Deacons and Damsels

-1-

The expectation of what might happen and what could happen built the whole month.

In the final week, I refused each of David's several advances. Repeating "I really want to wait 'til Friday." Reminding him "nothing heightens my pleasure as much as the anticipation." And promising, "good things come to those who wait."

On Thursday night, I suddenly found myself pressed up against the wall of our bedroom. Telling me how irresistibly sexy I am, Dave insisted he "couldn't possibly wait another minute" to have me.

I was wrapped in a towel when he started, my whole body still warm from a long, hot shower. The weight of his torso pinned some of my damp hair behind my right shoulder, forcing my head up and to the left. His eyes were filled with an animal lust.

Before I could mount a defense he pulled up the leg of his gauzy, red jogging shorts. His erection sprung free and tunneled up under the edge of my towel. He used his right leg to spread my own. As he straightened his torso, the tuck of my towel came free and my breasts spilled out. His intense heat added to the fire that was already growing between my legs.

I wanted him with my whole body. The tip of his delicious dick was pressing into my lips. My pussy wanted it deep inside. I quivered, then gasped.

But I put a stop to it. I shoved him away. I still wanted to wait.

I was high on the drug of anticipation and not ready to come down. I was fearful, too, that without the anticipation I'd be too nervous to actually go.

Also, I needed to dry my hair.

He was angry when I climbed into bed a short time later, but I refused to accept the offered guilt. It had been Dave, I remembered quite well, who insisted we accept her invitation. In the end he had even begged me, sweetly to try it "just this one time... for me?"

Kissing him good night but turning my back, I waited for him to take care of his body's need. Then I slept. And dreamt a night full of fantasy.

- 2 -

By Friday evening, though, I was the one who couldn't wait another minute.

We had called for a black car service, so we could both drink. I took a seat directly behind our nameless, suited driver. My David was in the back of the car with me, but on the far end of the seat.

The anticipation overcame me. I could no longer think of anything but sex: raw, visceral fucking and every other kind imaginable.

I wanted Dave to look at my body. I wanted to tease him with it. I wanted him to get hard, because of me. I wanted him inside of me, right then and there.

I'd have pulled my skirt up all the way to my bottom to show him the full length of my legs, except the skirt was so short they were already in plain view.

I'd have slid my panties down to mid-thigh to underscore my intense need. But I wasn't wearing any underwear, as I'd been instructed.

I'd have pulled my crop-top down a bit so he could see my hard nipples. However, the sheer white fabric already left little to the imagination.

I'd also agreed not to wear a bra, and semi-circles of areolae peeked out above the tight lines the shoulders of the tiny bodice struck on their way to a knot tied near my sternum.

I demanded his full attention by SMS: "I wish your head was between my legs. I'm imagining it's happening right now..."

Sadly, he was too far away for me to touch.

I touched myself instead, gently at first: rubbing my arms and legs with soft open palms; tickling my neck with curved fingers; cupping my breasts lightly through the gossamer; and, finally, teasing my clit with the tip of my thumb.

I was so wet I was dripping. A small puddle formed beneath me on the supple, leather seat. For a moment, I thought of the driver later finding this share of my sex: just curious at first; then remembering my long legs and short skirt and contemplating the daring possibility; finally, sniffing at the musky odor to confirm. Suddenly overcome by a lust of his own.

I looked over at Dave. His eyes were glassy and aimed straight at my hand between my legs. I removed my hand momentarily, to get his attention. When he looked up, I puckered my lips and winked, as I sometimes do to signal "I want you" from across a crowded room.

Amidst the ebb and flow of the shadows the car's motion steadily pushed across his lap, I spied the outline of his penis. The fabric of his tight black dress pants was under strain. Like me, I knew, he'd followed her rules and wore no underwear.

Keeping the side of my thumb on my clit, I allowed first one and then two of my fingers to enter. I could feel a flutter-wave in my middle: a sure sign of an orgasm well on its way.

Then, suddenly, we were there, at the address on our invitation. I had to stop and get out. Though the orgasm was lost, for now, my breathing remained heavy.

