To say Maisie and I had a row that evening would be an understatement; she was livid and her friend had received a steady stream of phone calls from tearful team-mates anxiously wanting to discuss the lustful fog that had unexpectedly gripped them, and the consequences of their debauchery.
Maisie threw them at me as they were relayed to her: Emily was splitting up from her partner as she now “realised” how boring he was, Harriet was now looking for a girlfriend and not a boyfriend, and Evelyn was begging her husband to take her back. These were my fault and I felt a bit guilty, but there was some good to come out of it too. Julia had found her husband had loved the idea of her being unfaithful and was begging her to have a repeat performance, while Susie arrived home, gave her startled young neighbour a tube of KY and told him that he was not going to University for his lecture, but instead the only place he was going was her bedroom and her ass.
Maisie was furious with me, thought that I was completely irresponsible, and confiscated my zapper with a snarled face and a furrowed expression; this ended our conversations for most of the next few days. She passed me an article from the local paper – “Sex-crazed footballers shame village” and shared the hundreds of text messages she received, but she never let on to anyone what I had caused or done. I owed her gratitude for that at least.
She did also keep a watchful eye over me in my cottage factory and our good working relationship returned. I still really desired to play with my zapper much more, and could see so much potential with it, but Maisie was insistent that I had done enough damage. I had to be content without it.
I tried to discuss ways of using it in an “ethical” manner, but Maisie refused all of my suggestions and so my invention was very much unused. It was a waste, but she quietly pondered things and said little to me on the subject.
A fortnight after the “football club fuck,” my mischievous tenant asked if I could leave her alone for the evening as she planned to invite some friends for a girlie night in, and this coincided with an invitation I had pinned to the noticeboard from my sister for one of her “community get togethers.”
My sister, Katie, married a wealthy and upwardly mobile city financier and they moved to a small and exclusive hamlet a few miles outside the town. She did her best to look like she was still connected to her family but ensured she maintained a sizeable distance – we were a mild embarrassment – while I did my best to remain at a complete distance from her husband and her neighbours; they irritated me.
Katie loved playing a host, she would regularly invite her affluent neighbours to her extensive garden, for “food, drink and good company,” and while I would always try to avoid such pomposity and ostentatious displays of obscene wealth, it was infinitely more preferable than Hollywood remakes at the cinema on my own or spending the evening with one of my friends, and their stressed partners, as an “odd one out.” I resented their inability to be separated from the latest girl sucking their cocks and my offers of a boys night out was turned down!
Katie seemed delighted, surprised and somewhat worried, all at the same time, when I parked on her grass verge in my five-year old car. She tutted but said nothing about my appearance – non-designer T-Shirt with navy shorts – and showed me into her expansive property; I asked, because it always irritated her, if she still needed two kitchens, eight bedrooms, five bathrooms and four lounges – and she sighed, pushing her blonde hair behind her ears and perching on her impossibly tall, and ridiculously expensive shoes. I am sure I was adopted.
The party was her usual banal mix of arrogance, self-importance, ignorance and egotistical patronisation: the plastic surgeon and his wife, the four CEOs, the dozen city workers and managers. They all relished the exclusivity of Little Heywood, and that they were miles away from “the plebs.” I hated them, but the vol-au-vents were lovely (as always) and I was given a glass of some ludicrously expensive champagne that I decided would be rude to refuse!
I did find another “normal” person: when Rebecca had recently split with her boyfriend, he had broken into her flat and done considerable damage to her rented property in revenge. While the insurers, the landlord and the Police addressed this, she was lodging with her sister, Elsie, in the “spare bedroom.” She joked that it was bigger than her flat, and I was not sure if her comment was completely untrue.
Rebecca was an out-of-work primary school teaching assistant, working as a waitress, and had a wonderful smile, a cheeky expression with deep blue eyes and long, brunette hair that oozed playfulness. I would have liked her anyway, but amongst the supercilious smarminess that infected the party, she was a god-send.
We retired to one of Katie’s kitchens after chatting on her verrandah for half-an-hour; my elder sister teased me not to “corrupt” the young lady when she offered us more champagne on a silver platter, but I was driving and had to seek soft drinks inside. It was quieter, cooler and more private inside the house, but we could see over the garden from our viewpoint while we chatted.
After half-an-hour of talk, we both saw dozens of women grab their crotches and their eyes sparkled. “What’s going on?” Rebecca asked in a desperately concerned voice, as the party became infected with lust-addled zombies. “What’s …”
“Maisie!” I exclaimed and grabbed and Rebecca’s arm roughly. “The little … Rebecca, go home!” I demanded and she scowled at me, waiting for an answer. “Please. You need to go home. Now!” She paused, and I promised I would give her an explanation later, although I wasn’t sure what I could say. I didn’t want Rebecca watching her sister getting fucked, or her sister watching Rebecca. And I didn’t want Rebecca to get caught up in Maisie’s revenge.
