All Or Nothing Part 1 free porn video

All or Nothing: Part I By Trisha I sat on the end of the couch in the waiting room, briefcase in my lap, teetering on the brink of a full-out sweat. Today was the big day. I had been working at my new job for a month and I was finally going to meet my boss, Mr. Matheson, the head of my department. The job was really not much more than a glorified accounting position, what the company called an "asset manager." I worked in a cubicle next to dozens (hundreds when you count up all the floors of the skyscraper we worked in) other schmucks just like me. But it wasn't just any glorified accounting position. This was a job at the headquarters of Mason and Mason, the most prestigious (and rumored to be the most wealthy) international bank this side of the Atlantic. And now I was here to see the Man. The big boss. If my report to him went well, I might set myself up for a promotion. Who knows, I might even get out of my cubicle and get my own office one of these days. I daydreamed a little. Across from me, behind a large, dark desk, sat the secretary, a blonde knockout in an almost unprofessionally tight blouse that showed off some exceptionally delicious tits. I was already impressed with her, of course. She was reminiscent of Anna Nicole Smith in her prime. Absolutely fine. But when she got up to put away a file, I was even more dazzled by her. Her short black skirt revealed long, silky legs that seemed to go on forever, all the way up to a tight, round ass, just right in proportion to the rest of her. She was even better looking than Anna Nicole Smith, I concluded. I was nervous about my meeting, but this secretary (the nameplate on her desk read "Vicki") was doing a good job of keeping my mind off it. I couldn't help to forget about the stats and the charts and estimates in my briefcase. My imagination was going crazy just thinking of scenarios between me and Vicki. But I suppose that was part of her role here, I thought. Matheson, I was told, did a lot of business face to face, and if the other guy's thoughts had strayed away to his secretary, that was all the more advantage for him. Then the phone on the desk buzzed and I heard the voice of a man: "Vicki, you can send in Mr. Conners." And now I was that "other guy," I thought. One of the most important meetings of my life, and my mind was completely blank. "He'll see you now," Vicki told me in the sweetest, most innocent voice imaginable. I straightened my tie and patted my briefcase down, buying a little time for my erection to fade and my heart rate to stabilize. Then I stood up, smiled at Vicki, told her thank you, and walked into Mr. Matheson's office. My first thought was that I had stepped into the wrong room, perhaps the main waiting room for the whole floor, but Matheson's office was just that big. And intimidating. It had a high ceiling, a huge window overlooking the city, an unscratched mahogany floor, and bulky, antique furniture that was nevertheless diminished in size by the space of the office around it. In the corner was a bar, looking fully stocked, and beside that a long stone-top table for meetings. An entertainment system faced the opposite wall and next to that a door that could only lead to a private bathroom. In many respects, the place was better than my home. And I owned a nice house. "Good afternoon, Mr. Conners," Matheson said, coming out from behind his immense desk, hand out to shake mine. "Good afternoon," I said, meeting him halfway, shaking the hand. He was a big guy, well over two hundred pounds and none of it was flab. He was gentle with the handshake, but I could tell he could have crushed my bones in an instant if he had wanted to. I wondered if he was screwing Vicki. He wore a choice Armani suit, an impeccably business-like haircut (not an aggressive crewcut but not too casually long either), and looked me straight in the eye. I could tell he was measuring me up, figuring me out a little. Then he showed me to one of the plush chairs in front of his desk. "So you have the report on the Richardson account ready?" he asked. "Yes, sir," I said, opening up my briefcase and handing him the sixty-three pages of analysis I had spent my first three weeks at the job doing. He took the report, laid it on his desk, and began to silently peruse the pages. While he read, I quickly got my head back into the game, remembering all the figures and projections and, more importantly for this meeting, the reasons behind those numbers. I had to be prepared to defend my suggestions. But to my surprise, he closed the report, put it on the corner of his immaculate desk, and turned back to me. "It looks good, Brandon," he said. "Can I call you Brandon?" "Of course," I said. He looked at his watch, frowned, then looked back up at me. "I'll be honest," he said. "We hire a lot of people here at Mason and Mason. Three of your friends, I believe, got