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  “These niggas be on some straight up homo shit.” The Brothers Cum were pushed aside. Between them strode a tiny black man in an ill-fitting T shirt and shorts that hung down to the tops of his shoes. He couldn't have been more than four and a half feet tall. A black midget.

  “Don't listen to them. Name's Dennis, but errybody calls me Big D. And not ‘cause my name's Dennis, cause of this.”

  Before I could say a word, Big D dropped his shorts, revealing a thick cock that, once unleashed, hung all the way down to his feet. It had to be fourteen inches. My mouth hung agape.

  “That's right,” Big D said, waggling his monster schlong at me. “Respect the dick.”

  “It'd be more impressive if you could keep that big ass dick hard.” said the next person to join our growing group.

  “Man, fuck you Maxwell, you ain't even got a dick!”

  “You little shit!” Maxwell made a move to attack Big D.

  The little man stood his ground, brandishing his enormous wang like a weapon.

  Vern jumped between the two. “Woah, calm down Maxwell!”

  Maxwell backed off, lighting a cigarette as he came over to stand next to me, away from Big D, who added a, “That's right, bitch!” as the last word before returning to where Fat Bob sat across the small porch.

  “Pardon my asking, but, do you two already know each other? I was under the impression that this was an anonymous party for random patrons.”

  “Him?” Maxwell said, pulling another drag off his cigarette. “Nah, not personally. Little fucker had a website for a while. Would fuck white chicks he found on the street with his huge dong. Problem is, he couldn't ever keep it up and had a hell of a time getting off so his cumshots had to be faked most of the time. People caught on pretty quick and the site tanked. He's just pissed that I recognized him.”

  “I see. So you learned of tonight's party from-”

  “Same way you did, I'm guessing. Little pink flyer, smiling cocks on it?”

  I laughed, “Yes. Yes, smiling cocks.”

  “The cocks sold me on it too,” he said, winking at me.

  “What, uh, what did he mean when he said you don't... have a dick?”

  “I'm transgendered. Female to male,” he said, puffing out his chest. “I was just telling everyone about it when you walked in.”

  I could see then that there was something slightly off about the curve and softness of Maxwell's jawline, the thinness of his short cropped beard, the delicate structure of his hands.

  “But then,” I stammered. “How do you-”

  “Fuck?” He unbuttoned his jeans, reached in and pulled out a fat six inch dick.

  “I...I don't understand,” I said, puzzled.

  Maxwell yanked the dick out of his pants and handed it to me.

  Appalled, I juggled it around for a moment before holding it away from my body by the tips of my fingers. The dick, and even the balls on the thing, looked totally real, complete with a small tuft of pubic hair above the penis. Indeed all that gave the nasty thing away as an imitation was the straps hanging off either side and a reddish jellied dildo that jutted out from the opposite side.

  “Cadaver dick,” Maxwell said. “Really cums too. There's a piston in there that pushes semen out of the ballsack.”

  I handed it back to him after nearly dropping the whole bizarre contraption at the mention of the word “Cadaver”.

  “Gentlemen,” the familiar voice of the Party Planner said from behind the group, “the hostess is ready to entertain her guests.”

  ***

  The creepy little man led us through the house into a sizable sitting room near the rear of the building. The inside looked considerably more kept than the dilapidated exterior, and yet still contained that puzzlingly anachronistic air. All of the rugs, cabinets and other furniture I saw as we were led through the house looked to be those that would have belonged to an elderly couple. There were rows and rows of cabinets filled with trinkets like ceramic angels and pewter cats. The floors were stacked high with bags of old newspapers and magazines. In fact, the house very much looked like that of dear Susanna's eighty-nine year old mother, still sharp as a tack. I did not have long to ruminate on such odd things though, before we'd been ushered into the sitting room.

  “Your hostess will be with you in a moment,” The Party Planner said upon exit, closing the double doors behind him.

  “You ready to have some fun, Mr. P.?” Vern asked, smacking me on the shoulder.

  “I am,” I said, then added, “Vern, how- how many of these have you done, exactly?”