She stammered, but she must have seen the importance in my eyes, and left by the front door as I strode into the garden. “Maisie!” I yelled, but no-one noticed; the area was awash with women desperately ripping themselves free of their garments and their husbands frantically trying to stop them. It was almost amusing for a split-second, but caught sight of a familiar face leaning against the garden wall, holding one of my zappers and cackling. “What have you done?”
“Only good things,” she promised with a malevolent giggle and cocked her head with a smirk. “I have an idea. But I need … just trust me!”
“Trust you!” I snapped, and shook the sneering coquette by her shoulders; she wriggled free of my grasp. “You have just dosed up my sister with lust and …”
“You did that to my friends,” Maisie interrupted and bit her lip as we watched Elsie throw her husband roughly into the flowerbeds, pawing at his trousers and squealing obscenities. “She’s in for a good time,” Maisie teased as I snatched the zapper from her grasp. She didn’t care; she had done what she wanted, and peered towards my sister and another city financier’s wife kissing passionately while hands caressed the naked bodies, and their husbands panicked. “Should be a good show,” she cried and skipped away.
I snarled, but what could I do? There was no antidote, and resigned to being part of the mayhem; I wondered if this would be enough for the patronising bastards that lived in Little Heywood to join the rest of us in the real world. I watched a middle-aged blonde lady, sat at the outside table, with a hiked dress and her fingers pressing against her crotch; her breathing ragged and her public ribald antics deliciously arousing. She saw me ogling her and raised her dress higher; her panties abandoned on the floor before I arrived and her bare crotch, pink and soaking. She raised her leg to another chair and pushed her body into her seat, itching to exhibit her masturbation and smiled as I fidgeted.
I said nothing; I didn’t need to, but stared as her fingers toyed with her clit and she stroked her labia with her other hand; gentle strokes of her puffy flesh as she exaggerated her whimpering and groaning for the sole member of her admiring audience.
She slid a finger into her glistening hole and squealed, closing her eyes and bucking her hips. She was desperate for me to watch and I slid my hands into my shorts to touch my erect cock. My lust burned, but she was sexy; her buxom, shapely body oozed femininity and she used her womanly wiles expertly to ensnare my attention, and my arousal.
She maintained eye contact for a few moments before ripping her glance away as her body lurched towards her climax and she plunged two fingers deep inside her well-lubricated cunt, glistening as she rotated them. I gasped as she panted; her breasts heaving and her legs quivering with pent-up desire. She was going to climax and I leant against the wall, idly rubbing my shaft as she played.
With a groan, loud enough to summon the souls of the dead, her body tipped her past her point and her legs quivered, shaking uncontrollably as she squirted onto the patio, soaking her hand touching her pussy and making her vocal output louder and louder.
She squealed and yelled again, crying into the evening as her body took her to a second, a third and then a fourth unyielding and intensive peak; she couldn’t, and wouldn’t stop, and I grinned as I watched. She seemed to delight in me ogling her, but subtle glances around the garden saw that few people cared about a woman masturbating on the patio: they had their own debauchery to contend with and savour.
“Honey!” A desperate voice cried from behind me and then a middle-aged man looked at me in the eyes. “What have you done to her?”
“Nothing,” I hurriedly replied, quite truthfully, but it was too late; the city financier’s hand was being propelled towards me and his punch glanced off my cheek, knocking me sideways. I smacked him in the nose for his trouble, but his orgasming wife barely noticed the ensuing fight and climaxed for a fifth time. Her husband tried to stop her, but she threw off her dress and grabbed him by the hand, tearing at his expensive clothes to free his genitals while he frantically resisted.
He needn’t have bothered trying to maintain decorum: the entire neighbourhood had turned the “community get together” into a swingers’ party, and spied a couple of naked wives kissing each other on the grass while their husbands had stormed off. Some male partners had left, but others were clearly willing to take advantage of the situation and screw their wives, or other people’s wives.
I removed my T-Shirt; it was a hot day and ambled towards the two nude women. I barely needed to ask if they needed any male company, before I was pushed onto the grass and had a face full of female ass pressing down on my skull; while I loved giving head, I normally didn’t expect to see women leaping onto my tongue. Ingrid did; Ingrid was clearly sexually repressed, her body shivered with every touch my tongue made on her deliciously sweet slit. It purred with every kiss of her clitoris, and sang the sweet sounds of female arousal as I slalomed across her cunt.
She loved it; my face soaked from my saliva and her sweet juices, as the black-haired, tall beauty rocked her body and danced to the tune from my tongue. I toyed with her breasts, squeezing the nipple and rubbing it gently, as I felt my shorts get lowered roughly and then another woman – who knows who – sliding their body over my crotch.
It was gorgeous: heavenly in the extreme, as my erect cock slid into a deliciously tight wet cunt and the owner began bucking their hips. I groaned into the hairless cunt drenching my face and moved my hand to the woman fucking me; squeezing her engorged nipple and rotating it between my thumb and forefinger.
