Mmm. Listen to the quiet sussuration of rain on the tile
roof. A comfortable sound in the warmth of the lounge. The fire
has burned down now, only the embers flaring briefly to life
when the wind outside causes a draft in the fireplace.
Lightning is flickering on the hills to the east; a reminder of
the storm that passed over here a few hours ago,  and the
unpredictable illumination compliments the glow of the
fireplace, and the cool light from this laptop computer.  The
candles that were burning before are just pools of wax now.
        I'm feeling very relaxed.  The house around me is
radiating a beautiful sense of contentment and fulfilment.
Upstairs five bodies are weary, and happy, asleep.  I'll join
them in a moment; 2:00am is a bloody silly time to be typing
away at a word-processor.  Still, the story won't let me rest
until it's on paper,  so I'll persevere and write it while the
emotions are still real.

        Pizza, red wine, good company, and a spa-pool.  House
rules:-  no clothes to be worn in the pool.

        Saturday evening, Janene and Darryl came over to watch
videos and christen the spa-pool.  They were armed with a nice
bottle of Cabernet Merlot, and 'Cat People', the video.
Nothing can compare to the throaty bass of David Bowies theme
smiting the air through an intimidating sound system.  'Dial-a-
Dinos' pizza arrived as scheduled: 7:30pm.  The television had
been hauled outside with the speakers from the amplifier, and
the evening had become dark quickly.  We all stripped naked and
quickly piled into the spa-pool to avoid the crisp, late winter
air.
        The best scene from the movie is where Natasha Kinski is
tied to the bed,  the camera angle is from directly above,
looking down on her luscious naked body.  The hero who is tying
her up spreads her legs just that little bit more,  for the
camera.  Very tasty.  And then he fucks her.  Now you and I
both know that she turns into a panther here,  and that she is
helplessly tied to the bed.  I KNOW he fucks her again.  Who
would miss an opportunity like that, right?
        Around 9:30ish the sky was beginning to turn black-on-
velvet with clouds,  and the slight breeze picked up.  It was
too unpleasant to remain outside,  so we hastily picked up the
entertainment and headed indoors just as the first spatterings
of rain began to speckle the cobblestones.
        I started the fire, and dimmed the lounge lights, and the
four of us sprawled out on cushions in a semi-circle around the
flickering warmth.  We were all wearing naught but bathrobes.
Darryl deftly fashioned a joint to pass around.  The mellow
buzz it produced complimented the light-headedness of the wine
so that we were all relaxed and at ease in the glow of each
others company.  The conversation flowed and ebbed,  drifting
>from topic to topic; briefly alighting on one subject before
flitting to the next.
        A momentary bright flash of light followed a couple of
seconds later by a deep rumble meant the storm was building up
to greater strength,  and the rain went suddenly from a gently
hiss on the tile roof to an undulating roar.
        Hamlet, our Great Dane dog, padded quickly into the
lounge looking sheepish.  No doubt the storm was making him
nervous,  and he had sought us out for the reassurance.  Xanth,
our Mastiff bitch, was probably sleeping through it in the
kitchen.   Hamlet stretched out his front paws and lowered his
front half to the floor between myself and Darryl.  Eventually
he lowered his tail-end to the floor too.  It seems to be an
effort for him to get his rump down to the floor.  A friend of
mine has this theory that Hamlets bum is full of Helium, and
therefore lighter,  so it's harder to force it down to floor
level.  Then he awkwardly shuffled forward on his elbows until
his front paws were almost in the fireplace.  As the heat
soaked into the heat-leech, he drifted off to sleep with his
head on his paws.