hired on with you." "Three?" I asked, unsure of who he meant. "Let's see," he picked up a file and read from it: "Kyle Hadley, Ted McCormic, and Tyler Reeve." He was two out of three. Kyle and Ted were certainly friends. Tyler Reeve, on the other hand, was just as certainly not. I had known him since college and there wasn't one redeemable trait that he had. Besides being opportunistic and backstabbing, he also lusted after my wife, Angela, for which I was particularly sensitive to. But I thought that this was better left unsaid and gave only a "That's right, sir." "They've each been doing well also," he told me. "As you probably already know, there is a lot of competition here for promotions. In fact, we encourage that competition. We feel that it creates the right environment for maximum efficiency and progress." "I see," I said, nodding as if I wanted the toughest competition against me as I sought promotion. "There's no buddy system here," he continued. "No one's daddy pulls the strings. Only the best rise to the top. But don't worry. You wouldn't even have been hired in the first place if we didn't believe that you were capable. We do a lot of research into the histories of the people we hire, research most companies don't bother to do. Mason and Mason is about merit. It's about survival of fittest. And I can already tell from this report that, if you want to, you can go far with us." "Thank you," I managed to say, my nerves back. Matheson straightened himself and looked at me closely as if he had something important to say. "I don't mean this to be a pep talk," he told me. "I'm not trying to sell you something. You are in this company because you deserve to be. But there is another dimension to this company that no one outside of is aware of. There is more to this company than meets the eye." "And what's that, sir?" I asked. He paused, then took a paper from his desk and gave it to me. "I would like it if you and your wife... what is her name?" "Angela." "I would like you and Angela to come to a company gathering at this address Saturday night. It's kind of a get-together at our private club. Will you be able to make it?" Holy fuck, I thought. He's inviting me to the Getaway, Mason and Mason's very own club. The place was legendary and, of course, private admission only. "Well, yes," I said, taking the paper. "We'd love to. What time?" "You will want to be there before seven." "That sounds great." +++ I met the guys after work for a drink at a bar before I went home. I couldn't wait to tell them about being invited to the Getaway. Like I said, the place was legendary, though I never really knew anyone who had actually gone in. It was strictly a place for the Mason and Mason elite and anyone they invited. I was thrilled. But to my amazement, Kyle and Ted had the same news. They had been invited by Matheson as well. "It must just be a thing for the new guys," Ted suggested. We had all been hired together, straight from a failing bank called Calbank. Mason and Mason was a huge company and was always bringing on new employees. We had all just ridden the latest surge of hiring. "Maybe," I said. "But I still don't think all the new guys were invited. They wouldn't have room to fit in all the people they have hired even in the last couple of months." "Yeah, they've hired A LOT of people," Kyle said. "I think we're getting earmarked for promotion," I said, trying not to be over-enthusiastic about the news, but failing miserably. "It looks like it," Ted agreed. "I can't wait to tell Amy," Kyle said, sipping his Manhattan. Amy, Kyle's wife, worked for an advertising firm and made more money than he did. Ted and I sympathized. Cynthia, Ted's wife was a claims lawyer. My wife, Angela, was newscaster for one of the local stations. And although none of us would admit it (we all wanted to be the modern, equal rights supporting male), it bothered us that we weren't the main breadwinners for our households. When we had all been laid off from our previous job, it had really hit home. But now things were looking up. If we got promotions, we might start to earn about the same salaries as our wives. "That's another thing," said Ted. "I thought the Getaway was like a gentlemen's club or something. Why would they have us bring our wives?" "Maybe what we've heard isn't true," I suggested. "I hope it is, though," Ted smiled. We all laughed. There was nothing ever confirmed about the Getaway, of course, but there was plenty implied. The place had a definite reputation for the wild side. "Man, I hope they don't do anything too crazy, though," Kyle said, echoing a thought I just had. "I don't want Amy to get mad or anything." "Yeah," Ted agreed, also thinking of his wife. "I'm sure it will be fine," I said. "They wouldn't have asked them to come along if it wasn't." "True," Kyle agreed. "And its going to be fun," Ted smiled. "Real fun." +++ Angela was not