Male Harem

My boss invited me over to a party at his beach house. He said it would be just a few friends. I was a little late getting there. I had trouble finding the place. It was way out at the end of the peninsula, near the Cape.

The house was really something. It was set up high on stilts, surrounded by balconies and decks. The windows were huge, offering views of the Atlantic on one side, the river on the other.

It did not seem to be much of a party. There were just four or five cars parked on the shell drive.

I go up the stairs, knock. My boss, who's a debonair fellow in his early fifties, welcomes me. He fixes me a bourbon at the bar, tells me to go into the den and make myself at home.

So I go into the den. It's quiet. There's no music or anything. It's a big, open, modernistic looking room. There are three guys sitting there on the chrome and leather furniture, all in their twenties and thirties, all good-looking.

I've been told now and then that I'm a good-looking guy, but I was really intimidated by them. They looked like they could have been male models.

I say, "Hi." They give a half-hearted, distracted, "Hello" in return, all in unison, hardly paying attention to me. They're all staring at something over my shoulder. One of them, a redheaded fellow, is leaning over to one side, peering around me. It seems that I'm blocking his view.

I turn around to look and nearly drop my bourbon. There's another incredibly good-looking guy, a blonde Scandinavian type, sitting on the couch. His head is thrown back, his legs are spread. In between his thighs the boss's wife is down on her knees. She's unzipped his slacks and is sucking his big Nordic cock.

I'd always thought the boss's wife was a really classy woman, and even while giving this guy head she had something elegant about her. She wore a simple little black cocktail dress that showed off her legs in black silk. Her hair was tastefully piled on the back of her head. A strand had come loose, but this only added to its appeal. Her mouth, wrapped around the thick veiny cockshaft, was shiny with a clear gloss that brought out the natural color of her lips. She traced the pulsing veins with a clear-varnished nail. She was wearing a dry spicy perfume that mingled with the smell of cock and the cocktails.

Realizing I had entered, she raised her head, revealing the cock to be even bigger than a thought it was. Still running her fingers along the shaft in an absent-minded way, she smiled at me—she had the sweetest smile—and said, "Hi, Max. I'm so glad you could come. Please have a seat and make yourself at home. I'll be with you just as soon as I can."

She then returned her attention to the business at hand. She ran her little pink tongue up the shaft a couple of times, causing the blond guy's cock to quiver. All at once, with a sudden motion, she deep throated him. It was surprising that little mouth and narrow throat could take down that monster. You could actually see her neck swell as she swallowed him, the way a snake swells when it eats something that seems too large for it.

"God," said the blond fellow, closing his eyes and obviously trying with all his might not to blow his load. "She gives the best head I've ever had in my fuck'n life."

He was begging her to stop so that he wouldn't come yet, but she had no mercy. Her tongue showed in her cheek as she swirled it around the swollen head. His body tensed, tensed again, and yet again, until I thought his muscles would tear through his evening clothes. He went limp. All the while the boss's wife mewled "Mmm," the way she might have after sampling a canapé.

She could not swallow quite fast enough. The last shot of semen oozed out over her pink bottom lip. She held up her hand quickly beneath her chin, to catch it before it fell, but it was not necessary. It clung there, suspended just long enough for her to lick it back into her mouth with a couple of flicks of her tongue. She gave a little laugh and covered her mouth with her fingers, as if she were pretending to be ashamed of her "table manners."

She cleared her throat and asked, "Who was next?"

We all looked to each other. The guy sitting next to me pointed to the guy on the hearth. "I believe you were here when I got here."

"Yes," he said. He was an olive-skinned, dark-haired stud.

The boss's wife tucked the blond fellow's now limp cock back in his pants for him, carefully zipped up his fly, and gave him a gentle pat on the crotch. She stood, walked a few paces in front of us with all the poise of a model.

"You?" she asked the fellow on the hearth.

The dark haired fellow nodded. He was good looking, but the boss' wife was beautiful and it was clear that he felt he was out of his league.

"What would you like?" she asked.

The fellow on the hearth didn't know what to say.

"I could suck you off, or you can fuck me. Would you like to fuck me?" she asked, as though she were asking if he'd like another drink.

"Y-yes."

"Missionary? From behind?"

"From behind."

"Would you like to fuck me in my pussy or my ass?"