        It was time, therefore, to bring out the deck of cards,
for a game of strip poker.  Heather has a lovely deck; the face
of each card has a highly detailed charcoal sketch of a sexual
perversion.  The four suits are Spades = Self-abuse. For
example the four of spades features a woman bringing herself to
orgasm with a large, knobbled dildo;  the ten of spades
features a man lying on his back on the floor with his legs
lifted back over his head, cumming into his own mouth.  Clubs =
Bondage;  variations on the theme of people tied / chained /
shackled in various positions and situations;  the queen of
clubs features a nude man on his knees with his hands cuffed
behind his back, his head held down by a collar fixed to the
floor so his chin is on the ground.  A woman dressed in classic
'bitch' attire stands behind him forcing the handle of a large
bull-whip up his arse.  Diamonds = Paedophilia.  Children from
around age three to thirteen, boys and girls involved in sex
with each other and adults.
        Hearts = Bestiality.  I'm tempted to describe each card
in detail here,  but I'll just give a description of my
favourites.  The three of hearts features a charcoal drawing of
a huge bulldog mounting a woman from behind, drooling on her
neck as he fucks her.  The four shows a man screwing a gorgeous
tigress.  The eight of hearts is interesting;  a naked man is
held down on the ground by several monkeys, his arms and legs
spread and immobile.  Most of the male monkeys are jerking
themselves off, and cumming on the guy.  Two monkeys are
licking his chest, and another is playing with his dick.  The
big toe of the guys right foot is firmly implanted in the fanny
of a female ape, who is pleasuring herself on him.  Several
apes in the background are screwing / sucking each other.
Quite a detailed little orgy.   Then there is the queen of
hearts.  This depicts a nice picture of a woman swimming
underwater on her back, embracing a male dolphin.  The drawing
is such that her leg closest the artist is lower,  so the
dolphins dick can clearly be seen entering her.
        O.K.,  so we were playing strip poker.  Remember, we were
all only wearing bathrobes,  so after the first hand Heather
was naked.  Then Darryl.  Darryl lost the next hand too.  What
to do, what to do?  It's kinda traditional to play forfeits
after a player loses strip poker,  and who were we to break a
long-standing tradition?  Janene had won that hand so she had
the right to set the forfeit.  With an evil glint in her eye
she declared that Darryl had to retrieve the can of Whipped
Cream from the refrigerator,  spray it on his balls, and let
Hamlet lick it off.  Personally I thought that it was a rather
daring forfeit to open the game with.  Evidently Darryl thought
so too,  and scowled at her,  but went to the 'fridge anyway.
He returned shaking the can vigorously.
        At the first touch of the cream on his balls he fairly
shrieked that it was "Fucking cold!".   Hamlet was instantly
wide awake at the first smell of the cream, and eagerly set to
licking the sweet goo off Darryls balls as he knelt near
Hamlets head.  Darryls scowl faded into a look of pleasure at
the caress of Hamlets soft tongue.
        Next hand, Janene lost, so she quickly shed her gown.  I
hate being the only one dressed,  so I deliberately misplayed
my next hand,  and lost.  Janene lost the next hand, with
Darryl the winner.  You should have seen the look of insane
glee that leapt onto Darryls face!  He pointed to the can of
whipped cream and declared that Janene had to spray it onto
Hamlets balls,  and then lick it off.  The scowl she shot back
at him would have frozen argon.  I commanded Hamlet to roll
over onto his back, and he lay there with his back legs splayed
out, wagging his tail.  Heather distracted him by scratching
his ears while Janene sprayed the cream onto his balls.  He
jumped when the cold touched him,  but lay fairly still.  Then
Janene leaned over and, tentatively at first, began to lick the
stuff off Hamlets ballbag.  Soon, with mounting enthusiasm, she
was taking Hamlets whole ballbag into her mouth and sucking
gently.  Everyone was getting quite aroused watching,
including Hamlet!  Darryl decided she had forfeited enough, and
that we better play the next hand before he lost control.
        I decided to misplay my next hand too, and lost.  Darryl
had won again,  but before he set my forfeit, Heather grabbed
the cards I had discarded earlier in the hand and showed them
to the others.
