by Duff ©
"Good morning tubby !" Nicola Jensen hugged her father's back warmly.
George grunted, and crunched some crispy bacon. Nicola slid her hands under his pyjama top and rubbed his hairy belly vigorously. She giggled into his freshly washed neck, breathing in the spicy cologne.
"I'll have to make an appointment with Weight Watchers soon!" George Jensen growled at his daughter, taking her arms from his stomach and made to bite her slim fingers.
Nicola squealed and easily avoided his chomping teeth. She skipped over to the pantry for her breakfast of fruit and cereal. She liked to think that her daddy was watching her athletic body as she busied herself with her preparations, but George had returned to his morning paper.
The sun was shining and the birds were singing and the kitchen smelled of warm bread and her daddy's delicious Saturday morning fry-up. Nicola smiled happily as she sat opposite her father. She watched him turn the pages, reading the world news and occasionally clicking his tongue.
How things had changed since her mother had run off with one of daddy's workers, she thought. A year ago there would have been bickering about money and chores and a bitter 'bored-living-with-a-boring-husband' tirade. But she had disappeared one weekend with a carpenter and was apparently living happily 'somewhere in the North'. Well good luck to her. Since the divorce papers had been finalised her daddy had lightened up and delegated jobs at his contracting business, and through both luck and good management the new arrangements had been financially very successful.
Her father had joined the Country-Golf Club and made some valuable contacts which had led to new ventures and he'd made lots of new friends too. They were mostly charming, confident, attractive people, not the snobs she had feared. They were surprisingly relaxed and cheerful and adventurous. They had made George very welcome and he was often invited out, and he even had some wonderful dinner parties at their own place.
It was thanks to this new circle of friends that Nicola had met Donna. She was the daughter of Mr and Mrs Townsend. He was the city's foremost property developer and a philanthropist of some renown. and Mrs Townsend was independently wealthy with her own legal firm, the president of the Country-Golf Club, and an important patron of the arts.
Donna had been a god-send for Nicola. She was vivacious and cheeky and adventuresome. She was just two months older than Nicola's twenty-two years, but she seemed to her to be marvellously mature and sophisticated.
Donna had introduced her to night clubs and pot and taken her on some thrilling rafting trips and had introduced her to exciting people her own age. Mostly, Nicola was grateful for Donna's fantastic parties. Her own meagre group of lacklustre friends and acquaintances from college had drifted away since Nicola had completed her accountancy degree. They were pleasant enough, but one-dimensional and lacked wit and grace.
Donna's parties were another world to her. They were held in tastefully ornate surroundings, with exotic foods and quality recreational drugs -which were always used in moderation and with care. And then there was the fantastically raunchy sex. Nicola had been sexually active since middle-school, but it wasn't until she met Donna that she was freed of clumsy fumbling and beery breath and premature ejaculations.
Donna's parties were like ballroom dances. She carefully choreographed the music and the food and the decor. The participants played clever word games and dressed elegantly and knew the rules. Last week, Donna had turned off the lights and projected the filthiest pornographic films across the dinner table while they discussed art and politics and gossiped. There was a marvellous tension as people deliberately refrained from crudities and chose their words carefully and developed intricate arguments while being variously coloured by heaving bodies and sweat and obscenely large cocks and oozing cunts. Every now and then, the stress was relieved with raucous laughter when someone was suddenly 'covered' in cum, or their heads 'disappeared' into a thrusting bum or such like.
Nicola had been introduced to threesomes and lesbianism and toys and role-playing and light BDSM by Donna. Her life had been tremendously enriched by the experience. But tonight was going to be something quite different ! Donna's mother had invited them both to a special adult's fancy-dress party. Nicola knew her friend's parents were "adventuresome" as well, and apparently their parties were secretive and only 'certain people' were allowed to join their circle.
"A penny for your thoughts"
"You were a million miles away," smiled her father, "Where were you ?"
"Oh I was just thinking about how much has changed since mother left."
"For the better, daddy," beamed Nicola. "My job is great, we've made lots of new friends, you are even more gorgeous than ever, the sun seems to shine all the time, we've finally finished painting and furnishing of our big, beautiful home. Everything is just wonderful."
"Apart from my belly you mean," grumbled George.
"Oh daddy you know I was teasing you! And I happen to know there have been lots of ladies at the Club who think you're just the sexiest thing alive."
George blushed and grinned, "Little girl, you talk such nonsense."
"I am not a little girl, and besides I hear everything daddy," giggled Nicola, and counted off her fingers, "That nice big-boobed secretary, and Evelyn Morrison and Margaret Sale, and whatsername - Mrs Ryan's daughter, and Mrs Ryan herself !" she laughed delightfully. "And I am sure there have been others too !"
Poor George Jensen was beetroot-red. Not only because it was all true - his sex life was better than it had ever been, but also because he just wasn't prepared for this kind of conversation with his daughter.
"Silliness. All rumours and silliness," he hurrumphed, and rustled the newspaper to cover the unconvincing lie.
Nicola got up from the table and kissed him on the forehead, "Well, I think it's marvellous daddy."
She busied herself with dishes and cleaned the table. "Oh, I'll be staying out late tonight, there's a party on somewhere. I'll make up something for you and put in the fridge." She tried to sound at ease and off-handed, but already her tummy was knotted with excitement.
"Don't worry darling," said George, "There's some kind of dinner-dance or something at the Club tonight. I'll grab a bite to eat there."
"And my god ! Look at you !"
And they both roared with laughter.
"Mademoiselle Pompadour !"
"Mademoiselle Lash !"
The rushed at each other to admire their costumes, turning each other around and cooing and chuckling and squealing like school girls.
"I'd never recognise you !" gushed Donna.
