Unexpected Invitation

Disclaimer: This story is the longest I have written, and I caution that it is a long read before the first sexual action takes place. I tried to devote a lot of space to character, setting, and narrative development, and I hope that you will appreciate that for the purpose of creating a quality, interesting plot surrounding the sex. If that's not what you're in the mood for, I hope that you will check out some of my other, shorter works. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy the story!

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It's probably its own chapter in Guy Code: No Girls at a Bachelor Party. Honesty, it probably doesn't need a chapter; those six words should be explanation enough. A simple rule with a simple reason, but, like many simple rules, periodically someone will try to bend the law, believing their case to be an exception. And as is so often the case when a rule is broken, someone ends up getting hurt.

This simple rule is why it was so unexpected when I received the last minute call inviting me to my friend Kyle's bachelor party in Las Vegas. Kyle and the best man, Fisher, had become best friends within minutes of meeting as roommates freshman year of college and been inseparable for the eight years since. When I was placed in the room across the hall early first semester after my own roommate situation deteriorated, I quickly became the third member of their team.

I was never particularly popular with any of Kyle or Fisher's many girlfriends in college, but none of them had lasted very long anyway. I guess to most women, I didn't register as a "bro," but rather as a threat whose menacingly perky D cups were too close to "her man." Kyle and Fisher had never confused that issue with me. As far as those two went, my only knowledge that either was anatomically male had been the awkward introductions to those jealous short-timers. When it was a guy sneaking out of my room in the early morning, somehow the boys always knew about it and demanded gossipy details on whomever it was. At times they seemed less like my "brothers," but rather "big sisters."

Now Fisher was married and Kyle was about to tie the knot in September. Fisher called me barely a week before the final send-off with the unpredicted invitation. At first I balked, not wanting to intrude on testosterone-fueled revelry. While I was willing to swill whiskey and buy lap-dances as much as any guy on the list, I didn't want anyone to feel they had to reign in their rowdy behavior on my account.

Then I reconsidered. "Why shouldn't I be there?" I'd been friends - and to repeat: just friends - with Kyle for longer than any of the other invitees, save Fisher.

"Ok, I'm in. Thanks for giving me plenty of notice, dork!"

"Well..." The pregnant pause on Fisher's end gave away what was coming next. "To be honest, Sarah, I tried to talk Kyle out of inviting you. Cindy said in no uncertain terms that she didn't want you there. Kyle, on the other hand, doesn't want to have the thing without you. So-"

"So Kyle came up with the idea of not telling his future wife that I was going to his bachelor party? A little early in the marriage for dangerous lies like that, don't you think?"

"Hey look, Lady, I just work here!" He chuckled, relieved that I understood his predicament. "Anyway, Kyle insists that you be there. Don't worry about Cindy, I'll talk to her." Fisher worked as a corporate arbitrator - we often jokingly referred to his title as "hostage-negotiator" - and if there was anyone who could resolve this, we could count on Fisher. However, another seed of suspicion crept into my mind.

"Fisher..."

"...Sssssaaarraaah...?"

"What did Carol say about my going on the trip?" Another long pause on the other end.

"Carol's not upset."

"Uh huh. Is Carol 'not upset' because she trusts us, or is she 'not upset' because you haven't told your wife that I'll be there?" Half my friends from college had gone on to law school, and I'd learned to be wary of their tendency towards cute phrasing to avoid a real answer.

Another pause from Fisher. "Right... You get a flight, I'll get Carol and Cindy on board."

"And Lewis's wife, Patricia. And Bill's wife. And what abo-"

"Ok! Ok ok, I'll handle all wives, girlfriends, meter maids, check-out girls, and women any of the other guys might have spoken to recently, and I'll email you the details of the weekend. We've taken care of the hotel; you just get your big butt on a plane next week!"

"It's a plan, Fisher. Let me find a flight. I'll see you guys next Friday!"

I lucked out and found a humanely priced flight despite the short notice, and my understanding boss allowed me to take Friday off to visit my "sick aunt." Fisher emailed me an outline of their plan: the boys were arriving Thursday, and they (or those who were functioning at 10am after their first night in Sin City) would pick me up Friday morning at the airport.