nearly as excited as I hoped she would be. "I don't think that my attendance there will look very good," she said. "What do you mean?" I asked. "They invited you." "I'm talking about my own employers, not yours," she said. "The Getaway doesn't exactly have the best reputation, does it?" "That just a bunch of rumors," I told her, hoping to God that it was. "You don't appreciate how much my job is in the public eye. My success as a newswoman is dependent on my reputation. If I'm seen coming into some sleazy gentlemen's club that is sponsored by the company my husband works for, I've got a minor scandal on my hands. I have to keep up my image." "I promise that no one will know," I said. "But I need you there. I have a career too." "This whole Mason and Mason thing was a mistake," she spat. This struck a nerve with me, but I didn't show it. I was still a little sensitive about my wife having this much control over my career. But I knew blowing up at her was only going to make things worse. "Please," I pleaded. She twisted her mouth in thought. Angela was drop-dead gorgeous. Blonde, blue-eyed, and very fit. Her looks alone secured her a large portion of the ratings. But at times like this, she could be cruel. I would have like to attributed her cutthroat mentality to the business of news casting, but I had known her too long. She inherited it from her father, I think, a filthy rich magazine publisher famous for his not-so-licit tactics against his competitors. When she wanted to be, she could be downright cold, even to her husband. She loved her local fame. She loved that she made more money than I did. Deep down, she was still her daddy's girl. She loved power in whatever form was available to her. I knew that she would go to the Getaway and that, further, she had always intended on going, but not without being able to hang it over me. "You owe me," she said and I knew she meant it. +++ And so that Saturday, we all met at the Getaway, an enormous building on the outskirts of town. I had driven by it once or twice on the way to the mountains, but I had never really stopped to take a look at it. Just like everything associated with Mason and Mason, the place was very imposing. Three stories high, a half an acre wide, and limos parked everywhere. Angela and I even felt a little ashamed driving up in our brand new SUV, a vehicle we had previously been so proud of. When the valet met us at the front as we walked up to the double doors, I could tell that Angela was much more impressed that she would have liked to let on. This wasn't just some seedy bar where a bunch of old men liked to hang out. This was money and lights and flashy clothes. This was the outward manifestation of power. And, whether she wanted to admit it or not, she liked it. Two mountain of muscles, bouncers, greeted us at the door. "Good evening," one of them said. "Name?" "Brandon Conners," I said. The other one checked a list in his hand, putting a mark by my name and adding, "And his wife." They let us in. We walked inside. "Oh my," Angela said uncharacteristically. But I couldn't blame her. The scene could have come out of a movie. Rich, tuxedoed men and their companions were mingling everywhere. Two bars on each side of the place were busy keeping up with the crowd. An all-girl band (and all VERY pretty at that) played on a stage up front. Tables everywhere. Waitresses carrying drinks everywhere. A giant fountain spurted water up thirty feet and came down over a statue of a Pan-like figure and his nymphs. It was absolutely incredible. It didn't take us long to find Ted, Cynthia, Kyle and Amy. They stood next to a table looking just as flabbergasted as I felt. "Amazing," Ted said. "Yes," concurred Amy, Kyle's wife. "No company meeting I've ever had looked like this. This makes our get-togethers look like a church potluck." Ted and Kyle were both smiling and, as I came to realize, so was I. We were all thinking the same thing. We made it. We finally made it. I saw Matheson and another man approach us from one of the bars and I pointed him out to Angela. "Hello," he said as he came near us. His voice just exuded authority. "I'm so glad that all of you could make it. You must be Cynthia and you must be Amy," he said to Ted and Kyle's wives. "And you, of course," he turned to Angela, "are Angela Conners. I see you on television all the time." Angela blushed, which was unbelievable. She was well used to people "seeing her on television" of course, and she was usually only annoyed when someone might come up to her while she was out shopping or something. But now she was blushing. Angela NEVER blushed. "Pleased to meet you," she said, her eyes sparkling just a hair too much for my jealous tendencies. When you have a wife as beautiful as Angela, you can't help it. You look for every sign that she is hitting it off with another man, no matter how innocent. And it was clear that she was