Superf***er Vol. 06

"We know antimatter exists...but we don't know anything about its properties. Shouldn't it follow the same laws of physics as matter? And if all matter has mass, and therefore gravity, then shouldn't antimatter also have gravity? And if it has gravity, then won't it by nature tend to aggregate? In which case, why can't there be antimatter asteroids? Comets? Maybe even planets?" I re-read what I wrote, and clicked send. Another salvo in my ongoing campaign to prepare the physics community to understand what it will be looking at when, some nineteen years down the road, the antimatter comet destined to collide with (and thus obliterate) Earth will first show itself.

I went to my email and started clearing out the hate mail I was getting from the physics establishment, which considered me a crackpot if not an outright nutcase. A number of petitions had been circulated calling to ban me from the boards, but so far at least the moderators had refused to do so, since I was persistent but polite and was not violating any of the rules of the forum. That, and the pesky fact that although my opinions were unpopular and contrary to prevailing wisdom, there were no FACTS that could definitely disprove my assertions. Like in "12 Angry Men," as long as I was allowed to keep talking, eventually the facts would bear me out, because of course I knew all about dark matter—it's a lot more common in the corner of the universe I come from than it is around here.

Oh, whoops...I suddenly realized the email I'd just deleted wasn't from the physics board, it was from the much more exciting part of my plan to save the world—fathering an army of half-human hybrids that might inherit some of the "powers" indigenous to my kind. Your species and mine are an amazing case of parallel evolution, despite taking place 300 light-years apart and in vastly different environments. We are so similar that, amazingly, we can interbreed; so far there had been two dozen or so live births. I estimated that it was going to take about 200 individuals with abilities like mine, however, to try to divert the comet, so every day I diligently went out, met and mated with at least one human female. Yeah, it's great to have all that sex, but it's also extremely draining over the long haul--just ask any aging rock star. Fortunately, it had recently gotten easier thanks to a chance encounter with Crystal, the mother of one of my first children. She frequented singles boards on the net; once I let her in (against my better judgment) on the future fate of earth, she started using those connections to hook me up with others on the boards. She would tell slightly embellished tales of how amazing it was to have sex with me and how huge my dick was, and every now and then someone would bite on the bait (for the record, phalluses of my species seem to run about 50% bigger than yours).

Sxyktty21 was a girl I'd hooked up with last week through one of Crystal's connections, and she seemed to have left a satisfied customer. It was too soon for her to realize she was pregnant (she wouldn't have expected to be, not knowing that my sperm carries hormones that stimulate ovulation and thus counteract oral contraceptives), so I was curious why she'd be emailing me again. I went to my trash bin to find the message and opened it up.

Bill-

Thanks again for the amazing evening—I'll be forever spoiled by the size of your...manhood. But just as I didn't believe it, I have a girlfriend who is convinced that I'm making up stories. She'll only believe it if she can see it for herself, so I told her I'd pass it along to see if that would be something you'd be interested in. There's a big costume party that we'll both be going to next weekend, and it tends to get a little wild--I'm quite certain it would be well worth your while, if you know what I mean. Let me know if you're interested, and I'll send you the details...

Kelly

Awesome—a customer referral, so to speak. Good thing she signed her name, though, because I had forgotten it. Come to think of it, I don't think she'd ever told me her name; she was anxious to see the goods, and once she did you couldn't pry her off me. Smiling to myself, I wrote her back saying I'd love to.

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That Saturday night I found myself walking up to a huge mansion in the hills outside Hollywood. It was dark and stormy, which seemed appropriate because the massive structure I could make out with each burst of lightning seemed to be half Hefner and half Frankenstein. There were a lot of cars out front, but the only other sign of life was an older, baron of industry-type who was walking in the door as I approached with what seemed to be a vivacious young blonde. It was hard to tell, because she was wearing a long pink trenchcoat, but in a flash of lighting I saw she had on the kind of high heels you generally only find at a porn shoot.