After graduation four years earlier, my group of friends had divided almost evenly between New York and California, so I hadn't seen some of the guys since college. I was excited to get away for a weekend and see my old friends, even though Fisher's outline had mysteriously omitted any details regarding the hotel. When I'd asked about cost splitting, he'd only told me it had been taken care of by the group before I joined and that I shouldn't worry about it.

Fisher's manifest called for a formal dinner at a steakhouse Friday night followed by a private booth and bottle service at a nightclub so I packed a semi-formal sequined cocktail dress that was short and tight enough to blend in in a club atmosphere. For the rest of the weekend, we would be at our leisure to go to the casinos, shops, shows, or just hang out at the pool. With only the latter in mind, I packed two bikinis along with some casual shorts and polo shirts. I was focused on two things this weekend: celebrating Kyle and relaxing in a deck chair with a drink in my hand.

The plane touched down at McCarran International Airport a few minutes early. The flight had been uneventful, and even though I never sleep on planes, the hours had passed quickly. As we taxied, I could already feel the desert sun rising from the baked tarmac and the heat grew more intense as I ascended the jetway to the gate. Emerging into the terminal, the blast of intense AC shocked my body and rows of goosebumps erupted on my arms. Under my simple blue, v-neck t-shirt and yellow lace bra, my nipples stiffened in the contrasting super-chilled air of the building.

I made my way out of the concourse and past the security gate, where I spotted my greeting party. Six half-drunk goons shouted "McGee!" in botched-unison while holding a crude limousine-driver's placard bearing the same name. This wasn't my legal name, but rather was the politer half of a crude nickname adapted from the movie 'Anchorman' and bestowed upon me early in college; an homage to my defining physical features. It was wonderful to see the boys, even as I muttered to myself "At least they had the good sense to write THAT half on the sign." I was quickly enveloped in a writhing mass of large male bodies as none of them was willing to wait their turn for a hug. Even before the cluster had released me from the group-embrace, we had already begun moving through the terminal as a single cacophonic entity, startling the morning travelers.

As we sorted ourselves out and walked toward baggage claim, I did a quick head count. Of course Fisher and Kyle were present, along with Lewis and Coffey, two of their teammates from our college's football team. The retrieval party had also managed to rouse Bill, a friend of Kyle's from business school, and George, one of Kyle's coworkers at the bank. The two absent parties - our classmates, Colin and Lawson - had arrived home at 7am, covered in glitter, expensive liquor, and cheap perfume, and had stayed behind at the hotel to catch a few hours' sleep.

"So do you guys have, like, a block of rooms or something?" I said as I moved to retrieve my luggage from the conveyor, only to be cut off by Lewis' large form as he easily slung my bag over his shoulder.

"Not exactly." Kyle was beaming. "Seriously, it's a surprise so just wait and see." He shifted his weight and giggled, still a little unsteady on his feet.

"You guys... took a cab here, right?"

"Not exactly..." Kyle's giggling increased and Coffey took over explanation duties as he took my arm.

"This way, madam. Our chariot awaits." Idling outside the terminal in the shimmering July heat sat a long black limousine, complete with uniformed chauffeur.

"Sarah, this is Gerard. He is our best friend, our greatest champion, our most noble hero..." For a big guy, Coffey had always had a hard time sobering up in the morning after a night of hard drinking. Gerard gave a friendly smile and good-natured mock-salute to the group, doffing his cap to me as he opened the door. He took my suitcase from Lewis before shutting us in the climate-controlled compartment.

"Holy crap." I exclaimed as I settled into the rear seat. Fisher and Kyle squeezed on either side of me, while the others stretched along the remaining benches. Coffey stretched out his lean 6'5" frame on the cabin floor. The only African-American in the group, as a tech geek who had taken stock in lieu of salary for his first two years with his company, Coffey was by far the wealthiest of our college friends, though his soft-spoken nature and boyish playfulness with his friends would never betray his status. That was the case with all of "my boys" though, as the pack of lawyers and bankers in the back of the limousine more closely resembled a raucous pen of badly behaved puppies. And that was why I loved them.

Gerard climbed into the front seat and maneuvered the long car into traffic, while Bill opened a bottle of champagne and began pouring and passing glasses to those who were willing. Parched from the flight, I thirstily accepted a glass and downed it almost instantly. Bill helpfully handed me a fresh flute.

