Monday, July 1, 1974
“I’d say you’ve dodged a bullet,” scolded Felicity.
“I know,” I replied. “I wish I had listened to you. I was stupid. I’m just glad it wasn’t a catastrophe.”
Felicity strapped my wrists to hold me in position.
“This will makes you feel better. We’re going to make this daily for a while, rather than weekly. Until you learn better discipline.”
“Thank you, my darling,” I said, just in time to wince from the first impact. This was not a just-for-play spanking. I knew how much I deserved it.
“I spoke with Beverly on the phone this morning. She tells me she managed to keep a lid on any talk about you.”
She spanked me again—hard.
“Which was fortunate—and very kind of her. Good thing she is sympathetic to your cause.”
Again! And it hurt.
“As far as she knows, Jill didn’t even bring up the size of your cock.”
“She didn’t seem particularly interested in it,” I said.
Swat number four. The more it stung, the better I felt.
“I know all women are bisexual, my darling,” I said to her. “But Jill doesn’t seem to know she is.”
“As I’ve told you, some females are unclear on the subject. Jill is one of those. She considers herself a lesbian, not bi.”
Number five. I couldn’t see my butt, of course, but I knew it was beet red by now.
“There’s a very positive aspect to the Jeri and Sylvia connection. Unfortunately, I am not at liberty just yet to divulge the reason why. You’ll come to understand soon enough. What I can tell you is that Sylvia and Jeri hit it off beautifully. As is not surprising for two people with astronomically nigh SMQs.”
She spanked me again. Was she easing up or was I just getting used to it?
“I will also say it was interesting cross-pollination—so to speak—between Beverly’s circle and mine. And a good time was had by all, I’m told. Jeri left only early this morning, and only because she had a flight to catch.”
“Betty stayed the night, as I’m sure you know. She was still in bed—not sleeping—but planning to return home afterward. I mean to your house. It seems she has a personal rule: never say no. And she didn’t say no to Beverly, Jill, Jeri, and Sylvia. Not necessarily in that order.”
Swack, again, which was number seven. Maybe it was the accompanying narrative, but I was starting to enjoy it.
“That’s all for today,” she said, as she unbuckled my restraints.
“Do you know when you are seeing Jeri again?”
“We didn’t have time to set a date. She’s very busy. So, I don’t know. Mom will have her schedule, and so I can check with her.”
“She may be busier now than before. From what Beverly tells me, Sylvia has two girlfriends now.”
“That’s not good news.”
“It may be better than you think. I think you need a massage.”
“Oh! That’s a sharp right turn. I’d love a massage. Do you mean right now?”
“No. And not with me. You’ve got other things on your schedule. But go by Joann’s tonight at eight. Your butt should have calmed down by then.”
I had to hand it to Felicity: even her punishments were sexy. The physical pain I could endure—in fact ensuring it for love’s sake was what made it erotic. What really tore me up was realizing I’d failed Felicity, disappointed her.
I wasn’t sure, though, I needed to be spanked daily, as a reminder not to do anything so stupid again. Then again, one measly flogging a week had never seemed like enough.
After that dressing down (not the fun kind) the rest of the week was going to be a breeze. My Monday morning ten o’clock was a simple conjugal visit. I’d have an “ordinary” woman to fuck, an outside volunteer. I never knew who it was until I walked into the bedroom.
This time, I was thrilled to see Jeannie Searle, my best friend’s mother. She was one of the least attractive ladies it was my pleasure to have regular sex with. Yet seeing her got me hard instantly. She was almost without peer in her sheer erotic brilliance—at least outside the circle of professionally trained personnel.
She and I had a blast and fucked through lunch, though some of the girls thoughtfully brought us sandwiches in bed.
Later I had a workout with Irene. We always had sex afterward, acrobatic intercourse, such as fucking while we both hung upside down by our ankles. Crazy!
By evening I was tired and sore—and the prospect of a relaxing massage felt like a perfect way to end the day.
At seven-fifty-five, I knocked at the Lears’ apartment door.
Joann opened the door. She was wearing a white robe. I walked in and we spent the first minutes kissing.
“Everything is ready for you. I’ve been looking forward to this. Come with me to the massage room.”
“I didn’t even know you had a massage room.”
“There’s a lot you don’t know.”
We turned down the hallway and went through a door on the left. The room was warm and cozy, dimly lit by flickering candles. Soft, tranquil music was playing from a small stereo in the corner. The massage table awaited me in the center.
“Well, no need to ask you to undress” she purred. “But I will.” She slid her robe off and draped it over a chair. Now, the two of us were naked together, and we kissed long and passionately.
I heard the door open and saw from the corner of my eye that John had joined us. He was not quite nude, with a tiny satin thong covering his genitals. We had all enjoyed multiple threesomes together, and so, his presence was no surprise.
He took us both in his arms. He and Joann kissed, and then, he and I kissed. Kissing men was still not my thing, but we were way past that frontier. The precedent was set at my deflowering. My position was clear: I was not bi nor interested in becoming so. On the other hand, I welcomed the attentions of male admirers—of whom I seemed to have no end. And if I wasn’t ready to fuck them or be fucked by them, kissing and accepting some manhandling of my privates was a comfortable compromise.
