Bachelorette

Author's note: This is my first submission to Literotica. I hope you'll enjoy reading the story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please let me hear your feedback and comments, both good and bad. In case anyone enjoys this, I'd like to acknowledge publicly the help I received.. Literotica's voluntary editor program was invaluable.. My most sincere and heartfelt thanks to volunteer editors "VampireDragon," and Chicky, whos feedback is greatlyh appreciated. I also want to offer a special Thank-You to Rochelle who put hours of time into this project, and who taught me more about writing in a few short weeks than I'd managed to learn on my own in years. Finally thanks Mary for consulting on women's fashion and for putting up with me. And thanks for being my all time favorite person!!

I was never a particularly fortunate guy, but I guess you could say that after years of hacking out a living as a semi pro hockey player, riding dilapidated busses to second and third rate hockey cities while picking up side jobs to supplement my humble salary, I had a lucky break coming my way. I've always had the physical gifts for sports, but after playing the game from the cradle until the comparatively geriatric age of 29, the reality of my hockey career (or lack thereof) had become clear. Unfortunately, in spite of my undeniable gifts, my knack for "putting pucks in the net" never quite equaled my true god given talent of constructing the perfect Mushroom, Swiss and Bacon omelet. Sadly, professional scouts heinously and negligently underrate one's culinary skills while evaluating talent for a position in their organizations.

My greatest accomplishment in hockey was winning the MVP award at the Silver Stick World Junior Hockey Tournament at 16 years old. After that, I was rewarded with a scholarship to a college more known for its athletic program than its academics. I studied English and dated a Fashion major all through school. I graduated with a keen linguistic dexterity and a peripheral knowledge of the fashion world. Neither of which has proved very marketable for me.

Truth be told, I have had some degree of difficulty finding work outside of hockey. I'm always able to hustle up a few bucks pounding nails for a local construction company, walking dogs or the occasional whisking of my patented, aforementioned omelets. In short, I'm basically willing to do almost anything people are willing to pay me to do; within reason.

Problem is, at 6'5" and 245 pounds, most reasonable people were reluctant to offer me employment combing their pet poodles (although in all humility I have to confess I'd be a fine coiffure of canine curls). Sadly, the same problem applied to a half dozen of my other skills. With the construction industry in dire straits as a result of the recent recession, my heretofore failure at willing the lottery, and my dearth of professional sports contracts, I was beginning to feel just a little worried. Bills were piling up and I wasn't getting the contract offers I dreamed of.

I don't know if she instinctually sensed my desperation, saw in me an untapped talent, or if it was pure Dumb Luck, but things changed for me the day I met Penny.

Penny struck me as professional, intelligent and extremely sexy within 1.3 nanoseconds of introducing herself. The hockey team's website made it easy for her to find me. She showed up at practice one day, stopping me halfway between the ice and the locker room. I watched, impressed, as she plowed her way through a gauntlet of hungry leers and childish remarks from the other players. She maintained a regal poise, as she quieted the players by casting a bemused, yet unimpressed look. It almost appeared as if she pitied them.

Although she stood a respectable 5'5" with a straight confident posture and high heels, her head still only reached my chest because of the Vapor 20 ice skates on my feet. Her hand was tiny and manicured in my calloused mitt when she introduced herself, and I couldn't help but feel a sexy dichotomy when considering her extreme femininity opposed to my overt masculinity. She wore a vintage Chanel business suit of navy blue with a knee length skirt, a white blouse and matching blue jacket, accentuated by Christian Louboutin high heels. My ex-girlfriend, the Fashion major, would have creamed in her panties over Penny's clothes. I almost creamed in my jockstrap from her beautiful face, sublime tits and magnificent ass.

She had fiery green eyes and amber hair pulled back to expose her porcelain neckline. In spite of the standard hockey rink sweaty aroma, my nostrils were piqued with a whiff of jasmine and lavender when I leaned close to her, making my cock twitch.

She looked at me, and continued, "Captain of the team for the past 8 seasons, 12 goals, 18 assists and 205 penalty minutes so far. Not bad."

