My Contest Winner
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The Contest Winner free porn video
The Contest Winner
By Nicole Larson
“Did you enjoy the show?” the big security man with the headset asked.
“I did!” I gushed. “Very much!”
And I had. It had been a long time since I’d been to a rock concert, and I wasn’t a huge fan of Cindee’s music, but she had put on a great show. The lights, the songs, the dancing, the insanity of the crowd, it was intoxicating.
So here I was, riding an elevator up to the 24 th floor of a swank downtown hotel, on my way to a private meet and greet with Cindee herself. Hang out in her hotel room, autographs, handshakes, pictures, all the good stuff. I had never won anything before, and I’d never met anyone famous, outside of one of the local newscasters at the grocery store by my house. I don’t even know what made me call the radio station and try to win the contest. “Be the tenth caller and win tickets to tonight’s sold out Cindee concert.” When I was a kid, I used to try to win those contests all the time, but every time I called whatever station was holding the contest, I only ever got a busy signal. I just picked up the phone and dialed. The phone rang, the DJ came on, and told me I was the tenth caller. I was too stunned to say anything, or even act excited. It wasn’t until I drove to the radio station to pick up the tickets that I realized what had happened.
My daughters were going to shit themselves when they heard about this. There hadn’t been any time to invite them along, since they were spending the weekend at their father’s house. They were huge Cindee fans. They’d made up dance routines to all her songs, they’d memorized all her interviews, they adored her.
The real shame was that I’d won two tickets, but couldn’t find anyone else to go with me. All my friends were busy, and I doubt many of them would want to see this show anyway. It was well after I was inside the arena that I realized I should have sold the other ticket. As it was, it was still in my pocket.
Her squeaky clean, good girl act. The innocuous teen pop, the appearances on Johnny Carson and American Bandstand. The cover of the Beatles’ “I Want to Hold Your Hand,” done with synthesizers and drum machines. You couldn’t escape it. It was everywhere. She was the biggest hit of the eighties, and I was about to meet her. My stomach was fluttering as we rode the elevator up to the tenth floor.
“Coming up,” the security guard said into the microphone connected to his headset.
I hoped I looked the part. The last rock show I’d been to was Kenny Loggins maybe ten years earlier, back when I was still with Jerry, and he played a small club downtown. Cindee had just played the local hockey arena to some twelve thousand people. I’d worn tight jeans, purple silk blouse and black leather boots. I’d feathered my hair back and done my makeup in the current style. I felt like a million bucks, but someone as fashionable and trendy as Cindee would probably not think too much of it. I still looked like a mom of two out for a night on the town. Whatever, it was the rockin-est thing I had in my wardrobe.
The elevator opened and the security guard told me which room to go to, and to have a good time.
I didn’t know what to expect when I arrived at the door. I expected to open it to anything from bible study, to high end relaxing dinner, to girly little slumber party complete with cotton nighties and pillow fights. Any of those things would have fit Cindee’s public persona.
I didn’t expect to smell the immediately recognizable tang of marijuana in the air, strong enough to waft out from underneath the door. The odor took me immediately back to my college days. Half wondering if I’d gotten the wrong room, I knocked on the door.
After a moment, the door was opened. A woman with light brown skin stuck her head out the door.
“Yes?” she said. Her eyes were red and heavily lidded.
“Hi,” I said. “Janice Lowerman. I won the K98 contest?”
“Oh, right,” the woman said. She opened the door and admitted me. I followed her inside, noticing that she was wearing a red satin bathrobe. Her brown hair was teased up and cascaded around her head like a lion’s mane.
The room was gorgeous. But, when you’re as famous and rich as Cindee is, I guess you can afford the best. Plush, white carpet underfoot, tasteful furniture, high ceilings, huge windows, expensive looking art. The place was bigger than my house. Bigger even than the house Jerry and the girls and I had lived in when I was still married.
“Cindee’s over this way,” said the woman in the red bathrobe. I followed her into the suite, feeling more and more self conscious as I went through.
Several people milled about the room. Maybe twenty in all. Most of them were hovering over a table, picking at hors d’oeuvres. They chatted and laughed. They were all young, none of them appeared to be over twenty five, and I was suddenly aware that I was the oldest person in the room by probably a decade. They were all dressed glamorously, in party dresses and suits, and here’s me in jeans and a silk blouse. Oh, boy.
