A Weekend at Charlotte's

Kira's hair was loose and lay spread out across her shoulders. Her face was deeply flushed, her expression one of pure lust. Her heavy breasts bounced as Roger's hips slapped against her butt. I could see his cock too, long and thick and coated with moisture, revealing her swollen nether lips and pink interior each time he pulled out.

I stood there, close enough to breathe in the scent of their sweat and their excitement, utterly unable to look away. Curtis -- the only person in the room still wearing clothes -- gestured for me to come stand next to him. I followed his directions, and he whispered in my ear, pointing at the Roger who was getting the blow job: "I'm giving him another minute, tops."

It took less time than that. After only a few seconds, Roger #2's body went rigid. His cock -- not an especially large one --disappeared completely into Kira's mouth. He let out a series of grunts, and his body spasmed. He jerked his hips forward, causing Kira to gag. Then his legs lost their strength and he had to lean on the back of the couch for support. After a minute he staggered off, headed for the stairs.

Kira took a ragged breath. Her eyes looked wild, unfocused.

"Go for it," Curtis said to me.

I looked at him. "Are you sure? It's kind of your turn ..."

He smiled and shook his head. "Not tonight. But I'm pretty sure you want to."

I hesitated for a second -- but only for a second -- and then stepped into the spot just vacated by Roger #2.

Kira didn't react, didn't even seem to notice that I was there. She thrust back at Roger #1, freer to move now that her mouth wasn't occupied. Her breasts swayed and the flush crept farther down her chest. I reached forward and took a breast in each hand, squeezed gently in time with the rhythm of their fucking.

"Yes," she whispered when I rolled her nipples between my fingers. "Yes, yes, yes."

A much louder cry came from nearby, and that same word, "yes", as Naomi began to climax. Kira opened her eyes and finally noticed me. Then she tilted her head and looked down at where my cock hung heavily in front of her.

"Damn it, Michael," she said, her voice breathless from the steady pounding she was getting. "Come closer."

I stepped forward until I was nearly up against the back of the couch. She lowered her body so that her face was level with my cock, hard as iron now. She extended her tongue and swept it across the tip.

"Oh," I said. "Wow." I was incapable of anything more articulate than that.

She repeated the action, this time with a little swirl at the end. She licked her lips. Then she kissed the tip, then took a little of it in her mouth. "I can taste her," she said. "And you. Mmm." And then the glans disappeared between her lips.

I had to grab the back of the couch to stop myself from careening off-balance.

Roger was moving like a machine now --the guy had stamina, no question. He was holding onto Kira's hips to supply extra force, and her whole body shook each time he bottomed out. Her mouth rode up and down my cock in synchrony with Roger's thrusts while her tongue slid along the bottom, tickling the big vein. The deeper he went, the more of my cock she engulfed -- though she didn't get all the way down as she had with Roger #2. I'd never felt anything like it. This girl was amazing, and it was a side of her that I'd never known existed. Maybe she was just discovering it herself.

I could feel my climax rising from deep in my loins. I was scant seconds away when Roger #1 suddenly stopped moving and pulled his cock free from Kira's pussy. Seeing it sticking out above her butt, fully exposed and quivering in imminent orgasm, I had the perverse but useful thought that I now had a way of telling the two Rogers apart -- provided that they were naked. This Roger's cock was huge. Prolific too. The spurts came in big gobs, landing on Kira's back and dripping down her lovely butt.

Once Roger had emptied himself out, he looked stricken. He made a long sigh and collapsed onto the couch. Kira stopped moving with my cock halfway down her throat, and I wondered for a moment if someone was going to take Roger #1's place, as I had just done for his namesake. But the other men here were done for the night -- Jorge was cuddling with Naomi, Roger #1 was getting dressed.

Kira released my cock and looked around, clearly unhappy with this latest turn of events. But if she was frustrated, I was desperate. Seeing her getting it from behind like that, and then feeling her lips and her tongue around my cock ...

Breathing hard, I asked her: "Do you want me to ... you know ..." I gestured at the spot behind her on the opposite side of the couch.

I could see her struggling.

"No," she said. "We should stop. You and I, we agreed to keep it platonic."

I couldn't help myself. I groaned audibly. "Yeah, okay."