quite dazzled by Pete Matheson. "This is Fred Benson," he introduced us to the man next to him. "He works as a Level 8 manager in your department." I recognized him from my first day at the job, but I hadn't seen him since. All the managers offices were on the floors above the rest of us and they rarely came down to bullshit. Like Matheson, he was a big, good-looking guy, though not quite as big as Matheson. I had never talked to him. I had only talked to his fabulously sexy redheaded secretary. "Level 8?" Amy asked. "That sounds pretty high." Kyle and I smiled at each other briefly and let Fred Benson explain. "Actually," he told her. "A Level 8 is pretty low. Level 1 is the highest and Level 9 is the lowest." "What are you?" Cynthia asked Ted. "Level 9," he laughed. "But I'm hoping to improve that." "Aren't we all," Matheson added. He spoke it to us all, but I could somehow tell he meant the remark to be pointed at Fred. "And what are you, Mr. Matheson, if you don't mind me asking?" Angela asked. "Not at all," he smiled back. She could charm anyone she wanted to. "I'm a Level 3." The party (or the meeting, or whatever it was called) went on for some time, though it didn't take me long to figure out something seemed kind of strange. Almost everyone I met was rich, fit, and very attractive. Every man was well- muscled or, at the very least, well-toned. Every woman was thin, beautiful, and usually stacked. It was like some celebrity party, only I didn't really recognize anyone. "I hope I don't have to start benching 350 just to get a managerial job," Kyle told me. I nodded. It was almost eerie. Angela noticed too. "There's not one ugly person in here," she said to me. "Do they hire on looks?" "I'm beginning to wonder." Suddenly, Angela turned her head away from the main floor as if hiding her face. "Don't look now," she told me. "But here comes Tyler Reeve. What a sleazebag." I turned. There he was, big stupid grin like he knew that the only thing that could ruin the evening was his own unwanted presence. "I see they let you come tonight, too," was the first thing he said to me. We kept up only the barest pretense that we could tolerate each other. "How's that arm? Play any football lately?" I asked him, referring to the broken bone I gave him in a pick up game of football once back in college. "I don't play anything anymore," he said as coolly as possible, though there was a flash of bristling underneath the exterior. "I only work. And I only work to win." Leave it to Tyler to say something stupid and corny like that. I couldn't believe Mason and Mason had hired such a moron. But they would figure him out, I guessed. Nobody like that could hide their flaws forever. I felt someone tapping me on the shoulder and I turned to see Ted. "Mr. Matheson said to go downstairs," he told me. "Downstairs?" I said, blinking incredulously. "This place has a 'downstairs'?" "Apparently." Angela and I followed Ted and Cynthia who were following Kyle and Amy who, in turn, were following Matheson and his date who, sure enough, was his secretary Vicki. But we weren't the only ones going, I noticed. All sorts of people were coming to. I looked at my watch. 11:30pm. As we descended the staircase, an almost nondescript doorway in the back of the gigantic hall, I began to hear the sound of a large crowd of people. Two more bouncers stood in the stairwell watched people pass. Those that they didn't recognize, like us, they stopped. But Matheson waved to them and they let us through. Just when I thought the evening was going to have no more surprises, it suddenly hit overdrive. The voices became louder and louder as we descended and after about two or three flights of stairs, I could see them. Hundreds of them. Maybe a thousand or more, I don't know. More people than I could have ever imagined being under the Getaway, that's for sure. They were all sitting in seats facing some sort of arena in the middle. It was almost reminiscent of a basketball game or maybe an amphitheater. Thousands of lights hung from the high ceiling, illuminating the whole place, but particularly the center, the "stage area." It was breathtaking. "Wow," I heard Ted say. All of us were dumbstruck, though we still managed to follow Matheson. "This way," he called and he brought us all the way down one of the aisles between the seats to the third row which was marked RESERVED. We each took a seat and Matheson and Vicki took the end near the aisle. "We like to give all of our first timers a close seat so that they can observe every detail," he explained. "Is it some kind of a show?" Kyle asked. "Yes, it's a show," Matheson said. "I'll tell you more about it as it goes along." This seemed to be a hint not to ask any more questions about it and, for a while at least, everyone was quiet. More and more people, meanwhile, streamed down from upstairs. On the other side, I saw Tyler Reeve with his boss