Message-ID: <6591eli$9803032149@qz.little-neck.ny.us> From: SR Subject: NEW STORY: (SR) The Bachelor Party (MF / M+F) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d MIME-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=us-ascii Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <19980303153856.12351.rocketmail@send1a.yahoomail.com> miners can't read without those lamp-hats on their heads. feel free to copy or archive. do whatever you want with it, just don't blame me. your mileage may vary. i think i'm almost getting the hang of this. in the remotest depths of 1991 or 1992 or 1993 -- back when the worldwide web was just a gleam of spit in the corner of marc andreesen's pouty little mouth -- i spent lots and lots of time (and LOTS AND LOTS of money) dialed up to an annoying little bulletin board somewhere in america's heartland. it was an addiction that i thought i'd kicked... but sometimes on cold winter nights when my boyfriend is miles away it comes back. if you recognize yourself as a combatant in any of these, feel free to contact me (parasol_60@yahoo.com) but no flames, please, cuz i'm a delicate frail flower who might not be able to stand it. The Bachelor Party Pre-wedding jitters. What groom hasn't felt them? That sense of impending doom, the prison walls closing in, when every flaw in your blushing bride is magnified by the sense of "forever" and all it implies. There's not much you can do except grit your teeth and hope you've made the right decision. And wonder what it was that led you to this point. In Tom's case he felt he could say without too much equivocation that he truly loved Marie. What wasn't to love? That perky dimpled face, the sweet expression in those bright blue eyes, the shoulder-length straight blonde hair, the way she cared for him, the cute little star-shaped birthmark on the cheek of her ass. He'd known her for years, finally "falling in love" with her one ski weekend in Vermont. The sex, though exciting enough to start with, was still somewhat tame for his tastes -- but he convinced himself that her shyness today only promised improvement down the road in their nebulous future together. Still, he was nervous. His best friend Earl knew it, and as "best man," was determined to do something about it. Earl was famed in their circle for his practical jokes, and sometimes Tom was afraid he might have been a poor choice for best man. But as the wedding day loomed nearer and nobody had tied his underpants to a tree Tom relaxed and came to believe Earl might have "mellowed" with age. Following local custom, it was a nominal secret from Tom when the "surprise bachelor party" would be held. He'd figured it out when four of his friends made some lame excuse why they couldn't get together the night before the wedding, but feigned shock when two guys wearing stocking masks pulled up in a late-model TransAm and hustled him, blindfolded, into the trunk for a bumpy ride to some knotty-pine-panelled Elks' or Knights of Columbus hall just outside of town. It was a typical one-room affair. Bar along the wall -- a couple of kegs, a few bottles of bourbon for shooters. When he was hustled into the room, still blindfolded, Earl greeted him with a big bear hug and a 12 ounce tumbler of Jack Daniels. "Drink up, buddy!" he roared. What the hell, thought Tom, and let the whiskey run down the back of his throat, burning all the way. "Beer, beer!" he gasped when it was down. Earl obliged, offering up a draft Coors in a plastic mug. It was cool and soothing where the whiskey had burnt going down. Everybody Tom knew was there. Guys from high school, guys from college, guys from work. Older guys, offering "condolences" with a wink; younger guys with a wistful yearning in their eyes -- the ones who knew Marie, anyway. Everyone had come out to see Tom off in "one last bash." He shook more hands, heard more bad advice, and got slapped on the back more in one night by guys he hardly knew than ever before in his 28 years of life. There was a semi-organized moment during the chaos where they passed out a series of gag gifts. A pair of handcuffs, a large plastic "ball and chain," a bullwhip, two cans of "low-fat" whipped cream (each from different guys), a pool cue, a couple dumb-ass T-shirts with sayings like "My next wife is going to have bigger tits," and something in a loudly-wrapped box that advertised itself as a "male chastity belt." He barely glanced at most of the crap, was more interested in the fellowship of his friends, the jokes, the confidences. Even the silly advice. At one point Earl swaggered over and asked, "Hey Tom! Do you know how to tell the groom at a nudist wedding? Me neither, but you can always tell the best man!" Earl roared with laughter at his own joke; the crowd roared with him. Tom's head had been swimming for a while when he became vaguely aware of a sense of expectation among his friends. Whispers just out of his earshot, something about some "entertainment" planned for the evening. Tom's beer kept getting refilled while he stayed caught up in the constant round of talking, laughing, joking, and returning sly winks from nodding acquaintances. Finally there was a kind of hush in the room when Tom became aware that his own laughter was the only sound. Earl had been over by the door, and all eyes turned to him as he let his voice rise over the crowd, as if he'd memorized a speech. "I don't know how many of you know what we've got planned for the night. Have any of you heard of that new model agency in town called 'Doubles'?" There was a quizzical, noncommittal murmur from the crowd, and Earl continued, "Well, this place offers to get you models matching all the classic beauties. Every chick from Marilyn Monroe," there was an intake of breath from the assembled male throats, "to Cindy Crawford. Now I thought about this. And I'll tell you, guys, I'd sure like to