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Daughters of Priapus

By: Athalia



My dear sisters:

I have been asked to give a history of my experience with Priapus, and my part in the revival of his ceremony. I trust that this account will not leave the walls of this sorority house. Here, as best I can recall and recount it, is the story.

When I was in college in the early seventies, it was a very different environment than it is today. We were all so much more innocent than girls are now. 

I chose this college because it was, at the time, a very ordinary college in a very ordinary Eastern college town. There were six sororities then, each with a different reputation. There was the academically oriented one, for what would now be called "nerds." And there was the one that catered to female athletes. There was also one that was rumored to be the "Lesbian" house and another for freethinkers and hippie-types. The girls in the fifth one seemed to think of nothing but marrying well, to the most affluent and well-connected dates they could find. And lastly, there was ours.

Our sorority was the "artsy" house, as indeed it is today. All the art majors and drama majors aspired to join it. When I was tapped to pledge them, I was so happy. I'd heard that their initiation ceremonies were a bit unconventional, not to say weird, but when I asked the "senior sister" about it, she wouldn't give me details. She did say that while there might be some element of a sexual nature, there wouldn't be rape. I would have complete control when I did whatever I had to do. I had to be content with that. 

The initiation was held in the large room in the basement, next to the furnace room. I was led into the room naked except for a blindfold. There were five of us similarly attired. I was a virgin ... not an uncommon thing for a college freshman back then, although almost unheard of today, I'm told. There was a short speech welcoming us, and then our blindfolds were removed. 

I noticed that the other pledges were nude as well. We were very self-conscious of our nakedness, holding our arms in front of our breasts in an attempt to preserve some of our modesty. I was particularly self-conscious about my nipples, which were (and still are) extraordinarily long and get hard with the slightest stimulation.

The other members of the sorority were also naked, but displayed little of our modesty. Indeed, most of them were masturbating themselves, bringing themselves to sexual arousal, for reasons I couldn't yet guess. The senior sister, an arts major named Esther, had enormous breasts, which weren't remarkable to me except for the fact that she had a ring in her left nipple. Several of the other women had tattoos in areas that were concealed by everyday clothing. These things were quite rare back then, particularly among upper-middle-class white women. I wondered nervously if I was going to be tattooed or pierced as well, as part of the rite, but then I noticed that some women didn't seem to have any such adornments.

Somebody passed around a bottle and I took a swig from it. It was a strong sweet wine. The bottle was followed by a fat marijuana cigarette. When I hesitated, one of the older sisters said, "Go ahead. It'll be OK. It'll help you through the rite." Then she took a hit from it, inhaling deeply as she shook her long brunette hair. She handed it to me with a smile, and I sucked in the pungent smoke. Luckily, I'd smoked a few cigarettes by that age, and was able to retain the smoke without discomfort. I exhaled, and felt the effects of the drug seep over me.

We were led over to an area dominated by a large object, the size of a sofa, draped in a sheet. Joan, one of the junior sisters, grabbed the sheet by the hem while the Esther intoned the ritual of initiation. It was the usual stuff about swearing fealty and devotion to your fellow sisters, and promising never to reveal the secrets of the sorority, and so on. We all murmured our agreement to these terms. And then Joan whisked the sheet away.

This exposed a statue of a recumbent satyr, carved in gleaming white marble, polished to a high sheen. He lay on his back, propped up on his elbows, his head thrown back and his mouth open. But one part was not gleaming white, but a sort of rusty brown. It was his phallus. It was long and slender and very dark in color, and the brown stain extended down into his groin. It had a gentle curve, and an oversized head, about the size of a golf ball. The outside of the statue's hips was also dirtier then the rest of the statue, a sort of cream color, and it was polished to a smoothness even greater than the rest of the statue.

"Behold Priapus!" Esther said. "He will accept you into our company. Submit to him, as I do!" With that, she straddled the statue, situated her vulva directly over its crotch, and impaled herself on the phallus. Meanwhile the other girls were chanting:

"Priapus, accept our sister Esther.

She is your willing servant.

She consummates her devotion to you with her body.

Grant her beauty, grant her luck, grant her your protection."

