“You’re very pretty,” she tells the other woman.
“Thanks, dear.” She readjusts her top, wriggles her bum inside the tight jeans. “Shall we? Your English buddies are waiting for their entertainment.”
The men ply the girls with drinks. The ensuing conversation is rowdy, suggestive but innocent enough to begin with. Maurice, who seems in charge of orchestrating the proceedings, is particularly boisterous, and his jokes are actually on occasion witty. They order snacks from room service, and the obligatory champagne. Katherine relaxes. Gazes at the men. Tries to imagine what they would all look like in their birthday suits. That one must have a hairy chest, what about the beer belly on the other one, another must surely have a big cock, don’t like the last one though, looks a bit evil.
“Well, boys, this is Vegas. Time to gamble. What’s your poison?” Maurice asks.
“Poker.”
“Strip poker.”
They all giggle and look toward the two women sipping their drinks on the mustard couch.
The pharmaceutical rep devises an infinitely complex set of rules for the game, to ensure they all shed clothing fast enough, including Katherine and Vicky, who are assigned to respective card players.
They play.
Vicky is the first to end up unclothed. Katherine still has her underwear on. And garter belt and stockings. She knows from experience how much men like her when she wears them. The carousing Brits are soon all shirtless, one is down to his jockey shorts.
The American woman has a small, compact body, her legs are not that great, and sports two thick gold rings on her nipples. Adorned a la modern primitive. The rings glisten inside the pierced puckered, dark red skin of the nipples. Katherine can’t disguise her intense fascination. Neither can the guys; their tongues almost sticking out when they catch sight of Vicky’s extraordinary boobs and their unnatural metal extensions. One of the medics deliberately loses his next hand to carry Vicky to the next stage where forfeits begin.
“She has to play with her tits,” one of them orders.
Vicky does.
She twists the darker skin between her nimble fingers, pulls the tips of her round breasts through the hoops of the rings, distends the flesh to impossible proportions. Asks the man nearest to her to lick her fingers and then smears the moist secretion over her abnormally erect nipples. They are all entranced. Katherine included.
Vicky tires of manipulating herself. “Next round,” she says.
Inevitably, all the clothing is shed. The men sit there around the table, self-conscious, exchanging nervous glances at each other, a couple of them are semi-erect, another handles himself but fails to harden his stem; too much drink.
“Isn’t this great?” Maurice exclaims to break the silence. “More champagne, ladies and gentlemen.” He stands up to get the last bottle from the room service trolley. He has a fat, floppy arse.
He brushes past Katherine as he pours the drink for her and, with his free hand, roughly fondles her left breast. She finds it, and him, deeply unpleasant and shivers. He ignores her reaction.
The women are now excluded from the card game and the men play between themselves for forfeits. Katherine looks over at Vicky. The auburn-haired woman has settled back on the couch, her legs wide open in a truly indecent posture. She joins her, thighs together, more demure. She can’t stop herself looking down at Vicky’s bush where she notices a thin line of secretions separating her cunt lips. Vicky notices her gaze. The inner juice seeps into the thick rust-coloured vegetation.
“I’m a bit excited,” she confesses. She’s a bit drunk. “I hope they ask us to do it together first,” she says.
Katherine bites her tongue. She’s never had any kind of sexual contact with a woman before. Well, there was this girl, Diane, back at grammar school. When they showered after hockey one day, Katherine had once blushed to her roots when she had been caught daydreaming and staring at the other girl’s budding breasts and the first growth of thin hair on her pubis. She looks into Vicky’s green eyes. She has an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach. On the other hand, she’s getting wet, inside. Anticipation?
Inevitably, British males have so little imagination, that’s what the guys ask for.
Vicky takes Katherine’s hand and leads her to the carpet. The men settle in their chairs, pulling them away from the card table, idly fingering their cocks.
She gently pushes Katherine down, her back against the floor. She slides back, parts Katherine’s thighs, opens her legs wide and moves her head towards the beckoning crotch. She licks the shaven lips, and a jolt of raw electricity runs through Katherine’s body. Jesus. Vicky gnaws at the entrance and soon inserts her tongue inside the now dripping vagina. The men have grown totally silent. The agile, experienced tongue moves in as deep as she can manage it. Katherine closes her eyes. The warm, velvety, darting tongue then moves upwards and envelops her clitoris. Katherine can feel the bud swelling. She can no longer control her body and a spasm races across her stomach. The tongue deftly extracts the expanding clitoris from its thin hood and Vicky moves her head forward slightly so that her teeth are now chewing Katherine’s button. Jesus. Jesus. She sighs. He used to do it exactly the same way. But the American woman quickly tires and now uses two fingers to bring Katherine off. As she does so distractedly, she whispers:
‘You taste really nice.”
Katherine looks down at the auburn bun bobbing up and down between her thighs and the jerky movement of the hand ending up inside her, stimulating her inner parts with knowing cunning and talent. The pleasure moves up and up through her.
“69?” Vicky suggests.
She circles Katherine’s body and lowers her own, hairy dark cunt over Katherine’s face as she lies down on her, stomach to stomach, breasts almost joined, slightly out of alignment. She licks away at her cunt again in the new position and Katherine timidly extends her tongue upward where it loses itself in the woman’s thick, curly bush. She has to use her fingers to find a way through the pubic hair, separates Vicky’s cunt leaves and slips her tongue inside the other woman.
She tastes so strong. Katherine almost gags initially, but overcomes her reluctance and begins licking the inner walls opening up above her. Vicky is a prolific secreter and soon her juices are flooding Katherine’s mouth, settling in a ring around her mouth, pungent, an abundant gluey deposit.
“Wow,” says one of the men.
Soon, Katherine finds a rhythm and her tongue patterns its in-and-out intrusions against the movement of Vicky’s head and mouth lower down. It even settles into a routine. She feels the heat increasing in her throat and lungs. She must be so wet down there too. It’s both repugnant and perversely pleasing. She wonders if men really enjoy it.
A hand strokes her damp forehead. She opens her eyes again. It’s one of the men.
“Oh, it’s a waste of talent,” another says. “Now for the real stuff.”
Yet another walks over as Vicky disengages herself and Katherine is left sprawled, open, spread-eagled on the carpet as the men surround the two women.
Passively, Katherine and Vicky allow the men to position them, next to each other, on all fours as two move to the front and insert their cocks into the women’s mouths and the remaining two fuck them doggie-style from behind. The cock in Katherine’s mouth is flaccid, and all her best efforts fail to raise it from the dead. In her rear, Maurice pistons away, punctuating his thrusts with hard slaps on her rump. He withdraws, and exchanges positions with the medic who’d been screwing Vicky. The new cock plunges into her still dilated opening, and the guy quickly comes. In her mouth, the useless cock is just another piece of meat. The third man removes himself from Vicky’s mouth as Maurice, still hard, keeps on screwing the American woman relentlessly and positions himself behind her. The plump man’s labouring instrument is very thick and painfully stretches her cunt muscles. However, he ejaculates quickly, and Katherine feels her innards drowning in the mixed come of the two men. The man in her mouth still labours on, to no avail.