  In response he yanked down his own pants, a motion I'd now come to expect from these people. “Recognize this?”

  His penis, roughly eight inches, was tattooed from tip to root. His pubic area was entirely shaved, revealing a face, sort of demonic yet playful in nature. Its mouth was open. His penis formed its tongue. The tattoo which covered it represented as such. Additionally, the shaft and head of the penis was adorned with many piercings both hoop and stud.

  It was an extreme sight and one that would have shocked me, had I not seen it dozens of times before. “Oh. Oh!” I exclaimed. “You're The Dick!”

  Vern smiled large and proud. “That's me!”

  The Dick, Vern's dick it turned out, was famous for being featured in all thirty seven installments of the iGangbang series.

  “How did you end up here?” I asked.

  “Well, I'm originally from Hopp's Hollow. I moved out to the Valley to be an actor. Same old story. Porn pays better than waiting tables. I figured the tats and piercings would help me stand out from the normal crowd of big dicks. I was right, made great cash in the 90's. Internet's killed porn though. I couldn't find enough steady work, even with ol' Demon Dick here. So I moved back home a couple years ago. Saw the flyer at a bar, figured fuck it, I'd do a little bangin' for old time's sake.”

  How fascinating.

  “Lemme give you a little word of advice, newbie,” Fat Bob said from his chair. He was still wheezing slightly from the walk inside. “You're gonna freeze up in there. Bound to happen. There's a world of difference between watchin' a bitch take half a dozen cocks in a movie and actually bein' one of those cocks. Stage fright, you know?”

  “I guess so,” I replied.

  “Well, the trick for me is learnin' how to get turned on by all those big dicks. I ain't talkin' gay shit. I'm talkin' about training your mind to make your dick hard at the sight of other hard dicks. As an exercise, I like to watch male masturbation videos while I jack off. It's like muscle memory. Now any time I see a boner, my hand goes right for the pistol.”

  I was again speechless. Vern laughed at my inability to form a response, but then, I didn't have to. The lady of the house had arrived.

  She backed her way in through the double doors. When she turned around, I nearly fell over into Fat Bob. She was simply stunning. Of all the hundreds, if not thousands, of porno movies I'd consumed in my second life, I had never seen a woman with such beauty defiled on film. Not in foo-foo girl/girl lesbian movies nor boring romantic couples’ movies, but especially not engaging in something so base and degrading as a gang bang.

  She was tall, as tall as Vern, maybe as tall as me, and slight of figure, almost too thin, but somehow she made it work. Her hair, what little of the natural stuff that was visible, was straight, fair, and blonde with a purple streak through the bangs. The rest was hidden under a huge headband that blossomed back into thick ropes of faux dreadlocks, mostly blonde and black but with a number of purple locks mixed in to match her outfit, which was...eye catching, to say the least. She wore no shirt, just a black bra and matching mesh fishnet top with the tiniest of micro skirts and knee high fuzzy boots matching the purple of her hair and makeup which would have been gaudy if not for how well it pulled out her striking emerald eyes. Those eyes burned with a fierce intelligence, startling in fact for a woman so young. That's the part that had nearly knocked me over: Her youth. There was still a roundness to her f
ace. She couldn't have been more than twenty or twenty one years old.

  I observed all of this in seconds. Then I noticed, almost in passing, that she carried a tray of brownies...

  “Hello, boys!” Her smile radiated a gleeful mischief, as though she was in on some joke that the rest of us weren't yet privy to, and made her all the more beautiful, if that were even possible.

  She took a brownie off the stack. “I always put something in my stomach before I do this. If I eat you on an empty stomach, I'll get heartburn something awful!” She giggled at that comment, smirked, and then added, “My name's Estella.”

  What a profoundly odd thing to say, I thought. In fact, it made me quite uncomfortable. If I eat you on an empty stomach... What in the world did that mean?

