Party at the Cul-De-Sac

Amber has never done anything like this before. But she wants to take more chances. And showing up at a secret house party with a dozen other horny women exploring their sexuality seems like a great place to start.

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The modern house near the end of the cul-de-sac.

Not at the end, near the end.

Apparently the correct cul-de-sac, as cars were parked next to every inch of sidewalk up and down the block.

I hoofed my way from my vehicle, which I had left on an adjacent street, to the modest structure. Palm trees partially obscured the exterior of the nondescript home. As expected, the gate was unlocked and ajar.

I confirmed that the address mirrored the one the host had included in her email. Then to remind myself how I had ended up in this upscale suburb over an hour's drive away from my urban home, I checked the comments of the infamous video again.

"Wow, pussy on pussy grinding is beautiful. Never been with a girl, but these two got me soaking my thong."

I spotted a trio of women around my age already walking up the driveway.

On the sidewalk, another woman materialized next to me. She tapped the freckles on her chin.

"Are you here for the..." She trailed off, waiting for me to fill in the blank.

I showed her the invite on my phone.

Her shoulders relaxed.

"Are we supposed to use our real names?" I asked.

"My real name is Barb. What's yours?"

"Amber." I shook her beige hand with my brown one.

She pushed a wavy red lock of hair behind her ear. "I take it this is a first for you as well?"

"I'm thinking of it like a book club. A gathering of like minded women coming together to discuss a work of art."

"Do you think we'll be cumming together?" Barb looked away to the front steps.

I deflected, "Someone's opening the door."

We watched the host-a cheerful philanthropist I knew was in her early 50s, as we had chatted by video last week-show the three women inside. She waved at the two of us lingering outside the fence.

Once Barb and I dared to set foot inside the property, the host, clad in a low-cut white suit, gave us a group hug.

"It's nice to meet friends who can enjoy this experience together."

Barb stammered, "We just met!"

"We're not friends," I chimed in, embarrassed.

"Not yet," the host winked.

After pointing out the dining table full of refreshments and the door to the powder room, the host led Barb and me into the grand, yet cozy living room. The baker's dozen of guests were nibbling on hors d'oeuvres, sipping on soft drinks, and ultimately congregating near the sofas. Though they ranged in color and size and fashion style, the women were mostly in their 30s and 40s, resembling the other moms I encountered at PTA meetings.

"I expect additional adventurers to trickle in later, but for you punctual partygoers, welcome." She pressed the power button on the flat screen TV, which was positioned on the wall above the empty fireplace. "The reason we're all here. Or more likely, the trigger." The screen was paused on the opening scene of the video with the two friendly women.

"Like most of you, this is unfamiliar territory for me. But I figured we could start with some icebreakers." The host passed around a basket with folded pink slips of paper inside. Each guest took one and opened it.

"These are some of the most popular comments from below the video." The host asked each woman to say their name and read their piece of paper.

The score of guests, who were securing their seats on the luxurious furniture, weren't sure who should go first.

So the host did, once the basket returned to her paws. "You all know my name already. And thank you ladies for trusting me to throw this party. It says, 'Who knows where to find the rest of this video?'" She raised her hand. "I do. We're going to watch it in a moment. Or, would you like to see it right now?"

"Now!" Two guests at opposite corners of the room shouted, then burst into giggles.

"Don't have to ask me twice." She squeezed the remote, moved dangerously close to my location at the back of the room, and dimmed the lights.

The clip that all twenty of us curious individuals had watched online was only two minutes long, but the video playing on the screen was over twice the length at four minutes and thirty seconds.

The opening was unfamiliar, as the two grown performers were fully clothed and getting comfortable on the leather couch in the rec room. But that changed quickly. The duo stripped down to their flimsy panties, licked on each other's bare breasts, and let the crotch gyrations commence. Soon they tossed their underwear to the side, caressed each other's dark skin, and engaged in a short 69, before the part all of us partygoers had replayed repeatedly.

The on-screen duo changed position and got those clits grinding, those lower lips smacking, that cream flowing. The woman on the bottom sucked the puffy nipple of her friend on top. I heard a series of moans, but I wasn't sure if they were coming from the screen.

I noticed some of the couch dwellers in the room shifting in their seats, uncrossing then recrossing their legs, thighs clamped tight, fingers petting their own skin in the shadows.

As the video ended, the duo relaxed into a satisfied kiss.

I realized my fingers were gripping the living room wall, digging indentations into the paint. I could sense a damp spot spreading in my panties.

The crowd expressed their appreciation through light applause and deep exhales.

I glanced at my new acquaintance, Barb, who was draining her water glass and heading for a refill.

The host, in her heightened state of stimulation, remembered she was still holding the comments basket, which was trembling in her hands. She turned the TV off and switched the lights back on. "Who's next?"