She turned around and stood up, a little shaky. "But, wow, I've never done anything like that in my life. I ... really lost control. I'm sorry you had to see me like that." She looked shell-shocked. Her pale skin was covered with a fine sheen of perspiration and drops of moisture clung to her pubic hair. Her full breasts heaved, their dark nipples still hard. My cock, slick and rigid, quivered at the sight of her. But I had to respect her wishes. I spotted some sort of fringed throw on the couch nearby. I picked it up and wrapped it around her shoulders.

She looked into my eyes. "Michael ... we're friends. And I need your help. Please don't let me do that again, okay? Intervene if you have to. Promise me."

I walked around the couch, and we sat down next to each other. I put an arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. "Okay," I said. "I'll do what you want. But I thought you looked absolutely beautiful."

"Really?"

"Yeah, really. And maybe losing control every now and then isn't the worst thing that can happen."

She shook her head. "That's easy for you to say. Guys can lose control. I mean, it's what guys do." She frowned. "Well, okay, you don't lose control. And maybe you should. Now and then."

She smiled tentatively, her hair in sultry disarray, her neck flushed, her lovely breasts peeking out from beneath the throw, still within reach ...

"I think I need to call it a night," she said. "I'm exhausted. Be a dear and get me a robe, would you?"

I sighed. "Sure."

I ran upstairs and found robes for both of us. When I came back downstairs, Kira was sipping a glass of wine, and chatting with Amanda, who had returned from wherever she had gone off to. I was glad to see Kira mostly back to her normal bubbly self. I was less happy to see her don the robe. Amanda, dressed in distinctly unsexy sweats, looked down at the bulge from my still erect cock and rolled her eyes.

"I think everyone is turning in," Amanda said.

She was right; we were the only three left downstairs.

"You two aren't ... ah ..." I asked, not quite sure how to finish that.

Amanda laughed. "No. Whatever happens, at the end of the evening you go to bed with whoever you came with. That's one of the unspoken rules here."

"There seem to be a lot of those," I said.

Both girls giggled, clearly amused at my naïveté.

Kira took my hand. "Let's go," she said. "I really need a shower. I'll bet you do too."

I followed her upstairs to our room. She paused at the bathroom door. "Me first," she said. She untied her robe and let it fall from her shoulders and onto the floor, revealing that marvelous body one more time. She winked at me before walking into the bathroom and closing the door firmly behind her.

So much for staying in control.

* * *

I took my turn in the shower and climbed into the big bed. Kira was already asleep. I was tired too, but I lay awake for a while, trying to make sense of the past two days. I'd dallied with four different women -- everyone at the party, in fact, except for Naomi. My time with Louisa had been warm and intimate. But -- no sense in denying it -- I was just her boy-toy for the evening. That wasn't something I was used to. Clearly, or at least it was clear to me now, these casual liaisons were the point of the weekend. And they ended the minute the clothes went back on. I guess that made sense when all those involved were married to someone else. Still, it felt ... well, I wasn't sure how I felt.

I snuggled up against Kira who was, delightfully, wearing plain old cotton pajamas. I put an arm around her tummy and finally fell asleep.

* * *

We spent the next day, Sunday, at a nearby lake. It felt very much like a college outing. We swam out to a raft, lay in the sun, ate lunch at the picnic tables, bought ice cream at a roadside stand. A lot of other folks were around, and our crew were on their best behavior. That was a bit of a relief.

At some point, the group segregated itself into men and women. I had no doubt that the women were talking about us once we were out of earshot. Being men, we discussed other things, sports, local politics, our jobs. I've always felt a little out of place in groups of suburban males. I liked these guys -- Curtis in particular, who often displayed a dry sense of humor -- but their attitude was more laissez-faire than mine. They accepted their world as it was, and they were all supremely comfortable with their place in it. I felt more of a kinship with Charlotte, who clearly enjoyed challenging accepted norms and shaking things up. Which camp did Kira fall into? I wasn't sure.

Dinner was another group effort. I made crepes. Amanda, with enviable panache, made several delicious-looking fillings -- mushrooms in sherry sauce, shredded chicken and leeks, shrimp diavolo. I kept leaning over and snitching tastes.

"Incorrigible," she said, giving me a whack each time.

I finally retaliated with a firm slap to her butt. I've had imperfect success with slaps over the years, but this one landed cleanly, with a loud report.

