Wives Party Time

The party was about to start, and I was getting ready in a dressing room. My friend Devon and I were going to be waiters and boy-toy entertainment for a wives' night out holiday party. We had been hired to serve wine and hors d'oeuvres to the ladies, and the party would end with us being publicly milked for the audience of mature ladies.

Our host was Mrs. Markingham, who met Devon while on vacation in the Caribbean. He spends time each year on his home island, and he is apparently rather popular with the tourists on nude beaches.

Our party host had specific qualifications in mind, and Devon knew that I would match her requirements. As he told me, "She wants a good appearance and physique, willing to be nude with a group of women, generously equipped and with a sizeable drop."

"Drop?" I asked.

"Ha, your balls, my friend. She likes heavy hangers."

I did one CFNM for a bride's wedding party, but there was no nudity. It was only a little strip show for fun, but I did nuzzle under the bride's dress and rub her panties. Younger women just want to have fun, as they say, but I was looking forward to this party of mature wives who might enjoy my thick eight inches and, as Mrs. Markingham said, my heavy hangers.

Mrs. Markingham was pleased that I had experience, and she trusted Devon's judgment about my other qualifications. She did call me for an interview. "I just wanted to hear your voice and be sure you were comfortable with plans for the party." Then she asked, "Do you mind being nude in a room of older ladies?"

"No, not at all," I answered as my cock squirmed.

"Do you have any problem with women touching you?"

"No, not at all," I answered again with a stiffy coming on strong.

"At the end, we'll have a raffle, and the winner will win the right to masturbate you. Do you have any problem displaying an erection and being masturbated in front of an audience?"

"No, not at all," I answered as cum oozed from my dick.

"Good," said Mrs. Markingham. "I'll get back to you with details about the location and time."

"I'm looking forward to it," I told her.

She called back in a few days with more details, "You will dress in server attire that we will provide, black waist-length jacket, white tux shirt and black bow tie, and nothing else. As guests arrive, you will circulate and serve wine and

hors d'oeuvres

on trays, and to maintain perfect decorum and gentlemanly behavior."

"Can do," I said.

On the night of the party, Mrs. Markingham took us to a changing room. She was a woman "of a certain age," probably in her 60s, trim and well preserved, short cut gray hair, and exuded an air of authority. I guessed that she had been an attorney or a business manager. She was dressed for the party event in business casual with nice jewelry and a wedding ring.

She watched us undress, and her eyes focused on our cocks as we put on the little server suits. In just a few moments, Devon and I were naked for her inspection. My cock was getting fluffy, and I felt my balls rolling from side to side. Our hostess nodded approval and said, "That will do very well."

Devon was uncut, which added a layer of mystery that the ladies would probably enjoy, and his testicles swung down in what looked like a heavy leather sack. Again, Mrs. Markingham nodded, "We're set for a fine party."

"Guests know they may touch you. So allow them access but feel free to move away if you are at risk of ejaculation. Save it for later."

"Yes mam," we told her as she continued her inspection.

"Good, you'll serve for about an hour. That should give them enough time to satisfy their curiosity. Then we will hold the raffle to choose your masturbators. Capeesh?"

"Perfectly clear, Mrs. Markingham," we both replied. Then I asked her, "Should I help with my masturbation?"

"No," she said, "Let the raffle winners figure out how to do the job. That will be part of the fun for all of us."

"You need anything?" she asked us.

We nodded, "Think we're fine. When will the guests arrive?"

"In about ten minutes," said Mrs. Markingham. "The caterers left everything in the kitchen. Please serve the wine first, then circulate with refills and the hors d'oeuvres."

Then she surprised us, "Since it's the holidays, I have these for you to wear." In her hand were what looked like an elastic hair scrunchy with a red holiday bow and little jingle bells hanging down. "Slip this over your penis and testicles. It'll add a nice holiday touch to your outfits. "It'll be festive."

She left, and Devon and I helped each other straighten our bow ties. Then we slipped the festive scrunchy over our cocks, and the little bells dangled down over the swell of our oblong testicles. The bells tinkled gently as we walked.