I got to the door. I was expecting to find a butler, but instead found two burly, hired-security types. I murmured the secret passphrase without which, I was told, I would not get int. That was just one of the things that was odd about this event; she had said it was a costume party, but when Kelly wrote back she clarified that it was kind of a costume party for the girls, but for men the dress code was business casual. Then, when I got inside, I was ushered to a large room on the left with all of the other men. I got myself some gin, then went to wander the house--but the only other door in the room was watched by a servant, who admonished me as I approached "not yet, sir. Soon." Soon--for what?

Almost all of the men seemed to be mover-and-shaker types. There were a few faces I recognized from the film industry (both sides of the camera), but I won't out those people by naming names. I wasn't here to schmooze, so I took up a position by the wall where I could see the entryway. I soon recognized a pattern. A few men came alone like me, usually the younger-looking ones. Most came with a beautiful young escort; the ladies were always shuttled to the right, the men to the left. A few times a group of beautiful young women came unescorted; I actually saw Kelly arrive with two other girls who I presumed were her friends. I thought she would come speak to me, having invited me, but instead she only gave me a quick wave before heading to the right. And the weirdest part of all--every single woman came in wearing a long pink trenchcoat. What was this, a coordinated costume party?

Another partygoer came up to me suspiciously. "I don't believe we've met. My name is Arthur."

"Bill," I said, shaking his hand and seeming cordial without inviting further conversation.

"Bill...Bill," he said, searching his memory. "I'm sorry, I don't recall seeing that name on the invitations list. Whose guest were you again?"

"Um...Kelly's?" I answered uncertainly--I didn't even know her last name. I didn't yet understand why they were so adamant about steering away uninvited guests.

His response surprised me. "Oh, Kelly...yes, but of course, I do recall she requested a guest pass. Please forgive me, but it is rather unusual for the women to invite guests, but of course they are always welcome to. It's the least we can do, what given how much work they do to make these parties a success. Anyway, this is my house, and if there's anything you desire, don't hesitate to ask."

"Thank you. And a very nice house it is, sir," I quickly added.

"Gentlemen..." cried a voice. A butler had appeared by the door where previously I had been thwarted and was getting everyone's attention. "It is time for the floor show to begin. This way please."

With a cordial smile, but no further words, my host quickly departed. Twenty conversations had ended all at once, and now everyone was pressing politely towards the door. The entire room took on an air of anticipation. I suddenly realized that these parties were probably a somewhat regular occurrence, and I was perhaps the only person in attendance who did not know what to expect.

I was the last to pass through the door. On the other side there was a real, honest-to-goodness ballroom. There was a raised stage to my left, and the floor was filled with round banquet tables, now almost all filled with men speaking in hushed tones. There were long tables set up on the far side of the room, neatly tableclothed but currently empty, and a bar to my right. I moved to the right and found a seat at the last table. Including myself only three of the eight chairs were taken, and other than a smile and a nod we made no effort to get to know each other.

Everyone faced the stage expectantly. There were doors on either side of the stage; presently a male servant came out of the door stage left, wheeling a large clothing rack full of empty hangers. On cue, a spotlight came on and an older, proper-looking tuxedoed man appeared on the stage--a butler, possibly, but for now an emcee. "Good evening, Gentlemen," he said into a microphone he carried with him, "and now for the part you've all been waiting for...the FLOOR SHOW." He turned sideways with outstretched arm in the time-honored means of introduction, and the light followed his hand to stage right. A beautiful woman appeared, smiling, standing at the back of the stage in the same pink raincoat I'd been seeing all the girls wearing. She strode forward confidently to the front of the stage, which jutted out about six feet beyond where the curtain hung. She got up next to the emcee...quickly unbuttoned one button of the raincoat...and whipped it open, revealing what she wore underneath. Her outfit drew appreciative applause. She wore a black corset, semi-sheer, the kind that doesn't cover the breasts but instead frames and lifts them for maximum effect. Black silk stockings were attached to garters integrated into the corset, but her exposed crotch was covered by neither underwear nor pubic hear. She let the raincoat slip off her arms, handing it to the emcee subtly. Then she stood strong with legs apart, almost superhero-like, proudly displaying her shaved pubes. She briefly reached to her crotch and parted her outer labia (as best as can be done standing) to reveal give a glimpse of what lie inside, then quickly turned and headed off back stage left. While we were all entranced by the woman in the spotlight, the emcee had handed off the coat and the servant was placing it on a hangar.