Esther masturbated herself on the statue's phallus for the entire duration of the chant. Then she relinquished her position to the next most senior girl. The chant was repeated word for word, except for the substitution of each girl's name for Esther's. When it was done, it proceeded down the line until all the sisters had coupled with the statue. One of the girls was menstruating, and pulled out her bloody tampon before coupling with the god. I suddenly realized why the phallus was brown: it was stained by countless years of the blood of menstruating women. And, no doubt, the blood of countless maidenheads being torn. 

One of which was to be mine. I was still a virgin. "So this is how I'm to lose my cherry," I thought. Well, better now than never. At least I would have something to show for it ... through initiation into a company of fellow artists whose respect I craved, instead of being fucked by some jerk who didn't know when to stop. And I realized that when I finally made love to a man, I need not fear the pain of having my hymen torn. So I submitted. The effects of the marijuana were becoming more pronounced, and by the time it was my turn, I silently thanked the brunette. I lowered myself onto the phallus and felt that huge cap pressing at my entrance. And then I forced it into me. There was a twinge of pain, but the marijuana and wine made it more tolerable. I felt the cap slide up my vagina, then down again, as I gingerly moved my body back and forth, feeling the blood trickle down the inside of my thighs. I heard the girls chant "Priapus, accept our sister Virginia..."

And then it was over. I was next to last; the girl behind me saw the new blood on the phallus and smiled, and then performed the rite with an easy grace that showed us that she was no stranger to sex. I heard Esther say something like "That concludes the ceremony." The lights went up, more wine and grass was passed around, and we initiates hugged our new sisters. The air was sexually charged, and some of the girls were pairing off with each other, while others went back to Priapus to fuck themselves to orgasm as the others hooted and clapped. I was feeling too uncomfortable to participate, but shared in the general good feeling.

Over the years, I participated in three more such ceremonies. There was no further discomfort, and I enjoyed the feeling of that phallus filling me as the girls chanted the litany. And, like many of the girls, I visited Priapus for private sessions of my own, independent of the initiation rites. This was usually when I came home from dates still sexually unsatisfied. I had finally been having sex with men, but found that once they came into me, their energy suddenly evaporated, leaving me still horny and eager for more. But Priapus would stay hard as long as I wanted, and never failed me.

I discovered that the phallus itself was not marble, but ivory, imbedded in the marble statue. That was why it didn't have the cool touch of the rest of the statue. Neither was it warm, of course, but it seemed so in contrast to the rest of the statue. I would let my breasts hang down and rake the satyr's chest, feeling the cold stone on my nipples. I would kiss that cold mouth, and clench and polish those cold hips with my thighs. Eventually, I found it easy to masturbate my way to orgasm on Priapus's cock, perhaps inflamed by the thought that countless other girls had done so over the years, and would again in years to come.

But that all ended with my graduation. I moved to New York, where I took my new degree in Dramatic Arts to Los Angeles and tried to make a living with it in the film and television industry. I succeeding in getting many minor roles in forgettable movies and soon-canceled series, but never hit the big time. I moved back to New York to try my luck in the theater, with similar results. After a few years, it became apparent to me that I would never be able to count on my talents as an actress to feed myself. Instead, I accepted an offer of marriage and had two children. I found, as many wives and mothers did, that the pressures of my new position sapped my libido. Our lovemaking became less and less frequent, and eventually died out altogether.

When I was in my fifties, my husband left me for a woman in her twenties. I couldn't really blame him. She was good for him in many ways, re-igniting his virility as I no longer could. Our divorce was as amicable as could be expected under the circumstance, and his alimony tided me through until I obtained a real-estate license. I made a good living at it, since it was at this time that real estate prices were skyrocketing, particularly around New York City.

But to get back to the story: a few years ago, I attended a sale of art ... more of a flea market, really. Among the various things for sale was an object that was exhibited in a case with a tag that read "Ceremonial (phallic?) object. Provenance unknown. $250.00 OBO." I recognized it at once. It was Priapus's phallus!

It was just as I remembered it, except a little darker. It had the same slender curve and enlarged head that had pleased my vagina so many times. I noticed a long pin extending from the phallus's base, an extension of the object itself. In contrast to the rest of the piece, the pin, or peg, was the color of slightly burnt cream and absolutely straight. It must have been shaped to fit into a corresponding hole in the statue itself.

I talked with the owner and found that he had acquired it about five years ago from another collector. He had hopes that it might have some archeological value but found that, without some record of its origin, it was useless. I offered him a hundred for it.

"That's half of what I paid for it!" he protested.

