Belden and Tricia Shaw attend a charity party and contribute so much more than they could ever have imagined.
All characters herein are aged eighteen years or older.
*****
Glenys and Greg Hallston had become our best friends due to being in the identical situation and living next door to us. Belden, I call him Ben, was posted to interstate by his employer at about the same time as Greg was by his, although we come from different cities. We often went out together and shared baby-sitters and, while Glen and I worked part time, we shared several other interests such as swimming and working-out in our free time. All of us were between thirty-two and thirty-five, I'm youngest and Greg the eldest, married for seven and eight years respectively and having a pigeon-pair of kids from two to five.
One Friday evening while we enjoyed a barbeque by our pool, Greg announced that he'd been pressed to deputise for his CEO at an upcoming charity party at some celebrity's house in the mountains out of town, but he'd have a couple of thousand bucks worth of gaming tokens to begin the evening. There would be live entertainment by voluntary performers and various novelty events over the course of the night, while the theme of the party was 'Saints & Sinners (Priests & Prostitutes)', making costume choice an easy matter for even the most unimaginitive soul. It was only a week away and Ben and I were invited if we cared to attend.
Like them, we'd never been to a charity bash and were intrigued, although I felt some trepidation at being in the company of the wealthy and powerful people who seemed to organize and attend these functions. They made me feel inferior despite my telling myself I'm as good as anyone with my degree and my sporting accomplishments. However, Glen had no such doubts and, assuming I was going, got us organized. For less than a hundred dollars she did the op-shops and salvage merchants one morning while I worked and obtained us a costume each, not as prozzies which the boys wanted us to be, but as chorus line dancers. For our men she found a pair of pirate-style outfits of polka-dot headscarves, buttonless waistcoat type vests and voluminous nylon pants with anklebands, in red and black. When Ben tried his costume I could make out his dangly bits through the cloth, so I insisted upon his wearing black underdaks.
My outfit consisted of an almost transparent, sequined halter attached to a kind of g-string decorated with trimmed ostrich plumes to barely cover my pudendum and make a kind of bird's tail at the top of the buttock cleft and gold, open toed sandals with ten centimetre semi-chunky heels. It left me naked from waist to ankle and revealed more buttock than I was happy about, with matching head dress of a broad, golden, sequined head band with plumes, while to protect my modesty I would, like Glen, wear a flesh-toned, stretch boob tube under my top and a matching bikini brief beneath my feathers. On the Wednesday I reluctantly went with her to be pierced through the edge of my navel, twice more in each ear and have a temporary tattoo of a red rose on my upper left breast. Plenty of soap would ensure it faded it to a more authentic appearance we were told when Glen queried the sharpness of the image.
My pierced belly-button aroused Ben no end, even more than my single ear ornaments which I'd had done when he told me just how horny Glen's multiple piercings made him, so we made love twice that night on the strength of it and the tattoo. He'd seen my outfit for the party, not yet on me, which had likewise aroused him considerably as he professed to like my being a little less than ladylike, even confessing that he'd enjoy seeing me being double or triple penetrated by other guys. I was appalled initially, but the idea became more appealing with the passage of time, although there would be no likelihood of my ever being adulterous. A nice fantasy all the same.
We'd arranged for our best sitter, a tertiary student in her mid-twenties, to stay until we returned the next day. Greg's boss, now we plebs, had the use of a motel suite about a kilometre or three from the venue. We showered and changed into our costumes there without being seen by anyone who might know us and we could crash after the party until one of us was fit to drive again.
I was quite darkly tanned and, wearing my black wig in long plaits and a little magic by Glen, found myself looking in the mirror at an oriental or Eurasian lass. The fact that I tend to squint a bit helped as she elongated my eyes with liner to entirely alter my appearance from the normal me, but the clincher was the use of a red-brown lip-gloss to thicken and darken my lips like an Asian's. She'd blonded her hair to looked younger and very different; both of us quite aware that we were well disguised that we'd be able to get away with any amount of naughtiness that night, if we chose to take the opportunity.
Both our guys got us to pierce one of their earlobes with a big sewing needle so that they could wear thick gold rings and Ben had cut the luxuriant growth around his crotch to make his penis and scrotum look a somewhat larger than usual. They also wanted makeup to change their appearances in order to feel more in character, so Glen produced a distinctly wild look for each, making them both look quite capable of pillage and rape without pity.
At seven-thirty we walked to the foyer from which limousines were ferrying guests into the party through a security cordon of large scowling men. Greg showed his invitation card and we were deposited, with several others, on a lawn where there were a number of huge red and white marquees, the smell of a barbeque and the sound of voices and dance music.
Being modest, I'd put a light gabardine raincoat over my costume for the journey out after having changed at the motel. Other ladies were a lot less concerned about displaying their feminine charms, two of those sharing our car showing off their breasts through lacy net tops without a bra. Finding that some women were walking about with completely bare bosoms made me feel that I could probably remove my coat without making a scandal, particularly in the dance tent where we went for a drink.
After sitting at a table and looking around it struck me that I could see most peoples' genitals through their clothes; a fact that became obvious to Glen as well.
"It's the lights," she told me. "They make synthetics almost invisible."
"Mmm," I agreed looking at the almost impossibly huge, erect dick waggling under baggy harem-guard's trousers as its owner gyrated on the tennis court sized dance floor with his tossing-titted partner. It seemed clear that he wasn't a eunuch.
We had several drinks and danced with our men until they left us to visit the men's room, returning to make it clear that they'd shed their underdaks as I could see both stiff cocks from across the room. Near the doorway they were accosted by a woman who slid her hand into their pants to fondle their horns as they chatted.
"What do you reckon?" asked Glen, rising to go to the powder room, but I wasn't ready to even partly display myself yet.
I saw her return and that she was virtually naked, her breasts and shaven pussy clearly visible under her virtually transparent garments. She glanced at our spouses with a smile and came back to our table to finish her drink, having barely resumed her seat before this bloke asked her to dance and she accepted. Not wanting to be the odd one out I too went to the powder room to remove my under things, except my G-string, coming back to the table on rubbery legs as most male eyes seemed to look my way to check my womanly charms. Unlike the dreams in which I experience utter blind panic on realizing that I'm naked, I felt quite afraid at being seen like that, but it was tempered by another sensation that was both erotic and exciting to comprehend that I wasn't alone in my public nakedness.
Glen was dancing with the bloke, Jim, who was clutching one round buttock while attempting to finger her quim. He'd unfastened the top of her halter and the garment hung from her waist as she pressed her breasts flat against his hirsute chest. Further in the background I spied my spouse dancing with the 'handy' woman who was still caressing his engorged schlong beneath his trousers while he had his hand up under her skirt to diddle her clit.
"Hi," said Greg. "Like to dance Trish?"
I thought I'd better as I wasn't up to a strange male attempting to grope my snatch or breasts like Glen's beau was doing to her hot snatch with what appeared to be her approval.
"You're not concerned about what's happening over yonder?" I asked Greg, indicating his wife.
"Not really, in fact I'm glad, to be honest," he told me quietly. "We've talked about swinging and she's been very resistant to the idea until now."
