Thursday, March 25, 2010

Put that in your diet book, Oprah!

Party Points!

A sign on the door gave us free rein to do pretty much whatever the fuck we wanted, once it shut behind us. There’s this crazy bitch having a birthday party on a hill above the city in this very nice urban neighborhood. Birthday girl – she’s house sitting, hehehe. Yeah. Nice, eh? Hot tub, pool, sauna, incredible view. Neighbors who are totally wrapped up in re-runs of Matlock. The owner is far, far away. We have to carry our shoes in as to prevent a speck of dirt from landing on the expensive, precious floors.

But before we even get into this fine piece of ass party pad, we’re greeted with a note on the door. Party rules. Party points. What we have to do to score is…..score!!!!! Just fucking in the bathroom and getting naked (in that order) will earn us 10 party points apiece!

The birthday girl hadn’t even been spanked yet when my beautiful beast (he invited me) to this gig – pulled me into the bathroom and ordered me to strip. All I ever said was, “I have to pee” and then he yanked me in across the fluffy throw rug by the wrist and arm like a boy grabbing his sister’s baby doll and tossed my warm ass onto the frigid counter. I immediately splayed my drunken knees out, giggling. Duh. Yeah, classy, eh? Sorry, but tequila and a promise of party points will have me doing just about anything fast. Then he went and ate me out right there, all dog slobber and lip smack. Ohhhh baby! You are fine!

Before I knew it, I was giggling and cumming all over a stranger’s powder room tile while he fucked me hard with his fingers and tongue. He still wore the troubadour hat with the red feather while he sucked my juicy clit dry. Damn, he’s a riot, always playful and full of dirty, mischievous, tricky fun. Can I hear a hallelujah for my Yes Man? Oh, thank you baby Jesus!!

A DJ beat thumped in the basement when we emerged red-cheeked (all eight of them) and nude from the bathroom. Party points! Costumed guests high-fived us and shouted out with delight -- NAKED PEOPLE!!! But honestly, in this crowd of revelers, it only seemed halfway strange to do away with the trimmings, mostly just hilarious. We sauntered on into the kitchen, ate some chips and salsa at the breakfast nook and filled our cups. There wasn’t a single fat person in the place -- no wonder. There was nothing to munch for this all-night bash but one bowl of corn chips & salsa and the booze. The Yes Man brought a big ol' tub of homemade deviled eggs that proved highly popular, but for the most part these people apparently get all the nourishment they need from fucking, drinking and dancing. Put that in your diet book, Oprah!

Down in the basement a soft little hiding place filled with pillows and blankets behind the gas fireplace lured us in. The first time, it was just us. We made out like a couple of naughty teens, firelight flickering at the corners of the alcove, hands and lips and tongues a-waggin’. The sounds of guests talking and laughing floated around the room. What kind of party points would be awarded for being completely pornographic and shameless and fucking in broad basement light? Might as well find out. At one point, the Yes Man took my hands, pinned them to the floor just south of his hips, looked at me full on, his face shape-shifting into that serious “do it or else, bitch” look and said, “Suck me and make me hard.” Oh, now there’s the voice of God, right there! That rumbling command from on high has me on my knees or elbows or whatever so fast.

A strobe light spun little blue-green galaxy stars all over the room on the other side of the fucking nook. The rhythm of the music and the booze and sexually charged atmosphere made the lights all the more fascinating as we sat around naked and zoned in and out on the dots. I looked around and smiled. Whoa. At my age, waking up somewhere other than Kansas is a BIG deal! Fuck you, Pampered Chef parties and PTA committee potlucks. This is Oz, baby and look, everything’s in color! And even the flying monkeys are dancing!

Upstairs, the birthday girl was about to be spanked. A line formed behind her tight ass, bent over a knee. Guest after guest whacked on her bare butt, let loose from her tight little red dress, her white go-go-booted legs kicking. Birthdays occasionally suck. Do they ever!

Next up, we somehow landed back in the little stairwell lust nest, except this time, there’s another couple getting off in our spot. “Oh, I said sweetly, somebody’s already here.”

“I don’t care,” said Yes Man. He pulled me down and went berserk all over my still-damp twat. The girl whispered, “can I touch you.”

Are those the best words or what? “Can I touch you? Can I touch you? Can I touch you? CAN I TOUCH YOU????”


There was squirming and humping and licking, girl-on-girl fondling and delightful squealing and then…..little miss "can I touch you" said to her lover, “Would you like some service now sweetie.” We all know what the answer was to THAT. She sat up and leaned over me and caste a spell. “Pretty….shhhhh….pretty…..shhhhhh…pretty…..”

I didn’t turn into a frog or anything from the magic spell, but that was a little teeny bit strange. The girl with the big glassy eyes and her date scampered off somewhere and we carried on….kanoodling.

Eventually we moved our terribly wanton selves onto a soft place smack dab in the middle of the spinning universe of the star machine. There, we fell asleep, naked, drooling and snoring, in the middle of the party, even as the DJ finally got cranking at 1:30 a.m. You see, these youngins are tough to keep up with. We’ll fuck in a stranger’s basement, no problem. Dance the night away, yep. Stay thin on booze and chips, sure, why not? Dress up, dress down, get up, go to town, yeah baby! But fucking-A people, we need our beauty sleep!


Erobintica said...

LOLOLOL "Fuck you, Pampered Chef parties"

as a former... you know what, I find that fucking hysterical!

BadAssKona said...

A steady diet will lead to priapism and insatiable desire and a general "fuck it" attitude. Let's do it again!!

Gina Marie said...

Steady as she goes!

Priamism....what a great word!

Robin, you, Pampered Chef??? Oh, those were the days, eh?

Craig Sorensen said...

Think about the potential, Gina and BAK. You could start doing Pampered Chef or maybe Tupperware parties in a theme, inspired by this little event.

And if sales suck, who cares?