and a group of other new guys. Everyone, especially Tyler, seemed awestruck. For once, I couldn't blame him. We were all awestruck. Whatever was going on, all of us began to understand that it was much, much bigger than us. I doubt I was the only one at that moment to worry that we had gotten into something we might never get out of. The seats inclined downwards toward the center in which I could now see was a large cushioned mat, about sixty feet by sixty feet, one that was hard enough to run on, but soft enough to fall on. There was no equipment on this strange stage, no microphone or anything else that might give a real clue as to who was going to come out before us. Just a big, grey mat and nothing else. The place was full in a matter of minutes. "A long time ago," Matheson began to explain to us from his seat without warning. "A race of men decided that the evolution of their kind was moving much too slowly. More and more, people were becoming fat, lazy, and, above all, stupid. Something, they decided, had to be done." I gave Angela a puzzled look, but she was staring intently at Matheson, as were the others. "This," Matheson continued, pointing to the arena in front of us, "is our inheritance from them. Here is a place where true merit can be determined unequivocally. Here is a place where the stakes matter. Where the winner gains all and the loser loses all." Just as I was trying to understand these puzzling words, all heads of the arena turned in one direction. We looked too. A train of men filed from a door down one of the aisles, one of them in a scarlet robe and eight men after him, all of whom were completely naked. Then, before my senses could completely register this, the man in robe began to chant in a low, baritone voice and, though I couldn't understand what he was saying, it sounded very much like Latin. As they reached the stage area, I recognized one of the naked men as Fred Benson, the Level 8 manager we can just talked to a few hours before. He looked straight ahead, as did the other men, as if the crowd wasn't even there. "Enter the ring!" the robed man cried out and, in unison, the naked men behind yelled "Praise to the Great Master!" Everyone entered what I now realized was a ring. Were they going to fight? For a moment it looked like more of a sacrifice than a fight. The robed man pulled out a long, shiny knife and held it over his head. Meanwhile, I heard Matheson like a voice-over for some documentary. None of us took our eyes off the spectacle before us. "Each man gives his blood to the Great Master as a sign that he may do whatever he likes with that blood." At this, each naked man held out his right hand, and, in the order that he came to them, the high priest cut them with the knife on the top of the wrist. I winced a little, but it didn't look like he cut them very hard. Just enough to draw blood. "What are we doing here?" I heard Ted whisper. "These people are in some kind of cult." I said nothing. I was afraid to. Sitting next to Matheson, I was afraid to even nod. I didn't want to do anything that my provoke him. It was obvious that these people could be dangerous to some degree, but I didn't want to find out exactly how much. If Matheson or anyone behind us heard Ted, they said nothing. Once each naked man had been cut, the naked men went to the edge of the ring and sat down in a row of chairs that had been saved for them. Only the robed man remained, tilting his head to face the ceiling and giving a loud chant. "The priest now sanctifies the contest in the eyes of the Great Master," Matheson explained. "Now it may begin." The robed man backed out of the ring and, uncalled, two men stepped onto it, each taking an opposite corner. Fred Benson was one of the men. "Four Level 7 position opened up last month," Matheson told us. "And now these men will fight for those spots. The first is Fred Benson against Matt Henryson." This is how you get promoted? I thought. Holy fuck, what was going on? All I wanted was a nice paying job, not a membership into some freakish cult. There was no sound of a bell. No signal to start. The crowd murmured for only a moment and then went completely silent. But when the two men charged each other in the center of the ring, the audience went crazy. Everyone was suddenly screaming and yelling and jumping up and down. The strange cult ceremony had suddenly turned into a football game. The two men locked arms almost immediately. They wouldn't try to hit each other, Matheson told us. The object was only to pin the other down. "And when that happens," he added. "This place really gets crazy." It was already crazy, I thought, but I watched with fascination. Benson and Henryson stayed up for a long time, each trying to gain enough leverage over the other to throw him to the mat and pin him down. Henryson, like all the men, was very muscular and a match to Benson's strength. Both looked