By Margo Perry  (margo707 AT rogers DOT com)
Copyright 2002 by Margo Perry, all rights reserved.

“Ready for another?” Pete asked.
Joey drained the last drops of his third beer and smiled at his old friend. “Nah, I’m okay for now.”
He and Pete had been college roommates and had also played varsity football together. They were now lawyers in the same firm and, for the love of it, he on guitar and Pete on drums, jammed weekends with the Leftovers, a band that played anything from jazz to soft rock to bluegrass, depending on the gigue.
“How you doing?” Pete asked. “Nervous?”
“A little,” Joey said.
“Well, consider your best man officially on duty. Anything I can do to help you through the next few days, man, just name it.”

They were standing against a wall, looking out at the crowd. At least seventy-five guys were buzzing around the huge party room of the Great Stag Hotel. Some were playing pool or darts. Some were watching great plays and goofs of rotating hockey, football and baseball games on a giant screen. There were two small private rooms off the main: one for chess and one supplying an endless smorgasbord of the finest porn films available. True to the hotel’s name and specialty, Pete had arranged this stag for his best friend, Joey, and it was a fine one indeed.

The large turnout had surprised Joey but he didn’t delude himself into thinking that he was all that popular. His friends were there because they cared about him, knew his vulnerabilities, knew him to be more thoughtful but less aggressive and assertive than most. Sometimes, he was less confident than was healthy, Joey thought. Their instinct was to look after him. Others were there for political reasons. Joey had successfully defended a string of high profile criminal cases and had been named a senior partner in the firm. Their instinct was to court him; no pun intended. And yet others held him close because they needed someone to feel more sophisticated than, more persuasive than. Someone they thought they could use and manipulate, and they erroneously believed that Joey fit that bill. Their instinct was to flatter him. They mistook his quiet, his shyness for weakness and that annoyed Joey. But he knew it wasn’t true and therefore not important. What was important was that everybody here was having a good time.
“Time for a beer. You ready?”
Joey shook his head and smiled as he watched Pete move toward the closest of several bars set up in the room. Now there goes a friend, Joey thought happily, as he headed for the Men’s Room.

It was quiet, sparkling clean and empty. Joey was alone. He breathed deeply, air that was incongruously fresher than the beer-charged, cigar-tinged atmosphere he’d just left. He needed time to reflect, away from the testosterone-driven crowd. Approaching the urinal, he took out his cock and held it absently. It felt good in his hands. He began to massage himself lovingly. His cock grew hard and tingly. His balls tightened and pre-cum oozed from the tip of his cock. Joey groaned. “I’m fucking horny,” he said, staring at his reflection in the mirror.

The eyes that looked back at him were swimming with feelings of lust and … something else. He had so looked forward to his bachelor party. Tammy, his fiancée had given him more than her blessing. “Just keep it safe, babe,” she’d said, handing him a package of condoms. “In a few days you’re gonna’ be so mine. This is your night, your rite of passage. Go get ‘em. I won’t even ask you about it,” she promised, pushing him out the door. And here it was, minutes to midnight and there’d been no cake and no girls. Half of him was relieved because he had no idea how he’d react to exotic dancers or strippers if they had shown up, especially if they had big boobs. And part of him was disappointed because he wanted this to be an experience he’d never forget, something extraordinary. Ever since adolescence, he’d collected hundreds of pictures and later, videos of awesomely endowed women and he’d masturbated, fantasized, dreamed of them walking off the screen and taking his cock out of his own hands to do him. To stroke and fondle him. To lick, nibble and deep throat his throbbing cock. And a big part of him had been hoping that the spirit of this dream would be realized.
Joey’s eyes were now glazed over and he was stroking and squeezing his now massive cock at perfect intervals. A zinging current of erotic electricity shot from his thinking head to his smaller one and he could hardly resist the urge to finish himself off. Instead, with his head throw back and his eyes squeezed shut, he started to spurt foamy pee and it gushed and gushed and gushed out of him.

“Hey Joey, you in there?” Pete asked.
“Yeah-yeah, I’ll be right out,” Joey said, guiltily.
“Okey-dokey, I’ll be waiting.”
Probably last call. Joey washed and dried his hands and walked to the door. Well, he thought, it had been a wonderful party. He’d go home to Tammy, fantasies intact.