The limousine made its slow turn onto The Strip, taking the long route at Fisher's instruction since this was my first visit to Las Vegas. Even in mid-morning, the town was lit up for all the world to see. Paris, Bellagio, Caesar's, Flamingo, Harrah's; the casinos were a sight to behold as I fought not to feel like a retiree on a bus trip, marveling at their glamour. The car turned onto the expansive casino property, but didn't slow at the front entrance.

"Are we not staying here?" I asked in confusion as we passed by the massive hotel and I finished my second glass of champagne.

"Actually, we're... well, just hold on a minute, McGee. You'll see." Kyle seemed extremely pleased with himself as he sucked the last drops from his glass.

The limousine pulled up to a large iron gate, which opened at our approach. A high wall extended on all sides, separating the circle drive from the rest of the resort property. The car stopped before an awning and a porter promptly opened the door to let us out. Bill reached through the limousine's privacy panel and handed Gerard a folded bill, uttered something to him, then took a business card from the driver. They shared a friendly laughed and Bill followed us out of the car.

The waiting porter, wearing a nametag reading "Kent" tried to take my bag from Lewis as he pulled it from the trunk. "Nah. Thanks man, but I'm fine with her bag. Feels like it's mostly rocks anyway." Lewis laughed as he spoke to the young man and handed him a twenty. George gently nudged my back to direct me and we headed towards the door.

Our group entered the ornate building and I was guided down a marble hallway decorated with lavish paintings, gilded mirrors, and baroque furniture. When we arrived at a large set of twin carved wood doors, Fisher pulled out a key card and opened the entry to a room containing overelaborate luxury I hadn't imagined.

"What... is... this place?" I murmured as I walked into the marble entryway, hallways running to the left and right with an ornate living room directly in front of me.

"We didn't think we could fit everyone in a suite and none of us wanted to split up, so we discussed it and decided to splurge a little and get a villa for the weekend." Fisher stated this matter-of-factly, as though he were discussing a decision to super-size a fast food order. "Besides, Lawson and his dad and uncles have lost enough money here that they'll always throw in comps to welcome back one of those suckers - I mean whales - with open arms." The group let out a collective laugh as I stood, mouth agape.

"We have... a villa?!" I rushed forward through the living room to the large glass doors, peering into our private yard - fenced off from the world - that contained a small pool and hot tub, a fountain, a patio with a table and chairs, and a putting green. I turned and looked at the indoors, resplendent in gaudy marble, carved wood, and mirrors. Walking from the main room, I entered the den where a massive flat-screen played the sporting news at a low volume while Colin sprawled on the gilded couch. He roused slightly as I entered the room.

"Hey... McGee..." He struggled to get the words out, but gave me a big smile as greeting before rolling to bury his face in the back of the sofa. A noise from behind the bar at the end of the room drew our attention as Lawson commando-crawled around the corner to greet us.

"McGee! Glad you could make it!" Lawson was beaming with the enthusiasm of a man, still miles from sober. Beside me, Fisher nearly fell over laughing at the display.

"Lawson, there are three beds, five couches, and even four deck lounges in this place; why the hell did you decide to sleep on the floor behind the bar?!"

"After we left the casino and then the," his voice dropped to a whisper as he eyed me with faux-suspicion, "(strip club)," his voice returned to its original volume, "I was getting a ginger ale before heading to bed, and this pile of napkins looked soooooo comfy..." The seven upright members of our party roared and even Colin chuckled into the couch cushion.

Shaking his head, Fisher led me out of the room and down the hallway to an enormous bedroom that held a king sized bed, a long dresser that ran along the near wall below a mounted flat-screen, as well as a desk, several plush chairs, and a large sectional sofa in the corner. On either side of the bed, doors each opened into mammoth bathrooms featuring a bathtub, a glass-walled steam shower, a large marble counter and sink, and a separate door to a water closet.

"This bedroom is where Kyle and I slept last night. Of course, Groomzilla passed out diagonally across the mattress, so I had to fold myself onto the couch. We're close, but not intimate-spooning-close. There's another bedroom on the other side with two beds and a couch. That's where Bill, George, and Coffey all slept. I think Lewis passed out in the living room, although he's so enamored with that putting green I wouldn't be surprised if he slept out there. Come on, I'll show you the yard if you'd like."

