A Memorable Memorial Day Party


By Paris Waterman

Illustrated version available on request to Author.


Good things were happening to Paul in almost breath-taking fashion. First, he had received a token payment for his novella, which was promptly followed by a solid $5000 retainer after the publisher had read a rough draft of the first three chapters of his latest novel, with additional funds to follow if and when the subsequent chapters met the standard of the initial pages.

Now with Memorial Day approaching Carol had called to invite him to a Memorial Day party at her publisher’s swanky home on Park Avenue.

Carol had suggested that he rent, or buy a tux for the affair and possibly others that might follow.

Paul found that buying was preferable to renting if more than one time was needed, and optimistic about his future, he had one tailored to his specifications provided it was ready two days before the party in order that any late alterations might be remedied.

Carol was stunned by how handsome he was when she opened her apartment door to let him in. She wanted to jump his bones then and there, but forced herself to settle for a long, torrid kiss and a little grouping (by each of them on the other) inasmuch as her dress might wrinkle and those at the party whom she knew would conclude that they had fucked one another either before or after cabbing over to the party.

“Will Sarah be coming to the party with us?” Sarah being the submissive that roomed with Carol who Paul had fucked along with Carol not that long ago.

“Oh, no Paul, she never goes out with me. She’s here, taking a bath. Would you care to say hello?”

“Why yes I would, Carol. That is if you don’t mind.”

“Mind, why on Earth would I mind? She’s just a toy to make use of when we feel like it.”

And as Paul ventured into the bathroom, Carol used the mirror in the living room to touchup her lipstick and smooth her dress.

The first and foremost thing he saw on entering the steamy bathroom was the lithesome Sarah in the tub with her right leg raised to her shoulder, jamming a dildo into her cunt and moaning happily. Her eyes were closed and for a good twenty seconds she didn’t react to Paul’s presence. And when she did it was with surprise, followed by a wide smile of welcome. “Did Carol send you to me, Paul?”

“No, I asked to see you, actually.”

“You look lovely in your tux. I gather you won’t be joining me in my bath tonight.” Sarah continued her masturbation as she spoke, making it appear as natural as brushing one’s hair in the presence of another.

“Yes, well I am sorry about that, but Carol has promised me a full night of sex awaits us at this party.”

“Mmmm, I’ve heard about Mr. Harshaw’s parties. Carol’s been to one or two of them. Very risqué. More than that, really. She’s heard that on occasion everything goes. Everything! Can you believe it?”

Paul had to smile. Here was a beautiful girl, masturbating before him without a shred of embarrassment talking about a sex party where everything goes.”

“It certainly sounds like fun. But I wanted to ask, can I see you without Carol knowing about it one night?”

“Oh, no Paul. That’s not the way it works. I’m Carol’s not yours; if she wants to share me well … but otherwise, no. Sorry.”

Just then Carol walked into the bathroom and smiled on seeing the look of discomfort on Paul’s face. “Don’t worry, Paul, I’ll give her to you another time. I’m sure she’ll be delighted, won’t you, Sarah?”

Sarah smiled, “You torture me in the most devious ways, Mistress.”

“That’s a yes, Paul, in case it went over your head.”

“It didn’t,” he laughed and they made their way out of the apartment and caught a cab.


Jubal Harshaw, their host, and Carol’s publisher, boss, welcomed them at the door of his plush penthouse on the twenty-fifth floor, over-looking Central Park just as Paul whipped his hand from Carol’s ass, letting her dress, actually a silky black slip fall back to its normal position before their host caught them.

A group of people stood around, chatting, glasses in their hands. Harshaw made the introductions, but the only person Paul had met before was his wife, Kayla, who looked cool and elegant and beautiful with her brown hair in a tight chignon and a blood-red strapless dress. She seemed the consummate Parisian woman: svelte, willowy, and always turned out to perfection. She was much younger than Harshaw and Paul suspected she was not Harshaw’s first wife, but more of a trophy.

Her bracelets jangled as she transferred her drink from one hand to the other and air-kissed Carol’s cheeks. “So nice to see you, my dear,” she whispered in Carol’s ear, “It’s good to have some new blood in our midst. Plus he’s handsome, very handsome and quite intelligent I hear.”

