Bachelor Party 6

Back in the 80s, a good friend of mine, Russell, had a younger brother, Paul, who was getting married, and I was invited to the wedding, so, being a lifelong friend of the family, I made the lengthy trip back to my home town, taking a week of vacation to make all the prenuptial festivities. Like me, all of us were still single except for Russell, who had married Vicki right after they graduated from college.

The guys planned their bachelor party and the girls planned their bachelorette party. They were on the same evening, after the rehearsal dinner. Russell and I came to the bachelor party together while his wife Vicki accompanied the girls to the bachelorette party.

All of the gals in the wedding party were still in college or just-graduated, so Russell, Vicki, and I were a few years older than they. During the weeklong pre-wedding festivities, I'd gotten acquainted with them and, though they were all cuties, I judged there was no sex to be had with any of them. They all just seemed liked good little sorority girls who liked to drink and party a lot but kept their legs clinched tightly together until you dated them for like a year. Weddings for me have historically been a great place to get laid, but I saw no viable prospects here.

The bachelor party was pretty tame, a keg of beer and a bunch of XXX videos on the giant projector-screen TV. The party was on campus at the groom's college fraternity house, which was vacant since it was summertime, so we had the run of the place to ourselves. Frankly, I was bored, as was my buddy, so we stepped outside for some herbal refreshment.

Being June and no school in session, the campus was dead, so we were surprised when we heard voices in the distance coming toward the frat house. We crept around the house to investigate from the cover of thick shrubs, only to discover that it was the wedding party girls sneaking up from the wooded side of campus.

Dressed very casually in scant shorts, skirts, and tops on this hot, humid night, they were creeping along the tree line towards the frat house. What the hell were they up to, anyway?

In the quiet as they neared, we could hear what they were saying. Well, it turns out that the girls' plans for the bachelorette party was to find the bachelor party and crash it. Interesting.

My buddy and I, in our role as the "elder statesmen" of the group, were concerned that these seemingly straight chicks might freak out if they walked in and saw the graphic video, but we decided to just let the situation play itself out. After all, this party needed some excitement.

We finished the joint and slipped back into the frat house the same way we had gone out, got another couple beers, and just stood silently at the back of the TV room in the dark wating for the bachelorettes while the gal on screen rode Ron Jeremy's foot-long cock.

In a couple of minutes, the girls, obviously wastado, burst in like gangbusters yelling and screaming with bright flashlights. "You're busted!!! Where are the whores?" The guys froze and said nothing, and the girls' eyes immediately became glued to the screen. Vicki joined Russell and me in back and we chuckled as we watched the scene before us.

Now, mind you, this was not tasteful, erotic footage. No, this was deep into raunchy, and poorly produced, at that. You know, where the overdubbed audio moaning is out of sync with lip movements, the same clip is repeated over and over, and you can see the camera's reflection in mirrors and windows. I find such films humorous more than anything else.

With the exception of the very worldly Vicki, the girls had apparently never seen pornographic video before, and they seemed at once shocked and enthralled.

My buddy and I brought them all glasses of beer, and I handed one to Christy, who had followed me to the back of the room and sat down in a folding metal chair beside me and the keg.

Christy was the best-looking gal in this bunch of young cuties, and also, I thought, the biggest tease.

She had dark, thick brown hair, shoulder length and curled up at the ends, big brown eyes over a little pixie nose, a very wide, full-lipped smile with perfect, obviously brace-straightened teeth. Her darkly tanned skin was flawless; this lucky gal had probably never had a single blemish. Her face and hairstyle reminded me of Mary Tyler Moore in the old Dick Van Dyke show.

As for her figure, it would be hard to improve on. "Voluptuously athletic" is the best I can come up with. Standing around 5'3" and weighing about 120 lbs., she had I'd say a 34D bust, fleshy arms, and a very narrow waist that flared out to a relatively large, but shapely and proportionate to her big boobs, bottom supported by smooth, muscular legs. Cute as a bugger!!!

The clothes she was wearing that night, what little of them there were, certainly emphasized her figure. Her beautifully smooth and tanned back was interrupted only by the white tie of the halter style top. In front, its v-neck squeezed her brown breasts together in exquisite cleavage.