get my hands on Cindy Crawford." There was a growl of assent from the room, and Earl went on. "But I thought about it, and there's one 'classic beauty' I think we'd all really like to see tonight. So, with the help of a photo I filched from Tom's wallet, let me present..." He swept his arm to the door, where a woman stood in the shadows. As she stepped forward into the light Tom was stunned. The woman standing there appeared to be a twin of his bride. He only vaguely heard the rest of what Earl was bellowing as he walked over to the woman. Her hair was shorter than Marie's, curlier. A slightly darker blonde, too, now that he looked more closely. And her makeup -- somehow it was cheaper, more garish. She reeked of some cheap perfume his Marie would never have worn, and her posture was somehow sluttish in her tall spike heels. Still, it was Marie's face, Marie's blue eyes, even Marie's body, in a trashy sort of way, if you kinda squinted a little. She wore a miniskirt over dark stockings and a tight tank top. Earl walked over to her, spun her around with an arm around her waist, and ripped her skirt off, pointing to the left cheek of her ass, where a crudely shaped star had been inked in. "See," Earl called out for the benefit of the crowd, "she's even got that star birthmark you told me about!" It took a few seconds for Tom to get it straight in his whirling brain, but eventually it struck him, and he mumbled to himself, "Yeah, but it's on the wrong side." Earl released the model, she stumbled to her feet and grabbed the beer out of Tom's hand. After she'd chugged about half of it, some rolling down her chin, she looked up at him and laughed in his face, pouring the rest of it over her chest. He recalled that Marie hated beer as he took in the way the wet tank-top clung to the woman's full breasts, outlining her prominent nipples. "Why don't you help me out of this wet shirt, Sport?" she asked him. Her voice was as cheap as the rest of her, and Tom was surprised that it was her differences from Marie that began to turn him on, more than her superficial similarities. He reached for the beer-soaked cloth between her breasts, and tore the shirt in two pieces, to the loud cheers of the guys now clustered around to ogle this gorgeous, naked woman wearing black stockings, heels, and a smile. The best man picked up the bullwhip and started clowning around; one of the other guys suggested that they all "take turns seeing what she's got!" She turned to the guy who said that, fell onto her knees and opened his pants, letting her bright red lips give him a big wet suck. While she was occupied with that Earl picked up the pool cue, walked around behind her, and poked the thick top of the cue up between her legs. She moaned a little and spread her legs to let it inside. He lifted it upwards, she was raised to her feet, bent over at the waist with the pool cue stuck up her cunt and a guy's cock deep in her mouth. Seeing her that way the crowd started chanting for the groom to "pork her ass... pork her ass... pork her ass" over and over again. Tom was so hot for this woman that he straddled the pool cue with his pants still on one leg, and stuck himself up inside her asshole while she was chomping on the other guy's rod. Earl poured another beer over her soft cheeks to lubricate Tom's entry, and he slid himself in and out in time to the group's wild chant of "pork her ass... pork her ass." But watching while he slid inside her he was puzzled for a second, and thought he saw two star-shaped birthmarks on her ass, one on each cheek. He promptly forgot about it, thought he must have been drunk or seeing double, and he started yelling to the woman, "Go ahead, suck him dry you cock-sucking whore. You love getting your asshole plowed while you've got a cock down your throat, don't you bitch? I'm gonna fuck your goddamn ass till you can't sit for a fucking week. I'm gonna rip you fucking in half, you goddamn fucking slut, you piece of shit. Take it. Take it up your fucking shithole. Take it all. All of my goddamn scum right up your sweet fucking ass, you slut, you bitch. Aaugh, I'm coming you fucking, god, shit, take it, now, fucking, shit, you..." and he held her hips locked in his hands as his cock spasmed over and over inside her. Loud waves of cheering broke out among his friends. One passed him another beer, he took it in a shaking hand and chugged it down as he pulled out of the woman's asshole with a sucking sound and kicked her to the floor amid raucous laughter. He wondered for a second if he should have thought about safe sex, then decided, "Hell, no, I fucked HER! She didn't fuck ME. Let HER worry about fucking AIDS. Bitch." And he reached for another beer while his friends lined up for their turn in the saddle. In the morning, red-eyed and hung over, he stood at the altar railing in church. He had on a tux, a bow tie, tight shoes. His tongue was dry and scratchy, the organ music hurt his ears. The bridal march began and he turned to see his bride coming down the aisle toward him. He looked out over the sea of faces: relatives, old teachers, former girlfriends, a few guys from last night who looked as wiped out as he felt. His bride was heavily veiled, but all through the ceremony he couldn't keep his mind off the woman last night, laughing at him while beer dribbled from her chin to her tits, or lying on the table while his friends took turns in her cunt, or shot their load on her face. He went through the motions of the ceremony in a haze, until finally they said to him, "You may now kiss the bride," and he raised the veil to kiss her and noticed that Marie's blonde hair had been cut and curled, and seemed darker somehow. _________________________________________________________ DO YOU YAHOO!? Get your free @yahoo.com address at http://mail.yahoo.com -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us |