Several couples sat around a large magnificent teakwood table. Paul bursa escort had never seen a table anywhere like it; for it was too low to be a dining table, and although the guests were seated a decent distance from each other, the table served as the depository for their drinks. Moreover, a dining table could be seen in the adjacent room replete with settings, flowers and several bottles of wine.

Paul and Carol were introduced to the others by Miranda Mars, a prominent actress, who had been nominated for an Academy Award the previous year.

Miranda was a stunning woman with auburn hair tied in simple bun as if to challenge the other women who had their hair styled and coiffed by professional hairdressers. It was obvious that she had merely showered and combed her tresses before fixing the bun. As for attire, she wore a cream colored summer dress tied loosely at the shoulders that all but defied anyone close to her to examine the ample cleavage she was able to display by leaning ever so slightly forward. She was the picture of innocence, until she did just that. The fact that she was a movie actress was magnified in that she wore a pair of cute, square glasses that gave her a sharpness that made her look like a top tier attorney.

As Paul took her in, he regretted the lack of time allowed him wanting to stop time and give her a thorough once over, but it was impossible under the circumstances with both Carol and Jubal standing next to him. He did note that Miranda–-he loved the way her name rolled off his tongue–-wore an apron over the dress, indicating that she was at the very least playing a role in the preparation of their upcoming dinner.

She led Paul and Carol to a vacant love seat while Jubal went to make them drinks. Scanning the room, Paul took in what appeared to be two original paintings by Matisse and Picasso, and single, large oil that dominated the far wall which he didn’t recognize. He concluded that the fiftyish Harshaw was indeed a very wealthy man.

Paul wondered why an affair of this magnitude hadn’t been catered, but had to wait before asking Carol because Miranda began introducing the other guests. Each of whom either stood up or nodded graciously as their names were called.

“On your left,” Miranda said, “is Nora Braswell and Mike Hunt. Nora is a model. You may have seen her on the cover of Vogue last December. She’s truly beautiful … as you can readily see.”

Paul stood up preparing to greet them. Carol, already familiar with the couple just waved informally to them and remained sitting.

Miranda was not exaggerating, Nora was raven-haired, not overly thin, but it would be difficult to deny that she was the perfect model to wear the finest dress designer’s work at the biggest fashion shows in the world.

Paul wondered if her breasts were larger than Carol’s, but decided they were about the same. Her legs were unquestionably the longest he had ever seen.

He almost missed it when Miranda introduced Nora’s date. “And this is the infamous Mike Hunt,” she said, as Nora uncrossed her legs and deliberately revealed her shaven pussy to him.

Did she just do what I think she did? Paul thought, and for the first time, it occurred to him that this might be more than the usual Memorial Day party.

Paul wasn’t allowed to ponder Nora’s action, for Hunt stood and took Paul’s outstretched hand. Hunt, who stood about 5′ 10″ with light brown wavy hair, had a well toned body, indicating he worked out routinely. In fact, Paul noted, all the men present appeared to be fit and in extremely good health, and said, “Pleased to meet you, Mike. But why did Miranda call you infamous?”

Hunt smiled at Paul and whispered sotto-voice, “I dabble in writing graphic erotica. It seems I found a huge audience. I’m not exaggerating … really humungous. I only regret that I might have been ahead of my time and missed out on the E-book craze. My work is available on the net–-for free. But in real life I’m in advertising. I do all right for a former hack.”

Miranda laughed and added, “Don’t let him fool you; he’s head of Craving, More although it appeared to Paul that the others might have heard the story before.

Jubal took a seat on the arm of the loveseat, next to Carol, and assumed the responsibility of performing introductions from Miranda.

“Now next to Nora and Mike are Joanna de Brito and Don Roscony.” Roscony, who Paul judged to be about 6’4″ with the build of a competitive swimmer, got up and walked over to Carol and kissed her hand, then shook Paul’s hand vigorously.

“Pleased to meet you both, he said and seemed to mean it. “My date,” he said, half turning to her, “Is the truly beautiful Joanna de Brito, of the De Brito Potato Chip

De Brito’s. “

“Oh, for god’s sake, will you stop introducing me like I’m a piece of meat!” Joanna said feigning anger..

Carol raised a hand in salute to both, çanakkale escort but Paul made it a point to walk over to Joanna, take hold of her hand, and still holding it, told her that he was pleased to meet her, “And I want to make it clear that I do not consider you a piece of meat, but a fine specimen of femininity.”