"And twice what it's probably worth," I replied. "If you buy something whose provenance you can't document, you always take a chance that you'll lose money. Just be glad you only lost a hundred." But he wouldn't accept my offer. After much haggling, I talked him down to a sale price of a hundred fifty, and it was mine.

That night, I obtained some pot from a friend of mine in the community theater where I still acted and directed from time to time. I bought some cigarette papers from a convenience store and, with shaking hands, rolled my first joint in twenty years. I took a hit and found to my surprise that it was much stronger than the pot of my college days. Two hits were enough to get me really stoned. And then I had a glass of wine, lay naked on my bed, and masturbated myself with my new toy. I didn't climax. Something was still not right; perhaps my libido had ebbed to the point where a climax was no longer possible. Or perhaps I needed the rest of the experience, complete with the statue. But my session with the phallus was still pleasurable and reminded me of my college days.

And of course, it got me to wondering what happened to the rest of the statue. That is how I came to be once again at the door of your house. It was summer, and the house was deserted except for the senior sister, whose name was Amy, and a few other girls who had stayed the summer.

It was Amy who answered the door and let me in. She was a buxom woman with dirty blonde hair and an easy smile. I identified myself as a sister of the sorority and she greeted me cordially, although she requested some verification. The sorority library had a set of yearbooks from my years, and I showed her my pictures, which she compared with the one on my driver's license. Satisfied, she hugged me and welcomed me back as a sister of the house.

She told me something of the intervening years of the sorority, which were not good ones. At one point in the late nineties, it had actually been closed down for a few years, its charter suspended. The reasons given were drugs and prostitution.

"All that stuff about prostitution was bullshit," Amy said. "But the drugs, that was real enough. A few of the sisters, including the senior sister, were dealing big time. Meth, acid, heroin, you name it. The college finally had to do something to convince the town that it was "dealing with the problem," so it shut us down. When we got our charter back and re-opened four years later, it was with an entirely new set of members."

"So there's nobody whom you know from before then?"

"Not a one. You're the first. I think that they all heard about the closure, and figured that it was permanent."

"And all the stuff that was in the house? Furniture and artwork and stuff?"

"It was all gone. The college contacted a lot of the artists, and they came back to claim it and take it away. The rest got sold at auction, to pay for the legal bills. The only thing left was that old statue in the basement."

My heart skipped a beat. "A statue?"

"Yeah. A statue of a faun or satyr or something. It was too big to move. I don't know how they got it in there in the first place. Maybe they built the house around it, I don't know."

"May I see it, please?"

"Sure. But it isn't worth anything, if that's what you're thinking. We had it appraised, and found out that it was a crude nineteenth-century copy of a crude fifteenth-century copy of a classical sculpture, probably Roman. And it had been damaged."

"In what way?"

Amy snickered. "His dick is missing. The original had a big dick, according to the pictures we saw. But it's missing on the copy."

She showed me to the basement, and there he was! The same old Priapus, except that where that beautiful brown phallus used to rise from, there was now only a hole. A hole, I realized with a shock, into which my new toy would fit perfectly.

"That's not the only thing we found in the basement," Amy said. She showed me a panel on the wall, on which there was writing. But the writing didn't make any sense; it was gibberish.

"What does it mean?" I asked.

"It's a message in code. Tina ... one of the sisters ... cracked it this summer. Now we know what it means, but it doesn't make sense."

"What does it say?"

"It starts 'Priapus, accept our sister.

She is your willing servant...'"

"'She consummates her devotion to you with her body.'" I finished.

Amy stared at me. "How did you know that?"

"You don't recognize the words?"

"No! I never heard them before! Except from Tina, of course. What do they mean?"

"It's part of an initiation ceremony. When we were pledged. You don't do that anymore?"

"Jesus, no! This is the first time I've heard of this! Wait a minute..."

She produced a cell phone from her fanny pack and pushed a few buttons. "Tina? Listen, what are you doing? ... the library? Look, can it wait? ... You've got to come home! Right now! There's a lady here ... no, you don't know her. But listen: she knows the code! ... Yes, that code! ... I'll see ya. Bye!"

She looked up. "She'll be here in like twenty minutes. Come on up and have some wine until she gets here. She'll tell you the whole story."

Amy was wrong; Tina was there in less than fifteen minutes. She accepted a glass of wine, and told me her story.

