Page 90 of Her Brother's Billionaire Best Friend

I wandered through thelobby, distracted by the competing muffled rhythms of music in thedifferent areas of the castle. Snickering at the “please, no sexacts on the stairs” sign on its golden stand at the top of thesteps, I started down to the theater.

The theater lobby wascrowded with fully nude people; my skimpy dress made me feeldownright modest. I didn’t think I would ever get use to seeing somuch flesh shamelessly displayed, nor the way people casuallytouched each other; a man used a huge pink dildo on a woman who laymoaning and clutching her breasts right there on one of the benchesacross from the “concession” stand.

More signs indicated theorgy would include barrier-free sex and reminders about safe wordetiquette, with a little traffic light illustration. Yellowindicated a person didn’t care for the act being performed, but redwould indicate that a participant wanted to stop entirely. Iwondered how long it would take me to utter “red” tonight.Hopefully, I’d remember to stop while I could still crawl back tothe house.

I joined the line of people enteringthe theater floor and noted others already leaving, laughing andtoweling off, leaving jellied footprints on the carpet. Twobouncers stood at the doors, informing each patron of the rules aswe passed by.

“No clothing past thispoint,” one of them said to me.

“Oh.” I paused and lookedaround me, then, seeing no other option, pulled my dress over myhead. “Should I…”

Without a word, he took thegarment from me. “We’ll send this up to the house.”

“You know who I am?” Iasked, but the natural movement of the crowd urged me along,through the doors.

If there was a place theycould post a warning about the floor being slippery, that place wascovered in big red and black signs warning that the floor would beslippery. Grippy, textured mats lay in aisles between the blacktarps stretched over the rest of the floor and led up to thewaist-high pool. There was no ladder; staff members helped guestsin and out.

A person with a short blackpixie cut offered me a hand. Her name tag read “Storm” and suppliedher pronouns, but also provided me with a reason to look at herincredible, gravity-defying tits in her otherwise plain blackT-shirt. She was short and slender but had no trouble lifting me bymy waist and dropping me into the pool.

I squealed at the coldnessand weird feeling of being dipped full-body in lube. Somehow,despite knowing what was in the pool, my brain had still expectedwater, and my nerves rebelled at how squishy everythingfelt.

Someone waded toward me. Ablonde with an hourglass body and pale, heavily tattooed skin.“Hey,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m Bree.”

“I’m…” I didn’t have a fakename at the ready. “Anonymous.”

She grinned at that. “Okay,Anonymous. Do you like girls?”

“It depends on the girl.” Ishivered. “And the temperature, to be honest. I think I might diein here.”

“It’s a get in, get outkind of thing. But you’re not even covered yet.” And with that, shescooped up two handfuls of the jelly-consistency liquid and smearedit across my breasts. My nipples, already hard from the shock ofcold, suddenly ached for her touch.

I quickly glanced aroundthe room. Masses of bodies writhed on the tarps, the lube coatingthem occasionally refreshed by a bucketful tossed over them bystaff members. There wasn’t just moaning, but a lot of laughter.The sex happening around me was unabashedly silly. I wanted in onit.

“Let’s get out of here,” Isaid to Bree, and we moved toward the staff members, who helped usout with their grippy gloves. The moment my feet hit the floor,they almost slid out from under me.

“It’s easier if you crawl,”Bree said, and I got the feeling she’d been to one of these partiesbefore. I followed her on my hands and knees, getting the mostamazing view of her big round ass and a flash of a piercing peekingout from between her labia. We reached one of the rare bare spotson a nearby tarp, and she collapsed into a puddle oflube.

She crooked her finger tobeckon me over, and I slid to a stop beside her on the plasticsheet. Our bodies came into full contact, all soft and drippingwith slipperiness, and she sighed, arching her back. I couldn’tresist; I ran my hands over her tits, down her waist, over herhips, and back up, my legs parting around her thigh. I rubbed mymound against her and the lack of friction was oddly frustratingand arousing at the same time.

She gripped my ass, diggingher fingers in to hold on. Someone else’s leg bumped against us anda muffled “Sorry” came from somewhere in the impossible knot oflimbs to our left. To our right, someone was being held down by twovery muscular people while another gripped the prone figure’s cockin two hands, twisting and pumping vigorously, ignoring theirvictim’s half-hearted pleas for mercy.

I reached between myselfand Bree; there didn’t seem to be any reason to take things slow.My fingers encountered her small triangle of pubic hair and thecool metal of her hood piercing. I rubbed one finger around herclit, behind the piercing, and she mewled deliciously in my ear.Her hand sought me out too, but so did the person held down besideme. The big palm covered my breast, groping for it, and I angledmyself to give them better access.

“Can I join in?” someoneasked close to my ear. I looked up to see a slender figure with astrap-on around their waist. The dildo seemed comically large, butwith all the lube around us, I had no doubt it would make its wayinto any number of holes, no problem.

Bree rose up on her knees ininvitation, but everything was far too slick. She ended up bracedover me, our breasts gliding and squashing together, and we bothlaughed.

“Where do you want it?” theperson with the strap-on asked. Their long, dark hair was braidedback and their deeply tan skin shone wetly, like all the rest of usdid under the pulsing, colored lights.

Without hesitation, Breeanswered, “My ass,” and the person climbed into position behind herwith more grace than Bree had managed. Bree’s eyes flew open,staring into mine with a mixture of shock and pain; our thirdhadn’t held back with their thrust.

A long, low, “Fuck,” issuedfrom Bree’s mouth, and she dropped her head. “Fuck, that’sgood.”

She trapped my clit betweentwo fingers, rocking them back and forth, and I pumped my hips intime, the lube beneath me squelching with each movement. There wastoo much stimulation, all around me. The driving beat of the music,the constant slide of skin on skin, Bree’s grunts and cries as shebegged the person with the strap-on to go harder, faster, and theway her fingers on my clit sped up when they obligedher.

Every thrust of thestranger’s hips rocked Bree against me. My brain desperately triedto keep up with my body, but it couldn’t process anything butsensation. I climbed higher, higher, lost in dizzying hunger formore stimulation, more depravity, more, more, until I burst with atight, high cry that made Bree laugh through her ownmoans.

“That was so cute. Let’s doit again,” she said, but those fingers went lower, entering me soeasily that I sucked in a breath with a surprised gulp. It wasn’ttwo fingers. It was three, then the fourth, and with a split secondof shocking pressure, her small hand was inside me.

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