Amanda stopped what she was doing -- stirring the shrimp -- and put her spoon down. "Do that again." Her voice had lost its usual pert edge. She was almost whispering.

I obliged. A second crisp impact. Her breathing deepened. Her classically pretty face flushed.

"Just a second."

She looked around. No one else was in the kitchen. Most were outside on the patio, some distance away. The Roger I now thought of as Little Roger was mixing a salad in the dining room. His larger namesake was preparing a batch of margaritas.

Amanda unfastened her white shorts and pushed them down along with her thong, and then she bent over, her arms on the edge of the counter. "Again. Harder."

She looked mouthwatering in that position, her smooth pussy exposed, her tight butt pushed out. I just admired her for a second while my cock grew and threatened to escape from my shorts.

"Come on. Do it now."

"All right." Her skin was a little reddened from the previous impacts. I ran my hand over one smooth, firm buttock then the other. And then I did as she asked.

"Oh," she said. "Oh, dear."

I could see moisture begin to drip from her pussy lips. I wanted nothing more at that moment than to drop my own pants and stand behind her ...

"One more. Really hard."

I took a deep breath and gave it everything I had. Surely everyone in the house, maybe everyone in town, heard the impact. Amanda moaned, but I didn't think it was from pain. She turned and put her arms around me, lay her head against my chest. I could feel her heart beating rapidly. I reached down and rubbed her butt, which must have been stinging by then. It felt wonderfully hot in both senses.

She whispered in my ear. "Later, okay? I owe you one."

A quick kiss on the lips, finished before I could react, and she released me, pulled up her shorts and went back to work.

* * *

After dinner there was an unmistakable air of expectation. I still wasn't clear on what the deal was with this group -- Kira had told me that sometimes things didn't happen at all. Was the previous night a fluke? Right now, I just wanted another opportunity to be alone with Amanda.

In the end, we all sat down on the couches in the living room. And we looked at Charlotte.

She seemed amused. "What? Do you all think I have something planned? You know me. I try to encourage spontaneity."

We expressed skepticism in our various ways.

"It's true. Anything that feels artificial... it just never works. Remember the blindfold game?"

Several of her guests groaned.

"But you know, Curtis did come up with an ... activity. Something we haven't tried before."

Everyone leaned forward.

"Tell them your idea, won't you, darling?"

Curtis smiled. Perhaps what he really enjoyed about these get-togethers was his supporting role in his wife's performance art.

"Thank you, my dear," he began. "But it's not quite accurate to say I devised an activity. It's you all who will create this evening's theater. The women -- each of you individually -- will script ... let's call it a scene. We have costumes and construction materials and some lighting and audio equipment downstairs. Choose a spot on our property to set up, anywhere you like. When you're ready, you will invite the men to experience your scene, one at a time, for ... let's say twenty minutes each. We'll give you a couple of hours to get set up and practice. Let's see ... that means we'll start around 11. Charlotte and I will be available to help if you need extra players or support for your scenes."

Everyone looked at everyone else for a moment.

Jorge asked: "What should the guys do?"

"The gentlemen should prepare a suitable fete for the ladies once you've participated in all of their scenes."

"Like a toga party?" Little Roger suggested.

More groans.

"Anything other than that."

Naomi asked: "Is it just me performing my scene or is ... audience participation encouraged?"

"Oh, the latter, most definitely," Curtis said. He looked around. Everyone seemed intrigued if still a little unclear on the details. That was certainly how I felt.

"Very well," he continued. "Follow me. I'll show you where the supplies and costumes are."

We trooped along behind him down to the basement. Once there, I was surprised to see several racks of clothing, much of it quite elaborate and colorful, and travel cases containing mixing boards, professional lighting rigs, projectors, and a lot else.

"It belongs to a local theater troupe," Curtis explained. "We let them store their equipment here during the off-season, and they don't mind if we use it from time to time."

I leaned closer to Kira and asked her: "Have you seen this stuff before?"

"Nope. First time. Looks like fun, though."

* * *

The men, absent Curtis, reconvened in the living room.

Any ideas?" Little Roger asked.

"I was all for the toga party," Big Roger said, unhelpfully.

"Gladiatorial combat, with the girls as prizes?" Jorge suggested.

"Didn't gladiators wear togas?"

"Not in the arena."

"I doubt our women would go for being prizes."