“Are you familiar with the term quatre-main?” Joann asked. The way she pronounced it rhymed with “water main.”
“I saw this old movie on TV once: King Solomon’s Mines. I think the main guy’s name was something like that.”
“Hmm. Not what I had in mind. It’s a type of massage. From the French, meaning ‘four hands.’”
“That would be quatre mains,” I said, pronouncing it the way my hot French teacher, Mrs. Cody would.
“Right,” she said. “Well, it means being massaged by two people—thus, four hands. Especially an erotic massage by a man-woman combination. The best of both worlds—which is what John and I will be performing on you this evening.”
I climbed onto the table, and John slipped off his thong. The three of us were nude together.
“I want you to wear this blindfold,” she said. “That way you won’t know whose hands are touching you at any moment. The goal is complete confusion whether your sexual pleasure is coming from a male or a female. That’s the game.”
“Interesting,” I replied and acquiesced as John placed the blindfold.
“We’ll turn you face down in a moment, but first a little playful touch.”
I felt feather-light sensations over the front of my body. My cock and balls were neither neglected nor particularly emphasized. I had been moderately erect, but their attentions brought me to a full, rock-hard rigidity.
They say depriving one sense enhances the others. Was that happening to me? I wasn’t sure, but in my imagination, I saw both of their faces. And with the sensuous buzz running through my body, I became aware of tender, amorous emotions toward each of them. Essentially, in equal measure—which surprised me. It was as close as I had ever come to sexual desire for another man.
That was the idea, clearly, and it was working. My genitals were front and center, and their touch was enough to serve as a turn-on, but tantalized rather than satisfied. It left me wanting more intentional touch without particularly caring whether it was from Joann or John.
“How is that feeling, Martin?” she asked softly.
“Amazing! Erotic!”
Someone kissed me. I was sixty percent sure it was John. Other lips began sucking my nipples. Was that Joann, then? I was less sure.
Whoever had been kissing me ceded place to the other, and I felt the presence of a face inches over my cock and warm air blowing on it from someone’s lips. I would have been glad to feel a tongue on it, even if it happened to be John’s. I’m not saying I welcomed a man-on-man blow job, but I was horny and needy.
These initial attentions ceased, and I heard Joann’s voice from above my head. “We’re going to have you turn over now, Martin. And we’re going to tell you a story while we pleasure your body.”
“Mmm. All right.”
I turned face down and four hands began vigorously kneading my glutes, fingers brushing, seemingly at random, over my anus and down my perineum toward my scrotum.
“We’re going back to the year 1954, said the voice of John. “Two decades ago. You know one significant event in that year: your beautiful mother appeared nude in publication as Playboy magazine Playmate of the Month.”
“Yes…” I breathed in comprehension.
“That was in November. We need to go earlier, to the month of May.”
Joann’s voice resumed: “John and I were living in Houston, where I was a research fellow at Royce University. I was studying what was then known as Sexual Magnetism. My goal was to artificially generate an ambient energy field.”
Someone’s fingers played on the outer surface of my asshole. God, that felt good!
“I was not one of the researchers, myself,” said John. “That’s not my field. But I think it’s safe to say I played an integral part in the grand experiment.”
One of them worked the muscles of my shoulders, draining out the tension of the last several days. Wow! I needed that!
The other one climbed on top of me and slid a slippery bottom along my legs, past my butt, and over my back. I felt what had to have been a stiff cock gliding between my butt cheeks. Safe bet that this was John.
Four hands! I thought. Plus some extra appendages.
“My goal was to generate an augmented and amplified energy field intense enough to be detected by instruments—which were decidedly primitive in those days.”
“Today we can do it with electronic components, first transistors and then integrated circuits. In tiny devices, too. Back then it was all done organically, with human bodies.”
They changed places, and Joann massaged the entire length of my body with her breasts. John now concentrated his attentions to my feet, dissipating tons of stress and sending waves of pleasure through my limbs.
“That was my main contribution,” he said, “being a warm body. Joann and I had spent a few years finding out what sex acts boosted our overall energy level. Who says scientific research can’t be fun?”
Joann continued: “Then we tried adding bodies. We invited friends, colleagues, grad students, who helped us by participating in various types of group sex. We were able to identify some things which seemed to work and some which didn’t.”
“What did Edison say? He found ten thousand ways that didn’t work….,” quipped John.
“Not that we found that many,” she said, “but we did learn some crucial information, for instance, that some individuals emitted strong fields and others not. It was the early basis of our SMQ measurement.”
“To make it work we needed to use only strong emitters…,” he said.
“Only, we had no objective way to test anyone,” said Joann. “It was all done by feelings and intuition. Which had a huge benefit: it trained us in energy sensitivity. We may not have had objective verification, but eventually, we could sense the unseen forces as clearly as if everyone were wearing a neon sign.”
