Our Fire Island Group House Pt. 01

Ellen, you are losing momentum, here. Are you still lucid? With only five readers hanging on, I suggest you get on with the sex.

Tom does a passable imitation of modesty, closing his eyes and slowly, painfully, pushing down his BVDs, until the...whoops, maybe he IS embarrassed...his cock is iron-hard, dark red, and springs up like a bear trap closing. It is so rigid, it literally vibrates for a moment.

Mignon doesn't know whether to weep for this poor humiliated boy or lunge at him and stuff his prick into her mouth. Are there tears in her eyes, hands wringing together, watching poor Tommy do what he has been LONGING to do all evening?

Damn, back in New York City, I could have fixed-up Mignon with a high-stakes strip poker game with Saudi Arabians from the United Nations and retired for life. Maybe not too late.

Tom may really be embarrassed. He is grimacing as he looks down at his proud, probing prong with oily tears dribbling down its round little face. MIGNON, get BACK in your

fucking chair. GET A GRIP, GIRL.

She looks over at me. She is dazed.

I deal. Now, Jerry loses his BVDs. Do you prefer riotous black hair or riotous blond hair swirling and curling around the rampant male member? Maybe one of each. I'm beginning to believe that these guys aren't so sophisticated. A lot of bluff. No experienced strip poker player gets a titanium boner like theirs even if he wants one.

Actually, I am getting a little turned on myself.

"Don't sit down," I order. Stand there. We want to see your meat. I turn. "Mignon, do you know the difference between circumcised and not?"

Her face is bright red. If this were sunburn, she'd be in the ER. "Well, Ellen Pierce, I don't think..."

No, she does not.

I rise. I walk over to Tom, who looks at me astounded, blown-away, happy, fainting... I take his bright-red, bare glans penis, now glistening with lube, in two fingers. "See this?" I say. "Look carefully." I push down so she can see: no skin.

I step over to Jerry. He is giggling. Not very masculine, but understandable.

I give his bald glans a little massage; it quivers. I turn to Mignon. "Watch." I take his retracted foreskin and haul it up to cover his nude glans, actually pinching it to a close at the top.

"My God," breathes Mignon.

"This"-I masturbate Tom's foreskin a little—was cut off—I reach over and touch Jerry's naked glans—"when Jerry was a baby."

Mignon is shaking her beautiful head in denial. I love the idiot sorrow that seizes her. "Oh, no..." she murmurs. She is staring. If I were Jerry, I would faint with embarrassment.

I conclude with a nice jiggle for Jerry, which causes him to close his eyes, let his head fall back, and pant, "Oh, God..."

"Mignon, I bet he doesn't miss it at all," I say. "See?" A few more quick passes over the swollen-tight, slicked under side of his dick and he is twitching like a horse's ass bitten by horse flies.

I sit. "Down, guys." Both flop like corpses onto the couch. "Right there, don't move. Jerry, stop-no touching yourself."

"It's between you and me," I say to Mignon with the sweetest smile. I get up to get her fifth glass of Chardonnay. She gulps. I have a lot to answer for, here... Her cheeks are bright red. And her nose. And her bosom, which cannot stop heaving.

I deal. The suspense is for them, not me. I know what is coming out of this deck. Mignon keeps winning, each time giving a wild gasp of relief. I think.

I am standing now in my black bikini panties and black bra. I stand tall. Stick them out, Ellen, or they will miss them entirely.

Tom, Jerry, and Mignon are frozen, staring at the black mouth of the cave, from whence issued the awful roar...

There is only so much drama in this. I will not climb atop the coffee table. I will not whistle the opening bars of Beethoven's Fifth. I reach behind, unhook my bra, shrug, it drops to the floor. These are the sublimely conical, yearning, pale-white breasts of Ellen Pierce Melville, with wide, dark-pink aureole, puffy, and with abrupt, chronically over-excited titties that press skyward like tiny towers. I am proud of them. I stand straight, take a puff of a Camel.

"Oh, Ellen Pierce," moans Mignon, "you are a goddess. Such breasts I never saw... Oh, you are perfect."

This girl has a future. My two bonobos are expressive, also. Jerry has forgotten my command and is running his fingers up and down the underside of his achingly straight dick. It's even stiffer. Looks PAINFUL.

Mignon does not know where to look. I have to watch this girl; she may vault over the coffee table and impale her pussy on the nearest erection.