Joey noticed immediately that the room had been darkened and the stage that stood at the far end had been lit with a seductive pink spot. Out of the darkness came a growling chorus of deep male voices:
Jooooey … Joooooey … Joooooey, they chanted.
“You’re on,” Pete said, marshalling him through the crowd and toward the stage.
Jooooey … Joooooey … Joooooey …
Joey’s skin tingled, his heart pounded and the hair on his arms stood on end. He was led up the few stairs to the stage that was empty except for that warm glowing stream of light and a low-slung comfy chair, the kind fit for a lap-dance. Raw excitement and urgent anticipation crackled through the air like forked lightening.
Jooooey … Jooooey … Jooooey …
Pete directed Joey to sit and then scampered offstage, leaving Joey alone in the spotlight. Joey was no exhibitionist. His palms and forehead grew damp with the sweat of embarrassment and his hands shook with anxiety. He looked out at the shadowy horde of males that seemed to become more feral and predatory, the more they urged him on.
Jooooey … Jooooey … Jooooey …
He was afraid but, at the same time, he desperately wanted whatever was about to happen. He shifted his body nervously against the luxuriously padded chair and, gazing out into the darkness, simply waited.
Jooooey … Jooooey … Jooooey …

Suddenly, there was a total black-out. The chanting stopped. You could hear a pin drop. And out of that silence, pulsing and pounding through the room, came:

After midnight, we're gonna let it all hang out
After midnight, we're gonna sing, jump and shout
“Jerry Garcia … that’s one of my favorite tunes.” Joey began to bop in his seat, nodding, his head in time to the music.
We're gonna cause talk and suspicion
Give an exhibition
Find out what it is all about
After midnight, we're gonna let it all hang out

And out of that music came light and form.

Standing in front of him was Sheila, the wet dream of every boy in his High School and his personal favorite masturbating fantasy, even when she didn’t even know he was alive. (He’d told Pete about her years ago and now, here she was. Pete … what a guy!) A tumble of soft red curls framed her face, accentuating sparkling green eyes and a long slender neck. She wore a white Turtleneck sweater that comfortably hugged her small frame but was sizes too small for her GG tits. The cotton fibers were stretched to their limit, offering great mountains to climb and a deep alluring valley of cleavage that ran long and then lost itself, and Joey, in a black lacy bra. Cut-off blue-jean shorts hugged her tight butt provocatively. The sweet memory of adolescent sex flooded his balls, making them tingle. And the vision of her so inflamed Joey that he could actually feel his thick, long cock growing, pulsing and growing. He didn’t have to look to see the wetness, the giveaway stain that was spreading across his tan slacks. But he wouldn’t worry about that now. The crowd might be quiet, but he was very much aware that they were still there. His immediate job was to tear his eyes away from Sheila’s magnificent breasts before the boy in him took over and he disgraced himself.

“I’ll look at her face,” he decided desperately.
Her eyes were hooded, the knowing eyes of a woman with a secret. She shifted her body sideways and, glancing over one shoulder slowly outlined her seductive smile with her long pink tongue. She tossed her head back, lifting her tits and ran her fingers through her hair. She chuckled, letting Joey know that she knew exactly what she and her tits were doing to him. Joey blushed deep red and tightened his grip on the armrest of the chair to stop himself from touching, no grabbing himself. She crossed to center stage and the music started again.

After midnight, we're gonna shake your tambourine

She took one step toward Joey and leaned forward, her hand resting on her thigh, her lips puckered. She tapped one high-heeled foot and twisted her shoulders. Her pendulous breasts swayed and swayed.

After midnight, it's all gonna be peaches and cream

She stood really close to Joey with her legs spread wide, her knees bent, her hips swinging side to side. She suggestively ran her hands slowly down her thighs, all the while squeezing her exploding tits together with her upper arms. She thrust her hips forward and then circled them. Thrust her hips forward …
Jooooey … Jooooey … Jooooey, the room was exploding again.
Sheila walked downstage like a tigress. She faced her audience. She massaged first one breast, then the other. She then placed a finger over her mouth. “Shhhhhhhhh,” she mouthed through pouty lips. And the room fell silent again.

We're gonna get some satisfaction
We're gonna find out what's it's all about
We're gonna stimulate some action
After midnight, we're gonna let it all hang down

“It’s all for you, baby,” she cooed, rubbing her tits up along his thighs and then, side to side, across his groin and belly. She turned around, sat on his lap and began to twist and circle her ass over his rock hard, incredibly large cock. “Wanna’ touch ‘em?” she purred over her shoulder, massaging her breasts, lifting them to her face and squeezing, driving Joey insane with her endless cleavage. “Touch ‘em,” she whispered, leaning against his chest, rubbing her back over his nipples. She took his hands in hers.
“There there, baby boy,” she taunted, guiding his fingertips over and around her mounds, squeezing, pushing and pressing her breast flesh.
“I can’t take it … ” Joey started.
“Shhhhhh …. Yessssssssss …. You must …. There, that’s enough,” she said, moving his hands away from her breasts and placing them back on the arms of his chair. “Now stay!” she said, kissing his cheek. “Don’t touch. I want you to know what it’s like to want to touch. To want to kiss. To want to fuck.”
And then he felt hands stroking his face, a finger tickling his ear. Just before he felt Sheila lifting herself off him, he felt a blindfold being slipped over his eyes.