Mrs. Markingham retuned to tell us it was time to start. She inspected us and gave a smile, "This will be fun. The ladies will love it." Enter when you hear the piano playing.

Devon and I went into the kitchen and filled wine glasses and put them on trays. Then we edged the door open slightly and looked into the room. We saw mature ladies everywhere, talking in small groups and sitting on the sofas. Our cocks were overripe and ready for attention from these strangers. I was semi-inflated, and the pink bell head of Devon's cock was starting to peek out from his foreskin.

The pianist began to play soft music, and we smiled at each other as we carried out trays of wine into the room. The ladies immediately stopped talking and looked at us. When the buzz of their conversation restarted, I overheard, "Oh my!" and "I had no idea."

As Devon and I walked, our cocks slapped back and forth against our legs, and the little jingle bells made a joyful sound.

Frankly, the situation made me a little weak-kneed. Keeping my tray steady took my mind off the fact that a room full of well dressed and mostly attractive mature women were comparing our cocks and smiling at the sound of the little bells bouncing against our ball sacks.

I approached a small group of guests, "May I offer wine?"

Two of them looked me in the eye and said, "Why, thank you," while the other two were clearly looking down below my waist. I was carefully balancing the tray of glasses when I felt a hand touch my cock. With difficulty, I steadied the glasses as her fingers rounded the tip of my dick. I froze, not wanting to drop the tray and feeling obliged to allow the guest polite access.

I turned only slightly to see who it was. Standing there was a delightfully attractive older woman, or I should say wife because I saw her wedding ring. She bent forward slightly as her hand scooped down to lift my balls. The tinkling bells made the others laugh. I smiled, as if to let her know that her touches were welcome.

Across the room, Devon was getting similar treatment. I wondered if the white women were extra curious about his big Black cock. Since there were only two of us to go around, I wasn't jealous that he might get all the attention. Scarcity of cock would keep demand high.

By the time my tray was empty several other guests had squeezed and pet my parts. I resisted the temptation to look at who was handling me so that she would feel more anonymous. Leering might spoil the mood.

Every time the bells rang, someone was practicing their ball handling skills. It soon became clear which wives were more practiced at handling the male organ. Some guests were shy or gentle with their touching me, but others knew exactly what to do.

Devon and I made our way back to the kitchen for more wine. Both of us were no longer as flaccid as we had been. Neither of us was fully erect yet, but anyone could see the pressure building. He shook his head, "Man, this is a job I could get used to." Then he said, "You should see Mrs. Markingham on the beach. Vacation guests watch us walking together on the beach, her in a swimsuit and me just like this." My mind undressed her as my cock inched forward.

We returned to the party room with cocks now rising and eager for the next hour of serving the guests. Billy, the piano player, motioned for me. I served him wine, and I think he enjoyed the sight of cock as much as the female guests.

Then, I got a surprise. Sitting off to the side was someone who looked familiar. Was it my old Sunday School teacher from many years ago. I was sure it was Mrs. Evangeline Davis. I hadn't seen her in twenty years. What should I do? Did she recognize me? I had changed a lot since then, and the situation was so unusual that maybe she wouldn't know me. She certainly had already looked at me, so maybe she was unaware.

Devon was serving the other side of the room, or should I say the ladies were serving him, too? I approached the seated Mrs. Davis. "Wine, mam?" I asked her. She glanced up to me and smiled.

"Thank you," was all she said to me. I stood beside her with my inflated cock arched out and begging for attention. I remained beside her to give her time to assess her opportunity. Maybe she felt out of place at a party like this. Maybe she didn't know that male nudity would be involved. Maybe she was looking for the exit?

Just then, I felt her small hand on my cock. I glanced down. Mrs. Davis was studying my cock. Her fingers moved up on top and then down the side all the way to my little red bow. She found the string to the bells and jingled them then wrapped them around my ball sack. She apparently didn't know that I had recognized her.

As soon as her hand returned to her lap, I stepped away to serve others. The guests were getting more free about touches, and I was being outright stroked by most of them. Some used both hands to grip and see how much larger they could make me. I glanced over and saw Devon now with a full erection. Back in the kitchen to get hors d'oeuvres, his fat pink bell head was fully exposed, a color that contrasted with his black tower.