Below, the humidity and the tightness of her khaki poplin short-shorts combined so that, if you looked very closely, you could actually make out the outline of her outer labia, and when she bent over, you could see a pair of crescent-shaped strips of white bottom flesh peek out beyond the edge of her tan line.

White leather K-Swiss shoes and ankle socks covered her little feet. She was a junior, so she was only 20 or 21. Like I said, cute as a bugger! However, in my experience with sorority girls like her, the vast majority who dress so sexily are nothing more than major-league cock teases, so I didn't make much of it.

As she gulped the cold beer, her eyes were fixated on the screen. The furry, barrel-chested Jeremy—back then just another unknown big dick for hire—was now pounding the woman doggy-style as her boobs wobbled wildly, while another woman's dubbed voice moaned. Christy asked question after question about the video:

Christy--Are they really doing all that? Me--Yes, but they are just actors. It's no more "real" than any other movie.

C--Looks pretty real to me. Me--They are really having sex, but they are probably faking that it's pleasurable.

C--It sure would be pleasurable to me, so why would a person need to fake what feels good? Me--They're paid to do what the director tells them to. It's just another acting job to them. (I was pleasantly surprised at what I was hearing. Though she was naive about porno, perhaps I had misjudged her.)

The actress kneeled on the edge of the couch and began to give the standing actor a BJ, then wrapped her boobs around his shaft as she continued to suck the end of his dick.

C--That's neat. I've never done that before. Me--You mean a blow-job or a titty-fuck?

C--Doing both at the same time. Me—You really should try it . C--Have you done that before? Me—No. My breasts are too small.

C—No, silly! I mean have you had a girl do that to you? Me--Oh, yes, it feels great. (This conversation was getting more interesting by the minute. Christy was an at-least-somewhat sexually experienced beauty who wanted to explore new things, maybe with me. Hmmm.)

C—The girl is pretty and has a great body, but that guy is fat, hairy, and ugly--downright gross! How in the world did he ever get a part in this kind of movie? Me—Because he has a massive prick and can fuck on command. You see, these films are basically made for men to view while masturbating, and they like to imagine themselves with a huge dick fucking the sexy actress and driving her wild. It's a fantasy thing. What kind of man do you find attractive?

C—Well, I like a man who enjoys talking with me, who's funny, and has a nice face with a big, easy smile. Tall, slender, with a tan, and the less body hair, the better. And I prefer them a bit older than me, not too old, though—no granddads!

(Christy had, in fact, just described me. Take note: I have found that asking a woman you like what kind of man she finds attractive is a very effective technique for opening the door to see if she likes you. By giving her the opportunity to indirectly give the message that she's interested in you, it takes the pressure off her to come right out and say it. Not all women are like that, but the majority prefer to not be put on the spot. If she responds that she likes a quiet, muscle-bound blonde, and you're a talkative, thin brunette, then move on. Call it a "line' if you like, but it usually works.)

When given a green light, it's often better to do something engaging rather than say anything, and this was just such an occasion: I put my hand on her back and slid my bare leg against hers as I refilled my beer. She leaned in towards me—into what psychologists call the "zone of intimacy"—and handed me her glass.

Since I was sitting right next to the keg, I didn't even have to get up to fill it, but as I did so and looked out across the room from there in the back, I could see that the girls were making out with the guys, and all hands seemed to be busy out of my line of sight in the chest and crotch regions.

Distracted, I overfilled the plastic glass, then handed it to Christy. Christy squeezed the flimsy container a bit too hard and spilled nearly a third of it right into the "v" of her halter top onto her boobs. Just as this happened, the actor came on the actress's tits.

Christy and I giggled, and we both looked down at her wet breasts. The cold beer soaking the fabric had not only made what was covered by material visible, but also perked her nipples up. I whipped out my trusty bandana and dabbed at her breasts, accidentally on purpose trapping a nipple, remarkably similar to a grape, between index and middle fingers.

Gazing up at me with open lips, she uttered a barely audible "mmmm" as the next video segment began. I leaned down and French-kissed her, her lips and tongue eagerly reciprocating while I fondled those lovely, "freshly brewed" breasts through the wet top.