I answered her, "It's a dubious distinction. Most guys either quit or become Monks after 8 years in minor league hockey"

She smiled at me, "Sarcastic one aren't you? I noticed last week when you were in my neighbor's backyard digging that hole."

Penny had caught me off guard. It took me a minute to recall what she was talking about. Then I remembered: Last week I was hired through a local contractor to backfill a crater that was left after Penny's neighbor had an in-ground pool built. I remembered that I needed a lot of help, and strong men willing to shovel dirt for a days wage were abundant in our locker room. Hockey players make good laborers provided they have a tough foreman capable of keeping their wandering minds focused, and the beer off limits until the work is almost done. In my experience, this is best achieved by shouting profanities and the occasional hurling of rocks at their thick skulls. Happily, what I saw as good excuse to throw rocks and swear, Penny observed as superior management skills.

"Oh that!" I answered her slightly embarrassed since I was barking and hollering a lot that day.

"So that's where you know me from." I smiled.

"Did you come all this way to compliment me on the hole I filled in? Please tell me none of my guys soiled your rosebushes."

She smiled back, "No my rosebuds are just fine thanks, and I came all this way to see if you had the same

presence

on the ice that you had with your buddies that day. I hope you don't mind my getting your information from my neighbor Michael"

"I don't mind a bit Penny but what

presence

are you referring too?"

"The presence to command men; you have natural leadership qualities. That's very important in a man," She answered me with a coy smile and a flash of her amazing eyes.

Now she made me blush.

"I'm just competitive and I'd really like to move up a tax bracket or two" I answered.

"I have a proposition for you," she said. Her face contorting back to a businesslike gaze,

My heart sank initially when I learned that Penny was not visiting me at hockey practice to profess her undying love and devotion, but when she told me about the job and the money she was willing to pay, I got over it quickly.

Intrigued, I asked for more details. Penny explained that she had a friend named Giselle, whom she'd known since they were children. Giselle had recently been engaged to Mortimer Eggland Jr., a young associate at one of the nation's premier accounting firms. Eggland's father was a founding partner and chairman of the firm's Management Committee. Mortimer Jr. was being groomed for his father's post. Penny said that Morty (as he was endearingly referred to by his friends from Yale) had a huge responsibility to fill his father's shoes, a task that required constant work and dedication to the firm. Penny knew Giselle to be a conservative unwavering woman of principal, spirituality and conservatism who would never waver from her marital vows. She also knew first hand that Morty couldn't fuck his way out of a soaking wet paper bag, which in effect constituted a life sentence for Giselle of sexual boredom and frustration which would inevitably lead her down the path that led towards unhappiness and depression.

Penny had been named as Giselle's Maid of Honor. She wanted to give the bachelorette one last gift before her marriage; something she could hold onto forever, especially when Mortimer was off doing the firm's work. Since such a special gift could not be left to just anyone, Penny did an exhaustive search of the possibilities that ultimately led her to the sideboards at my hockey rink. I was flattered by her selection, but also, slightly intimidated by her expectations of me.

According to Penny (who seemed to have a knack for solving problems) this had to be done very carefully. Giselle wasn't going to be easily seduced, no matter how big her seducer's muscles might be or how charming. She also wasn't the type to throw caution to the wind at a stereotypical bachelorette party. At the end of the discussion, Penny summed up her requirements:

"If all else fails, Michael, I expect you to do the job on her by any means necessary."

"Fine," I agreed, not without a certain amount of apprehension. Although I had HUGE, reservations about being party to borderline criminal behavior, Penny's story about Giselle and her stale destiny, was so compelling, that I felt I owed it to the poor girl. I saw myself as Captain America with a hard on. As surreal and ridiculous as it sounds, I promise you it did sound sensible at the time.

****

Giselle's bachelorette party was disguised as a small get-together of Penny's friends in her backyard. The guests included Giselle's girlfriends from college, mutual childhood girlfriends of Penny and the bride, and yours truly. I had spent the past few weeks assembling a group of my friends who I thought would be good at this job. Penny wanted attractive men who had good conversational skills, a sense of humor and above all, a flair for "passion and sensuality." Without really knowing how to quantify those things, I just choose guys who had hot bodies, were able to listen to a woman talk about her cat without seeming bored, and had big dicks.

