haired woman from the lounge stands in the audience, makes her way to the aisle and goes onto the stage where she stands bathed in red light. White blouse, black ankle-length skirt, heels. She brushes hair from her face, swallows, with a look that is courage in the face of panic.

"Um, hi," she says in an at-first quavering voice, "I'm twenty-three. Number twenty-three. And...oh god!"

Judith leans forward to see her closer.

Twenty-three hides her face in her hands, shakes her head, resolves to go on, lowers her hands. "I guess I should have had that drink."

Smatterings of generous laughter.

"I've never done this before..."

Nervous but standing her ground, thinks Judith. Awkwardly charming.

Twenty-three arrives at the point: "I want... um... a um .... cum bath."

The theater is silent. A woman coughs. Anticipation of the first act.

Number twenty-three gives a cute, little, desperate shrug, her hands clasping and unclasping in front of her. "Anyone?" she says.

The room dark red, but Twenty-three in the stage spotlight. Approach avoid thinks Judith.

"Strip," comes a female voice over the theater sound system. Judith wets her lips.

Number Twenty-three's hands up to her blouse buttons, hands lowered again, hands at the buttons unbuttoning. Unbuttoned, blouse off, turning away from the audience to unhitch her bra, turning back bare-breasted, long sloping breasts with big aureoles and thick nipples.

She does not look at the audience as she wriggles out of the long skirt, pushes it away from her with her foot. Stands with her hands clasped in front of her with her black panties on and high heels and thickish thighs, a bruise on her upper arm.

"Everything off," says the voice of female emcee.

Number Twenty-three in one quick motion pulls down the black panties, tries to kick them off and away but they get stuck on one of her heels and she has to balance herself, pull them off. The perspiration is now visibly glistening on her brow. There is a splotch of red on her neck. She does not know what to do with her hands. She is unshaven and the black hair there is unruly and thick.

"Please?" she says in a meek voice, looking at the audience. "Anyone?"

Maybe losing confidence before she has had the opportunity to even start? Maybe because she is the first? Maybe too 'office colleague-y'. But that's ridiculous! Judith tells herself, feeling a twinge of pity.

The handsome man from the staircase joins Number Twenty-three on the stage. For a moment, they stand facing each other. He takes off his clothes methodically. She watches him and fidgets. He steps out of his boxers and Judith thinks, "oh my!" His cock is gorgeous. And... he's got his hand on it jerking it erect.

Twenty-three wrings her hands and glances at the audience then back to this man; anywhere but at it. As if she has not seen this in her vision of what it would be like on stage. There are whispered words between them the microphone barely picks up: "Should I--?" "Where do you want me?" then the girl kneels slowly, hesitantly, as if she is not yet sure.

Kneeling now, her face reddens and she sways slightly. She reaches for his cock then thinks it is not for her to do it, even as he works at it only inches away from her. She lowers her arms, clenches and unclenches her hands, gives a nervous laugh and another quick look to the audience.

In the seat behind Judith, a young woman leans forward and lays her hand on Judith's shoulder, leans close to whisper in Judith's ear, "will she swallow?"

Judith gives an involuntary shiver. The room quiet, so quiet, Judith can hear the slick sound of the handsome man's masturbating--schlick, schlick, schwick. Number Twenty-three at his feet, fiddles with her hair, thinks (it seems) about tying it back. Gives up that idea. Instead, she sits back on her haunches, heaves a little sigh, shrugs her shoulders just a little. Her quick smile betrays uncertainty.

Another man approaches fully dressed. He joins them, unbuttons his trousers and eases out his cock, small and thick but getting ever so much larger. Number Twenty-three looks from one to the other, gives another nervous laugh. "Ah, oh," she says, settles back again, her breasts jut forward.

Behind Judith, the woman nuzzles up and again whispers, "look at her bruise."

Number Twenty-three's arm has a circle of yellow and blue, color of an old bruise. A third man comes up and then a fourth who strips on-stage. He is massive with strong thighs and large hands. The first man is close now. His legs tense as he struggles with himself, so close! Number Twenty-three closes her eyes, leans back. Judith sits rapt, licks her lips, heart thumping. Will he do it?

"Look at me," the first man says as Number Twenty-three turns her head slightly in anticipation of what's coming. He grunts and groans and spurts a line of thick cum in her face, slobbing down her throat, onto her breasts; the girl flinches, hands up in some sort of pathetic defense. She lets her hands fall again.

She resists the urge to clear her eyes, and before she can do anything the second man spills his cum over her, dropping onto her in heavy glops, and makes way for the third who urgently, impressively shoots his cum in her face. More men in various stages of undress around her: a hairy backed man, a bald one, a young Hercules (God yes, Judith thinks).

Number Twenty-three tries to hold herself still as cum dribbles from her hair, face and chin, onto her breasts and thighs. Her hands clasping, not sure what to do, mouth open to take some air and the next man fills it with glorious shots of his cum and she coughs, sputters, hands waving.

"Fuck, yes," Judith hears the whisper in her ear or maybe it is her own little voice. "So much fucking, warm sticky cum!"

Judith counts ten men in all and several of them unload on Twenty-three twice. Big cocks, little cocks, thick cocks, curved cocks. Cute asses and legs and the groans and the splattering of cum on flesh and floor. Could you take that? (the voice says) Would you take that? And Judith shifts in her seat.

Number Twenty-three is alone on stage. Her eyes are nearly painted shut with cum and she crawls on her knees, slipping in the cum on the floor, looking for her clothes. She pauses and tries to wipe her face clean, her little shoulders shaking, she seems on the verge of tears. Maybe she remembers she has a life outside of this place; maybe she realizes she has sold herself cheaply or that she has dared too much; maybe she is afraid to show her arousal in front of all these people; maybe she has never been nude in public.

She makes another weak attempt to find even a single piece of her clothing. A large glop of semen drips off her pubic hair to the stage floor. Then Twenty-three trembles and shakes with sobs."Oh!" she cries, "oh, oh, oh."

The voice whispers: Go help her.

Judith sees no one but poor Twenty-three. Then she is beside Twenty-three, ignores the cum and lets the poor girl fall against her, holds her, and her arms slip on Twenty-three's warm and slippery back, the cum dripping from Twenty-three's hair and everywhere and all of her with the odor of fresh semen, a pasty, briny smell mingled with Twenty-three's sweat and perfume and god she is thick with it, covered with it.

"There, there," Judith says, hugging Twenty-three close. She whispers so only the girl can hear, "you've been courageous. You're so brave" and gives her a reassuring squeeze. Twenty-three looks on gratefully, wipes her nose with the back of her hand and, biting her lip, gently disengages from Judith. A thick run of cum dribbles from Twenty-three's hair down her forehead and off her nose, splats onto Judith's bare thigh.

"Ohh," says Twenty-three desperately trying to hold back tears, her knees slip in the cum on the stage floor, her breasts heave, and all about her the smell of men and cum and Twenty-three's shame.

Judith looks into the young woman's cum sticky eyes, runs her hands on Twenty-three's slippery shoulders, collects cum from Twenty-three's breast with the back of her finger and lets it drip to the floor. She presses her forehead against Twenty-three's, kisses Twenty-three's cute flat little nose.

"Yes. Yesss," says a voice. "Kiss her. Make love to her."

Judith presses her lips to Twenty-three's, finding the girl's mouth open, eager and wet. She tastes semen and Twenty-three's own special taste. Disengages to pull her dress over her head, then kneels in the cum and puts her hands gently on Twenty-three's breasts.

"It's my first time too," she says.