Guest were generous with their treatment of our cocks, and it was all I could do to keep from touching them back. I wasn't used to being handled like that without responding. I yearned to touch their breasts and see their panties. It became more and more difficult to suppress my desire, but that's the job of the CFNM professional. In my imagination I saw all of them in panties, yearning to be fucked, but it was my job to be calm and let them play with me happily without expecting to be fucked.

Devon and I were more than primed for release.

Mrs. Markingham tinkled her glass with a spoon and called for attention. "Ladies, if you haven't already, put your phone number in the bowl on the table for the raffle drawing." She waited a few minutes as last-minute contestants put little slips of paper into the bowl.

Mrs. Markingham called us to the front of the room. Devon and I stood on either side of her in our little uniforms with holiday red bows now obscured by our erections. By now, our cocks had been up and down, full and pliant, close to ejaculating and then brought back under control for so long that we were at just the right stage to be finished off.

Mrs. Markingham asked for the bowl. "Ladies, I hope you've enjoyed yourselves so far. We'll now have the masturbation drawing. Remember, the winner will be the guest who makes her man ejaculate first." My eyes sparkled and my cock throbbed. Devon's cock was practically dancing in anticipation.

Mrs. Markingham approached Devon, "Will you do the honors and withdraw a slip of paper?" The pianist played a low rumble on the keys as he reached in and selected a number at random. Then she handed him her phone, "Call the number."

Devon pecked in the number, and a phone rang in the room. One of the older ladies jumped up, "It's me! It's me!" And she came to the front.

It was my turn to draw the phone number of my mastrubator. I reached into the bowl then called the number, and it rang twice before Mrs. Evangeline Davis spoke up, "Oh my, it's my phone." She rose off the sofa and walked to the front, and I practically fainted to think that I was about to be wanked by my old Sunday School teacher.

Mrs. Markingham asked us to each stand up straight with our hands behind our backs and legs parted. My pelvis was thrust forward causing my cock to look longer. I felt the breeze on my balls as they swung between my spread legs. Devon's cock was super hard and curved slightly upward. Mine was as hard as I've ever felt it, but its weight caused it to angle down slightly.

Mrs. Markingham dripped lubricant down the top center of our dicks, gave a bottle to each contestant, then pointed to the pianist. "Maestro, if you please."

Billy played "Rain Drops Keep Falling on my Head," and we all laughed at the musical suggestion that we'd soon see lots of cum drops falling.

Mrs. Davis watched Devon's mastrubator stand behind him and wrap her arms around. She grasped his cock and smoothed the lube all over his length. Mrs. Davis seemed unsure. She stood to my side and hesitantly spread the slippery oil to the tip of my cock.

Mrs. Markingham said, "Ready, set, go!" Billy began playing the William Tell Overture, and that caused more laughter as the two wives started stroking us. Mrs. Davis had a good angle on my cock. Every time she rounded my cock head, the sensations almost drove me over the edge. Devon's ejaculator moved around and faced him while both hands simulated a tight pussy.

Billy changed the song to "Can't Take My Eyes Off of You," and the slower pace of the music calmed the pace of our milking. Both wives slowed down and concentrated on technique more than speed. I felt cum rising, but I wanted to enjoy this as long as possible.

The onlookers added to my arousal. Each face looking at me had taken has my dick in their hands, and now they were eager to see me finished off. My cock never felt so on fire. I was sure that one ejaculation wouldn't end my erection. Two might be required.

The ladies sat on two sofas, a few chairs, and others stood to watch. As Mrs. Davis got to work, my eyes could see the panties of at least two of the wives. Their legs were parted and angled to give me a little peek. A third either wore black panties or I was seeing her dark muff hair.

The pianist changed the pace and played "The Ride of the Valkyries." Oh boy, that music was the closer. Mrs. Davis stood to the side and fisted me rapidly. Every few strokes her hand slipped up and over my sensitive cock head. She could feel me responding. I couldn't stand still any more. I was shifting my weight from one foot to the other, then I began to actively fuck her hand. The faster she pumped me, the more her hand felt like a tight pussy. I was getting wild, and my pelvis pushed my dick in and out of her hands. The audience knew they were no longer watching a masturbation but a hand fucking.