to be in such good shape that it was hard to imagine either one of them being pinned. "What happens to the loser?" I asked Matheson as calmly as I could. He must have known what was going through my mind, but he didn't show it. "You'll see," he said, not taking his eyes off the match. "Just keep watching." I almost laughed. What else was I supposed to do? A moment or so later, Benson got under Henryson and the two went down on the mat with Henryson on his back. Benson immediately took the advantage and grabbed Henryson's wrists for the pin, but the move was just one second too presumptuous. Henryson was not tired enough for such a maneuver to work yet and he threw Benson aside, putting him on his stomach. Now it was Henryson who took the advantage, pouncing on Benson in one athletic catapult and rolling himself over on the midsection of the prone man. Henryson was now sitting on Benson's lower back. He could now take his time and he did, carefully grabbing the futilely waving arms of his opponent and pressing them to the mat. He had pinned him. The crowd roared with satisfaction. Now what? I thought, praying that they wouldn't kill him. "Keep watching," Matheson told us all, knowing that we would anyway. In a thousand years, I never would have imagined, let alone believed, what happened next if it wasn't for my own two eyes. Until that point in the evening, I had seen a lot of strange things happen, but none of them had been unexplainable. These people were obvious screwballs, albeit rich screwballs, who had found some odd pleasure in Satanism and naked wrestling. But then something else happened, something that suddenly changed everything about what I was witnessing. Benson began to change. Right before my eyes, thirty feet away, the large man pinned to the mat began to... shrink. His whole body-arms and legs and head-all began to suddenly go thin and change shape. His hair, black and shortly cropped, began to grow terribly, unnaturally fast. In fact, everything that was happening seemed to be unnatural. His legs began to change. His torso began to change. And when his grimacing, screaming face began to change, I realized what was happening. He was changing into a woman. And not just a woman either. A skinny, big breasted, outrageously beautiful one at that. The whole thing was like some strange, inescapable, incomprehensible dream. I was riveted to my seat, motionless. Very smug now and very pleased with himself, Henryson picked Benson up by the hair and stood him up to show him to the crowd who roared appreciatively at the conformation that the cock and balls that Benson had had only a minute before were now gone and replaced by a seemingly natural pussy. And then I noticed that Benson wasn't the only one to change. Henryson had changed to, only not into a woman, just more of a man. His muscles were now noticeably bigger and, though it may have been only that he was now standing next to a five foot two inch woman instead of a six foot two inch man, he seemed to have grown in stature as well. Matheson confirmed this, now giving us the missing pieces to the puzzle: "The winner gains everything. By defeating his opponent, he not only robs him of his manhood, he adds that manhood to himself. Henryson is now stronger, faster, and bigger than before. The winner also gains a significant portion of the loser's intelligence, adding points to his IQ just as he takes points from the man he defeated. But what is perhaps most satisfactory of all for the winner, is that he now gets his very own female slave, someone he has total control of." "Get on all fours, bitch!" Henryson ordered Benson who, though he still looked scared, complied nonetheless. "And now the traditional consummation," Matheson said. Henryson was now playing with his huge hard-on. I was close enough to see that it had to have been at least nine inches, perhaps more. With the crowd cheering him on, he gently descended to his knees behind Benson and began rubbing it across his slave's asscrack. "You love my big cock, don't you?" I heard him yell over the noise at Benson who nodded helplessly. "Tell me you want it." "I want it!" Benson cried out in his new, girlish voice. "I need your cock!" The crowd roared again with delight. Even if they couldn't all hear Benson, they still knew what he was saying. And with that, Henryson plunged himself into Benson's virgin pussy. I finally looked at Matheson who, I now saw, had undone his tuxedo pants to expose an enormous cock, possibly a foot long. Vicki, his buxom blonde secretary, had taken off her shirt and was now edging up to his lap to rub her tits on his dick. "These events make me so horny," he told me as Vicki began to tittie fuck his cock as he passively watched "the show" in front of him, that is, the deflowering of Benson. He wasn't the only one that seemed to be affected in this way. All around us, I saw the crowd in various