Author's note: the following story is purely a work of fiction and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental. The author wishes to express his gratitude to Copperbutterfly for her editing to make this a better story.
Thursday, May 29th: The night was a good one. With the start of the June season just two nights away, I had known that things were going to heat up. They always do at this time of year.
The bachlorette party was in the presidential suite of the stately West Wind Hotel, not one of the most expensive places in town but certainly still a very nice place to stay. When I knocked on the door at five minutes before 10 that evening, I was admitted by a beautiful blonde in her mid-twenties.
I already knew that there would be fourteen attendees at the party, not a large group but still good sized for this kind of party. They were all sitting around the living room and I suspected they had been expecting me. The living room was large with four sofas arranged in a box formation and women occupied about ever available seat, and it looked like everyone had a drink in their hand.
I was greeted by loud catcalls, so I suspected these ladies had been drinking for some time already. Someone said, "He's handsome" while another said, "On with the dancing." I set my portable boom box on the floor in one corner of the box and hit the play button. I stepped into the empty floor in the middle of the sofa box and slowly began to dance.
As I gyrated, I moved around the group of women, looking each one in the eyes but liking the fact that most of them, even if they expressed embarrassment, watched my hips. Before long, most of the women were pointing me toward a very nubile blonde sitting in the middle of one of the sofas, telling me that she was the bride-to-be. I made my round of the group and then turned back to the blonde. As the music played, I swayed in front of her as seductively as I could.
When the music changed to the next track, I began slowly working on the fastenings of my clothes, a sort of modified tuxedo a la the Chippendales. The noise of encouragement from the women often was so loud that it overrode the music from my boom box. I got close enough to the woman to rub myself against her leg or her arm several times, causing a permanent blush to creep up her neck. But she didn't lose her knowing grin either.
I took time to turn around and press my bottom against her lap a few times and it didn't hurt my feelings to have her give my buns a squeeze. When I pulled off my shirt and discarded it, I leaned over her, forcing her to lean backward and still I brushed my chest against her face. Her tongue reached out and licked me. Hands of other women rubbed over my bottom time and again and some extended down my thighs and even up between my legs.
After standing again and dancing some more in front of the woman, I pulled the velcro fasteners apart and discarded my pants, leaving me covered in only a G-string with a sewn-in pouch for my package. While it did cover me technically, it didn't leave much to the imagination. For many long minutes, I didn't hear a note coming from the boom box as the women clustered around and admired my jewels. Hands again roved over my bottom, squeezing and pinching. Several times fingers worked from the back between my legs so that I felt them touching my balls.
Of course I had to dance again so that I was rubbing on the pretty bride. To get even closer, I put a knee on each side of her bottom and sat so that my chest was in her face. Bending to her ear, I whispered that she was allowed to touch anything she wanted to. I loved it when her fingers tentatively reached out to trace the muscles of my chest.
I kept a little motion going, feeling her legs between mine. I bent and licked her ear and kissed her neck ... and was rewarded when her fingers closed around my stiff cock. A few moments later, her other hand cupped my balls and the other women ribaldly encouraged her to take it out. She had help though and I felt the G-string with its pouch being pulled down my form – so I got up to make it easier for them, and then climbed back on her lap.
For several minutes I played on the young woman's lap, letting her feel me or rubbing myself against her. Then, slipping to my knees on the floor at her feet, I unfastened her skirt and began easing it down her form, watching her eyes every second. There was no hint that she wanted me to stop.