Loud music was playing, and room service staff hustled in and out, filling glasses with champagne and replacing empty hors d’oeuvres platters.
The woman in the red robe walked me into another room, and there she was.
She was sitting on a couch, flanked by a woman with long legs and a very short dress, and a very effeminate looking Asian boy. She was wearing a white bathrobe, and her hair was up in a towel. She looked up as we entered the room and smiled.
“This is the radio contest winner,” said the black woman in the red robe.
“Oh, hi!” Cindee said brightly, popping up from the couch. She took a hit off a huge joint and passed it to the Asian boy, and bounded across the room toward me. She came over to me and put her arms around me and hugged me warmly. I was too star struck to really know what was happening. Cindee, multi-platinum, international singing sensation was hugging me. It was a bizarre moment for me.
She pulled away and looked me up and down. “Oh, the soccer mom thing, I love it!”
The people on the couch giggled, and I flushed bright red.
Cindee waved them off. “Don’t mind them. I think you look fine. I’m Cindee.”
“I know,” I said, smiling stupidly. “I’m Janice. Janice Lowerman.”
“Nice to meet you,” Cindee said, shaking my hand. “Want something to drink?”
“Um, sure,” I said, and within seconds I was holding a flute of champagne. I took a sip.
“Did you like the show?” Cindee asked.
I nodded. “It was amazing!” I gushed. “You were really great!”
Cindee shrugged. “I was okay. My techs missed some of the lighting cues, and I’m still having trouble dancing and singing at the same time.”
“Well, I didn’t notice,” I said. “I thought you were great.”
She smiled that famous smile that was on the cover of every magazine in every supermarket rack in the United States. “Well, I’m glad you liked it,” she said. “Hey, we’re going to hang out a little bit. Want to join us?”
“Sure,” I said. There was nothing waiting for me at home but maybe a bath and a dirty book and my vibrator.
Cindee smiled. “Well, I was about to get changed. Want to see if I have something a little more glamorous for you to wear?”
“Sure,” I said.
Cindee took me by the arm and walked me through the suite. “It’s not that I don’t like what you’re wearing, but I think I can spruce you up a little bit.”
We went into the bedroom, and she shut the door behind us, and then immediately doffed her robe. I was stunned to see that she was completely naked. I felt like averting my eyes, but at the same time, I was fascinated.
She must have seen me staring. “You don’t mind, do you?” she asked.
“No!” I said. “I’m just…”
She laughed. “It’s okay. I think you’re actually handling this better than most radio contest winners.” As she talked she headed to a closet. I watched her magnificent bottom switch back and forth as she walked. “Most of the people who win these contests are twelve year old girls, and they’re all weepy and screamy and annoying. It’s nice to meet someone who has got her shit together a little bit.”
“Thanks,” I said. Cindee emerged from the closet in a skimpy, silvery dress that moved seductively as she walked. Her famous blond hair was out of the towel, and she was brushing it with one hand as she came toward me. She had some clothes draped over her free arm and she held them out to me.
“Any of those gonna fit?” she asked.
I looked through them. There was a purple one that seemed to be pretty close. The tag said it was a size six, and I was seven pushing eight, but I thought I could make it work.
“Well,” she said, noticing that the purple dress had caught my eye. “Put it on.”
I started walking toward the closet, but Cindee stopped me. “I mean here,” she said with that famous smile. “I won’t tell anyone.”
Cindee went off to the bathroom to finish her hair, and I started taking off my jeans. I was immediately happy I’d chosen to wear some nice lingerie instead of the boring cotton stuff I usually wear. I took off my blouse and threw it on the bed, picking up the dress and working my way into it. It fit, but just barely. It was tight, and I hoped I didn’t look too much like an overstuffed sausage.
Cindee saw me and walked toward me, evaluating the dress. “Looks good,” she said, “but you’re going to have to lose this.” She pointed between my breasts, where my bra was exposed by the low cut of the dress, and the spaghetti straps.
“It’s okay,” She said, moving behind me. She undid my bra and pulled the straps off my shoulders. Once I was free of it, she looked me over once more, and gave me the nod of approval.
“How do I look?” she asked, holding her arms out and posing.