“And to play with those forces,” said John, as I felt a finger enter my anus and slide up my rectum. His finger, obviously. He was pleasuring my prostate with his long, bony finger.
It’s just a finger, I told myself, not his cock. That made me imagine what his penis would feel like, by comparison, churning in and out of my manhole—as if I had a vagina.
His piece was particularly thick, I had noticed, and I pondered whether it would even fit inside me. Part of me was itching to find out. I was a big fan of insertional devices—vibrators and dildos—and had been working my way up in terms of diameter. John’s girth would have been a couple of steps at least beyond my current best. Still, I try to be flexible.
Another part of me recoiled in astonishment at the autoerotic fantasies now running rampant inside my head. And lustful thoughts about John: when—not if—I had my first time with a man, how sweet would it be if it were him! God! Where was this coming from? Had I been harboring such desires all along, only suppressing them?
“Martin,” I heard his voice say, “are you experiencing any interesting sensations?”
He pulled his finger out. My bustling sensorium began to regain equilibrium. I had a clear memory of enjoying homosexual lust for John, but I no longer felt it.
“You could say that…,” I answered.
“That,” he said, “was an example of what I mean by ‘playing with’ the erotic energy. I’ve never been able to transmit further than a few centimeters, but I have found I have the ability to share my point of view. Were you aware of any effects along those lines?”
“Came through loud and clear, John. A bit longer and I’d be having your child.”
“Ha! Funny you should put it that way. Anyway, you’re welcome. By the way, what works through my fingertip works even better through my glans.”
“I’ll file that information under ‘useful tips’—pun intended.”
“Just to be clear, Martin,” he said, “I would love to fuck you.”
“Thank you, John. That’s very sweet. I won’t forget. If ever I have a change of heart, you’ll be the first to know—especially now that I know what it feels like.”
“If you boys are through with your foreplay, it’s time for you to turn over, Martin. Keep the blindfold on, though.”
I turned face up, more importantly, cock up. I did wish I could see them—well, at least her. Her breasts. Her face, those mesmerizing blue eyes. But I delighted in the sense of touch, those four hands—and more—all over my body.
Plus what my hands could do. Joann picked up my left hand and placed it on her breast. My part was to fondle, which I was more than happy to do.
On my right side, however, my hand was at just the right level. John positioned himself so that his cock and balls were in easy reach. They felt soft against my hand, even though John’s dick was plenty hard.
Kind of warm and cozy, I thought, fun playtoys, those naughty bits. Was this John playing with my energy again? No, this was me, my own appreciation for the beauty of masculine genitalia.
My overwhelming sentiment at that moment was balance—along with serenity and wholeness. Could this be an electroerotic energy effect? Holding the magnificently feminine in my left hand, the quintessentially masculine in my right? Some kind of sex current flowing through my being?
Maybe that was sheer fantasy. Maybe it was pure applied science. Either way, it felt sublime—not in a frantic and compelling way—but with a kind of cosmic quietude. An all’s right with the world—with the universe—consciousness. God! Where had that been all my life?
In that place of stillness, I listened as Joann went on with her story:
“So, we spent some time hunting down suitable subjects—not just warm bodies—but deliciously hot bodies, if you will. It wasn’t sophisticated: they were either above the line or below it. And we needed a mixture of male and female participants.”
“We required components which we could assemble—snap together, plug in—in particular ways. We interviewed more than a thousand, selected around three hundred. I won’t say it was particularly difficult to interest people in the project. But the process was exhausting.”
“In the meantime, I had to devise the perfect configuration, how to link the bodies, just the right sequence, just the right connectivity. It had to be complex, concentric, stratified, multi-dimensional.”
“Nothing like it had ever been conceived before. It took three months just to build the platform stricture and cushion it appropriately for the largest and most elaborate act of group sex ever attempted.”
“Think of an organic particle accelerator – a sexual cyclotron. We were two-hundred-seventy-two committed participants. There were forty-five alternates available in case of illness or incapacity.”
“John and I formed the core couple. He and I were joined in the central coitus. Each of us had a penis inserted in our anus. One in each of our mouths, and four more, one in each of our two hands. It was a bit like trying to walk and chew gum at the same time, but more fun.”
“Altogether that makes eight male subjects directly connected with the nucleus—i.e. John and me. Each one of these men was the initial link in a loop, a chain of bodies interlocked by different sexual acts.”
“One ring was all guys, linked anally starting with the gentleman who was butt-fucking John. That ring was maybe twenty-five or six long, and to complete the circuit, the final cock plugged into the first guy’s mouth, his ass being already occupied. I know this is difficult to follow.”
“Another ring was all female, except for the initial male whose cock was in my ass. The ladies connected mainly orally, of course, a long daisy chain of about thirty-three, if I recall correctly. That was twenty years ago.”
“All of the other loops were… well… coed, you know: boy-girl-boy-girl. There were interconnections between each ring as well, often by anilingus. It was pretty much no-holes-barred. Finally one longitudinal and one latitudinal ring around…