He looked down, blushing. "Your ass."

"One moment," she set off down the hall, her lowish heels clacking. In a moment she was back with a silver jar of lubricant. She slipped off her shoes, stood barefoot on the bearskin rug. She hiked up her skirt, showing us her perfect thighs, pulled down her panty hose. She placed them on the arm of the sofa. Her legs were so smooth and perfect that I wondered why she'd even bothered with hose. It seemed a shame, covering up skin like that, even if she was covering it with silk.

"Could you stand for me, please?" she asked.

The fellow on the hearth stood. He was not very tall, not quite as tall as she was, but he was well built. She stepped behind him, helped him take off his coat. She undid his tie for him. She unbuttoned his shirt in a brisk, unrushed, almost businesslike way. As she undressed him she placed each article of clothing neatly on the arm of the sofa, alongside her hose. When she got him down to his boxers, we could all see he had a raging hard on. She looked up at his face and smiled as though he'd paid her a compliment. In the same almost nurselike way she tugged down his boxers. His thick dark cock stood straight up.

"Step out of your boxers for me, please. That's right. Thank you." She folded the boxers and placed them on his pants.

He stood before us nude. He was not nearly big as the Scandinavian, but his body was lean and toned.

She hardly seemed to notice. She opened the jar of cream, scooped out a dollop, and rubbed the pearly jell onto his cock, jacking him off a little to make sure she greased it thoroughly. Already he was throwing his head back in pleasure and obviously trying not to blow his load.

She scooped out a little more cream, reached up her skirt, and somehow made even the act of lubing her own asshole look elegant.

She went down on her elbows and knees, pulled up her skirt, revealing her perfect, smooth ass.

"I'm ready when you are," she smiled back at him.

He did not hesitate. He was eager. He went down on his knees behind her. He touched her ass as though he were touching a precious work of art. He could clearly hardly believe what was happening. Gently, slowly, he spread her buttocks. I could see her asshole was shiny pink and brown where she had lubed it. He pressed the big head of his cock against her anus, gently pushed in half the head. The boss' wife's lips parted. Something changed in her eyes. They seemed to go a shade darker, deeper. He pushed in further. The head disappeared into her ass. There was a faint smell of her asshole mingling now with the smells of the fire and her dry perfume and cocktails.

"Are you all right?" he asked timidly, clearly afraid he was hurting her. His cock was not nearly as big as the blond fellow's, but it still looked awfully big, now that it was about to enter this woman's petite rear end.

"Fine," she smiled, showing her brilliant teeth.

He eased in a little further, until about a third of his cock was inside her butt, and began to fuck her slowly, gently, back and forth. His movements were hardly perceptible at first, but soon they became broader. Soon his cock was going in half way, two thirds, all the way, coming out wet with lubricant. The boss's wife did not make a sound. Her lips remained parted and she seemed to be having trouble catching her breath. The smell of her asshole became stronger. Even if a woman is good and clean—and I have no doubt that the boss' wife's ass was impeccable—it can stink, when a she gets a good ass fucking.

The fellow was over-excited. He tried slowly down, but it did no good. She was looking back to him, and somehow it was clear from her expression that she was in total control of him. She was using her sphincter muscle to milk his cock.

He stiffened. "Oh no, I'm going to. . Please don't make me yet. . . Oh, no. . ."

He clutched her narrow hips, plunged in as deeply as he could. The boss's wife closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensation of his convulsing cock, the spurting semen deep inside her.

"I'm sorry," the fellow apologized, blushing. He was bright red now.

"It's quite all right," she smiled back at him.

He slipped out of her. Now the ass smell was very strong, mingled with that of his semen. She stood, pulled back down her skirt, slipped back on her pumps, and smiled her lovely smile for us.

"If you all will please excuse me for a moment, I need freshen up before we continue."

She went down the hall, walking her model's walk. As she passed the kitchen, my boss called out to her:

"Are you enjoying yourself, dear?"

"Oh, darling, we're having a splendid time!"

"That's nice, dear."

"Won't you come out and join us? You're missing all the fun!"

"I'll be out in just a moment, dear. I'm preparing canapés. Look your favorite: stuffed eggs."

"You are such a darling," she said, blowing him a kiss and continuing up the hall.