Without sight, Joey was as vulnerable as he’d ever been and was made more so by the pictures and questions that flashed non-stop across his mind’s eye. Whose hands were in his hair? It had to be Sheila’s but they couldn’t be. He’d felt them as she still sat in his lap, the crack in her ass holding captive his cock. Now, hands were rubbing his thigh teasingly. Fingers were pinching his nipples. Breasts massaged his shoulders and breasts were squeezed between his legs spreading them. How many breasts? How many women? Breasts were everywhere and were all connected in an erotic circuitry that pulsed, paused and started again, pushing Joey to the edge of orgasm, but not pushing him over. Deprived of virtual sight, Joey’s imagination had taken flight to heights unknown and with every touch, his arousal was compounded. Joey could no longer order his thoughts. They moved too quickly through his mind … wife-to-be, Tammy, so many breasts, feeling so good, friends were watching, he felt so scared, he felt so good … all thoughts dissolving in feelings that overwhelmed him and left him helpless.

“Oh God!”

“It’s alright, Baby. Just hold on and enjoy the ride.”

And then he felt a hot breath in his ear … a pause … a tongue circling … a pause … a plunging tongue fucking his ear …
Hands had slipped off his loafers and socks. His feet were cradled in cleavage, blanketed in folds so soft that Joey wanted to cry … wetness … lotion maybe? … all over his feet … a lubricated finger sensuously fucking between his toes.
“Oh God!”
Deft fingers were unbuttoning his shirt, grazing his bare chest. He could feel a new coolness on his skin, coolness stirring his hardening nipples. A mouth sucking his nipple and teeth, nibbling … pause … now biting with just the right pressure, straddling the line between pleasure and pain …
“Oh my!”
Joey shivered as a fingernail ran along his thigh, around the circumference of his balls and along the engorged length of his maleness. He could feel more pre-cum oozing. He was dangerously close to …
“Oh no!”
He could feel his belt being undone, his zipper being pulled …
“Oh no! Don’t!” But he wanted them to. Needed them to …
He could feel the coolness, spreading across his belly, across his groin as fluttering hands gently tugged at the waistband of his jockeys … he instinctively raised his hips.
“Oh God … ”
He could feel the brush of breasts along his cheeks, across his mouth. He opened his mouth greedily, but they were gone. And he wanted them back. He wanted to feel them and touch them and nibble them. He felt hands on his shoulders and breasts against his chest. He reached.
“No, you don’t!”
Back on their armrest, his hands itched with desire. Breasts along his arms … hands turning over his hands. Breasts in his hands, feeling so soft, so pliant, so impossibly beautiful. He felt hard nipples brushing his knees, his thighs. Breasts enveloped his cock that stood, harder and thicker and longer than it ever had before.
“Oh my God,” Joey whispered as his cock spurted cum, just a little. Enough to let him know that it could hardly wait, that he was very, very near … and then the voices:
Jooooey … Jooooey … Jooooey ….
But they seemed to be fading. Moving away from his consciousness, like he was dying a little or at least in a daze. And then quiet, except for one voice:
“You did good, Babe.”
And no touch, except for the one pair of hands untying his blindfold. And butterfly kisses on his cheeks and neck and throat.
Joey blinked. There was no spotlight. Joey panted into the semi-darkness.
“It’s only me. We’re alone now.”
Joey stared into Tammy’s eyes. “How long …?
“Shhhhhh,” she said, lifting her skirt and slowly rubbing her wet and naked pussy along his shocked-into-dwindling cock, making it incredibly hard again.
“How many …?”
“Shhhhhh,” she said, lifting herself and then sliding over his raging manhood.
She filled herself with him. And he thanked her with a grinding, circling, pounding, circling lifting fuck. He held on. She held on. Fucking for as long as they could until they fell together, into the glory of orgasm and into each other’s mouths. They kissed away the primitive animal sounds that would have pierced the early morning air. They kissed with wet, loose, devouring mouths as they came and came and came.

They took a cab home. Joey snuggled into Tammy like a perfectly happy puppy. Tammy’s love for him was in her hands as she stroked him. Tammy’s love for him overflowed, spilling out of her eyes and down her cheeks.
“I love you, Joey,” she whispered.
Joey slept.