"Come here," I say.

She blinks, unbelieving.

"Come," I snap. Not unkindly.

Half bent over, she waddles to me, glancing up from beneath the auburn curls.

I nod. "Pull them, down, Mignon. I lost the game, too."

Gurgle. Upnog shreby? Karwale?"

"Down. Strip me. I lost."

She is shaking her head, bewildered. She has slipped into momentary catatonia. Measures are needed. My hand sweeps down medium-hard and slaps her childish cheek, leaving a hint of red.

It's nothing, but she gasps-maybe shrieks. Tears spring to her eyes. Her slender fingers are clawing my brief panties. She is scarring me for life. My panties ride down along the bright red scratches from her fingernails. Ouch.

My fault.

I am stark naked, now. My trimmed but unshaved jet-black triangle is neat against my white belly.

They do not give a shit. It is a naked pussy; Tom and Jerry are rolfing their dolphins. The classy tone of the evening is collapsing.

"STOP. Tom, Jerry? Stop. No touching? I TOLD you..."

My shining ebony interwoven pussy hair prevails. Or is my clit is now peeping out? Why are they both leaning forward, gaping?

Okay, boys. My fingers slide over the ebony mat, part the lips so that the inner woman is exposed. By now, the stem of my clit is a Cannoli, a tube flared at both ends. My long fingernail spears it and forces the pink head to protrude. I wiggle it a little.

What more can I do? Haul from my cunt a bedraggled white bunny, blinking in the light?

Mignon has what they call "the vapors." Where are the smelling salts?

Boys, keep your hands off, no touching yourself. The girls are going to the deck for a smoke. We have to confer."

I take Mignon' small hand and walk out on the deck in the night. Immediately, sea breezes stiffen my tits and make my belly quiver. I light up, gaze across a hundred yards of sand to the ocean, a yellow moon offering a path of light out to sea.

"What are we going to DO for those poor BOYS?" whispers Mignon, gazing up at me. She is panicking.

I shrug. "The game is over." What will she say? What is the code of Southern womanhood, here?

"But they are so needing," she urges.

Slowly, unthreateningly. I reach around her, find the clasp of her bathing suit top. She gasps, I unclasp. I ease it off. Gently drape it over the deck railing. It is soaked with sweat.

I must not weep. I have all my parts. There are women with mastectomies, after all. Maybe next year I can afford a boob job.

I, hetero Ellen, man lover, straight, feel my hands reaching out for them. They rest solidly on her white chest, swooping down broadly, grandly, but then up, perfect cones, the nipples seeming to rise right at me. Where is gravity, tonight? These things are like the proud prows of ships, lifted toward the moon. Pure white flesh, swelling on the sides, swelling to the front, but light enough to nose up like a collie for a nice lick. Atop each one is the Pythagorean nipple, geometrical perfection, like a mountain top monument. Oh, my god, her titties are as thick as pencil erasers jutting up. This poor baby is white hot.

I've been staring at the motherfuckers for two minutes, now. Mignon is shaking all over. She can't imagine what is wrong. Even her boobies are quivering. She's going to start crying. Pull yourself TOGETHER, Ellen; they are only tits. She's a little Southern girl terrified that she won't qualify to get hold of a real prick. She's a Goober Pea.

"Are you girls gone?" A yell from within.

"Coming," I reply. "Don't touch anything till we get there." I have given them hope.

"Well hurry, will you?"

"Get your bottoms off," I whisper. "We'll march in together, naked women, side by side."

She is pushing them down. God she must want it. What if she goes berserk in there? Will I have to Mace her?

She straightens up, looks to me for approval.

Ho-hum, divinely rounded thighs, pale and perfect, full. All lines meeting with precision at her thighs and belly. Her plump pubis bulges, the auburn triangle knit of strands that shine in the moonlight. I am becoming a little unbalanced. I reached down, brush my knuckles across the silk. Back again. I almost can't believe it. Everyone has wiry pussy hair; Mignon has woven silk.

She is gazing up at me, pleading for reassurance. I may not be so hetero, after all. How about you and me heading for the beach with a nice blanket and two more bottles of chardonnay. We can fall asleep with your tongue up my cunt? Ellen, it's time to move on. You are losing your grip; you will be swept down the tubes.

"Follow me. Do what I tell you." I turn and stride for the lighted doors. "Ahm at your mercy, mah goddess," she affirms from behind me.