As soon as the first woman was off, a second pink-raincoated beauty stood in the wings stage right. Each one was more beautiful than the next, and each one did the same: walked on in her raincoat, then dropped it and handed it off to the emcee while displaying what manner of male fantasy she was embodying underneath. There were cheerleaders, bondage slaves, sexy secretaries, a very nice genie, and bad-girl schoolgirls. Some didn't have a clear theme, but all of them were unbelievably skimpy, arranged so as to hide nothing, or both. There was total silence in the audience as each of us imagined what we might do with each one should the opportunity arise. There must have been thirty of them in all. Wow.

"All right, gentlemen, that's the floor show," said the emcee. "In ten minutes we will begin with visitations. Same rules as usual. In the meantime, kick back and enjoy yourself with a drink."

On cue, four waitresses appeared, two from each stage-side door. I had just started to wonder what had become of Kelly, since I had seen the friends she had arrived with taking part in the floor show but not she herself. It turned out she was one of the four "waitresses." These were not your ordinary waitresses, mind you: each wore knee-high black boots, a short, wide black PVC skirt, and no top. Each girl's arms were fastened behind her in an armbinder, and each girl bore a tray full of drinks that was carried by means of a belt around the waist and a chain attached to a black leather slave collar on her neck. Spelled out in rhinestones on the collar was the type of drink she carried on her tray; Kelly was Gin & Tonic. I watched as she and the Martini girl next to her went to the first table, which relieved each of about half her drinks. The first man at the second table, however, snatched all the remaining drinks from her tray and set them on the table. Pulling his chair out from the table, Kelly was made to kneel in front of him and began sucking his dick while he sat back in the chair and sipped the cocktail. I suddenly realized I didn't see Martini girl, either, and then I spotted her. There was a man standing by the wall, and she was kneeling in front of him, also busy providing oral gratification. This promised to be an interesting party.

"It'll be at least two hours by time they suck their way back here," one of the men at my table observed with amusement. Good thing we're right by the bar, so there's no need to wait. Anyone need anything? I shook my head; I'd get my own.

A butler came out carrying a large wooden board with wooden pegs sticking out. There were two rows of keys with little number tags hanging on them. "Just a little reminder how this works. Anyone is welcome to visit any room if the key is hanging. If the key is not hanging, that room is not available. If two of you wish to visit a room together, that is your prerogative, but you must decide before leaving the ballroom. No more than two men per room at any time. And of course, as soon as you are finished with your visit, return the key here so that another man may have a chance. Any questions?"

The room fell silent. With a slight nod of OK, a dozen men jumped up to grab keys and headed for the door. There was a pause, as the remaining men waited...should I take a turn? Should I wait? One by one, the remaining keys disappeared from the shelves. When they were all gone, about half of the room remained.

"Gentlemen," announced the emcee, "no need to be bored while you are waiting. There are entertainments in the next room as well." With a flourish, he pointed towards the back of the room where we sat. The wall behind me suddenly buckled, revealing itself to be a false wall, opening up to reveal another room behind it. There were other manly diversion here; darts, cards, even a craps table. Most of the remaining men stood and wandered into it--at least those not in the middle of a receiving a blowjob. Feeling self-conscious as men filed past my table, I got up and stood by the polished brass rail of the old oak bar. Although I still had a little left in my glass, I had the bartender pour me a new one anyway. Once the room was mostly empty, servants started coming through the side door and setting up an hors d'oeuvre buffet on the long table by the wall.

The martini girl came up to the bar; the bartender started mixing three new drinks for her empty tray. I looked in Kelly's direction in time to see the man she was with lifting his butt out of the chair, tilting his head back and wincing while pushing Kelly's head onto his crotch. Moments later, he slumped back into his chair and released her. She stood up in businesslike fashion, apparently having swallowed the deposit he had dumped in her mouth.