She went into the bathroom. I had not seen the bathroom yet, but I supposed it would be an elegant marble and gold-plated affair with big stacks of Egyptian cotton towels, mirrors everywhere, a gigantic tub. I certainly knew it would not be the sort of bathroom with a noisy, rattling fan (like my bathroom at home). It was nearly a silent fan. We could hear, just above its low hum, the sound of the toilet lid clacking down, her humming what I now realize was a Puccini aria, and the trickle of her piss hitting toilet water.

And then I could hardly believe my ears. There was an enormous fart accompanied by the sound of something—not piss—hitting the water. At that time in my life I had never fucked a woman in the ass, so I didn't know how it filled her colon with air as well as semen, much less that it all had to be blown out afterwards.

There was more farting, more semen splattering against water and porcelain. We were all embarrassed for her. But she came back a few minutes later, still humming, fresh from the bidet, clean and powdered and smelling quite literally like an old garden rose.

She was completely nude.

"I hope you boys don't mind. I decided to slip into something more comfortable."

I don't believe I have ever seen a woman quite as beautiful as she was. Her body was perfect. It was a modern sort of body, perhaps a bit too narrow at the hips, maybe too small breasted, to suit more old fashioned tastes, but to me, to all of us in that room I believe, she was perfect. We all instantly forgot the messy sounds we'd heard coming from that bathroom. We were mesmerized by her.

She touched her bottom lip with her finger, glanced to each of us with her big dark eyes. Her gaze met mine. I looked down at my knees.

She sat down on the couch, spread her legs very wide, so that her pussy lips parted.

"Would you do me the honor, Max?"

A minute later I was kissing her. I had to kiss that mouth of hers, and she let me kiss it. She was an incredible kisser. I kissed my way down her hot neck. I kissed her breasts. I sucked at her nipples. I nibbled at her ribs, licked out her navel. I kissed her arms and armpits and took her slender fingers into my mouth.

I wanted to taste every square inch of her. I could hardly control myself. I had never felt this way before with a woman. I licked her feet, sucked at her toes, ran my tongue up the inside of her gorgeous thighs.

When I finally got to her soft, warm pussy, I was in heaven. It was not shaven—she would have considered a shaven pussy vulgar—but trimmed so as to emphasize the natural line of her pubic hair. Her pussy was natural—none of those artificial flavorings or scents for her—and tasted like a pussy should, but it was almost sweet tasting. Though I concentrated mainly on her clit—I wanted more than anything to give her pleasure—I could not resist plunging my tongue deeper inside her, where the taste was slightly more acid, and even licking her asshole now and then. I knew that she'd just been fucked there. I could still remember those splattering sounds, and knew there must have been shit mixed with all that semen and air she'd blown out of her ass. But she was very clean and dry now and I couldn't help myself. I wanted to taste all of her.

As I ate her she ran her fingers through my hair, smiled down at me. I would have gone on eating her all night, just for the chance to see her lips part the way they did. As I sucked on her clit, she ran her foot along my belly, down to my cock. She played with my cock with her toes. I could not see this of course, but I could feel her cool toes on my cock, the warm top of her foot pressing my cock up against my belly, massaging it. It was too much. I groaned and began to come. Still stroking my hair, she smiled at me and watched my body stiffen and convulse.

I seemed to come forever. Just when I thought I had to be empty, my cock spurted out some more. I felt like the come was being ripped out of me.

When I finally finished coming, she held out her foot for us to see. Her toes were drenched with my semen, dripping. Her ankle was splattered with it, and there were even a few drops further up her leg. I don't believe I'd every shot off like that before. I felt an empty space in my gut where all that semen had been.

"Oh, Max!" she teased, giving me a you-naughty-boy look. "You've made such a mess of me."

Something about her smile, and especially the way she twitched her foot, let me know what she wanted. I sucked her toes clean, one by one. I licked her ankles, her shins, all the way up her thighs. Even after coming so hard I took pleasure in licking her—even knowing that I was licking up my own semen.

The last fellow, the one who'd been sitting beside me on the couch, perhaps the least good-looking of all of us, was practically trembling. She sat down beside him and put her arm around him. She unbuttoned his pants, keeping her big brilliant brown eyes on his little blue ones all the while. Slipping her fingers into his fly, she pulled out his cock. It was very small, maybe three or four inches. He seemed ashamed of it.

