The Party

Author: Susan Strict

“Why don’t you come to our party?” she said.

“I thought you were only inviting girls,” he replied.

“I was. But I don’t mind you coming too, if you won’t be bored. It will be a quiet evening.”

He agreed, not too sure whether it was really a good idea but unable to resist the attraction of spending an evening surrounded by her friends. He knew some of them, although not too well.


He arrived at 7.30pm. She opened the front door to him. “You’re late,” she scolded him, “Most of the others have been here since 7.”

“Sorry. I didn’t want to arrive too early,” he apologised.

In her living room all the seats were taken by her friends. He looked round him for somewhere to sit, taking in the view of the attractive women.

“Have a seat,” she suggested, “I’ll get you a cup of tea.”

“Nowhere left for him to sit,” pointed out a girl with long dark hair, “He’ll have to sit on the floor. That’s the right place for a man, at our feet.” A ripple of laughter went round the room.

A little uncomfortably, he sat on the rug in the middle of the floor, and took the drink she held out to him. The women chatted about their jobs, not ignoring him but not involving him in the conversation. He looked up at them, enjoying what he saw but still feeling somewhat left out.

They really were very attractive, he thought as he looked around him. His thoughts drifted, imagining each of them in turn without their clothes, in bed with him, making love to him. He had lost track of whatever it was they were now talking about, quite preoccupied with his own thoughts. It was with something of a shock that he realised he had been staring at one particular girl, and that someone had remarked on it.

“He’s looking right up your skirt, Sarah.”

He had not been looking up her skirt. In fact he had been staring absently in the general direction of her chest, but now, briefly, just as he looked away from her in embarrassment, his eyes took in the very short skirt and her knees that were slightly apart showing long, smooth inner thighs and… She wore nothing under the skirt.

He was blushing, and the conversation had stopped. “Perhaps he likes what he sees,” said Sarah in a matter-of-fact tone. “And perhaps he wants a closer look.”

“Sarah!” said another girl in a scandalised voice. “You slut!”

Sarah shrugged. “It doesn’t bother me,” she said, “Here. You. Have a better look.” She moved her knees further apart and slid forward slightly on her chair.

He was bright red in embarrassment, but despite himself he could not help a quick glance in Sarah’s direction.

There was a mixture of reaction in the room. Two of the girls hid their faces in their hands while others dissolved into giggling laughter. One of the gigglers said, daringly, “He wants to kiss it, Sarah,” and roared with laughter in a most unladylike manner.

He could not help another glance in Sarah’s direction.

“Come on then,” said Sarah brazenly. “Get over here and kiss it.”

The laughter stopped. All the eyes were on him to see his reaction. The atmosphere in the room had changed, and now there was an air of tense anticipation.

“I don’t think so,” he stammered, but once again he looked straight between her legs.

“Aw, he’s shy,” said someone.

“Go for it,” suggested another.

“You won’t get another chance,” warned one of them.

He froze. His eyes were fixed on Sarah. She shifted in her chair, with a long intake of breath, raising herself and again moving slightly forward.

“Make him kiss her.” The suggestion came from the far corner of the room, from a girl who had been silent until now. Once more the room was silent with an expectant atmosphere that had an almost electric feel to it.

Sarah spoke first. “Yes,” she said looking round at her friends. “Make him kiss me.” To leave no possibility of doubt that she was completely serious, Sarah was now right on the very edge of her chair, her knees wide apart. She raised the edge of her skirt a little.

There were several gasps, and a mutter of “She can’t,” from someone. Two of the girls stood up.

He was unable to move. He did not resist when the two girls to grasp his arms and to pull him forward until his head was between Sarah’s thighs. She grasped his head and pulled him against her. “Kiss,” she ordered.

His lips tasted her, and his tongue touched her. She moaned and pressed forward against him, oblivious to the watching girls. He rocked unsteadily on his knees as she moved and pushed, suddenly losing his balance when she came off the edge of the chair and he fell backwards uncomfortably with her on top of him.

She recovered before he did. Far from climbing off him and sitting herself back on the chair, she straddled his face and pressed down. He struggled to free himself.

“Hold him, hold him,” she said breathlessly.

Hands reached for him, holding him to the floor. He could see little, but it seemed to him that quite unnecessarily every one of the girls had her hands on him, on his wrists and ankles, on his arms, on his thighs; all holding him down.

Sarah pressed, rocked and ground herself down onto him. For seconds at a time he was unable to breathe, then she pressed in a different direction and he felt as though his nose would break. She hardly kept still for a second; her movements becoming faster and more urgent.

The hands on him were not still either. Not for a moment did the pressure that held him to the floor relax, although now he felt hands on his chest, under his shirt, on the front of his trousers.

No one said anything. He could not have said anything that would have been heard even if he could have thought of anything to say. His chest was exposed and fingers ran over his nipples, rubbing and squeezing. Then he felt his belt being undone, his trousers and pants being pulled from him, and hands on every part of him.

Sarah screamed, in pleasure not pain, and fell from him to one side. Immediately she was replaced. He saw nothing except the thighs and buttocks of a girl descending on him, and felt her too rocking, pressing, wriggling and grinding herself onto him.

Hands, many hands, were round his groin area, feeling and grasping, fighting over him. As soon as one had hold of him, another pushed her away and held on as if determined that her grip on him would not be broken.

The girl on his face was pushed to one side too, and another came down onto him. For an instant he recognised the girl who had called Sarah a slut, and then his vision was once more obscured. In quick glimpses of the room around him, he caught sight of several of the girls who had now shed some or all of their clothing and struggled with each other to be the next on him.

He felt lips, tongues, teeth on his body. None were at his groin area, yet, where hands still fought for control. He felt the girls’ mouths tasting his skin, licking and sucking it between their lips. He felt them bite, not as if they intended to hurt but as if they were trying to hang on with their teeth to stop any other girl moving them away from the part of his naked body claimed as their own.

He tried to shout, to tell them to stop, to tell them they were hurting him, but still one or other of the girls repeatedly covered his mouth under her and pushed herself onto his face.

There had been ten girls in that room. Between the impossible poundings his body was taking, he heard the sound of the doorbell and knew that others had arrived.

It was going to be an evening he would never forget, IF he survived.

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