"I would like!" Throughout the indoor tour, I'd been stealing glances at the sunny yard and reflective waters through the large glass doors at the end of each room. We walked through the bedroom and opened the doors, stepping onto a slate patio, steps from the pool which wrapped in a blunted crescent around the hot tub. Turning, we looked down the long yard with a quartet of lounge chairs lining a grass patch, and across from them a table surrounded by chairs. Beyond the dining area lay Lewis's putting green, strewn with balls and clubs, the flag flapping contentedly in a gentle breeze.

"So we live here now, right?" I gushed to Fisher as I wrapped his burly ribs in a hug. His giant body shook with laughter as he patted my head. Even four years removed from his playing days, I could feel the well-shaped muscles stretched over his large frame. Overhead, the desert sun baked us both and I felt sweat building beneath my t-shirt.

He chuckled quietly as he responded. "It's gonna be a hell of a weekend."

From inside, the clinking of catering carts announced the arrival of room service.

"Come on, McGee. Let's eat." His eyes twinkled as he turned me with his arm around my shoulders toward the living room as I gently elbowed him in the stomach for continued use of my nickname.

The table was set with a brunch spread, complete with pitchers of mimosas and Bloody Mary. The others were already clamoring around, scooping up huge helpings of bacon and bagels to soak up the previous night's alcohol. They respectfully cleared a path for me as I approached and took a plate of sandwiches and a mimosa then retreated to safety. The feeding frenzy obscured the boys' identities - and even their numbers - until I couldn't decipher what arm was connected to what body. Finally, I got Kyle's attention amid the mob and indicated to him that I was going to the bedroom to change.

I closed the enormous carved-wood door to the bedroom, then turned and sized myself up in the wall-length mirror across from the bed. My eyes were tired from my early flight and I sighed and took a sip of mimosa. I took a white bikini out of my bag and laid it on top of the dresser. I lifted the shirt over my head, embarrassed for myself at the dampness of the armpits. Wearing only my yellow lace bra, I shook my head at my body's awkward reaction to the high heat of the desert, turning slowly toward the large glass windows. Suddenly, a blur of activity flashed opposite the pane as Bill and Coffey skipped across the hot slate patio and hopped into the pool.

Mortified, I clutched my shirt to my body, covering my breasts. Had they seen me in my bra!? As they lazily swam and splashed, the boys gave no indication that they were even aware I was on the other side of the glass and I let out a slow sigh of relief. Having dodged an embarrassing bullet, I grabbed my swimsuit and scurried to finish changing in the bathroom.

I tossed my shirt on the counter and laid out the triangles of the top, pre-tying the knot of the top's neck strings. I splashed cold water on my face and patted my cheeks and forehead dry with a small towel. Refreshed, I reached to my back and unhooked the clasp of my bra. Released from their restraint, my plump breasts swelled - almost as though breathing a sigh of relief - as they stood perkily atop my ribs. I absent-mindedly rubbed at the crease of the underwire beneath my boob as a flush sounded from the connected toilet. Seconds later, the door to the commode opened and I spun to face Fisher as he stepped into the larger room staring at his phone. In the instant before he looked up from the screen, I frantically snatched a hand towel and unfurled it to conceal my naked tits. Our eyes met, holding each other's gaze before a flash of realization sparked in his eyes.

"Holy shit! What the hell are you doing in here?!" he blurted as he struggled to maintain eye contact. My breasts rose and fell rapidly with my flustered breathing, making the small towel's difficult job even harder.

"When the hell did you get in there? You were eating with the others!"

"I had to take a leak first! What the hell are you doing in here?"

"Well..." my breathing was slowing as the shock and panic gradually seeped from my brain. "Look, just get out and let me change. And don't say anything to the others, ok?" Fisher nodded his agreement - his eyes fleetingly drifting downward - then discretely made his exit. I locked the door behind him.

Now truly alone, I quickly flipped the white triangles of fabric over my breasts and ducked my head under the neck strap, knotting the strings behind my back. I peeled off my shorts and yellow lace thong in one motion and stepped into the white bikini bottoms, tugging the garment into place and double-knotting the side-ties at either hip. I'd come too close to unwanted exposure twice already to risk another mishap.