        "How often do you throw out two aces in poker, hmmm?",
she smiled sweetly at me.   Oops.  Busted.   Darryl set my
forfeit, and Heather set my punishment;  for losing the hand
Darryl wanted to sixty-nine with me,  and for cheating I wasn't
allowed to cum.
        We lay on the rug on our sides,  face to cock, and I
began to explore Darryls balls with my tongue.  Similar
sensations were playing on my balls.  Nuzzling my face into his
pubic hair I began to lick his shaft, feeling him do the same
to my dick.  With one hand I began pulling his foreskin back
and forward as my lips slipped over the swollen head of his
dick.  This was echoed on my own dick,  which was putting me in
serious danger of breaking my punishment by cumming.  Normally
if I wanted to stave off orgasm for awhile I would bite my
tongue, and think of something dull (just how DO you
differentiate a quadratic equation...),  but with Darryls dick
down my throat so I couldn't bite my tongue,  and the
sensations he was ministering with his mouth and hands,  I was
getting closer and closer to cumming.
        Heather and Janene were sitting close together, watching
our performance.  By watching between Darryls legs I could see
that Heather was gently massaging Janenes breast, while she in
turn was stroking  Heathers inner thighs.  The way Heather
leaned her head back with her eyes closed told me that Janenes
fingers were getting a little more intimate.
        Suddenly Darryl tensed and his fingers dug into the flesh
of my thighs as his cock spasmed in my mouth.  My taste was
flooded with several quick spurts of his warm semen that I
eagerly swallowed.  He was involuntarily squeezing and sucking
hard on my dick as he came.  It was too much and I couldn't
hold myself back any longer.  With an anguished gurgle of
thwarted willpower I felt the waves of pleasure wash into me as
I came into Darryls mouth.
        We rolled apart slightly and I lay on my back on the rugs
with my eyes closed to savour the departing tingles of
pleasure.  A bright flare registered through my closed eyelids,
punctuated by the telephone chirping in surprise.  Less than
half a second later a huge crash of sound shook the whole
house.  I jumped and opened my eyes to find the room mostly
dark.  The storm had knocked the power out so the fire was
providing the only illumination.
        Heather left the room in search, I guessed, of candles.
A moment later I heard the rattle of wheels coming down the
hall with the glow of candles preceding.  When the stocks
rolled into the lounge, pushed by Heather,  I was a little
surprised.  Xanth followed her in, woken at last by the storm,
and flopped in front of the fire.
        I think I mentioned the stocks once.  They are something
I built on a whim once when I had some timber left over from a
wind-shelter.  It was built with comfort in mind (as much as
that is possible with stocks).   It has a horizontal beam with
three depressions cut into it, lined with velvet, for two arms
and a head.  A matching beam fits over the first and is locked
into place with a padlock,  holding the victim bent over so
their head is only slightly higher than their bum, (adjustable,
of course,  for shorter or taller people).  The victims feet
are held immobile between the frame of the base by chained
shackles (also velvet lined).  For comfort, a padded knee-rest
has been provided so although the victim is standing bent at
the waist,  there is little muscular strain and they can be
held there for hours without discomfort (from the stocks, that
is).
        Heather placed the candles around the room and the effect
was quite pleasant;  the room took on an air of ritual,
reverence.  She turned toward me, "Well,  you broke your
forfeit a second time,  so you have to occupy the stocks until
further notice."
        They locked me in, nude,  bent over and vulnerable.  And
then they tortured me.  All I could do was watch as Heather
began caressing Janenes nipples again, then she leaned over and
began to lick them.  Gently she helped Janene lay back, and
then ran her hands down Janenes body.  With her fingertips
Heather traced lines down Janenes legs, then dragged her nails
carefully up her thighs.  Janene spread her legs,  and Heather
knelt between them, and lowered her head to kiss the exposed
flesh of her sex.