Before she could reply, he raised her hand to his mouth and kissed it much the same as Roscony had Carol’s, but lingered over it, letting his tongue flicker on the tiny veins on the top of her hand.

“OH! I think I like your man, Carol. Is he like this all the time?” Joanna inquired.

“Surprisingly, he is.” Carol replied. “He’s sexy as hell–-don’t you agree?” That said Carol crossed her magnificent legs, revealing most of one leg so that anyone looking at her, and most eyes in the room were, saw the tops of her thigh highs and possibly more.

“Well I do!” said a petite blonde in a green dress that showed off her bountiful breasts to advantage. “I’m Maria and this guy is Frank Downey. Oh, for the record it’s Maria Gonzales, and yes–-she cupped her breasts in both hands–-they’re real.”

“I’ll attest to that,” her partner added with a wide, infectious grin that grew wider when Maria smacked him on the arm. “Frank Downey,” the man sitting next to the petite blonde. “Just for the record, I’m an investor.”

When Paul gave him a quizzical look, Downey elaborated. “I invest in people and ideas. It’s proven very lucrative over time.”

Paul took Downey in, and with the skill professional writer’s come to possess over time, concluded that Mr. Downey was a very wealthy man, and decided to leave Ms. Gonzalez alone, even if she came onto him, as Carol had warned him some of the women might.

“You being fresh blood, the women will want to test you,” she’d said in the taxi on the way to the party.

“What about you, Carol? You’re not the jealous type?”

“There’s no jealousy evident at these affairs. It’s … unwise actually.”

“So, shall we mix with the others?”

“Yes, I recommend it, Paul.”

With that, Carol made her way over to Jubal and linked her arm in his, while Kayla leaned in against his other side. A moment later, Paul watched as Kayla laughed at something her husband said and then kissed Carol on the mouth.

It suddenly seemed that everyone was in motion of one kind or another. Paul found himself standing next to Joanna De Brito in that clinging black dress and noticed more than a trace of auburn in her brown hair. He looked around and spied Roscony now on the far side of the room, ostensibly examining the Picasso hanging on the wall with the greatest interest. Paul wondered if he’d been told to get lost for a while and decided he had and greeted Joanna with: “So how big is this place?”

Joanna laughed and replied, “Not very, but it has four bedrooms … if sleeping is what you had in mind.”

Paul smiled and said, “I got a good eight hours last night thank you.”

She took a sip from her glass, “Oh, then you’ll be wide awake for most of the evening,” she said matter-of-factly, and then, “Follow me.”

Paul did, and they wound up standing at the entrance of an opened door to the master bedroom.

“Very interesting,” he said, but kept his eyes on Joanna, not the bedroom. There was something about her that made him want to smile straight off, he decided it was the way she kept looking off instead of directly at him when starting a sentence then immediately remembered that she should be looking at him and kind of re-centered herself. He thought it added to her cuteness. She was at least six inches shorter than him. Then too she was a brunette, with touches of auburn tinting her hair. And she was blessed with very nice breasts, perhaps 34-B from what he could see. Then too, she wasn’t modelishly slim, but the curves she was blessed with were–-faultless.

Paul came out of his reverie when Joanna said, “Don’t worry Paul; those sheets will become quite rumpled before the night is over if I know Jubal and his friends.”

Paul’s eyebrows arched. “Really?”

“Oh, let’s not be disingenuous, Paul, you’ve been ogling my tits since we were introduced. You must have thought about getting me into one of these bedrooms, come on, fess up.”

“Joanna … I swear …”

“Here, please take this,” she said, handing him her wineglass. He accepted it and glanced over Joanna’s shoulder at the large window that looked out on the street below. The window itself was almost opaque, replete with reflections of people standing in groups and moving around in the living room while also providing a view of traffic far below flowing along the perimeters of the park.

Paul turned around and glanced inward. The figures reflected in the window weren’t dancing, but they were paired off and standing close to one another. Very close. In fact, Carol was now whispering into Mike Hunt’s ear, and didim escort he had a hand on her jutting ass. Moreover, she appeared to be welcoming the squeezes he was applying to it.

