Sean learned that the blonde's name was Clarice. He picked her up and started banging her up and down off his hips as though she were a paddle ball. He promptly tripped over a couple engaged in a sixty-nine on the floor and barely managed to descend avoiding injury to anyone. "We may as well stay here and finish up," he told Clarice, sucking on her extraordinarily wide and pale nipples. She agreed.
From the stage Andrea sang and looked down at the scene-it had to be one in a century-for about an hour. Under the influence of half a dozen high-quality peyote buttons it looked as if a bulkhead had given way and a sea of people had flowed in out of a Hieronymous Bosh painting. Everywhere she looked there were cocks slithering in and out of cunts, people locked in passionate embraces, mouths sucking tits, hands grabbing asses; there was laughing and grunting and wailing and moaning, slapping and sliding and grabbing and gliding, bopping and hopping and humping and slumping, bumping and balling and catching and calling… Finally Andrea broke off in the middle of a staid rendition of a traditional foxtrot and started rocking to the tune of the Jerry Lee Lewis song, "Slishin' and a Splashin'." "Moanin' and a Groanin', Humpin' and a Bumpin'… "
The crowd went wild. Fucks multiplied in a frenzy. Everyone was suddenly on the floor doing it to beat the band. And they did beat the band. After two minutes Andrea couldn't stand it. She chucked her guitar and dove off the bandstand with Rod and the Staff a hair and a breath behind her.
She landed in the middle of a glistening flesh-pile between the two middle-aged lesbians from Hoboken and Virginia Vagina. They were engaged in an earnest three-way conversation, mouths to cunts. Virginia immediately remembered that Andrea had once suggested cunnilingus to her-she didn't hear a word that long very often, which was why she remembered-and squirmed around to present arms. Meanwhile the lesbians made certain that Andrea's own pussy was not unattended-in fact they paid it several very flattering compliments-and a Fuller Brush man from Kieukuck rambled over to plop his rod into Virginia's mouth.
The lesbians were startled when they found themselves being entered by a pair of male organs but they were having so much fun with Andrea's puss that they didn't want to break things up. "Just pretend it's a dildo," one suggested to the other, and the problem was solved.
And so the evening went, from one fuck to the next. As time went on there were high points-points of intense group excitement, when as many as a hundred people would swarm into huge clusters on the floor-and low points when most people sat by the sidelines resting or chatting. Usually excitement was regenerated by single fucks of exceptional intensity or interest that drew crowds of spectators who sooner or later became involved. As could have been expected, many of these featured the Guru, but John Fuocoforte was in on the creation of one or two and so was Andrea.
Sean and Joanna got involved in a contest to see who could fill in more squares on her or his little card. Consequently they didn't stay with any one partner long, but started a fuck with one, worked it up with another, got to a high plateau with a third, and climaxed on a fourth or fifth.
They reached 60, 70, 80, pretty much neck-and-neck, but then Joanna started to pull away because Sean had come eight times and he was losing his erection.
They ran across Joe Lee, who had been casually sampling his way around all night and just happened to have them both beat with 96 squares covered on his card. His cock was still sticking straight out in front of him like a battering ram.
"No fair," Sean complained. "You've been holding back."
"Yeah, but when I let go, it's going to be a beauty," he predicted, patting his weapon affectionately.
It made Joanna mad to think Joe was ahead of her. She mumbled about it as she fitted the blunt, curving organ of Number 83 into her and felt it start to quiver. "Oh no," she thought, "this guy's going to want to come and he's going to take some time." And out loud she said, "How the hell could I get out-fucked by the Little Chink? I'm supposed to be the Great Wall, for cocksake!"
Number 83, a stocky guy who told her he ran a machine shop as he worked up to getting his rocks off, turned out to be more of a bargain than Joanna hoped for, because he came up with a way for her to get ahead of Joe. "No problem," he said, after he'd got off with a couple of violent attacks to her midsection. "You just stand right here. I'll get all the guys you haven't done yet and line them up. Then IT! show you how you can check off every guy in the place in under an hour."
She was a little dubious but waited for a few minutes. Sure enough, Bernie-that was the guy's name-returned with two dozen men and told her he had four friends rounding up more. He and a buddy each grabbed one of Joanna's thighs and hooked arms around her back and held her at waist-level. It was as though she was sitting in a chair. A skinny bald accountant type with a stopwatch took her chart and pencil and stood by.
"Okay," Bernie yelled, "let 'em rip! But remember-just ten seconds apiece! Let's see who can. get off!" He thought for a second. "If you're in the act of getting off when time is called you have another five seconds to finish up. But no faking!" The first guy in line, a bearded freak with a hairy chest, ran up to Joanna and while Bernie and his friend held her open he crammed it in. Joanna couldn't believe it. He must have been saving up as long as Joe; or maybe the sight of her hanging there ready to take on all comers drove him nuts. Anyhow, she could feel him coming after three or four strokes. By the time a voice in the background chanted, "… eight, nine, ten, TIME!" he'd pulled out and disappeared. His come was squishing inside her and another hot sausage was coming up.
This was undoubtedly the wierdest thing that had happened to Joanna in her life. She was reasonably stoned and pretty mellow and she didn't have to exert any energy at all. Cocks pushed up into her, pumped and humped, sometimes exploded with come, usually didn't before "TIME" was called. But after the first dozen or so she hardly felt when one left and another entered. There was just one big eternal cock constantly changing size and shape and mode of motion inside her, occasionally gushing forth and spraying her down.
After three or four minutes-eighteen or twenty-four partner changes-the Guru slipped to the scene of the action through the considerable crowd that had gathered to watch. "Go get some KY," he suggested to a nearby assistant. "If this goes on for long she's sure as hell going to need it." He took another look at the cocks fitting one by one into Joann's huge, loose hole. "Come to think of it, maybe you'd better make it 3-in-l oil-we're plainly dealing with a machine." But the assistant was fortunately already gone.
The Guru turned to address the crowd as Joanna rapidly worked her total up into the hundred and twenties. "I trust there is no one to whom the origin of the idea of interchangeable parts is not obvious?" he asked. There was general laughter. "Who was it that they say first got the idea? Eli Whitney?" More laughter. "Now perhaps we can see the bizarre inappropriateness of the strictures of monogamy with regard to our society… " He went on and on and so did the fucking machine.
The crowd around Joanna continued to grow. Men took turns holding her up as people stood on chairs and tables to get a glimpse and whispered questions to each other about how many she'd done so far and whether anyone else was likely to bag the limit.
"It really is a staggering accomplishment," a housewifely type with a British accent observed, looking at her card with a measly thirty-four squares filled in.
It was becoming obvious that Joanna was going to run through the lot. The Guru was slapping KY onto her puss every second or third shot. All around people were yelling out the numbers of the fifty or sixty men she had left to do, while behind her the men she'd done already spilled out in a pile sort of like a slag-heap from a steel mill. "Nice cunt," they told each other. "Wish all women took it like that." "Yeah. Then there'd be piece on earth for sure!" "Did you get a shot into her?" "I did." "I didn't. But then my stroke was way off. I hit one out of bounds on the"… the guy checked his card… "thirty-third hole and I still haven't recovered."