        Hamlet suddenly stood and wandered over to stand over
Janenes head.  He does that when he's horny and wants to be
jerked off.  I thought Janene would ignore him,  but I was as
surprised as Darryl when Janene reached up and began playing
with Hamlets balls.
        Looking somewhat affronted, Darryl watched Janene rubbing
Hamlets sheath back and forth over the dogs growing hardon,
while Heather was tonguing her vagina lips.  Then Darryl
shrugged his shoulders and started scratching Xanth down her
back with his nails.  She glanced around and thumped her tail
on the ground,  then abruptly rolled over, waving her legs in
the air and snuffling.  Like Heather,  Darryl leaned over Xanth
to lick her nipples, eight in all.  His tongue traced around
each nipple,  then down to the 'Y' shaped opening of her pussy.
I have never been keen on the taste of Xanth,  but Darryl was
lapping her up with real enthusiasm.
        Watching the performance of Janene writhing with pleasure
>from Heathers tongue, while the first squirts of Hamlets cum
splashed into her mouth,  and Xanth bucking her hips up off the
floor to meet Darryls tonguing was making me horny as hell.
And I was stuck in the damned stocks,  for my sins.
        The thunder rumbled deeply again,  and Janene started
cumming.  She wrapped her legs around Heathers head, and
(rather rudely, I thought) pushed Hamlet away so she could grab
Heathers hair with her fingers.  With a moan of pure delight
she rocked her hips as Heather sucked on her clit.
        Xanth too seemed to be in the throes of ecstasy,  licking
her lips and humping to force her own hot-spot against the
pressure of Darryls mouth.
        I needed some action real bad,  so although I couldn't go
anywhere,  I could still call Hamlet over.  Leaving the bodies
writhing on the floor, he wandered over to me and snuffled at
my balls with his cold, wet nose.  "Hup, Hamlet.  Hup",  I
encouraged him.  No stranger to this kind of invitation, he
jumped up and placed his front paws on my back.  Then he
shuffled his feet forward until the tip of his thrusting penis
was poking me around my arsehole.  Normally I would reach
around with my hand and guide him into me,  but my hands were
kinda restricted,  so all I could do was move my bum around and
hope we connected.
        Eventually the pointed tip scored a hit on the hole, and
he slowed his thrusting to a sustained push to get the length
of his dick inside me.  Mmmm,  there is nothing like feeling
the slow penetration of a dogs dick into your butt.  Then he
dropped down so his chest was resting on my back,  and his
front legs were grasping me around my waist so he could
increase the tempo of his thrusting to a rhythmic pummelling.
It was quite lucky that he didn't tie with me;  that is where
the swelling at the base of his dick (in Hamlets case, a lump
of flesh the size of a tennis ball) lodges inside my arse.  If
he had,  at the rate he was fucking me he probably would have
torn my arsehole to ribbons.  As he drove into me,  his balls
slapped against my thighs,  and the knot of his dick stretched
my sphincter to the point of pain trying to gain access.
        Finally he stopped his frantic humping and just held me
with his dick pulsing inside me.  Each pulse was a squirt of
dog-cum into my rectum.  Personally I think this is the most
sensual moment,  where Hamlet is deeply immersed in the flow of
his orgasm,  just resting his body on my back,  and I am
savouring the sensation of his dick swollen to its maximum
size, pulsing inside me.
        The others were watching me and Hamlet now.  I didn't
mind;  I've always enjoyed my sexual adventurousness.  With a
grunt, Hamlet stepped off me, and his dick slid easily out of
my hole.  He walked away slightly with his head down,  and dick
hanging around his knees,  still squirting jets of clear liquid
onto the floor.  Then he lay down and licked himself clean.
        Darryl was still hard from the erotic pleasure of licking
Xanth,  so he stood and began caressing my ballbag from behind.
I couldn't turn my head to look,  but when he grabbed my waist
with his hands I knew what was happening next.  With a firm
push, his dick slid into my arse, and for the second time that
evening I was being fucked up the arse.  To be honest,  Darryl
and Hamlet are about similar in diameter and length (except for
Hamlets knot, the 'widowmaker'),  so he slid easily into me in
the lubrication of Hamlets cum.
