In the middle of the night I woke to find her standing silently beside my bed, her realistic dick stretching horizontally over the front of her panties. When she saw I was awake she removed the covers and climbed in. She straddled me, and slid my cock into her welcoming ass through one of the leg holes in her underwear. They held the realistic phallus in position, a knob on the back of it securely inserted in her vagina, so that it never flipped loose, even during the most strenuous fucking. How she always managed to keep her glasses on I don't know. She sat on my cock with her calves at my hips, and bolted upright repeatedly with her hands clawing the air beside her, as orgasmic energy traveled up the length of her spine. Her tightly closed eyes were raised to the ceiling and her little mouth was agape, but I never heard her gasp. The only riding motions she made were the short, regular, forward lurches produced by her ecstatically spasming back muscles. It was clear from her revelry she was getting much more out of sex than most other people ever would. When I reached out to caress the down on her smooth, round thighs, her only reaction was to gently place her hands upon mine. Her flat abdomen quivered with excitement when she came, and the dick bobbed madly like the needle of a seismograph. She didn't doze off with me, but returned to the couch in the other room when we'd finished.
Being penetrated anally was Samantha's only sexual preference, the cock she wore only for show, but she dominated our time in bed by dictating events from her vast store of sex magic knowledge. We never had to worry about spoiling our friendship or our living situation, as the first was non-existent and the second was forced on us by Ray. When we spoke she provided insights about the many women expressing interest in me since my visit with Candy, approving of some and warning me about others with information and intuition I didn't have. She also described techniques and tricks I could use in my encounters with them.
One of my adventures was a lesbian bachelor party, with me the entertainment. Fifteen or so women with their breasts pushing out the fronts of men's business suits and tuxedos smoked cigars and drank brandy. Their hair was tied or slicked back, and neat beards of different sorts were drawn in make-up on their faces. I was brought in wearing a Little Bo Peep costume after a porno had ended and the celebrants were giving a coarse round of applause. My handler, a fit dyke with white hair named Irene, warned me not to move after bending me over a billiards table in the side room and checking under my dress that my backside was bare and well-powdered. She then stood in the doorway and announced that refreshments were now available. Half of the guests ignored her and continued talking, but a group made their way toward me, and a couple others were visibly upset by the presence of a male at their event.
The first one to take me was a smoky brunette with no jacket. She joked with her friends as she put her drink down beside me and grabbed a handful of my thigh, as if to judge livestock at a fairground. At once she became quiet and unzipped the fly of her billowy slacks to withdraw from it a thick, long, veined phallus with skin the same color as her own. Getting behind me and then leaning over my back, she jammed it in with a few powerful jerks of her hips. Next, she gave one large buck that shook the table, to establish its arrival. Her hands appeared on the green felt at either side of my head. She pushed her pelvis forward slowly, with no regular pace but only according to her whims, for approximately ten minutes. Suddenly I felt her torso become heavy and her legs struggle to support her weight. Then she sighed lightly, and locked her knees, so that the penis was drawn backward and out. She stood upright, put her tool back in her pants, picked up her glass, and patted me on the head.
"I need a new drink," she said, and walked away.
None of her friends wanted to follow that act, so the small crowd around me dispersed. I was bent over there alone for the better part of an hour, while the women laughed and bellowed in the other room. A pretty girl in a maid outfit walked in from the second doorway, and deposited a crab cake from her tray into my hand. She smiled at me over her shoulder as she left.
Some time later, another of the transvestite attendees entered the parlor, this one a pretty, slim blond. She sauntered over to me, and leaned against the table. Absently she felt the fabric of my bonnet.
"I was told this is a party," she said. Staring down at me, she moved slowly out of my field of vision. I heard the heels of her dress shoes grind into the rug. A belt jingled, and her pants fell to the floor in a heavy heap. Pressure grew at my asshole. In one-inch increments, she hefted her massive latex cock into me. When it was submerged she took hold of my waist. For three endless minutes, she hammered roughly at my rear end. She climaxed and stood motionless, letting the giant payload fill me, and allowing her heartbeat to slow to normal. After doing her pants up and smoothing her loose hairs, she deposited a twenty dollar bill in my dress. Her footfalls faded as she exited the room.
My next visitors were two mustachioed women who wanted some privacy for a conversation they were having, and didn't consider my presence there real. They bickered inaudibly for four or five minutes and then went back into the main hall, one of them commenting as they left that these parties were never what you want them to be.
Over the course of the night another pair of women made frequent trips past the doorway, casually glancing at me. It was obvious they had no plans to enjoy me in that setting, but were discussing some notions about what they would do were all of their friends to leave.
An hour later, the company sang "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow" for the groom. They filed into the parlor after her to cheer as she sowed her last wild oat in me, but she was too committed to her fiancée to use my body, and bowed out bashfully at the last minute. The chorus then changed their tune to good-natured ribbing. Though their laughter and taunts were almost intolerably loud, I could hear the best man plead that she had gotten Little Bo Peep for the party, and wouldn't somebody please help me find some wool. Despite that, the soirée ended, with all of the guests going to the front room for their coats. Irene appeared in the doorway to wave at me reassuringly, a signal that I was remain bent over the billiards table until everyone had gone. I nodded and she vanished again, this time for the night.
My final bit of entertaining was done for the two ladies who had been observing me. They lingered after the other women left, and then made their approach. These might have been the youngest of the bunch, and most excitable. Both stomped out of their pants but kept their mens shirts on, and in boxer shorts, shoes, and black socks with garters, their goatees smeared all over their shrieking mouths, they spit-roasted me with their strap-ons for an hour. Then they collapsed in separate chairs from exhaustion.
"Thanks for a lovely evening," I said, and went home.
As I came from class one night I spied three beautiful girls on the other side of the street. One had her hair bound in a long ponytail, and the others wore theirs in buns. Two had tight hooded sweatshirts on and the other a raincoat, but they all sported knee-high boots for the snow. The similarities in their styles made me think of an all-girl gang I'd seen in a movie, and the leather footwear lent a militant feel to their appearance. None of that could distract me however from the long legs and perfect asses filling out their tight gray jeans. Completely wound up by the sight of them, I increased my walking speed in the hope Samantha would work some spell to calm me when I saw her. Then I heard one of them say, "Ask him," and another call out, "Are you Mikaela's friend?" They only had one strap-on, so each took a turn doing me in her jeans and a t-shirt on Ponytail's bed, while the other two sat in front of the TV and ate pork rinds. When I got back at seven in the morning, the witch merely looked up at me from her book, and resumed reading.
Another day I met a gorgeous black Amazon named Michelle who I'd known from my dorm Freshman year. She still kept her shoulder length hair back in a cloth band, and as usual favored skin-tight leggings and ankle-high boots. All my old fantasies of becoming her submissive husband returned when I stood overwhelmed before her tall, graceful, well-built body. She dug in the open bag which she held in front of the sweater that contained her gravity-defying breasts. "I know my pad's in here. Let me see. Here, hold this," she said, and pulled out a pair of jockey shorts with her long chocolate member attached. My eyes darted around the street to find out who had seen me given the man-breaking device, when she said, "Oh, I just remembered. It's at home." She took the strap-on from me and stuffed it back in the bag. "Why don't you come with me and I can scribble your digits down there?" I must have blushed. "If that's what you want." She put her arm around me. "I won't take no for an answer." I never said no, but I did scream "Harder! Harder!" for several hours. As I staggered to the bathroom she reclined with her head propped up on a pillow and her dick bursting from her boy briefs. She said, "I just realized. I had my cell phone with me all along." I put on her apron and made French Toast. When I got home an hour later, Samantha just shook her head.