Kayla was now laughing at something Jubal was saying, and he too had a hand on her rump, lightly caressing it. Paul’s subconscious registered Joanna’s hands going up to do something with her hair–-a typical feminine move that meant next to nothing to him …

WAIT! His mind shouted at him. WHAT THE HELL IS SHE DOING?

She, being knowledgeable woman, gave a flick of the shoulders that caused the top of her dress to fall around her waist, leaving her bare-breasted in front of him.

“Like them, Paul?”

“Um, yes–-yes I certainly do!” he replied.

“Why not touch them, then?”

“In front of …” he paused, and then added, “Everyone?”

“Paul …” she said, and like Paul, she paused. “Look the fuck around you.”

He did, and saw that at least two men were casually touching the woman beside or next to them inappropriately at least that would have been the word in normal circumstances.

“It is a Memorial’s Day party, Paul. One should expect some form of advances being made inasmuch as no one here is married to anyone else–-here at least.”

Paul needed no additional encouragement from her and reached out and squeezed each breast in turn.

Joanna did something with her hips and the dress slid down pass her derrière. “Oops,” she giggled while caressing his face with her right hand and murmured, “Mmmm,” she moaned. “Now thumb the nipples with one hand and squeeze my ass with the other, baby. Mmmm, that’s my boy, that’s soooo nice.”

Her left hand rubbed over his erection, eliciting another favorable comment from her. “Oh, I like that–-you’ve got a whopper there. I do hope I get to use it tonight. Promise me you’ll save some of that big boy for little old me?”

“I’d like to think the evening will present the opportunity, Joanna,” he said his voice husky with lust.

“Mmmm, quickly now, squeeze my ass. With one hand and finger me with the other!”

A moment later Joanna, lightly removed his hand and said, “Perhaps I’d better I put them away now; Jubal’s about to make a speech, I think.”

And with an adroitness that surprised him, Joanna pulled her dress up to its former level and adjusted her breasts so that it remained up despite their obvious weight. Less than four seconds later, Joanna had turned from him and left him standing there. Then as if it was staged, and perhaps it was, Carol appeared at his side.

“Having fun, Paul?”

Although surprised, Paul managed to remain cool and answered, “I’d say as much if not more than you and Mike Hunt.”

She giggled into her hand and whispered, “Try saying his name three times in a row.”

He did, but saved face by saying it in his mind and smiled when he understood her asking him to say it aloud.

“Someone’s got a dirty mind, Carol.”

“Someone better wash those hands before dinner,” she shot back then laughed lewdly.

“So have you spent any time talking to the men here?”

“We’ve only just got here, Carol,” Paul protested.

“Really? Well you’ve already had Joanna’s tits in your hands.”

“She all but put them there,” he protested.

“I know, I’ve seen her before–-wore the same dress too–-so much for being a wealthy heiress.”

That made him laugh, and Carol leaned in and kissed him, and when his mouth opened, she sent her tongue inside to duel with his. Moments later, Paul’s hand began squeezing her ass, much the same as Hunt had earlier. Ending the kiss, Carol murmured near his ear, “You have a much nicer squeeze, darling. No doubt about it,” and they both began laughing.

He kissed her again and they took a moment to look out the window together at the dreary gray sky, the patchwork of illuminated windows and the rain drops. “Weatherman says we might get two or more inches of rain,” Carol said.

“And you in such a skimpy dress,” Paul said drolly. “But I guess my hands can help keep the chill off you.”

“Not to mention that big heater of yours. Maybe I’ll have you stick it in me and ride you home.”

“It’s a nice image,” he said.

“Mmmm, I like it,” Carol giggled. “Actually, Jubal will have a limo driver take us all home. He always does.”

“Keeping us drunks from getting into trouble?” Carol laughed, “Not exactly. But getting a cab on a night like this is nearly impossible, and look at the number of people who will be looking for one.”

“Oh I don’t disagree. In fact, I’m in favor of the idea.”

Then Paul switched topics, saying, “”You don’t really know the people at this party do you?”

Pursing her lips, Carol replied, “Well, I do know Jubal and Kayla, and to a lesser extent, Joanna, but as to the others–-no, some yes, but mostly no.”

Paul gave her his devilish grin and said, “Here I was worried about having to talk with a bunch of strangers having to rely on my natural gregariousness to see me through, but you’ve been talking to me almost the whole time.”

“Let’s get another drink, darling. Maybe someone else will take pity on you and talk to you.”

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