I waited for Dave to walk around and open my door, giving me a moment to collect myself. As I spun in my seat, I made sure to give him a very long look up my very short skirt. He grinned, appreciatively, then offered his hand.

As we turned to walk from the car to the house, his hand joined the cool October air in an assault up my skirt, where it landed, with a light sting, on my bare ass.

- 3 -

We had arrived at a modern suburban home in a cookie-cutter neighborhood. Not remarkably different from our own in most respects, except that it was obviously larger and a bit better trimmed.

As we walked up the lighted brick path and then stone steps onto the high-columned porch, I briefly wondered what a nosy neighbor spying the seven identically costumed couples enter might think.

Each of us had been pre-assigned a specific five-minute arrival window. "Miss your arrival window, miss the party," was another of her many rules. By accepting the invitation we had pre-agreed to obey her every instruction, without question.

We were on time and greeted warmly by our hostess. After which she told us, "The party will be downstairs. If you want drinks, get them before you join the others. My husband is behind the bar. The games will begin in about half an hour, when we join you."

"For your privacy, wear these," she said as she handed me a pair of Mardi Gras-style eye masks.

Turning to Dave, she added, "Before you go downstairs, I just need to make one small adjustment to your nicely... fit... costume." With her final word, she took a half step toward Dave and caught us both off guard by grabbing his pants by the waist with her left hand and expertly unzipping his fly with the right. Then she fished her hand inside and pulled out his penis.

Still in shock, our bodies were aimed at the basement door.

- 4 -

Our hostess, Joan, had taken a job in the accounting department of the local electric utility nearly a year earlier. Her office was just to the left of the one I had occupied for most of the nine years I'd been back in the working world. We struck up an immediate friendship and frequently lunched and took breaks together.

One evening in early May, at a noisy happy hour, our conversation turned to speculation and gossip about the sex lives of others in the office. Two drinks later, Joan leaned in close and revealed that she and her husband were swingers who "enjoy the company of other couples" and "regularly host game nights" at their home.

I was stunned. Until that night, I thought of Joan as just another middle-aged, married woman with a house in the suburbs and an office job in the city; like me. Well, except for the significant difference of her not having children.

I came to realize that I'd previously thought of swingers as a kind of mythical creature: Amusing to think about, like mermaids or vampires, but obviously not a part of the real world.

But swingers are real, apparently. And I knew one!

It took me several weeks to adjust to her scandalous revelation. That we still took our breaks together and she didn't mention her sex life again was crucial, I think, to my accepting her as she was. Joan was still a competent colleague. And still a valued, albeit new and now unusual, friend.

I made a conscious decision to remain friends and ignore her little secret. So what if Joan and her husband hosted orgies at their house? That was her private business, I tried to maintain in my mind. That aspect of her didn't change who I was and it didn't have to end our friendship.

That said, I couldn't help but view everything about Joan through new eyes, including: her fit, always-tan body and large breasts; her often-revealing clothing; her natural charisma and many casual friendships; and her unhidden flirtations, even with the married men.

I had a hundred questions, of course: What happened, exactly, at these "game nights"? Had anyone from our office played with them? Was her youthful outlook on life a cause, or a product, of her little secret? But I kept my questions to myself.

- 5 -

It was Dave who needed answers.

Of course, I had mentioned my new work friend to Dave a dozen times before. But I only shared the tidbit about her unorthodox sex life as I was describing various people he might meet for the first time at the company's annual summer picnic. "Unfortunately, Joan's husband is away on business this week, so neither of us will get to meet him."

Joan and Dave hit it off easily. And as the sun began to set on the picnic and most other folks were packing up, the three of us remained seated at a table along the tree line. We were laughing and sharing funny stories over a bottle of wine we'd earlier hid near our table.

"Is it okay if I ask you a question?," Dave said to Joan during a lull in the conversation.

"Ask me whatever you want."

"Are you and your husband really swingers? "

I couldn't believe Dave said that and immediately shot him a nasty look across the table. I'd have kicked him in the shin, but it was well out of my reach.

I guess it was my fault, really. I shouldn't have told him at all. Or I should have at least asked him not to let on that he knew.

