The women came in advance of their husbands.
There was much pumping of their clits to be done.
But first they would have their pussies, shaved, powdered and lightly feathered by cunt worshippers of every sexual persuasion. The goal was to induce nature, for one night, to magnify and grow in a bridled stimulation exercise. To excite and hold and build and build and hold... and build until... they could only think and feel about one thing : SEX.
Sex for the sake of sex. No bills, no spouses, not even children would matter. Only their cunts and every nerve synoptically connecting to their cunts would matter. C'est magnifique!
These are those who feel orgasms are the first option to anyone that ever touched themselves. They keep and do not diminish us. The best thing was to intensify them to the point of paroxysm and cum as hard as possible, as many times, or one time, or not at all. Everything leads to the next cum. The juice and the taste of cum, would keep one young like a prick that has been charging and recharging- afraid to cum and miss out on seeing a deeper shade of red with hot, pink highlights.
The clit pumping room was off the lockers through swinging doors, where trained clit pumping techs worked their machines with exactitude. Overhead lighting was "dark room red" and the floor floodlights sported banana yellow tones. Suspension swings were laid out next to the white pumping stations. Each participant was harnessed into a leather swing and masked for the intake of pure oxygen. Then, the sunlamps were lit and beamed down on the shaved cunts.
Soon, the cunts were sun kissed and ready for the fittings. The women were told to remain silent. They could not say a word. Words and unwords would come later with the cumming. The techs worked the customized pumps on the cunts. They were magnified under pin-sized white lights and already juiced. No one spoke.
Pressure was gently applied at first as the clits were unhooded and tubed in thimble sized vacuums. The clits were waiting, nakedly waiting, to be engorged by pressurized stimulation. They were going to be pumped into fabulously brazen shades of pinks and rude, ruby reds.
Some of the technicians teased and adjusted the pressure at up and down rates, to build the sensation of sucking from deep within- then they held it! The goal of pumping is to get total engorgement of the clit. All clit hoods were folded back beyond the suction area. This was a clit party. The energy in a roomful of hot, red clits would be wonderful. This was it.
Buckets of ice were carefully placed near every swing to assist the techs in teasing and maintaining the growth. The tubes were pre-Vaselined ( for growth in a controlled environment ) and ready to accommodate the emerging little pricks, those ever swelling domes of hugely, abnormal size.
Blood engorged the pink, pearl shaped buds to be almost thumb-sized. They swelled and ridged like circumcised prickheads. Little pink alien heads.
Before tonight, some were already huge, body building drug-sized clits. All this, and their owners still wanted to be pumped to greater, gargantuan sizes. They knew the larger you could get them, the thicker the stem and the so, so sensitive underside of the fattened buds for licking
Exhibitionism was the ticket into here. The swing club had hired a Clitologist to set up the deal. Working or not working, single or married, you had to love to get people aroused. You had to be in love with your cunt and all the pleasure it provided you and others who fucked and ate it. You had to like to play the whore role, smoking in the bordello, in costume. But this time, you had to give your cunt and clit control to someone who would : keep you from cumming. until you were almost ready to pass out with desire!
They had been garbed in white towels during the pumping, but now were ushered into another room that had been set up with magnifying mirrors so they could see the results. Some tried to quickly come off, but they were being watched and quickly escorted into the make-up room. Here is where care and a theatrical attention were appreciated by all, because their cunts were throbbing so much and needing any distraction from the anticipation factor.
The makeup artists worked with each guest on a very personal level. How can we accentuate your look? Can we change your polish? Bluen or golden your lids. Add a dangles to your tits? Highlight your hair? No, we're not allowed to touch you down there with anything, but makeup.
They lipsticked the outer and inner lips and rouged the cheeks and nipples, always using restraint. Natural redness was easy to see and not to be camouflaged in powders. Exotic pheromones were applied to accentuate the persuasive powers of subliminal scent. Lastly they were lightly oiled with a disappearing, emulsive substance that carried the aroma of raisins and fruit jellies.
Next, came the dressing room. Earlier in the day, the husbands had dropped off the costumes for the evening's " feshtivities. " Latex, rubber, velvet, rayon, silk, chiffon, rope, leather, heels, platforms, boots, girdles, scarves, thongs, panties, tap pants, bras, slips, togas and chain mail. Everything was there, waiting to be worn. Waiting to be torn. Waiting to be cum in. Waiting to be cum on. They dressed quickly.
Under other circumstances, dressing would take hours. But tonight, the feeling that you're carrying around a ten pound clit was enough to get you dressed and on your way. Changes of costume were available for those, who did not wish to be " cum sluts," who display fresh, hot cum on their costumes, like whores, who compete and flaunt their stained outfits as badges; medals to the redness of their pussies making cocks stiffen and erupt. Pricks, spasmodically shooting off to the spreading slut play of these tramps!
Heeled, costumed and made up, they proceeded to the bar. They knew this place. They had fucked and sucked here before. But never like this time. Bottles of Veuve Cliquot, white wine, and trays of fruit, fine c#annabis and c#ocaine dipped cigarettes were at the oxygen bar. The room was empty. Music twiddled in the distance, gradually becoming louder. They looked kookily at each other. " Oh god, we are such sluts!," their collective reasoning surmised. What's gonna happen next? We can't wait!
They started to grab and grope each other as the music woofed louder and then suddenly stopped. The doors swooshed open. Dressed in black, young, masked men and women, entered the bar. Pairing off, they engaged each guest and started sucking their tits and massaging their inner thighs with salacious intent. It was as if they had been schooled in the art of knowing where every nerve in the body and brain met and communicated sexually. Still, they did not touch one cunt, lick one pussy, or finger one longing twat. Then, they worked on the asses. They did finger the butts.
