Author's note: My uncle Ron died recently. While sifting through his files, I found journal folders marked MY STORY, containing accounts of his life. I have edited these accounts and will post them when I can. These stories include bisexuality, incest, interracial and mature and group sex, etc. All sexual activity depicted here involves persons at least 18 years old.
His younger friend Alan told the following tales to Ron. These stories stand alone from the RON'S JOURNAL series.
You should read Alan's prior episodes before continuing here.
******************** 7: Old friends, and new friends, and fuck-me-too friends.
Andrea and Sylvie's big
STUDIO S
was a hell of a workplace.
Small and large rooms were set around the edges of the old warehouse space under a major airport flight path. Offices, studios, storage, workshops, a lunch room, a conference room, and some small bedrooms to accommodate sleepovers -- work here often extended into evenings and nights. The noise of arriving and departing jets added to the post-industrial ambience.
That ambience infused this evening's photo shoot.
Sylvie cried and came and convulsed and gushed on my face. A 747's subsonic rumble shook the building and bed. The
basso profundo
roar jellied our genitals.
Sylvie dismounted from my head; I sat up. Sylvie kissed and tongued her juices from my pale wet face. She turned her gleaming ebony back to me and settled onto my prominent pecker, sighing happily as she sheathed me to her core.
"Oh yeah Alan, I need a few more cums, fuck yeah! Signe, were the angles and lighting good? We'll reposition if you want. Call for Maggie when you're ready. Ooooh yeah..." Her moans were drowned by a helicopter flyover.
Sylvie moved more rapidly on my pale cock. I stroked her bodaceous breasts and nibbled her night-black neck. Ash-pale Signe adjusted the lights and readied her brace of Minolta cameras for the next sequence of shots.
"All set, boss. Okay Mags, hit your marks," Signe announced.
Maggie came in through the open door, wearing only sheer iridescent sashes that hid nearly nothing at any given moment. She moved erotically around the bed in the middle of the room.
Signe shot from various vantages, always keeping Mags in sharp focus. Carefully placed fans blew the evanescent sashes in cold flickering waves.
Signe started the intervalometers on two tripodded cameras and joined the scene. Her own sashes blended with Maggie's as they embraced and moved.
Maggie knelt and pushed her face into Signe's vulva. The drone cameras clicked away at half-second intervals as their 100-foot spools fed film behind the lenses.
Sylvie and I were just props, context for the modeling shoot. The title of the not-so-subtle (and not-so-public) marketing campaign was:
STUDIO S IS JUST SO FUCKING HOT!
-----
Andrea and Sylvie had set up shop not far from SFO airport, en route between San Francisco and Silicon Valley. Andrea's working studio was hidden somewhere near the 'official' atelier space, for her safety.
Why safety concerns? Because she was a minor target in a vicious secret war. The PLA [People's Liberation Army] wanted to control Overseas Chinese communities.
Beijing sent some tough PLA agents to San Francisco to 'organize' the tongs and businesses. There have been burnings, and tortures, and killings.
And because Andrea was too prominent in the fashion industry, she was told to vanish, or die. So, we shrouded her whereabouts in secrecy.
Andrea's design art was sent to the atelier to be anonymized and elaborated by a small team of graphic artists. The seamstress team assembled the clothes. The marketing team pushed the products. Team memberships overlapped. Everybody modeled, all twelve women, each with her own individual body.
I owned thirty percent of this. Moira owned another thirty percent. We ruled!
Did we enjoy
droit seigneur
? No, Moira and I did not fuck all the women. Screwing your employees usually is not a good idea even in the best of situations. Moira and I were only intimate with the select few we had known and loved before setting up this enterprise. (Visitors were fair play, though.)
Lively little Maggie was the first artist we poached.
Mike and Maggie were Welsh ex-pats who had been in the Bay Area for a decade. Lanky intellectual Mike had worked before with Moira and me. He was now based in the SF Financial District also. His short curvy walnut-haired Maggie created display art and covers for a New-Age record company until we hired her away.
Mike and Maggie were enthusiastic surfers who lived just a few miles away in a bright cottage on the Pacific coast not far from the hidden Mavericks surf mecca.
Maggie looked great in a tight wet-suit, and even better when she peeled it off, her long dark hair still dripping, her dusky silky muff glistening like dewdrops on dodder. They had joined our frenzied fuckfests quite a few times.