“Awesome,” I said, hoping it was the right word. I heard my girls say it all the time, and I hoped I didn’t sound too dorky.
I tucked my bra into my jeans pocket and arm in arm, we rejoined the party.
Things had slowed down. The group of people huddled around the appetizer table had left, and the wait staff was clearing trays of half-eaten food.
Cindee led me back into the other room, where there were six people now lounging around on the couches. They hooted and shouted as I entered in my new purple dress, and I posed and vamped around a little bit for them. I finally took a seat in a chair, and sipped at my champagne. Someone handed Cindee a joint and she took a deep hit off it.
She went around the room introducing me to everyone. “That’s Charmaine,” she said, indicating the black woman in the red robe who had answered the door. She was seated next to Cindee on the couch. “She’s one of my dancers.” I shook hands with Charmaine.
“That’s Delia, over there, she’s my keyboard player.” Cindee said, waving to the love seat. There, two women were cuddled up together. One of them, with black, teased up hair, and wearing pink Spandex pants and an oversized, ripped up AC/DC shirt, said, “Nice to meet you,” Delia then indicated the woman she was snuggling up with. “This is Karen. She was at the show tonight. She was in the front row, giving me the eye all night. She convinced me to bring her back to the hotel,” Delia said, with a naughty smile.
Karen waved at me. She was wearing black leggings, a lacy Madonna lingerie top complete with lacy tutu, and her hair was teased out to maximum.
Cindee then indicated the man sitting next to her. He was skinny, with long straight hair, and tattoos on his arms. “This is Lance, my guitar player.” Lance was only wearing a pair of tight leather pants and snorting coke off the glass table in the middle of the room. He looked up for a second with glazed eyes, and said, “Hey.”
They were all in their early twenties (except for Cindee, who according to everything I knew was eighteen), which meant I was the oldest person in the room by about ten years. And they all seemed to be high as hell, which was no surprise in the foggy room. I was even starting to feel it, not just the champagne, but the pervasive marijuana smoke and the relaxed atmosphere.
They were watching MTV. Well, they had MTV on the set, but they didn’t actually seem to be watching it. Delia and Karen were facing away from the set, and Cindee picked up the joint she’d been smoking and handed it off to Charmaine.
“I’m a huge fan,” I said. Not exclusively true, but close enough. “I have all your albums, I’ve seen all your videos. My girls are huge fans too. You’re their hero.”
Cindee smiled widely. “Aww! Where are they?”
“They’re with their dad. They’re going to be so pissed when they hear I won this contest.”
“I bet!” she laughed.
I watched Charmaine hit the joint and pass it back to Cindee. She hit it and held her breath for a long time, then offered it to me. “Want some?” she asked.
“No,” I said, automatically.
“Oh, come on,” Cindee said. “I bet you got crazy back in your day.”
The other girls giggled at this while Lance did another line, completely oblivious to what was happening. I was not going to be shamed by these kids, and yes, I had done my fair share of partying in my college days, so I took the joint and took a brief puff of it.
As I held my breath and felt the familiar haze of marijuana smoke enter my body, I watched as Charmaine put her hand on Cindee’s chin and pulled her closer. “You’re so bad!” Charmaine said with a giggle.
And then, I watched as Cindee and Charmaine kissed. Deeply. With tongue.
I coughed on the smoke in my lungs, completely shocked. What would my daughters think? Here was their hero, their idol, not only smoking dope, but kissing another woman!
Charmaine and Cindee kissed, and Cindee put her hand on Charmaine’s hip. The red robe slipped off her hip, and Cindee’s hand caressed the dark brown skin on Charmaine’s mostly naked butt.
Lance was watching them, leaning back and rubbing the front of his leather pants with the heel of his hand.
I was uncomfortable, and sort of wanted to leave, but I was unable to trust myself on my feet. Things were rapidly heading in a direction that a straight-laced mother of two from the suburbs was not usually seen in. The dope was doing quite a job on me, and the room was so warm and comfortable. So what if not one but two sets of women were making out right in front of me? So what if there were more drugs in the room than in all of Columbia? I didn’t feel completely like leaving.
“Looks like somebody’s lonely,” Karen said.
In my doped up state, I just now noticed that Karen and Delia had been kissing too. Karen had her hand down Delia’s Spandex pants, and was fingering the keyboardist.
