The Party-Part One Lay There

This week promises to be as busy as last one, so I'm just going to post a little bit of this story every day. Check back every day now through Friday.

My job is to lay there. So I do. I lie across a bench just wide enough to keep me comfortable and balanced. My chest has been waxed and my pubes trimmed. There’s nothing quite like not one, but two grown adults discussing just the right length and shape of your pubic hair. I’ve had a long and impersonal pedicure, whole parts of my feet shaved off by what looked like a miniature cheese slicer. I tried not to giggle, but when I did they ignored me. My eyebrows have been shaped, a woman, breathing on my face, her fingers on my cheekbones, gently plucked bit by painful bit away as I tried not to look down her blouse. I’ve had a facial, grey mud on my face spied over a copy of Maxim in the mirror. I was scared for a moment, then caught myself and laughed.

A woman’s fingers run over my chest. The women here are of the older, richer sort. They have wrinkles, but they’ve also have work done. Their fingers look pliant under the weight of UFO-sized rocks. This one is the same, the diamond on her left hand only slightly outweighed by the sapphire on her right. I look at her and she looks down cooly, deferring to me a polite smile.

“Close your eyes,” she says, half under a spell of her creation and mine. I close them and she continues to lightly stroke my skin. It feels strangely numb without hair. The feeling is incredibly subtle. I give into it, if only to figure it out. It continues, my nipples run across, the insides of my arms caressed, my side run down. My thighs are handled and the hair is swiped backward. It tickles as it slowly falls back. A finger then slides up the bottom of my cock. I’m surprised to sense that it’s hard. I feel a flick of the tongue and am left there to squirm. I wait a little while and open one eye. The woman has reentered the crowd, though a few women have locked eyes with my pelvic region. I lean my head back and close my eyes again.

There is a girl behind me, but I have to strain to see her. We have a mirror couple across the room, but they are hidden behind a wall of the wealthy. The girl behind me is beautiful, as thoroughly coiffed as I am, and though I’ve strained to make eye contact, we haven’t caught each other.

Lips envelop the tip of my cock and the sensation is so unexpected and perfect that I jump. I look down and find a man’s face in profile, still in his tuxedo. I can feel the wool brush my legs. A woman hovers above him, gives me a gentle smile and slides a hand between the man’s legs. The woman is dignified, aging well, in a dress more elegance than sex. Her hair is light red and falls in spots out of the pins holding it back in a planned way. I keep eye contact with her while the man twists lips and tongue around me. My mouth is pursed, the man knowing what he’s doing, and I have to blink out a couple of surges before I can return to her. She gives the man in the tuxedo a little slap and he stands erect, eyebrows raised and looking down at my body. The woman exhales fully, puts her hand in the man’s belt and pulls him away. I’ve never had a man do that before, and I figured it would be a “his loss, I won’t be hard” thing, it wasn’t. His lips burned into my cock like the feeling that you’re still wearing a hat once you’ve taken it off. I feel them for ten more minutes, my head straining for the girl. I can just make out another woman bent over her, kissing her gently.