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By *est-couple OP Man
over a year ago
Southwick (near Trowbridge) |
Student Parties were always fun in my undergraduate days, without any of the drugs or the techno-rave trappings that seem to go with them in this century. As it happens, I had an early experience of swinging at a student party, and it’s that story I’d like to share with you right now.
It was an early term party in a second-year student’s house. I was a first year and had been invited with my boyfriend (who was also a second year) and I didn’t really know anyone who was there. We took a couple of bottles of wine and arrived when the evening had already got going in earnest. You know the type of party I mean – 5 litre wine boxes from Sainsbury’s, cans of cheap beer, Amstrad stereos cranked up to the limit of distortion and all the bulbs taken out of the pendant lights, leaving the rooms illuminated by candles in raffia-clad chianti bottles or else red or orange bulbs in sidelights. It was surreal, and the atmosphere was hot and boozy, the dancing languorous and sensual, and the company promiscuous. I’d danced with my boyfriend for a few numbers – it was getting on to the slow part of the evening – and took a great deal of pleasure in the way in which his hard cock nuzzled me as we smooched to ‘Dance Away’ by Roxy Music. I enjoyed a few dances with boys I didn’t know, and I could feel the hardness of their desire, too, as we danced. Hell, I was horny!
Breaking off for a while, I made a dash to the loo (where I faced the inevitable queue!) and having done what was necessary after far too much red wine, I took a left turn out of the toilet and found myself in the wrong room! It was my own fault, I wasn’t thinking, and the house was in chaotic semidarkness anyway. What I heard, though, caused me to pause a while. It was definitely the panting sound of a woman in pleasure, and there were noises of rustling and movement that led me to judge – accurately, as it turned out – that there was more than one couple having some illicit fun in someone’s darkened bedroom. That was the point I had the accident that caused my body – and the whole evening -to pivot on its access and sent me plunging into libidinous pleasure. I stepped forward, quite simply, and tripped over the base of a bed which had had - in student tradition – its legs removed.
I was suddenly in the midst of, I reckoned, at least six bodies, and before I could work out which couple was which, and extract myself therefrom, a hand reached out and cupped my left breast. It was an experienced hand, and it massaged my already receptive titty to a wonderful sensitivity - a sensitivity that was amplified when I felt another hand caressing its right-hand counterpart, and a third PAIR of hands undoing my blouse! Murmurs and sighs were all around me, and I was just utterly caught up in the sexual magic of the moment. In less than a minute my blouse was open wide and strange hands, and then lips, were caressing the naked skin of my breasts above my bra. Other hands soon released its clasp, and I felt myself stripped of my upper clothing, as hands and lips to numerous to count pleasured my teenage body. Somebody, I felt, was busy down below, and it came as no surprise that the zip of my denim skirt was next too fall, and a heard a visible pant of pleasure as my seducer realised I was wearing stockings rather than tights. My knickers were tugged down shortly after this – and I never did find them.
It was a mass of bodies, confused and aroused. My own hands caressed cocks, cradled balls, and teased sensitive arseholes. I found myself kissing someone, while a cock found its way into my mouth. I tussled for the cock with the mouth that had been kissing me, and realised it was a man sharing that hard member with me. Again, on another occasion I kissed what I thought was a man, and rapidly understood, as my hands wandered, that I was kissing another girl – and enjoying every minute of my abandonment. My hands wandered, massaging breasts, which I grasped and suckled upon with undisguised pleasure, while other women and other men took equivalent liberties with my own body, not knowing or caring who I was. I was spit-roast at least six times, was fucked from behind while I ate out my first pussy – and then was thrilled to find that my second pussy had been shaved bare of hair. My body was bathed in hot sperm from the cocks I masturbated, my mouth flooded with hot salty essence, and my fingers coated with the womanly juices of girls I had probably sat next to in the coffee bar only hours before. By the end of the two hours I was in there, I had been enjoyed by 12 eager cocks, and had sucked probably more; I had lost my bi-cherry to at last four different girls (one of whom came back to be licked out a second time, when she was brim full with a tasty garnish of freshly ejaculated sperm).
Realising that discretion was the best part of valour, and that some fool might switch the lights on at any minute, I gathered together what I believed to be my clothes, dressed as well as I could and nonchalantly strolled out of the door without being more than casually observed. It was only when I went back into the toilet that I realised that, though I had my own blouse, I had walked off with quite a different skirt. My boyfriend, innocent that he is, didn’t even notice. Horny as I was, there was no way he was going to be enjoying me that night, with my bush all encrusted with cum and my cunt slack and yawning wide from being possessed by so many lusty cocks!
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