The back of the TV room where we were was the darkest, and, therefore, the most private, part of the room, but still light enough from the screen's reflection to see one's way around. I boldly untied the halter bow on her back; somewhat surprisingly, she immediately untied the neck bow, still kissing me but with eyes wide open watching the porno at the same.

I pulled the wet halter off her chest and kissed my way down her neck to those superb boobs, crossing the dramatic diagonal tan line slashing across them, into the white flesh zone, and nibbled up to Mount Rigid Nipple. Christy, moaning ever so softly, jutted her chest forward, forcing more of her shapely young breast into my mouth as a signal to suck harder as she ran her fingers vigorously through my hair.

I pivoted out of my chair and straddled across her lap facing her. She pulled my polo shirt off right over my head, and I plunged my tongue into her mouth as she welcomed it with her own moist, swirling tongue. I surmised that Christy could give great head. I grabbed a boob in each hand and squeezed hard, which she obviously liked. I do like a woman whose tits you can handle more like a sturdy mug of beer than a delicate glass of champagne.

Then, using both hands, she began to rub my already-erect penis through my shorts. While continuing to French-kiss, I kept up my boob play with one hand and used my other to caress her crotch, warm and damp through the thin shorts.

I looked up to see that my buddy and his wife, who, as I mentioned, had arrived with the bachelorette contingent, were standing about 5 feet away staring at us. Apparently, to them, we were more entertaining than the video! Not that they were looking at us in disgust or anything, but I figured it might make Christy feel uncomfortable and put the kibosh on our ministrations. The rest of the group in front of us had all paired up, and, half undressed by then, were openly kissing and fondling while watching the XXX video, which actually featured a decent-looking guy in this segment.

"Let's go find a private place in this frat house," I suggested.

"Yeah, let's hurry!" she eagerly agreed.

At the very moment we stood up, I noticed that Vicki's tee-shirt was pushed up, and Russell unsnapped her front-closure bra to release her massive mammaries, rubbing his heavily-bearded face across them. Damn! I had wanted to see those hooters since the first time I met her years before, and they were, indeed, splendid!

Smiling, Vicki was looking me straight in the eye, as if to say, "How do you like these bodacious, finally bare boobs you've been gawking at for so long?" Nevertheless, Christy and I had a definite plan of action, so we slung our tops over our shoulders, got fresh beers—where I lingered as long as I possibly could to take in one last eye full of Vicki's huge, pointy, jiggling, saliva-wet tits—before we headed down the dark hallway.

I'd never been in this frat house before that evening and did not know my way around it at all. It was pitch black until we stumbled through a swinging door into what seemed, from the little light coming in from the street light outside, to be a large room.

Christy scratched around on the wall until she found a light switch and flipped it on. The light over the mantle came on and revealed that it was a hunting trophy room, full of all kinds of stuffed wild animals—heads mounted on the walls, skins on the floors, and life-size ones sitting and standing on the floor everywhere.

We made our way to the giant polar bear rug in front of the fireplace, shucked the rest of our clothes--my finger in her pussy, and her hand around my cock--sipped our beers, and just stood there gazing about, taking in this wild space.

Centered over the mantle was a white rhino head. "He's the only dude in here hornier than me," I teased.

"I dunno, those big cats look like they could pounce any moment now," she observed, referring to the huge male tiger and lion standing on all fours flanking each side of the hearth.

"Meow," I said, just before picking her up and laying her back onto the woolly bear rug and kissing and nibbling every square inch of her delicious young body.

"Oh, you animal, you!" she giggled.

She had perfect skin and the most dramatic tan lines I'd ever seen. The lines on her breasts cut just above her areolas, dark brown on top and lily white below. Were it not for her succulent grape-size nipples, it would appear at a glance that she was wearing a white bikini top, for her tan was so much darker than her natural skin color, and the line so well defined.

She obviously tanned with her back strap undone, as her beautiful, smooth back arched from hip to shoulder with nary a tan line interruption. Simply delightful.

Christy was not skinny, but she was far from fat. Very fleshy, with compound curves in all the right places—big, round, firm boobs that stayed close together even when she lay flat of her back, a thin waistline, a butt that reminded me of a black girl's, and you could see every muscle in her arms and legs when she moved, probably from her college tennis team practice. As I said before, "voluptuously athletic" describes her best.