"I thought at first that it was just one of those letter substitution codes, the kind that you see in the newspaper. But no matter what I tried, I couldn't crack it. I even programmed a computer to try every letter substitution combination, and got nothing but garbage. 

"Well, if it wasn't a simple substitution code, maybe it was a what they call a 'tableau' code. It's pretty simple, too, once you had the key. The key is a sample of text, like 'To be or not to be, that is the question' or "The Lord is our shepherd, I shall not want.' Each letter of the key corresponds to a number...'A' is 'one,' 'B' is 'two' and so on. To code a message, you take each letter, find its numerical value, add it to the value of the corresponding letter in the key, and then find out what letter that new letter the value corresponds to. If you don't have the key, it's damn near uncrackable. But once you had the key, the rest is easy.

"But we didn't have the key. So I went around looking for other clues. Amy found another piece of writing, in the same handwriting, on a rafter in the attic. It just said 'Psalm 46. IVvi15' Not much help, until I realized that Psalm 46 was the one that people think has Shakespeare's name encoded in it. That made me think that the second part referred to one of Shakespeare's plays ... The act, scene and line number. So I tried the indicated line of each of Shakespeare's plays as the key, and eventually scored a hit."

"Which play was it?"

"'Pericles, Prince of Tyre.' And, as I found out, the only mention of Priapus in all of Shakespeare. It figured, I guess. Anyway, once we had the quote, the rest was easy, really." Tina professed modestly, although you could tell she was proud of her accomplishment.

Amy finished the story. "So now we had the text, but the text didn't still didn't make any sense. We figured it was some nonsense that somebody had coded as a prank. Until you showed up. So what's it mean?"

I began slowly, deliberately. I recited the initiation ceremony as I remembered it, and described the statue's role in it. My audience of two hung on my every word. When I finished, the girls were silent for a while.

"So that's it," Amy said finally. "Whoever wrote on that panel wanted to preserve something of the rite. I wonder what happened to the statue's cock. Maybe she took it."

"I don't know," I replied. "But I know where it is now! I have it!"

"You've got it? Here?"

"No, at home." And I told them how I had acquired it. "I think it belongs here, though. On Priapus."

"We don't have any initiation rite like that any more," Amy said. "We just sort of made something up. But it would be so cool to start it up again."

"It's up to you girls," I said. Then we all went out to dinner. When we got back, it was already dark.

"Stay the night here, if you want," Amy said. "We've got plenty of rooms!"

"Thanks! I'll do that! I really don't like driving in the dark any more. How about the room on the second floor, northeast corner?"

"That was Sally's. She graduated last spring. It's yours. And if you want to take a shower, feel free to use my soap and towels and stuff. They're already up there."

That night, before I went to bed, I decided to take up her invitation. Having no robe, I walked naked through the house into the bathroom. The shower area had been remodeled since my days there ... instead of several shower cubicles, there was now a single space with six shower heads. Amy was already under one of them. And so was Tina.

They were embracing as I walked in. When they saw me, they guiltily looked up, but I smiled and motioned them to continue what they were doing. They smiled back and continued their embrace. I wetted myself down and began soaping up, and then I felt a hand on my back.

"Let me get your back, Ginny," I heard Amy say. And then Tina was there, soaping my front. Tina was much shorter than I was, with plump breasts and a thick waist. Her mons was shaved and she had a labial ring. She lifted my breasts. "Wow, Ginny! Those are the longest nips I've ever seen! Amy, look at these!"


Daughters of Priapus Ch. 02



(This is a sequel to my story "Daughters of Priapus." Although it could be read on its own, readers might find it informative to read that first, in order to acquaint them with some of the characters that are mentioned.)


2 - Reawakened

It was most unnerving at first, and yet most liberating. At the age of fifty-nine, I was once more a woman who could reach a climax easily, after years and years of frigidity. This was a result of a visit I'd made the previous summer to my old sorority. I was searching for a piece of my past, and I found it. I cannot tell you the nature of the ritual that revived my sexuality, for that is a ritual that only my sorority sisters know. But the experience, coupled with a re-introduction to Lesbian sex with Amy and the other sisters, stirred passions in me that I thought were long dead. I went back to visit them from time to time, and they welcomed me into their house and into their beds.