"Well, especially after I put my mask on."
"No, no. Entirely unnecessary. You're just not Nicola any more ! Oh I just adore the beauty spots !"
Donna walked around Nicola. She had spent a small fortune to dress as an 18th century French courtesan. Her sumptuous gown fell in layers around generous hips, the satin sheen catching the light. She had a ridiculously large silver-white wig piled over her normally rich red hair. It matched her heavy pale makeup. She had stuck an alluring beauty spot on her left cheek and in keeping with her fashion, the gown was extremely low-cut, showing off her deep cleavage to the best advantage. There was another naughty beauty spot on the curve of her breast. Only her face had the makeup, the bright white paste and her brilliant red lipstick and dark mascara were a stunning contrast to the natural beauty of her lightly tanned chest.
"Are you sure I don't need a mask ? Didn't your mother insist.... ?" asked Nicola.
"Oh the masks all come off at midnight anyway, don't worry about her. Honestly - you are completely unrecognisable........but I need one !" grinned Donna.
She was dressed in shining black leathers, bristling with silver studs. Her arms were wrapped in gauntlets, matching her knee-length boots. Her leather skirt barely covered her crotch or her small breasts. Her naturally dark hair was tied tightly in a bun.
"Oh Donna. That is just sooo sexy"
They fussed with the dresses and adjusted Nicola's jewellery and tightened Donna's skirt to better set off her waist.
"I was going to take the whip," said Donna, "But it will just be a bother. Can you help me with the mask sweetie ?"
Nicola looped the straps of the cats-eyes mask around Donna's head and tied them lightly. They both made sure it wouldn't come loose, before standing together in front of the full-length mirror.
"I don't care if I say so myself, Donna Townsend," said Nicola, "We are two very sexy young women !"
"I do declare Nicola Jensen, you are absolutely right," grinned Donna.
"Well, do we know where we're going ?"
The venue had been kept a closely guarded secret. All over the city people in various degrees of undress and others with extraordinary costumes were waiting by their phones.
"Yes ! Mummy rang an hour ago. Come on, let's go and fuck ourselves silly!" she laughed cheekily.
Nicola and Donna clung to each other as they moved through the milling crowd. The guests had taken enormous care with their costumes. Almost everyone had some kind of mask. It was impossible to tell who was who. It's true, there were several leather-girls and courtesans, which disappointed them, but loosely wrapped togas were much more common.
There was a voluptuous woman in a schoolgirl's uniform, a cowboy whose chaps were cut to display his naked and proudly well-endowed groin, several women were bare-breasted babylonian priestesses or minoan princesses. There was a professor in an academic gown, but utterly naked underneath. There were several attractive women dressed as whores. One tall, darkly handsome man was just wearing a nappy and a big-breasted nurse was letting him suckle her.
In one room a famous porn star with a freakish 12" cock was surrounded by gorgeously dressed women, many of the stroking his snake-like member like a pet. It was partially engorged, but he looked relaxed and confident. Elsewhere, there were policemen, firemen, soldiers, sailors and pilots all looking splendidly handsome and dashing. There was a wide variety of ages, but most guests were healthily slim and well proportioned and middle-aged. There seemed to be a generous number of girls in their twenties, like Donna and Nicola. Shockingly, an old man dressed as a minister of religion walked by hand-in-hand with a naked wide-eyed girl, no more than fourteen.
The girls leapt on some drinks carried by a body-builder Nubian waiter who was wearing only a loin-cloth, his skin was oiled and glistening. They gulped them down, and found some more.
They were becoming drugged by the hypnotic music and marijuana smoke and the warm comforting lighting. The nudged each other and pointed and gaped at the costumes and at people they thought they recognised They gasped at the slow sensual build-up of raw sexuality as the evening developed. More and more people were fondling each other, and the naked men's cocks fattened. Both of them could smell the sex. Couples were pairing off, complete strangers to each other, attracted by the fantasy or the costume or the serendipity of meeting each other.
Still arm-in-arm they wandered from one room to another. From out of the gloom, a tall muscular middle-aged man stood in front of Donna and gently took her into his arms and kissed her softly and at length, then left her and moved on. A beautiful full-breasted woman took Nicola's hand and placed it on her breast and smiled as she automatically squeezed and felt her hardening nipple. Donna pulled her away, smiling. "That's my cousin," she whispered, and pulled a face.
Amazingly, Mrs Townsend was the only person not in costume. She was elegantly and conservatively dressed in an evening gown. Nicola watched her playing the gracious host, calling for drinks where necessary, praising costumes, offering tasty morsels of food, and greeting late guests with a dazzling smile. Nicola got the impression that Mrs Townsend was able to see through everyone's disguise. Sometimes she even overheard her address people by name.
Nicola finished another drink, squeezed Donna's hand reassuringly and went to the bar. An outrageously gay bartender was chatting to a small group, and broke away when he saw her coming.
"Oui, jolie mademoiselle ?" he asked. His accent was perfect.
"Umm...I'm not sure...something sweet I think."
"Try a daiquiri," said a burly middle-aged man standing next to her. He was dressed as a medieval executioner, a kind of black hood covered half his face. Soft brown eyes twinkled through eyeholes. His mouth looked gentle. Studded leather straps were slung across his shoulders and wide chest. His belly was large and hairy, but fitted his muscular frame well. His bare legs were partly covered by soft suede calf-length boots. He was wearing a leather loincloth below which hung an impressively fat sausage of a cock.
"Merci", replied Nicola, adopting the barman's French accent. "M'sieur is so very kind".
my pleasure, mademoiselle" he said, his gaze lingering on Nicola's
ample breast, taking in the sexy beauty spot, and reluctantly returned
to his group.
|Another top quality story by Duff.|
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