"It's true. It is something we both, very much, enjoy."

"I'm so sorry, Joan," I said. "If I had known my husband was such a clod, I wouldn't have told him."

"No worries, Sugar," she said using her pet name for me. "Though we don't advertise it to the world, we don't mind our friends knowing. It's just the three of us, and the bats, out here tonight, if either of you have any more specific questions?"

Dave is a prominent chemistry professor at State motivated almost entirely by scientific curiosity. And with a few drinks in him, at least, never shy about asking questions.

I was astonished to learn that Joan had been a swinger for more than thirteen years, starting with her husband before they married. It was his idea initially, but she is the outgoing one who organizes their parties.

I sat quietly and listened, uncomfortably, as Dave enquired about the details: "How many?," "Where?," "How often?," ...

My mind wandered off as Joan started giving answers to "What?", remembering scenes from "late night" movies I'd slyly watched in hotel rooms; erotic stories I'd read online; and the fantasies I sometimes escape to while Dave and I screw.

- 6 -

On the drive home a few hours later, I was very horny and still a bit tipsy from the wine. My hand gravitated to my lap. At Dave's urging I unzipped my shorts and put my hand inside my panties. Then I masturbated while sharing my favorite group sex fantasy aloud for the first time:

"I'm invited to a girlfriend's house. Her husband has three young, single guys from work over to play cards. After a few drinks and our chatting, my friend and I agree to join them for just a few hands. We soon wind up talked into strip poker. The winner of each hand removes one item of clothing from each of those who stayed in and lost. Our bras and bare chests and panties and tented boxers are gradually revealed. It costs $5 to fold and I run out of cash.

"I am the first to be completely stripped. All of the men tell me how sexy I am. Told I can win my clothes back now, I am allowed to keep playing. When I lose again, the winner has me stand and parade around the table, slowly. Hands caress my legs and arms, spank me on the ass, and pinch my nipples. One of the guys shamelessly puts his hand between my legs. After gently massaging the length of my labia, he holds his glistening fingers up in the air for all to see. I am embarrassed about my arousal and sit down to try my luck again.

"My friend wins the final hand and commands that I be blindfolded. I'm guided up the stairs by numerous roaming hands. Then tied spread-eagle to a bed. For over an hour, my body serves as the playground of the others. I come again and again as I lick her pussy and take a series of cocks in my own. I leave disheveled and tired, but wearing a big smile."

For the rest of the summer our sex life was ablaze. Fantasizing aloud about what might happen and what could happen in various group sex scenarios had us both very aroused.

I didn't actually want to have sex with other people, of course. The risks are many and too costly in the real world. Though I had a well-worn corner of my brain for fantasy, the only non-traditional sex I'd ever actually had was one drunken exchange of cunnilingus with a college roommate.

With Dave, the extent of our prior kink was occasional use of a "personal massager" during our foreplay and a couple of mutual experiments with butt plugs. So I don't know why it turned me on so much to learn that Dave was as aroused by the idea of a threesome with another man as with another woman, and that he sometimes imagined giving a blow job.

The fantasy of all this was good enough for me, though; more than I needed, really.

Dave's head was in the same place, I was sure. He's the teacher for the large Chemistry 101 lectures that are required for the majority of freshman at State. He's also the head of a national panel of scientists that advises the Department of Homeland Security about chemical weapon threats, for which he had to get a security clearance. Being found out as a swinger is not an acceptable risk in either line of work.

- 7 -

The mid-September arrival of a finely printed invitation to Joan's Halloween "Game-Night" came as a surprise to us both. We had the same quick reaction, "Obviously, no."

But Joan wouldn't accept that answer. On an after-lunch walk she assured me that everyone at the party would be physically fit and was required to be tested as disease-free. She said that each of the women would be on birth control; most, like me, having had their tubes tied after having kids.

Finally, she added, because of the costumes and masks at this particular party, we'd be completely anonymous. She emphasized several times that Halloween would thus be the best time for Dave and I to try it.