“Aw,” Cindee said. “Do you want a kiss too?”
“No,” I said. “I really don’t.” It wasn’t that I hadn’t kissed women before. Like I said, my college days were wild, but… Well, now that I think about it, why not? I was already high, and despite my discomfort, I could feel a dampness between my legs.
“Charmaine,” Cindee ordered, “go kiss the nice lady. I’m gonna go get the stuff.”
They both stood up, and Charmaine approached me while Cindee walked past us.
Charmaine hovered over me, and then bent down, putting her hands on the chair’s armrests. “You ever kiss a woman?” Charmaine said, getting close to me.
I nodded.
“Good,” she said. “That’ll make this a lot easier.”
Her lips pressed against mine, wet and tender. Her lips parted and she licked at mine. I opened my lips and admitted her tongue into my mouth.
“What you got on under here?” Charmaine asked, running a finger up and down my hip. I didn’t answer. Too scared. I was still reeling from the smoke, and the incredible kiss Charmaine had given me.
She slowly lifted the hem of the dress Cindee had given me, and smiled widely as she saw the shiny and lacy champagne colored material of my panties. “That’s my favorite color,” she said.
Across the room, Karen and Delia were going at it, both with their hands on the other’s crotches. I could see their fingers working under the stretchy material. And on the couch, where Cindee had been sitting, Lance was still touching himself, watching the action with a drugged-up smile.
Charmaine then untied the sash on her satin robe, and pulled it off. Underneath, she was wearing nothing but a pair of black panties, the high-waisted, high-hipped panties we used to wear in the eighties. Kneeling in front of me, she put her hands on my knees and started pulling them apart. At first, I protested, but it wasn’t for long.
She kissed my legs, then my thighs, then once on each hip, then once right on my mons. She moved her way up my body, pulling the purple dress up as she went. Before I knew it, I was lifting my hands up, and closing my eyes as Charmaine lifted the dress off my shoulders, and throwing it into a puddle in the corner. She kissed me again on the lips, then the neck, then she was suckling at my breasts. Before long, she was laying down on top of me, and we were kissing again.
I had my hands on her body, which was lithe and taut, as a dancer’s should be. In college, my freshman roommate had experimented a little bit with this kind of thing, but we stopped short of actually making love. She got nervous when I tried to undress her, and she eventually lost interest, and started dating one of our school’s baseball stars immediately afterward. I, however, had always wished that we’d gone farther, and one of the great regrets of my life was that I’d never had a full-on lesbian affair.
Now, it was actually happening, and one of the world’s biggest musical stars was in the mix. It was bizarre, but great.
“That’s more like it!” came a voice from behind us. We turned to see Cindee walking toward us, carrying a pink plastic bag. Between her legs, under the silvery dress, dangled a dildo attached to a black harness around her hips. Cindee grabbed Charmaine by the hips and pulled her down my body, to her knees. She went down on one knee, and put the dildo in Charmaine from behind. The black girl started moaning and sighing as Cindee worked on her. Charmaine’s pushed my legs farther apart, so far that I had to rest them on the armrests of the chair, and started kissing my panties.
On the other couch, Karen and Delia were going full tilt. Delia was completely undressed and had maneuvered her way on top of a similarly naked Karen, and they were grinding their crotches together.
Charmaine pulled my panties aside, and started licking my pussy, moaning while Cindee fucked her. Cindee watched me as Charmaine ate me out, pinching her own nipples and smiling widely. Charmaine put a couple of fingers in me and licked at my clit. I came, the orgasm sending chills and tremors through my body.
Cindee saw this, and pulled out of Charmaine. Before I could fully recover myself enough to know what was happening, Cindee was pulling my panties off and sliding her dildo into me.
Charmaine slunk her way over to Lance, who had taken out his impressively long penis and was stroking it slowly. Without asking, Charmaine turned around and slowly lowered herself onto Lance’s cock, and then started bouncing up and down on him.
I grabbed at Cindee’s hips as she worked on me. I breathed and sighed as she drank in my naked body and pounded into me with her toy. I pulled one of the shoulder straps off her slinky silver dress, down her arm and freed one of her tiny breasts, pinching her nipple until it was hard and sensitive.
Without pausing for even a moment, Cindee pulled the silvery dress off and whipped it around over her head. With a loud, “Yeee haw!” she threw it into the corner.