Having kissed and nibbled every bit of her body except her pussy and anus, which I was just about to savor, I spread her legs wide, she lying face up with her head propped on the back of the polar bear's. Oh my Lord! What a gorgeous pussy! Like the lips on her face, her labia were full and red and fleshy, her clit sticking out from its hood and actually a bit up, like a little erection, and the whole thing so wet that there was already a damp spot on the bear's fur.

I pulled her labia apart to look inside, releasing a wave of pussy juice that ran down onto her picture-perfect little pucker hole, then she vigorously pulled me up on top of her. "I wanna do all that stuff we saw in the film, but right now, I just need you inside me," she pleaded. My mouth was watering for her pussy, but I obliged.

I very, very slowly entered her. Although her crotch was not shaved, it was trimmed very closely, so no hair blocked my view. She wanted to look, too, so she propped herself up on her elbows and watched me gradually go in. About half way, I stopped and looked up across her fine, slim tummy, at the little folds of her belly button, then on up at her magnificent breasts. If any pussy felt better than this one, I sure can't remember it!

She tilted her head up and looked straight into my eyes, "Please, put it ALL the way in me, ALL...THE...WAY...IN." In one swift motion, I went in to the hilt, folding her big pussy lips inside, out of sight. Christy made a sound that's hard to describe, though I'll never forget it. Kind of a whine that went up and down in volume but never ceased entirely. It reminded me of that sound you hear when trying to pick up a distant short-wave radio station, though distinctly a noise of extreme pleasure.

I've never heard such a sound come from a human before or since. I discovered that I could control her sounds quite predictably by varying the speed and angle of penetration. Her frequency would go way up when I cocked myself so that the top of my dick was rubbing against her clit, and I could elicit an ever faster-paced wavering noise the quicker I thrust in and out. Hitting her G-spot just so brought out sort of a looping sound immediately followed by something akin to static hiss.

Like I said, it all sounded remarkably similar to adjusting the tuner on a short-wave radio. Always seeking some comic angle, I said, "Come in, Christy. This is Bachelor Party Man. I'm operating at 1200 Hertz. And I don't mean rental cars. How do you like the way I'm modulating your frequency? Over."

"Roger. You are 'coming in' just fine. You certainly know how to use your antenna!" she responded, laughing.

I do dearly love to watch myself go in and out of a girl's pussy, and she seemed to like it just as much as me, yet every time I would look up into her lovely face, she would look straight into my eyes and keep her gaze there until I looked elsewhere. In fact, her eyes would precisely follow to whatever I was looking at—her left nipple, her right nipple, her cleavage. One time I even gazed over into the eyes of the lion, and, sure enough, Christy was looking at the big old cat, too!

I had gradually picked up my speed to a medium fast fuck when, judging by her hip movements and the unique sounds, she was tuning in on Station Orgasm. As we stared into each others' eyes, she grabbed my buns with both hands, sank her sharp nails in painfully deep, and began thrusting me in and out of her at a furiously fast pace. I flipped on my squelch ejaculation switch to keep from cumming.

She plucked her fingers from the holes in my buns, grabbed her breasts, one in each hand, and squeezed them extra hard while twisting and pulling those grape-like nipples between thumbs and forefingers with considerable force. Biting her lower lip, her short-wave radio tuned up to such a high pitch—almost beyond the range of human hearing—and stayed at that constant frequency so loud so long, that I would have definitely inserted ear plugs had they been available. Out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw the babboon on the opposite wall cover its ears, but I think it was just my imagination.

She was cumming, and her eyes were trained like two lasers into my pupils. Christy's pussy was gushing juices and contorting so that it was all I could do to keep my mental lever forcefully on the squelch ejaculation switch. I didn't put a stop-watch on it, but I'd estimate she orgasmed for at least three, perhaps as much as five, minutes.

Well, over the next couple of hours, we did just about everything in that trophy room that we'd seen in the XXX film, many of which Christy said she was doing for the first time. "Let's try that, what did you call it—flying fuck—that we saw. Oh, this is so much fun!" she would say. SHE was the real trophy in that room!