The Office Christmas Party is supposed to be a relaxed time to have fun in casual clothes. In reality it is like the court of Louis XIV of France, with behaviour and clothes adjusted according to fashion, status and a keen appreciation of current politics. Dress "casual" was anything but easy.
Obviously my wife Kay was in charge of getting us ready.
"Which codpiece shall I wear, darling?" I asked. "The one Mum sent me?"
"No way! With Christmas baubles as balls? We'd be a laughing stock. Leave that sort of thing to your friend Jeff. The ten inch black one with the tight balls. Low-hanging balls were last year."
"Now then Rick, did you have your enema? A douche isn't good enough this time."
"Yes dear," I meekly answered.
"Right. Let's sort out your butt plug and tail. Show me."
I turned my back and parted my buttocks. She looked closely and sniffed.
"Seems ok, but I'll just pop in an ass mint to be sure." So she did.
She lubed me and put in the plug with the medium Rudolph tail.
"Is that the little plug?" I asked. "I don't want it coming out."
"No, it's the medium one," she answered in an annoyed tone. "We need a bit of tightness when you get fucked. If it was up to you you'd be gaping like the Channel Tunnel."
With my backless trousers, codpiece, tail and traditional sweater, I was feeling very smart. Kay put on my lipstick and also applied it to my nose, checked my hair, ears and antlers, and pronounced me fit to fuck.
"Remember," she said, "this is the year Mary fucks you. Don't screw it up." Mary is head of HR, and a fuck from her at the Christmas party is a sign of great favour. If I could get that, my promotion would be in the bag.
The big boss was there, Sir Arthur. He was wearing a traditional Christmas sweater, probably hand knitted by a craftsperson in the Orkneys. I bet it wasn't synthwool either. It probably cost more than I was paid in a year. All zoos have a sheep, of course, but everyone knows they are electric. The very few zoos that have real ones make a packet out of selling the wool.
He had no trousers at all. He was not wearing a tail and his own genitals hung limply down. An absolute display of power.
The other directors grasped his dick briefly when they greeted them. He did not touch them at all. The only other person permitted to address him as Arthur was Philip, the janitor. A strange social convention of equality between the highest and lowest. Philip held his boss's dick during the whole of their brief conversation, while Sir Arthur held Philip's codpiece, an eight-inch one, probably very cheap, but covered in Christmas wrapping paper for the occasion.
Despite the supposed casual nature of the event, Sir Arthur's wife Louisa was wearing a formal dress: open breasts and crotch, extended buttocks. Her breasts hung down to her waist, and most of the women must have been green with envy. Poor Kay often complains about her high firm ones, but we can't afford the surgery on my salary.
But it was Louisa's crotch which everyone was looking at. There was a flaccid cock and balls - the very latest Synthcock X, not due for release till the New Year. Not rigid all the time, but erectile, the very latest technology. People would be queuing up at the stores on New Year's Eve, but here it was. It looked like the six-inch one, but only because they do not make a four-inch one. I thought how Jeff must be regretting the money he spent on his penis extension: twelve inches, just before the fashion switched.
Mary was of course the centre of attention, with everyone trying to be discreet about it. She was wearing an earlier model of Synthcock, an eight-inch, fully erect at all times, plus a fluffy bunny tail on her butt plug. She had a grey costume and rabbit ears, but absolutely no-one was going to say it was an Easter outfit.
Many of the other women were ready to fuck with dildos in Christmas harnesses, but no-one else had a Synthcock. I knew there would be some techie enthusiasts who had one despite the price, but no-one would dare to compete with Louisa and Mary. Court politics.
I saw that a lot of the men were wearing short skirts, and wondered if I had got it wrong again, but there were enough in backless trousers to mean that I was not alone. Nearly all the men had Christmas jumpers, though a few had a Rudolph tunic: brown on the back with white front. Tails were mostly standard horse, though there were a good number of proper reindeer ones, and I was glad that we had bought one. Jeff was the only man dressed as an elf, with what looked like a sixteen inch golden codpiece with low hanging Christmas baubles.
The women were a mixture of elves, Mrs Claus and fairies. All had their breasts covered, of course, because it was supposed to be casual. They mainly had furry tails, which looked cute.
Kay pointed out a new design this year. Several women had skirt edges in the form of diamonds, giving a ragged finish in alternate red and green. Others had the diamond pattern on the bodice. If you looked carefully you could see that each diamond had a vertical line in the middle, the PureCunt symbol. Some of the men were also wearing pink or black PureCunt badges, signifying that they only had sex as a cock in a cunt. Obviously we respect all sexual preferences, but the PureCunts had always seemed a bit extreme. There were more of them, and Kay wondered if it was becoming fashionable. I said there was a limit to how far I was prepared to go in following fashion!
Mary had her wife Eric on a lead, with a silver collar around his neck. He had lovely long blond hair, and was wearing a grey patched dress, ending in rags. His tail was horse, but also ragged. As she chatted with Sir Arthur and Louisa, Eric knelt down and started sucking Arthur's cock.
This was another conspicuous display of power because Sir Arthur was not already erect. We were expected to believe that he would be having sex without any pharmaceutical aid. The boss occasionally paused in the conversation to pat Eric's head and say what I imagine was a few words of encouragement. Finally he closed his eyes, held Eric's head and began thrusting and shaking, but still looking like a man in control. Eric moved his head away and turned open-mouthed to show the spunk on his tongue, then milked the stiff cock in front of him of the last drops. Of course, we all applauded.
That is when the party began.