Of course, most of the sisters preferred men, and I found that I did, too. The girls were sweet and gave me the most wonderful orgasms, but I realized how much I missed the sensations of making love to a man ... his male scent, his urgency, his weight on my body, his hard cock thrusting into me, the feeling of power knowing that my vagina was the center of his world. Now that I had my libido back, I was determined do something about that. But first, I had to take care of myself.

One of the first things I did was purchase some vibrators. My sisters were very helpful, showing me their favorite models and how to use them. When I was in college four decades ago, those clever designs had yet to be developed, and my idea of a vibrator was either a hand-held massage tool with a flat vibrating surface or a motorized dildo that vibrated in spiral patterns and buzzed like a razor. But the girls showed me a Hitachi "Magic Wand" and a variety of rabbit vibrators, and it wasn't long before I had purchased units of my own to complement the "egg" vibrator that Amy had given me as a homecoming present.

And I would play with them almost nightly, re-training my body to accept pleasure. I still had no partners for sex, but with my new toys I was able to satisfy my urges for a while. When summer came in with its warm weather, I would strip nude as soon as I got home and try to have at least one orgasm every night, along with the one I had nearly every morning before I rose to greet the day. My only adornments were another homecoming present from a sorority sister: a pair of nipple clips, each consisting of a loop of wire, a slider to tighten it around my nipple as much or as little as I wished, and a beautiful white teardrop pearl that dangled from the bottom of the slider.

I had also taken to wearing my egg vibrator and my nipple clips to public places, to put an erotic edge on commonplace activities. It amused me to chat innocently with people as I became aroused, knowing that my sexual tension was a secret to them. Once I was reassured that the thing was waterproof, I even took my egg to the beach with me and turned it on as I watched the scantily clad men and women cavorting in the water. I'm sure I looked like an ordinary sunbather to the casual glancer, but inside I was quivering. Once when I was lying on my stomach on my beach towel, I even slipped a finger inside my swimsuit bottom and masturbated myself to a climax, although nobody seemed to notice. I felt so wicked!

I had friends of both sexes, of course, mostly whom I had met at the community theater I worked at. But most of the men much younger and were more interested in women their own age, or younger. There was a man named Greg with whom I'd flirted from time to time. He'd just been dumped by his girlfriend, and we'd done some giddy bar-hopping together after our last play closed, although I was too timid to take it further. And I became close to Dottie, a woman of about forty who made excellent costumes for the productions.

One day Dottie and I were chatting about what garb we needed for an upcoming show, and then about clothes in general.

"What sort of clothes do you like to wear to the beach?" I asked her. 

She gave me an impish grin. "Actually, my favorite costume is nothing at all!"

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"When I'm not around other people, I go naked whenever I can. And when I go to the beach, it's usually to that nude beach on the Cape."

"You're a nudist? Is that what they're called?"

"That's right. You should try it, Ginnie!"

"Well, in a way, I already do." And I told her about my going nude around the house. "But there's no way I could go nude in front of other people, Dottie. I just can't imagine doing that."

"How do you know? Have you ever tried?"

"Well, I took some showers with the girls in my sorority house last year. That was different. We were all women, and it seemed very natural. But naked in front of men? I don't think so!"

"But you've had lovers, right? Weren't you naked in front of them?"

"Of course. But that was in private."

"So you've never been to a nude beach or nudist resort?"

"No. Never once."

"Well, it's time you did. I'm going to the Cape this weekend. Wanna come?"

"Are you serious? Me on a nude beach?"

"Think it over, Ginnie. Let me know tomorrow."

That night, I stood naked before a full length mirror and examined myself: sagging breasts with very long nipples, a bit of a paunch, a grey-thatched vulva from which my inner lips protruded over an inch and a half. I'd always been very self-conscious of my nips and "curtains" (as my sorority sisters called them), and had dreaded showing them to others. But I had come to see them as natural parts of my body, nothing to be ashamed of. I weighed only twenty-three more pounds than I did in college, most of that in my thighs. For a woman of fifty-nine, I still had a pretty good body, I decided. But could I get up the nerve to expose it in public, for everybody to see?