She now headed to the bar to refill her tray. She smiled when she saw me. "Hi Bill, I'm glad you could come..." she made a little face when she realized she'd inadvertently made a pun, but decided to ignore it.

"I like your kind of party," I smirked.

"I knew you would." She arrived at the bar, where the bartender was already mixing another load of Gin and Tonics.

"I like your uniform," I pointed out, mainly as a pretext for grasping her nipple. I saw her bit her lower lip as the pleasurable currents running between my thumb and finger made her nipple explode. She concentrated on standing straight in spite of the distraction.

I leaned in a little closer. "I wish more places had waitresses like this," I added banally while touching her thigh, then running my finger up and under her tiny skirt. There was a PVC panty built in to the skirt, but it was no trouble to slide that aside and find her shaved slit. I rubbed it with my finger, warming her up until I could slip my finger into her pussy. When I did, I then planted my thumb on her clit and started to rub. She sucked in air and gulped; the pleasure was now stimulating the hell out her most sensitive area. She tried to steady herself even as her body raced rapidly towards orgasm. The bartender, either oblivious or well-trained to appear to be, put drinks on her tray. Ice started clinking immediately; no matter how hard she tried, she could not stand still with her the nerves of her clit firing like mad. Carefully, she leaned forward until the tray touched the bar. With no hands to steady herself, she leaned against it herself. The drinks now stabilized, she stood firm, holding her position until the inevitable orgasm. It didn't take long; good thing she had stabilized her tray, because the shudders would have left behind a lake of gin otherwise. With satisfaction, I withdrew my fingers, carefully replacing the skirt the way I had found it.

"Now be sure that you do that to my friend!" she commanded when she caught her breath.

"OK," I answered gamely. I presented my thumb and finger to her, glistening from her juice. She gamely sucked them clean as if they were a two-headed penis. It was a shame I couldn't afford to waste any semen in non-fertile orifices, because I bet it was just HEAVEN to cum down her throat like the fat guy in the chair had just done. When they were clean, I reclaimed my fingers and asked "so which one is the friend I'm supposed to see."

"Her name is Heather, room 14. Today I think she's a Harem girl or a genie or something." I nodded--excellent. That outfit had been hot; I had already planned on visiting that room anyway...

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Apparently I wasn't the only one that thought so, because room 14 turned out to be a pretty popular place. A lot of keys never made it back to the board, as men traded them with acquaintances on their way back. I could have gone to a number of different rooms, some more than once, before I finally managed to snatch the key to room 14.

I opened the door, and immediately was greeted with "your wish is my command, master!" I couldn't help but smile--this was gonna be fun.

"Thank you, Genie," I answered offhandedly as I moved nonchalantly around the minimalist black leather sofa and sat down. She was sitting on the floor with her knees bent under her, hands in her lap, facing the sofa, waiting to receive orders. I sat for a moment and looked at her while she waited patiently. She had light blonde hair, long, that was tightly bound and pointing outwards from the back of her head at about a 45-degree angle, then hung loose in a ponytail down from there. She had on a pink half-vest with no buttons that hung straight down over the top of a dark pink strapless bikini top. The vest ended just below her breasts, so her torso was bare down to the tops of her harem pants, with a cute little silver ornament dangling from her belly button. The harem pants were sheer over the leg, but opaque at the waist. "Oh Genie, my feet are so tired," I complained, "can you massage them for me?"

"Yes master," she replied snappily. She got up, walked the ten feet or so over to where I was sitting. As she crossed the room I noticed that her harem pants were rather unusual; they weren't opaque covering her crotch, but rather from the narrow waistband down they were entirely sheer down to their bottoms above the ankle, where the cuffs were made of the same brocaded fabric as the waist. As she resumed her sitting position at my feet, I briefly caught a glimpse of her shaved mound. That's when I realized that these weren't so much harem pants as harem chaps, because they had no crotch at all. When she stood, they naturally fell to kind of cover her and look like regular harem pants, but all she needed to do was part her thighs she could easily be penetrated in either hole without having to take them off. Good planning.