  For one frightening moment, my First Life self, the one who loved reading Dickens by firelight, the one who walked daily in the woods hand in hand with my brilliant, beautiful wife, the one who knew better than to drive miles and miles into a foreign town to collude with strange people in a strange house to perform unspeakable acts, rushed back into existence. I panicked. My breathing became sharp and erratic. I stood in a room full of freaks, strangers, all unfazed by each other’s stark oddness, the deceptive nature of the creepy little Party Planner, or the general feeling that the house we stood in was no swinger sanctuary, no open minded retreat for wealthy aristocrats wanting to steer clear of the public eye. There were no pictures hanging in this room nor any other signs or clues as to the residents' identity. Who lived here? Who was this woman standing in front of me, forty years my junior, staring at me with hungry eyes? If I eat you on an empty stomach, I'll get heartburn something awful. What did that mean? Had Samuel been right to caution me against this adventure? Were these people's intentions truly heinous? I nearly bolted for the door, back to the comforts of the civilized world, back to my mundane, boring little teacher life. Back to my dear Susanna to give her the proper graveside mourning she deserved.

  Then I noticed the young lady looking at the large television set behind me. The bangers had gathered around it and were presently stroking half-hard cocks, transfixed to the screen. On it, a woman was in the middle of collecting a dozen sperm deposits into her mouth. As the porno actress swallowed the overflowing stew of DNA in one gulp, our lady, Estella, rubbed her tummy and said, “Mmm, I love watching movies before I fuck. Gets me super wet.” she giggled.

  I relaxed, exhaling, letting the thoughts of malice and discontent drift from my mind. My Second Life regained control. There was no threat here, only colorful people looking to have some unorthodox fun. I returned my focus to my hostess, Estella, and the coming fun we were about to have. She stepped in front of the TV, grinning at all the exposed cocks. I followed, transfixed.

  “And what are we doing over here, naughty boys?” she said, accentuating her words with mischief, her tone that of mock chaste. “Put those big hard cocks away and enjoy some of my home cooking.” She sat the brownies down on the small coffee table between her and the television.

  I drank in her curves and scent with hungry abandon, feeling my own dick pulse and grow rigid in my trousers. Standing next to her, I breathed in her scent. The smell of sex and brownies, and... cotton candy?

  Yes. It was stronger on her than the flyer, yet still faint. In fact, now that I thought about it, the whole house had that faint odd smell to it...

  Big D hopped off a gaudy flowered love seat, breaking my train of thought.

  “Lemme get one or two of those,” he said, scooping up five. “These edibles? I could really use a buzz right now. Bunch of stuck up mothafuckas in this joint.”

  “Edibles?” I asked Vern, who'd joined Big D at the brownie plate.

  “Pot brownies,” he said with a hint of a smirk, obviously enjoying my not-so-subtle naivety.

  “Of course they are, sweetie,” Estella said. “Those are home grown Columbian Smoke Weed brownies though, I'd only eat one if I were you.”

  “Why? ‘Cause I'm small? Bitch I smoke all day. I'm OG. I don't give a fuck.” He gobbled down four of them right then, as if to prove his point.

  Maxwell reached up from his spot on the adjacent couch and slapped Big D in the back of the head. “Have some respect for the lady.”

  “Fuck you too, bitch!” Big D spat, brownie crumbs raining down on Maxwell's shoes.

  “Who are you calling a bitch, tiny?” Maxwell said, standing and shoving the little man to the floor.

  The Cum Brothers howled with laughter. “Kick him in the dick,” one of them said.

  Vern got in between them before any real damage was done.

  “Now, now boys,” our hostess said. “Let's save all that sexy testosterone for my tight little asshole, OK?”

  That shut every one up with a quickness.

  She turned and leaned over the TV, giving us all a view of that asshole as her pitiful excuse of a mini skirt slid up, revealing no panties beneath. “Why don't you all introduce yourselves.”

  We each stepped forward, murmuring our names to her as she led our hands across her tight frame. Even Big D and Maxwell ceased their squabbling while Estella worked her way around our group, groping the bulges in our pants, kissing our necks and generally arousing the primal urge to fuck in all of us. She was good. This wasn't her first rodeo.

  Vern reached around and popped her bra strap. Maxwell grabbed two hands full of her perky B-cup tits, tweaking the nipples. Big D yanked her skirt down in one motion.