"True."

"Film a real-life porno video?"

"Not classy enough."

"Re-enact the abduction of the Sabine women?"

"That's from ancient Rome --togas again."

"Lip-sync to a Beatles song, then have the girls rush the stage and tear our clothes off?"

This went on for a while. Then I had an inspiration. "We could do Act II from A Midsummer Night's Dream -- the part where Titania, Queen of the Fairies, is charmed into making love to one of the actors and the other characters all have sex with each other."

"Little Roger was skeptical. "I saw it once. Everyone was wearing togas."

"We can set it later, in 1900, say, and use Art Nouveau costumes. Long, see-through robes. I saw a bunch of them downstairs. Very classy."

After some further discussion, and with many misgivings, everyone agreed. And we went to work.

* * *

It was almost midnight before all the productions were ready. The whole group gathered in the living room, and everyone griped that they really needed more time.

"Shall we postpone the performances until tomorrow morning?" Curtis asked. "It is getting late."

We all answered with versions of hell, no. I had no interest in waiting that long to see what the women had planned for us.

"Very well. Ladies go take your places. I'll acquaint the gentlemen with their schedules, and we'll start at midnight sharp. Twenty minutes each, with a twenty-minute break between performances, followed by the men's production." He clapped his hands. "It seems that we'll be up all night!"

Curtis handed each of us a piece of paper with our assignments and then headed off somewhere. My note said: 12 - Naomi (basement); 12:40 - Amanda (master bedroom); 1:20 - Louisa (swimming pool); 2:00 - Kira (garage).

We four men compared notes -- we all had the same events but ordered differently. We chatted aimlessly for the intervening minutes, constantly looking up at the quaint mantle clock until it chimed out midnight.

Showtime.

Down I went to the basement and followed a handwritten sign to a door at the end of a dark corridor. I knocked.

"Enter," came a low female voice, "if you are pure in spirit."

Well, that was a stretch, but I opened the door anyway. The room was spacious, but so dark that it was hard to tell much else about it. Directly in front of me was a platform of some kind -- a table covered in black cloth. At its head a single candle flickered. Several other candles, unlit, lined both sides of the platform. A carved figure had been placed on a smaller table at the far end, lit imperfectly, so that I couldn't tell what it represented. No one was present.

Low music started up. Electronica, but with a slow, pulsing beat. From the shadows in the back of the room, a cloaked figure moved towards me.

"On your knees, acolyte." A commanding voice with a theatrical quality I easily recognized as Charlotte's.

Down I went.

"In the name of our great God, Satan," she intoned, "You will enter the altar of the

Lord of Hell."

She stopped and spoke sotto voce: "Your turn. You say: 'He who rules the earth.' We were going to have a monitor with prompts, but we didn't have time to set it up."

"Okay. He who rules the earth."

"Good. Lord Satan, the earth is yours. You founded the world and its fullness. The time has come, Satan. We offer up this sacrifice at your altar in hopes that it will please you."

Charlotte held her pose until the music changed and became more of a dirge. And with that, a second figure emerged from the darkness, also cloaked, also female. Naomi. Charlotte conducted her to the front of the platform and directed her to sit down on its edge.

"We do this because of your great power, Lord Satan, King of Hell." And with that, Charlotte removed Naomi's cloak. She was naked except for a silver chain around her waist and an upside-down cross drawn on her upper chest. Her dark hair was unbound -- for the first time this weekend, I realized. Crimson lip gloss and eye shadow. Very, very sexy.

"Lay upon the altar cloth."

Naomi lay back and put her arms above her head. Her small triangle of pubic hair sparkled. Charlotte reached behind the platform and produced a set of ropes, which she used to expertly tie Naomi's wrists and ankles. She's done this before, I thought. Then she used the candle at the head of the altar to light all the other candles in turn.

"The time has come. Acolyte, if you wish admission to the society of Satan, consummate the virgin sacrifice with the blessed ceremonial dagger."

I looked around. "Um ... I don't have a ceremonial dagger ..."

Charlotte giggled. "Yes, you do."

"Oh, right."

"Prepare her first."

"How?"

Charlotte rolled her eyes. "Dude, use your imagination."

I was still on my knees. I started to stand up, but Charlotte switched back to her theatrical voice. "Approach in a posture of supplication, acolyte."