I started with Jack and Brian, two teammates and long-time friends of mine. Jack is a French Canadian Stay at Home Defenseman, about 6'4" and 235lbs. of solid bulk, with shoulder length black hair and blue eyes. Before making the leap to semi-pro hockey, he worked at an honest to goodness logging camp deep in the Canadian Mountains, and had the hands and shoulders to prove it. Conversely, Brian was tall and lean. He was a goaltender with wiry strength and arms like thin steel cables. His entire musculature looked to be chiseled from granite and there was not a single ounce of fat on his 6'5" 205 lb body. He wore short cropped brown hair with a small goatee moustache and beard to punctuate thin but handsome features and dark brown eyes.

Since Penny wanted at least five men at the party, I rounded out the crew with Jeff and Steven. Jeff was a basketball player I'd met at the gym who was just a hint shorter than me and about the same weight. His skin is as black night and covered in tattoos. He maintains a perfectly shaved head and wears strong features with high cheekbones. People say he looks like Denzel Washington. For some reason his body always seems wet and shiny. I'm sure it's just a trick of the light, as it shines on black flesh, but whatever the reason, his skin appears almost reflective in contrast to the museum of artwork inked on his body.

The last man of the crew, Steve, is short by comparison. At six foot two, he stands below the rest of us, but what he lacks in height he makes up for in raw strength and Latin good looks. Steve is a power-lifter. When he's not throwing iron around at the gym, Steve's among the most popular dancers at a particular Meringue club in the city that I frequent whenever I get a hankering for the perfect empanada with rice and beans. Women love Steve's bulging biceps and the way he dominates them on the dance floor, almost as much as they also love the empanadas and the fried chimichanguas.

I thought we formed a formidable pack; kind, articulate and sexy enough to seduce almost any woman regardless of how conservative she might be. Of course, Penny's intent was a little darker than a simple seduction. She wanted her friend ravaged whether she consented or not, even expressing that she hoped Giselle protested "

at least a little so could feel the rush of being overpowered

"

When Giselle walked into Penny's backyard, I nearly fell in love at fist sight. She was a dainty little thing of perhaps five foot two or three. She had the exotic olive skin prevalent in the Middle East, coupled with Celtic, regal features. She had a thin, perfectly sculpted nose, big green eyes and puffy, pouty lips begging to be kissed. She had straight black hair with a compact build and a tight, round ass that protruded from her tiny waist like a succulent fruit. Her legs were thin but muscular and her breasts, 34 C's, were perfectly proportioned to her elegant body. She could easily pass for a Hollywood starlet. I couldn't believe that this sexual creature was as naive and inexperienced as Penny had indicated. It struck me as a great tragedy and, I felt my cock stirring inside my black Addidas Bathing Suit.

Giselle wore a light cotton sundress with tiny shoulder straps that seemed superfluous since her lovely breasts held up her dress with no help needed. Somehow the dress managed to look loose and carefree while highlighting her perfect ass. At the bottom of her dress, her calves tapered perfectly to dainty ankles adorned with fine gold ankle bracelets and tiny feet with perfectly pedicured burgundy toes. A low heeled strappy sandal completed her outfit.

As she arrived at Penny's house she seemed to be surrounded by an intangible cloud of grace. She moved around greeting one guest after another with an adorable smile and those sincere big eyes of hers. A fragrance of fresh roses seemed to waft about her and I could feel my mouth salivating as I was introduced simply as a "friend" I could feel the testosterone boiling like a steam kettle in my buddies as adrenaline pumped through our veins.

The party started innocuously enough. The town's best caterer delivered some great food to go with some vintage wine from Penny's extensive collection. Although there was some initial awkwardness because of so many new introductions, my team soon settled in, and began acting as if they'd known the women there for years. The entire time we were acclimating ourselves to the situation, Penny walked around barefoot in a floor length peasant skirt with a bikini top. I couldn't help but notice the way her breasts swayed and bounced as she moved around the house. Watching her, it was difficult to think about anything else. She was a perfect hostess. Making sure my friends and I always had full glasses of social lubricant and of course, she paid special attention to the guest of honor, little Giselle.