        He fucked me hard,  driving into me so my shoulders were
pushed into the foam padding of the stocks.  His fingers clawed
into the flesh on my hips giving me a mix of pleasure tempered
with pain.  With a growl that scaled up into a roar of animal
lust, Darryl slammed his dick into me, and started cumming.
The intensity of it caused him to gouge the flesh of my hips
leaving bruises that will take a week to vanish.  Then he
leaned over me and wrapped his arms around my chest, hugging my
back while his dick jumped and pulsed in my bowels.
        He lay like that,  on top of me until he started going
soft again,  and his dick slipped out from me.  I clamped my
sphincter tight to stop the liquid from following.  There was a
polite smattering of applause from the two women as Darryl
stood.  He undid the locks on the stocks on the condition that
I would screw Xanth in front of everyone.  Definitely!!
        Janene and Heather swapped roles so that Heather was on
the receiving end of Janenes oral manipulations.  Darryl was
too fucked out to do much so he just lay on his side on the
sheepskin rugs watching the performance.  With a hardon that
was almost hurting,  and fire in my veins,  I called Xanth
over.  She rolled over onto her feet and stood wagging her
tail,  then snuffled at my damp arsehole to lick up the residue
of Hamlet and Darryls release.  She forced her nose between my
legs and squeezed through so my ballbag dragged along her back.
I scratched down her back with my nails as she went,  and as
her tail flicked along the crack of my arse and under my
ballbag, we both shivered with pleasure.
        There was no need for lubricants.  Clear liquid from my
arousal was flowing freely from the end of my dick,  and Xanth
was well aroused from her encounter with Darryl.  I crouched
slightly behind her and grasped her thigh with one hand.  The
other guided my cock to her velvet-lined entrance.  Gently, but
firmly,  I pulled her hip back as I pushed forward.  Entry was
so easy, helped by my foreskin peeling back as the tip of my
meat opened the soft lips of her pussy.  Warmth from her body
surrounded my meat, and her muscles gently squeezed and
released, squeezed and released along my dick.  I just closed
my eyes and leaned my head back while I pulled her back onto my
dick as hard as I could and held her there, savouring her
tightness.
        Then I pulled out slightly,  just an inch or so, and slid
back into her.  The again,  just and inch or so.  Paused
slightly to savour her warmth.  Again I pulled out and slid
back in,  a little faster and a little further,  and the
friction of her tight hole stepped up my urgency.  Soon I was
fucking her with a steady rhythm,  both of my hands on her hips
pulling her back to meet my thrusts.  The pressure of my orgasm
started to build and I couldn't hold back any longer.  As hard
and as far as I could I forced my dick into Xanth in time with
the waves of ecstasy washing into me.  For each pulse of my
dick, there was an answering squeeze from Xanth,  and I howled
with pleasure and release.  When I am fucking an animal, I
become an animal myself.  The mantle of rationality drops,  and
I become a machine designed to fuck.
        Spent,  I lay back onto the sheepskins where Xanth
snuggled next to me.  At the calls of 'Encore! Encore!' from
the onlookers, I raised my hand in a one-finger salute.
        We all lay together for awhile in the mellow glow of the
fireplace,  and candles,  letting the evenings fulfilment
blanket us while the storm played around the night.  Eventually
we roused for a late night coffee,  then Heather, Janene,
Darryl, Hamlet and Xanth headed upstairs to bed.  I was too
wired from the coffee,  so I said I would join them after I had
put a few thoughts to paper.

        Well,  the rain has stopped,  and the storm seems to be
spent.  I can hardly keep my eyes open,  so I'll drop this in
the batch upload queue and crash.  It's 4:00am Sunday morning.
I wonder what the day holds.


Nevyn,  in the flesh.

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