I grabbed her and pulled her to me, engulfing her in a hungry kiss.
Then I was rolling her over onto her back, and kneeling in front of her. She pulled the dildo aside with one hand and placed the other on the top of my head. My face found its way to her crotch and before long I was eating out the world’s biggest singing sensation. I mused on what my girls would think if they walked in the room right now. What was I going to tell them about how this evening had gone down? Did I even have to tell them anything?
I licked Cindee into a shuddering orgasm, and she leaned forward to kiss me.
I felt a warmth on my back, and then two soft breasts, and then a third tongue asserted itself into mine and Cindee’s kiss. I didn’t even open my eyes to see who it was, but my hand found its way to the newcomer’s crotch, and my fingers found their way almost automatically into her dripping wet opening.
Still on my knees in front of Cindee, I felt hands on my hips. Rough, male hands. And then I felt the head of a penis questing for my own opening.
I spread my legs wider and let Lance into me. He grunted and moaned with ecstasy, pumping faster and faster as Cindee and the other woman, who I now realized was Karen, shared our three-way kiss.
Lance varied his technique, now going fast, now slowing down, now stopping altogether with a long, deep thrust.
I had never felt anything like this, and I was momentarily sad that I would probably never feel it again. Nothing this crazy would ever happen to me again. Enjoy it while it lasts, I told myself. Remember every moment. Remember every sensation.
I did it with everyone in that room that night, in every possible way. It would take too long to describe the entire night, so I’ll just give you the highlights.
Cindee and I on our backs on the couch, legs in the air, kissing, while Lance fucked her and Charmaine fucked me with the strap-on.
Delia sitting on my face, making out with Charmaine, who was grinding her pussy into mine.
Cindee doing a line off Lance’s dick, then Lance flipping her over rather roughly and doing her in the ass.
Charmaine working herself into an orgasm so intense that she squirted all over Delia’s front. The rest of us immediately licking Delia clean.
Me, wearing the strap-on, sticking it into everyone who came within reaching distance.
I don’t know how many times I came that night. I don’t know when I finally lost my strength and collapsed on the white fur rug, curled up between Delia and Cindee. But I do know that when I awoke, the sun was up and I was the only one stirring.
Quite on a whim, I decided to make a quick getaway. I was still trying to process what had happened to me the previous night, and for some reason I was embarrassed. My pussy throbbed with all the exercise it had gotten last night. My knees were weak and my head was spinning from all the drugs. I wanted my own bed. Normalcy, routine, sanity.
I searched the entire suite, as quietly as I could, but couldn’t locate my panties. I gave them up for lost. I did get into the bedroom and put on my bra and soccer mom jeans and soccer mom blouse and grabbed my boots.
I was tiptoeing for the door when I heard a voice from the mass of naked people.
“Hey,” Cindee said, her voice heavy with sleep. She stood up, stark naked, and came over to me. “You’re not leaving,” she said.
“Yeah.” I said. I stammered my way through some excuse.
“Don’t go,” Cindee said. “Stay and have breakfast with us.”
|I looked over at the naked people on the floor. The idea of facing them in the daylight, knowing what we’d done with each other the night before, was not something I wanted to do. How do you have a polite conversation with someone who had, just hours before, been tonguing your asshole? “No,” I said, “I should go.”
She put her arms around my shoulders and kissed me. I felt old. Old and ugly and tired, and I just wanted to curl up in my own bed and try to process this the best I could. But damn if her sleek little body didn’t feel good pressed up against mine. Damn if her lips weren’t as soft and wonderful as they’d been last night. Damn if I wasn’t feeling a little dampness between my legs as she kissed me.
“Thanks for a great night, though,” I said, reluctantly pulling away from her.
“You’re welcome,”
“And thank everyone else for me.”
“You should leave your number,” she said. “That way, when I’m in town next, we can meet up.”
“I’d like that,” I said. She produced a pen, and I wrote my number down on her wrist.
I opened the door and backed through it.
She kissed me once more, as I stepped through the door, and I got one last look at her lithe naked body, and that tremendous, world-famous smile before the door shut.
And then, the elevator, the cab ride home, the front door, the bathtub and the rest of my life. And a brain full of an incredible memory I will never forget.
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