Two hours later people were relaxed and comfortable, slightly numbed by the wine and feeling good. A spirited game of pool volleyball had given the men the excuse to strip to their bathing suits. The women who played were also in bathing suits, bikinis or wrapped in towels, while the others were still dressed. Giselle and Penny's friends were mostly about the same age and social strata as them. There were a few women a little older in their early 40's who'd worked with Giselle at some point along the way. The women boasted every body style in the anatomic realm. From thin, lanky to curvy and voluptuous. There was one particular woman, Anna, who caught my eye. She was tall, 40-something and red-haired with blue eyes and a healthy tan. I think she was Penny's Boss at the Publishing House. If I had been able to peel my eyes away from Giselle or Penny, I certainly would have enjoyed talking to her. As it was, I was working and had to stay focused. In my peripheral vision I could see that each of my buddies seemed to have one woman that was especially drawn to each of them. Steve for example, had a short, skinny brunette slung all over him. Her thin arms and bony fingers never seemed to leave some part of his body.

Later, with a subtle change of the music Penny altered the atmosphere a little just as she appeared with a large tray. On the tray was a bottle of Jose Cuervo Gold Tequila, a saltshaker, a bunch of shot glasses and a bowl of lemon wedges. At this point, with the harder music drumming in my ears, I new things were about to heat up.

For you readers who may not have experienced tequila, it might be better described as a potent mind-altering drug, as opposed to an alcoholic drink. The protocol is to shock your taste buds by licking a healthy portion of pure salt, and then drink your shot as quick and painlessly as possible before disguising the strong taste by sucking a lemon wedge. Traditionally the salt is licked off of one's own hand and the lemon picked up from a napkin or plate. In pop culture, it is also socially acceptable to lick the salt from the body of a friend or partner, (anyone willing), and find different creative ways to transfer the lemon wedge to your mouth.

No tutelage was necessary in this group as Penny announced that it was time for shots. She immediately looked to her friend Nancy, who I was told, really liked to drink to demonstrate the tequila shot process. Nancy was supposedly well-versed in this process. Looking at Nancy, seeing the telltale reddening of the cheeks and nose and puffy eyes, one could only imagine the spots on her liver. She was already pretty drunk when Penny confirmed that Nancy would teach us how to do it.

Nancy selected Jack to be her "shot assistant;" she'd had her eyes on him since her arrival. She sauntered over to him and sat right on his lap. She slid her tongue along his neck and sprinkled the salt which adhered to the wetness she'd left in the wake of her tongue. Nancy then clamped her lips to Jack's shoulder and sucked the salt off his neck. She expertly slammed her shot then lapped at the lemon wedge which had been placed on his shoulders.

The party erupted with catcalls and applause at Nancy's show. The applause and hollers only grew louder as, one by one; the shots were passed around the party.

When the bottle was passed to Penny for her turn, she chose me as her shot assistant. I must admit to feeling flushed as my raging testosterone was slamming my insides like a driving hurricane. When Penny sprinkled the salt over my bicep and stuffed the lemon wedge in the waistband of my swimsuit I nearly lost it. The feel of her hot breath on my arm as she sucked the salt off of me made me want to cum in my shorts. When she did her shot and went down on me to retrieve the lemon, I was so turned on that I could have fucked the proverbial "knothole in the tree."

Now it was my turn to do a shot. Giselle, the bride-to-be, had been strategically placed to my left all night. Naturally I choose her as my assistant. I'd been chatting with her for the better part of the night, in an effort to develop a playful rapport. I wanted her to feel somewhat comfortable with me when the time was right. Now was the time.

"I'll think I'll use your thighs, Giselle," I said teasingly.

I got down on my knees by her legs, and pushed her skirt up past her knee and towards her upper thighs. The conservative Giselle blushed and tried to protest, pulling her skirt back down several times as I playfully kept pushing it back up. The more she protested, the more the pack mentality kicked in. As the sexual tension proliferated around us, Penny grew impatient. She looked around the group, her gaze fell on Brian. From the bulge in his pants, she could see Brian was ready for this teasing to escalate. Penny knew it, and used it to her advantage.

Hey Brian! Go behind her and hold her arms," Penny ordered.