I know Ingrid came again, she ground her cunt into my face when she orgasmed and I squeezed her nipple hard. She squealed in pain, and pleasure, and yelled fervently with mindless libidinous abandon.
I rolled her pearl around my tongue and wrote her a love letter on her clit, hearing and feeling how every contact, every flick, and every letter, drew more orgasmic delight from the lady squealing and crying loudly into the cool, twilight air. I loved it; I loved how I was taking this woman to the heights of pleasure she would not reach with her husband. I loved how I could eat out this prim and proper wife, no doubt the toast of dinner parties throughout her husband’s company, to repeated orgasms so effortlessly. I loved how the arrogant bastard would hear tales of the oral maestro for years to come.
Of course, the zapper helped. It put the ladies in such an aroused state that it required very little skill to draw repeated climaxes from the women, but they weren’t to know that, and it was me that was extracting intense orgasms. It was me, they would thank. It was me that would be remembered as an expert cunt licker. If there was any justice in the world, Ingrid would have my name tattooed on her clit, as it was me that had brought her to almost continuous orgasms; she was coming repeatedly, as her body ground down on my tongue and my face and her legs quivered and shook.
She was uncontrollable, but so was the unknown woman rotating her hips on my crotch; I was nearing the point of no return as my balls tensed, and my cock twitched expectantly. I could feel myself getting near my ejaculation and squeezed both of Ingrid’s nipples as tight as I could. She howled, her loins soaking me as she pressed her trembling thighs against my ears; along with Miss Rotating Hips on my crotch, it was enough for me to have to squeeze onto my perineum to ride my orgasm; saving it to intensify my orgasmic explosion.
A cool shiver engulfed my body, sending a wave of desperation from my loins to my shoulders, toes and fingers as I came; squirting waves of cum into the woman riding my cock and sending orgasmic pulses across my body with every spurt of my seed.
I panted; groaning into the saturated crotch of Ingrid, who had slumped back on her haunches, and was rubbing her hands over my body. I took a deep breath of pussy-flavoured air and kissed her puffy labia. She squealed and, conversing with Miss Rotating Hips, slid herself from my face.
It was replaced by the crotch of a cum-soaked woman who looked down between her thighs at my startled expression; I didn’t recognise her, but she didn’t care. “I’ve always wanted to do this,” she explained as she positioned her clit over my tongue and slouched forward, taking a long lick of my spent cock and kissing the tip.
My jism was musky, but I had gone down on girlfriends before after sex, and the uncompromising passion and hyperactive libido on the women was a definite aphrodisiac for me, and I took long slides of her well lubricated cunt with my tongue, gliding over her clit and her leaking hole.
She groaned as my tongue touched her cunt and I sucked at her pussy; making a loud slurp as I filled my mouth with my deposit. She shuddered and yelled, slurping desperately on my cock as her body trembled and vibrated.
I smirked to myself; I knew the arousal the zapper caused, removed all inhibitions from the targets and if there was a fantasy a woman held, she would feel the need to enact it. Someone eating a creampie from her snatch was this woman’s long held fantasy, and as I sucked my cum from her cunt, it was enough to tip her to a shuddering climax.
I continued on her clit, humming and sucking on her pearl until she squealed and ground her sodden crotch against my face; she swirled my cock around her mouth as she squirmed and wriggled, before rolling off of me, spent.
I wiped my face with my hand and looked up at them, now kissing each other; I was expendable and dispensable, and I scrambled to my feet. The garden was filled with couples, threesomes, or more. I saw a respectable wife being laid out over a table while a queue of young men (presumably summoned by one of the wives) lined up either side of the table. I saw a handful of women doing 69 with each other, and one being flogged by a gentleman, who may or may not have been her husband.
I tentatively looked for my sister; I wanted to make sure she was not hurt, and spied her in the corner of the garden with ruffled hair and big globules of cum dripping down her thighs, filling a champagne glass with her wee. I rubbed my eyes, as the naked Katie placed the glass to her lips and gave a giggle, her city financier husband aghast at her rampant debauchery.
I couldn’t watch and fled the garden, running into Maisie watching over the fence. She looked at me in the eyes, and bit her lip; worried and concerned at how I might act. “I have an idea,” she promised me, holding a small bag in her hand and gulped. “If this works then I know how you can use your invention.”
“This is too far,” I snapped but she glanced down towards my leaking cock; I was naked and hadn’t realised. “Maisie, this is too much,” I protested but she just shrugged at me and held out her hands.
“Sorry,” she muttered. “But this is the only way. I’ll explain everything,” she offered. “I will, I promise. Trust me.” I sighed and shook my head.
“The last time you said that, I had an hour of a crazy dominatrix fucking my arse!” She coughed; I had to see Rebecca. I had a promise to keep, although I had no idea what I was going to say.
Read chapter six here