Inspired by my Moulin Rouge blog post, Mr T arranged a cocktail party and bisexual orgy with myself Harriet and TS Belle.
We convened our soiree at Purl Cocktail Bar. A subterranean mad scientist laboratory of experimental libations.
There awaited a dapper chap in a 3 piece suit and two ravishing sex goddesses.
The menu looks innocent enough but I'd read the reviews on google maps and knew the bartender had some wild and wonderful syntheses in his repertoire.
Harriet and Mr T went for COFs.
We all jumped to the same conclusion about the acronym.
Harriet asked the waiter what it stands for and he blushed and said its his first day he's not sure, he'll find out etc.
Another waiter returned and assured us it's City Of something. I'm not convinced.
Acting coy.
Everyone knows COF is cum on face.
I ordered a Mr Hyde.
This cocktail bar is famous for chemistry experiments. The Mr Hyde comes in a flask in a bowl of smoke. The waiter lifts the lid and the smoke creeps out of the bowl and sits in a small cloud level with the table top. Weirdly not rising or blowing away. He pours half the cocktail into a glass and fills half the flask with smoke. I'm told to drink half. Dr Jekyll, I presume. Then leave the other half to steep in the magic smoke, Mr Hyde.
Belle opted to forego the alchemy and had a glass of champagne.
Mr T had booked a table in an alcove which made for an excellent semi-clandestine rendezvous. Other patrons were nearby but out of earshot and direct line of sight. Just the venue for some espionage and light foreplay.
Harriet, enchanting as always, wore bondage themed Honey Birdette lingerie.
A gift from Mr T.
A gentleman of refined tastes!
Belle is over 6 foot in heels. Legs forever. Diabolically sexy in her slinky black ensemble.
I'm not a fan of punting websites. I find the concept of treating sessions with sexworkers as a hobby and feeling the need to discuss sexworkers with other "hobbyists" to appeal to a very specific variety of person who I want nothing to do with and will actively avoid sessions with as best I can.
However, it bears mentioning that Belle has flawless reviews on hobbyist websites. With good reason. She's spectacular.
I carried Belle's bag for her from Purl to Chez Oz. Just 2 blocks away but on stiletto heels that altitudinous it's an impressive feat to sashay across the bedroom let alone walk 2 blocks.
I popped open a bottle of Champagne making sure to give it a little shake and fire the cork at the ceiling with a little ejaculation of froth. A portent of events to come.
The Soundtrack.
Our genteel festivities crossed the starting line of polite small talk and overtook flirtation and a peloton of foreplays like a jetski in a paddling pool for aqua aerobic pool walking.
A broken champagne flute on my tiled floor inspired us to take refuge en masse on my bed like the raft of medusa.
If the raft of the medusa had a fucking machine strapped to the stern like an outboard motor.
Mr T soon had a bent over Harriet in front of him, whom he was doing doggy style, Belle behind him likewise styling him like a doggy, and a view of Harriet sucking my cock.
The excitement was too much for poor Mr T. All the sights and sensations. He thought he pulled out in time but the point of no return was past. He jizzed.
But the party didn't end there. Mr T has a minor superpower. It's not laser eyes or retractable adamantium claws but it is super. He can take a cock up his ass almost immediately after cumming. Mere mortals normally find they're way to hyper sensitive after ejaculation to even be touched let alone sodomised. But there you have it.
He must have been bitten by a radioactive spider or something.
He can. And Belle did. But first she treated us to a shibari show. Swiftly ensnaring Mr T in her ropes. Belle is a skilled Mistress and dedicated student of shibari. Her ropework is beautiful and highly effective. Mr T loved the sensation of immobilisation and the pressure of the ropes.
Once Belle had him suitably bound and helpless she pounded his ass hard and gave him a series of assgasms that made him squeal with pleasure. When he couldn't take another thrust we untied him and gave him a gentle, after caring group hug.
Then we bent him over again and used the fucking machine on him. More assgasms.
For the grand finale of MR T's extravaganza of ass ramming, Harriet produced a strap-on. Bright purple to match her stockings.
He took it like a champion.
Harriet and my F machine Gigolo had unfinished business from our last orgy. With a few minor adjustments and a pillow under her bum it was her turn for some pulsating, hydraulic, piston pleasuring.
The Gigolo plus the tender ministrations of my doxy vibrator on her clit soon had Harriet in the throes of a very ladylike orgasm. Thrashing about on my mattress like a breakdancer performing the caterpillar.
Once we were all capable of semi coherent sentences and bipedal locomotion again, we bid our goodnights and Mr T and Harriet fluttered off into the twilight for hamburgers.
Belle hopped in an uber and I tidied up. You know you've had a good bisexual orgy when you need to mop the floor, spray and wipe one's waterproof sheets and clean lubey handprints off the walls afterwards.