acts of copulation. In the seats in front of us, a brunette woman hopped up and down on her man's lap, screaming in complete ecstasy that she would always be his "little whore." The cheering, in fact, had turned to orgasmic moans and I realized that we were now caught inside a colossal sex orgy. "Vicki is my latest prize," Matheson told me as the blonde began to lick the head of his gigantic meat, giggling in delight as she did so. "And my favorite. Of course, I have more slaves than I know what to do with anymore, but Vicki is special. Her name was Jack and he was the one I beat to get my Level 3. Jack had been so arrogant. He couldn't open his mouth without boasting that he was going to pin me down within a minute. But now he can't open his mouth without me shoving my fat cock down it. And he loves it! Don't you, baby?" Vicki/Jack nodded with delight. "I used to be a man big and proud and smart, just like you," he said in a manner that sounded rehearsed. His voice had a certain schoolgirl tone to it. "Now I'm just a stupid, cocksucking whore!" Matheson grinned at me, slapping his cock against Vicki's face. Vicki pretended to be surprised by it, but I could tell this was just part of the routine. "See? He loves it." "Can I suck it now, Master?" he asked longingly. "Of course," Matheson answered. Vicki immediately began bobbing up and down on the cock before him, moaning in pleasure as he did so. As if from a dream, I suddenly remembered Angela. She had been sitting next to me the entire time, but had not said a word. When I looked at her, I expected shock, bewilderment, and even fright. But if she was shocked, she wasn't too shocked, at least not enough to suppress her other feelings. To my amazement, I found her rubbing her breasts and crotch and, when she saw me turn to her, she moved one of her hands to my crotch. And then I realized that, just like everyone else in crowd, I was extremely horny. In fact, I had never felt so turned on in all my life. It was like there was some kind of spell over us and, after witnessing the previous events, that's exactly what I figured it was. I glanced over at Ted and Kyle who were busy getting their wives undressed, then turned back to Angela. "Fuck me hard!" she ordered, standing up and pulling up her dress. The woman lap-fucking the man in front of us faced her and, before I realized what was happening, the two women started kissing. Then, breaking out of my momentary trance, I quickly stood up behind my wife, pulled down her panties, and unceremoniously rammed my cock into her warm, eager cunt. The two women continued to kiss as I pistoned my hips in and out of Angela, grunting along with her grunts and, as it happened, watching the stage again. Henryson and Benson were, by now, oblivious to the crowd around them. With one hand, Henryson had grabbed Benson's long black hair as if it were the reigns to a horse while, with the other, he was spanking Benson's perfect little ass red. For his part, Benson seemed to be only enjoying himself which, while it didn't follow any logic, nevertheless made as much sense as anything else that had happened. With each thrust his massive tits jiggled and he gave a sharp, almost breathless cry. He was in bliss. Then, all at once, Henryson's diligent pumping lurched to halt and he grabbed Benson's hair even harder. "OH GOD!" he screamed and, as he climaxed, his whole body, every enormous muscle, tensed in the excitement. It didn't take me long for me to reach my own climax. Angela was now lecherously tonguing the breasts of the woman in the next row, cupping her own tenderly, as if she expected it to be too much for her if she grabbed them too hard. My hands were firmly locked on her hips and as I felt myself cross the orgasmic threshold, that moment when there is no turning back. To my surprise, I could feel the walls of Angela's pussy convulsing in her own orgasm. I couldn't believe it. Up to that point, I thought she was frigid. In our two years of marriage, I had never once been able to make her cum. She had said it wasn't my fault; that she was just simply incapable of it. But now everything had changed. I stayed inside her for more than a minute. It felt like I had squirted a full bucket of cum into her. Then we sank back to our seats, absolutely exhausted. "Mmmm," I heard Vicki moan as Matheson shot his load all over his slave's face. As the jism dripped down to his lips, Vicki pulled it in with his tongue. "Gawd, I love your cockjuice," he said. "It the only thing I love more than your incredible cock." "Good girl," Matheson said. "Now clean up the head and you can cum." "Thank you," Vicki giggled, sucking on the helmet of the still-erect cock. Matheson turned to me and asked: "How was that?" I didn't answer. I could only shake my head. I had no words for what had just happened. I did, however, know that I wanted to do it again. I was hooked. To be continued.