  She pulled away, teasing us, expertly taunting us.

  “Let's take this upstairs, boys, and get the real party started,” she said, taking a dainty little bite off a brownie.

  We were salivating. Sexual slaves to our mistress. We were under her control.

  ***

  We followed her up two sets of spiral stairs. The old house was massive. Truly huge. We walked down a long corridor, all of us watching Estella's taught little ass sway back and forth. The only sound was that of Fat Bob's panicked wheezing trailing twenty feet to the rear of our entourage. Estella stopped at the end of the expansive hallway, spun around and put her hands on her hips. She looked each of us full in the eyes and grinned. That look of intelligence beyond her years gripped me. I wanted her. Badly. My pulse began to race with lustful intention and I had yet to lay a single hand on her.

  “I hope you all like to play dress up,” she said, that grin turning mischievous again.

  Fat Bob trotted up behind us, folding chair in hand, clanking against the wall as he waddled.

  “What are we dressing up as, love?” Maxwell asked. “Pirates?”

  “Robin Hood's merry men,” one of the Cum Brothers added.

  “Ninjas,” Big D yelled, clearly stoned off his tiny ass.

  In response, the door behind Estella swung open. The smell hit me first, but the others soon remarked about it as well. It appeared the source of the mysterious cotton candy smell had been located and it was, in fact, coming directly from the room in front of us. It would have been a sweet smell, and not entirely unpleasant had it not been so pungent.

  Estella walked inside without answering, gesturing for us to follow with a single sultry wave.

  The answer, it turned out, was obvious upon entering the room.

  “What the fuck kinda bullshit is this?” Big D said, surveying the room's bizarre contents.

  The first item that drew the group's attention in what must have been the huge house's master bedroom was an enormous lump of shaggy purple fur roughly the size of a medium sized dog that sat directly in the middle of the room. But what made the thing so weird, and what caused Big D to cry out and cringe when he saw it, was that the lump had enormous eyes, large pointy ears and a wide mouth set with many sharp fangs. Upon closer inspection, though, it became clear that the eyes were plastic and the mouth was sewn on. It was a stuffed animal. A bright, dayglow purple plushy bean bag chair. The rest of the room looked much like the rest of the house, cluttered and very lived in which matched neither the age nor d
emeanor of either The Party Planner or Estella. What drew our attention next was a totally weird collection of normal sized plushy animals strapped to the headboard of a king sized bed up against the far wall. There were scores of them. Big plushy bears, little plushy cats. There were birds and mice, dogs and lizards. Dozens and dozens of stuffed toys all different shapes, sizes, and colors all corded one on top of the other against the head board.

  On the far side of the room stood Estella and the Party Planner. They stood next to a long wardrobe rack.

  “You will each choose a costume. You must wear the costume for the duration of the evening. Under no circumstances are you to remove the costume. Removal of the costume will result in ejection from the party. Do you all understand?”

  The seven of us stood speechless. The costumes in question were all human sized plushy animal outfits with oversized heads containing enormous plastic eyes and freakishly wide smiles. Wide enough, I realized, to accommodate a person's face. The arm sleeves on each outfit ended in paw-like gloves with three clawed fingers on each paw. The garments continued down into legs with enormous clawed booties. Each furry, neon colored costume lacked a crotch.

  “Furry party!” Vern said finally, breaking the stunned silence. “Wicked cool!”

  While I'd never heard it before, I did not need any explanation of what the term “furry” meant. My anticipation, while certainly diminished at the thought of dressing up like a giant toy animal, had not been entirely extinguished. I would still, after all, be participating in my first gang bang, and that in and of itself kept me barreling forward toward my strange and unfortunate destiny.

  The Cum Brothers were the first up to the rack. They rifled through the costumes, laughing and joking at the ridiculous get-ups. They settled on shaggy, canary-yellow puppy outfits. The heads had long drooping ears and big oval shaped eyes suggesting cute sadness. They even had red tongues that hung lazily off the sides of their faces. The brothers then scampered up onto the bed barking at each other and playfully sniffing each other’s rear ends.