Tall thin ashen Signe also did graphics work, mostly on photography and layouts. Moira and I knew her well from way back in our Santa Barbara days. Spectacular Signe had published some well-received artsy-porno photo books featuring all our bodies intertwined. She normally tasted like cinnamon.
Mags, Mike and Signe were old well-trusted friends. Only they, and we two, and Andrea's lover Sylvie, knew the secret of Andrea's involvement with STUDIO S.
The other team members... well, we had hired them. They could thus be bought, so we kept them uninformed. Security was paramount. Only Andrea's anonymity kept her out of the line-of-fire of the silent deadly war raging in her community.
-----
Moira and I had been promoted within the Gnosis Software hierarchy. Now we both had to make the weekly pilgrimage to Gnosis HQ in Sunnyvale.
This drive to Silicon Valley fitted well with our investment. We were at STUDIO S every Monday night, to check the books, view the designs, participate in some photo shoots, and fuck our friends. This was just a usual Monday.
Mike and Moira, and thinly disguised Andrea, watched the shoot mentioned above from a couch in the photo studio. They were all naked and gently stroking each other as the scene unfolded before their eyes.
The building was otherwise deserted, so the staff would not be embarrassed or stimulated by our activities, and to avoid revealing Andrea's presence.
The cameras stopped clicking. "It's a wrap," Signe called as she lifted her face from Maggie's moist muff. Maggie leaned back and laid her head on my outstretched legs. Sylvie slowly disengaged from my now-limp cock, sighing and glowing.
Signe rose from beside the bed, walked to the control panel, switched off the studio lights and fan. We all adjourned to another room with bigger beds.
"You were great, Mags," Mike told his wife.
Maggie groaned Mike her acknowledgement but was otherwise occupied. Sylvie, our friend and fuckmate for so long, was positioned on her sturdy elbows and knees. Mike was behind Sylvie, pounding politely into her bouncing black butt. Sylvie buried her mouth in Maggie's merry pussy.
"You were damn hot too, Signe," I said, similarly pistoning into marvelous Moira as she steadily slurped Signe's spicy slit and clit. Signe's ravenous response and subsequent screams were muffled by Andrea's pussy perched atop her mouth.
Vidi vici vene;
we saw, we conquered, we came; something like that. We yelled. We fell apart. Andrea crawled off Signe's face. Moira fell over, flopping into Sylvie's shoulder as she collapsed. We all gasped. Somebody giggled.
Mike and I were no longer teenagers. Recovery would take some minutes. Sylvie worked at blowing me back into operation, while Moira attempted to re-inflate Mike. To pass the time till we were functional again, the others daisychained, Maggie eating Andrea eating Signe -- and then they reversed. Continuous groans!
We ran through many of the possible loving combinations of seven adult humans: two males, five females, all with hot libidos. The night was not long enough for a complete set of permutations. Ah well, there's always next week.
-----
The next Monday was business-as-usual at Gnosis HQ in Sunnyvale. Moira was busily ensconced with Larry and other corporate mandarins for most of the day.
I met with financial and operations people, briefing them on project status and getting the latest requirement changes. I ran these meetings and I kept them tight and brief. I gave myself time for intimate encounters with some playful staff.
Gnosis had recruited Xenia and Sheila from my old team at the East Bay "Green Hell" data center. We took time to play, but not all together. Sheila was a bit too inhibited for girl-on-girl or other group play. But she sure liked me.
Sheila was a mid-forties MILF, a sweet earnest English gal with shimmering natural silver hair in a long swirling bob. Her generous bosom, fabulous thighs, and bubbly butt, were usually showcased in tight grey skirt suits that drove me nuts.
Xenia was a taut lean Greek girl in her late twenties with curly jet-black hair, sharp features, and sensuous, nervous, nearly prehensile, feet, often protruding naked from her bright, embroidered jeans.
Xenia knew how to capture me. She snagged me after the first morning meeting and led me to her office. Little red-headed Tim from DB Security lounged in the cushy executive swivel chair behind Xenia's cleared-off desk, waiting for her to lock her door. We all knew what his presence here meant.
"Hey Timmy, good to see ya! I suppose you brought the whipped cream?"
"Sure thing, Alan." Tim waved the spray can at us. "Locked and loaded."
Xenia and I quickly pulled off our pants and skivvies. Xenia bent over in front of her credenza, proudly displaying her tight ass and rosy starburst and dark bush.