I glanced at Devon, and he was getting off from watching Mrs. Davis do me. His masturbator kept up a steady pace, and his big pink bell gave the audience something special to see.

Mrs. Davis kept her grip tight while her other hand circled behind and grabbed my balls from behind. Her fist encircled and made my testicles bulge, and at that moment I felt an involuntary rocket of hot cum.

I let out a gasp as a stream of cum lept from the business end of my cock. Mrs. David pulled my balls downward and adjusted her strokes to anticipate the pulses of my orgasm. She expertly made me shoot a second and third jet of cum. The pulses continued to convulse me as the flow of cum subsided to a more mild flow.

Just then I heard Devon groan and release. His ejaculation was superb, sending three, four, five ropes of cum out into the room before begging for his ejaculator to slow down. She wouldn't obey and kept trying to squeeze more out of him until he stepped back while she held tight to his cock.

Mrs. Markingham stepped up and clapped for the winner, my Mrs. Davis, and then she handed us towels to wipe our hands. I said, "Thank you, Mrs. Davis."

She looked shocked and stared at me. "How do you know my name?" she asked.

"If I remember correctly, your favorite church hymn is, 'Many Waters.'"

She looked panicked. "You, you.... Are you who I think you are?"

"One and the same," I smiled. "But don't worry, it's been a long time, and this is better than any Sunday School lesson." I think she wanted to fall through the floor. But instead, she and her competitor returned to the group while Devon and I wiped our cocks. I could have used a break to sit and rest, but Mrs. Markingham encouraged us to mingle for a few more minutes before the ladies departed.

Devon's cock was sagging downward but it was still massive and thick. My dick was almost erect and not ready to call it a night yet. Mrs. Markingham saw my condition and asked me if I needed more relief. I nodded, and she said, "Our guests will leave while you tidy the kitchen, then I'd be more than happy to help you with "that."

Devon helped me in the kitchen, then said, "I think I'll go home now. Mrs. Markingham wants you to stay to fuck her."

I smiled, "I was hoping for that."

He nodded and got dressed as I returned to the living room. She gave no resistance while I undressed Mrs. Markingham. My cock was anticipating a dive into her pussy. She led me to her sofa, and I relaxed as she gave my dick her mouth watering treatment. After a night on the job, it felt good to relax while someone else did the work.

By now, I was aching for a real fuck. Luckily, Mrs. Markingham was, too.

I removed her bra and panties and let me eyes enjoy her curves and folds. For an older woman, she was very appealing. Dark hair hid her pussy from my view, but not for long. I rested her on the carpet and stretched her legs wide. My cock was still slick from its theatrical masturbation, and her pussy lips glistened. There would be no need for more preparation.

I leaned forward and my cock was on target. Like we were perfectly designed, my cock began its long slide into her pussy. Her firm warm pussy welcomed me easily. Later, I learned that Devon had got her used to larger cocks, so she had no problem with mine.

The fucking had begun, and I was in no hurry. My first ejaculation of the night was a prelude to long evening of priapic delight for Mrs. Markingham. As we fucked, we talked. She was a delightful conversationalist, and we discussed her Caribbean vacations, her marriage, her tastes in music and art, all while fucking her. It is a special delight to carry on a conversation, with humor and some serious questions, and all the while fucking someone's wife.

It was after midnight when we finally called it a night. As I was about to leave, Mrs. Markingham stopped me, "Take these," and she handed me the bowl with the phone numbers of her party guests. "I can't speak for them, but some might enjoy hearing from you."

I had saved Mrs. Davis's phone number in my vest pocket, planning to invite her out when she could get away from her husband. Perhaps she was satisfied with straying and jerking off a younger man, but she may want to be fucked. One never knows, and I intended to at least be a gentleman and offer.

Now, I had her number and all the others. One day my luck may run out, but I had a this night I won the lottery.