"We're very flattered to be invited," I said several times. "Talking about group sex and your parties has improved our sex life!," I even boldly admitted to her. "But the fantasy is enough for us."

I had no idea about her call to Dave until he brought the invitation up over dinner on date night. He wanted to go. Joan had convinced him we would be anonymous; that she would be the only one who would even know we were there. That was all he needed to hear, apparently.

"This Halloween party is our only chance to try it anonymously," he said. "She's arranged that aspect carefully, and mostly to get us to come."

He swatted away all of my concerns, scientifically. Then begged me, sweetly, to try it "just this one time... for me?"

That Monday, when I closed the door to Joan's office and nervously changed our RSVP, she squealed with delight, jumped up from her desk, and hugged my shoulders tightly against her chest. "The reality is five times hotter than the fantasy, Sugar," she whispered before letting me go. "I'm so happy you guys will be able to come."

- 8 -

I liked the way Dave's erection looked as it confidently led our way to the basement.

The rest of him seemed nervous, though. I was feeling nervous again too. The unknown of what lie ahead was palpable. Neither of us said a word.

The basement was expansive, high ceilinged, and nicely decorated. Apparently below ground, there were no windows. Large, gilt-framed oil paintings hung on several of the walls. Dimmed recessed lights in the ceiling set the tone for the party.

The double glass-doors of a wood-paneled library stood open past the well stocked bar we found to our right as we exited the stairs. A large gas fireplace, set into the far wall at the same end of the basement as the library, was the centerpiece of a large open-ended space containing a circular arrangement of eight compact beige-colored sofas.

Three of the sofas already held couples. Each of the men was dressed entirely in black, except for the white square of the clerical collar that completed his costume. The women all wore low-cut, tie-front white crop tops and pleated plaid schoolgirl minis, like mine.

Dave walked up to the bar and requested, with a nervous smile, "A double shot of Jack, please." In reply to "On the rocks?," he chuckled, "Don't overthink it!" Dave quickly downed the drink and asked for another.

The full length of the bartender's banana-curved erection stared up at me as I opted to try the Riesling already open on the glass countertop. As we turned to walk toward the other guests I surprised myself by pausing to down it quickly and then returning to the bar to for a refill of my own, and a second look.

Liquid courage in progress, we joined the group. A few people nodded their heads in muted welcome. We selected a plush, forest green sofa just to one side of the lit fireplace, then took in the scene.

- 9 -

The other couples were already engaged in various sexual activities. One schoolgirl was sucking on her priest. Another was seated on her minister's lap, facing him and slowly grinding up and down, as he sucked on a breast pulled entirely free from her top.

Dave set his empty glass on a small table between our sofa and the next, and leaned in to kiss me. Turning his body more fully toward mine, he soon had his hand up under my skirt. A moment later, as he put a second finger inside me, I came, sweetly, for the first of what I was already certain would be many times.

By the time the sixth couple took its place I was straddling Dave, and sucking on his neck. Soon I spun around, flipped up the back of my skirt, and slowly lowered my pussy onto his dick. In this position, I could watch the others even as we fucked.

Dave's hands reached around to my chest. He untied the knot of my top, exposing both of my breasts to the room. Then pulled and twisted on my nipples.

The couple directly across the circle had moved into a doggie style position, with her on all fours on the sofa and him kneeling behind her. I loved my view as her well endowed man thrust back and forth, each time displaying a portion of his penis that was itself easily larger than the entirety of Dave.

Dave reached his right hand down and began to gently circle the tip of his index finger around my clit. I felt then I was dreaming: Watching a very hot couple have sex while I was being fucked, in a room full of strangers; on the edge of a very intense orgasm.

I had no prior notion how erotic it is to have sex in the same room as others. The whole of my being was intoxicated by it. And my sex was on fire, needing Dave to pick up the pace.

A moment after I came again, I climbed off of his lap. I spread his legs with my hands and got down onto my knees between them. Then I wrapped my lips around the shaft of his cock.

Something animal, calling out from deep inside my body wanted me to display my sex, to attract the attention of the alpha male across the room, in particular. I stood up tall on my hind legs to angle my pussy and ass straight back at him.