"Don't you worry your pretty little red head," she said, touching her fingertip to his nose. "You're just what I'm in the mood for."

She cradled his little dick in her palm for a moment, admiring its smallness, which she seemed to find adorable, then took it between her thumb and forefinger and gave it two, slow measured pumps. Immediately the poor guy groaned. Up shot a spurt of his come. She reached out and caught the spurts on her palm, as if catching snowflakes, studied the pearly white liquid for a moment, then slowly licked her own hand clean, watching him all the while.

And so we four men, who normally would have thought ourselves quite virile, all lay about the den defeated and drained. Not counting her trips back and forth down the hall, not counting the slow undressings, she'd run through us all in less than ten minutes.

She paced the den. Her walk seemed all the more refined now that she was nude, but also more like that of a dangerous cat. Her hair was tumbling down, but otherwise she looked like she was only getting warmed up. She stoked her chin, eyeing each of us, pondering what she would do with us next.

"You," she said to the Scandinavian, and she did not sound so polite now, but rather like someone who's decided to set aside the formalities and get down to business. "Do you think you're ready?"

The Scandinavian didn't have to be asked twice. He stripped off his clothes and stood before her in all his naked glory. His body would have been beautiful, had it not been beside hers. His gym muscles looked false beside the natural grace of her body. I don't believe she'd ever touched a weight in her life. Bodies like hers are not made in gyms.

His cock was still only half hard. She sat on the couch and spread her legs, gave him a glance of challenge. He dropped to his knees and began to lap at her pussy like a big dog. She grabbed a handful of his blond hair and shoved his face hard into her cunt.

As he ate, every now and then she lean over to one side and peer down between his legs to see what state his cock was in. When it looked hard, though not as hard as it had been the first time, she said, "All right. Enough. Who taught you how to eat pussy anyway? Your wife? Girlfriend?" She turned to the rest of us. "I think it's such a shame that women aren't teaching their men any better than they do. Nowadays if I want some decent head I have to give a course in it: 'Pussy Eating one-oh-one.'"

The blonde was clearly humiliated by this. He was losing his hard on. I could not blame him. She was gorgeous—the most absolutely gorgeous woman I'd ever seen in my life, but something about the way she'd made me come had left me feeling half dead. I'd never come so hard. I thought it would be days before I would recover.

She shoved him. He was much bigger than she was, but so stunned that he fell back. She began to suck him. In all of two seconds she had his big cock throbbing. She lay back on what I guess you would call a "divan," spread her legs wide, motioned for him with her finger. "Come."

He leapt on her like wild beast, plunged his big cock into her pussy, and began fucking her hard. I suppose he was angry with her for humiliating him. I suppose he felt the need to prove himself. His pelvis thudded against hers, the divan creaked, slid with each thrust further across the stone tile floor, making a scraping noise. She dug her clear-painted nails into his hard brown ass. He was grunting, panting. She began to scream, a hoarse, broken scream of both pleasure and pain.

Around this time the boss came in with his tray of canapés. He went to each of us, offering us our choice.

"Are you having a good time, Max?" he asked me.

"Yes, sir," I said.

"I'm glad to hear it. I'm—"

I could not hear the rest of his sentence, with all the thumping, groaning, and especially his wife's hoarse broken screaming just a few feet away.

"I beg your pardon, sir?" I asked, cupping my hand to my ear, leaning closer to him.

"I said"—he was all but shouting now, to be heard over his wife's noise—"I'm glad that you could come."

"Me, too, sir."

The screaming stopped. The Scandinavian rolled off of her panting, clearly defeated, semen oozing from his half hard cock. He sprawled out on the stone floor and covered his face with his hands.

The boss' wife paid him no notice.

With her legs still spread she pointed to the olive complected fellow on the hearth. "Have you cleaned yourself up?"

"N-no," he stuttered.

She clapped her hands twice. A maid came in. She was a big middle-aged German looking woman, in a black dress and a white apron, no less.

"Hilda," she said. "Clean him up."

She maid scurried away, came back an instant later with a bowl of water, a cake of soap, a natural sponge, and a towel. She gave the poor guy's dick a vigorous scrubbing, sloshing water all over it. She dried him roughly.