I dreamed that night. I dreamed that I was walking down a tree-lined residential street. I was completely naked. Men leered at me and taunted me. Women averted their eyes. I was blushing furiously, trying to cover my breasts and crotch with my hands. And then it started raining, a warm rain that drenched us all. I exposed my tits to the rain, held them up and felt the warm water hit them and stream down my belly and crotch. I began to dance. The men quieted down. And then the women started to take their clothes off ... jeans, dresses, bras, panties, shoes. Soon they all were naked, dancing in the rain with me. And then the men started stripping, too. Before long, we were all naked and playing in the warm shower. Men and women alike came up to hug me. There was no sexual undercurrent at all, only friendship. As the men danced, their flaccid penises bounced up and down, perfectly complementing the women's bouncing breasts. We were all glorying in the freedom of our bodies, released from the confinement of clothing. I noticed that somehow my nipples had become decorated with my nipple clips, with the pearls dangling and swinging as I danced. My breasts were suddenly the center of attention, and I was as proud of them as when they first started to appear on my maturing body.

I woke up in a high state of arousal, and quickly wanked myself to a climax with my fingers without even bothering to get out one of the vibrators. 

I took my dream as a sign. The next day, I told Dottie that I would accompany her to the cape. On Saturday morning, She picked me up and we went to the beach she'd talked about. I was wearing a sundress, panties, a large-brimmed straw hat, and sandals. And, in a fit of devilishness (or was it because of the dream?), I was wearing the nipple jewelry under the dress, as I often did when I went out. I also had taken the vibrator egg that Amy had given me, put fresh batteries in it, and slipped it into my vagina. Only a little bit of cord protruded from my pussy, looking for all the world like the string from a tampon. I had only to pull the cord to activate the egg. 

When I stripped off the dress in the parking lot, Dottie grinned when she saw my bra-less tits with their nipple clips. "Ginnie, those look great on your nips! Don't they hurt?"

"Not a bit! They pinch a little, but I don't mind that. I figured that if people were going to be staring at my tits, I might as well give them something to stare at."

"Come on, let's get your panties off!"

"Can I wait a little bit? This is all so new to me, remember."

"Anything you want, dear. 'Clothing Optional' doesn't mean 'mandatory nudity.' But I'm shucking mine." And with that, she pulled them down and slipped them off her legs. 

I have to say that she looked beautiful. Her tits stood out proudly, with puffy nipples only slightly pinker than her skin shade. Her pussy lips were puffy, too, adorned with a neat "landing strip" on her mons that seemed to point the way invitingly downward into her slit. Unlike me, she showed no tan lines or visible inner labia. She had an athlete's ass, firm and round without the slightest sag. As she smiled at me, I suddenly felt a flush of warmth at my crotch. She was turning me on! And somehow she sensed it, because her smile became wider. She kissed me and said, "You're getting aroused now, aren't you?" 

I nodded.

"Well, Ginnie, I'm going to keep you that way! I'm going to get those panties of yours so wet that you'll have to take them off!"

"Dottie, are you hitting on me? I never guessed you were gay!"

"I'm bi, dear. When I go to places like this, I'm as interested in the cocks as I am in the tits. Hey, I know a place on the dunes where we can really people-watch. Let's get going!"

We grabbed out towels and totes and proceeded down the beach for a quarter of a mile. The spot was perfect, with the dune giving us some protection from the wind and sun. We lotioned each other's bodies and watched the procession of people going past. Young, old, male, female, fat, thin, dark-skinned, pale, some totally nude and others clad or semi-clad. Little children scampered around buck-naked, whooping like monkeys. It all seemed right and proper. Now and then people would stop and chat with us, mostly friends of Dottie's. I saw a lot of cock that afternoon, dangling from the crotches of the men we chatted them up. Those men seemed fascinated by my nipples, and their attention seemed to arouse me even more. 

Dottie wasn't helping. Although overt masturbation was frowned on at the beach, she would caress her body teasingly, just short of actual wanking ... a pinch of the nipple here, a quick caress of her cunt lips there. It was mostly a show for the men, of course; it amused her to see how their cocks would swell slightly at the sight, and how the men would have to avert their eyes from time to time. I noticed that her little show was having its effect on me, too. My panties were wet to the touch. Well, if they're going to get wet, I knew how to conceal it.

"I'm going swimming," I announced, and ran toward the water. A few of the men followed. Before long, I was up to my waist, and my wet panties no longer betrayed my arousal. We splashed each other and horsed around. And then that devilish urge hit me. When the water was up to the bottom of my tits, I pulled the crotch of my panties aside, found the cord, and pulled it. The sensation was exquisite. What made it even more erotic was that none of the men could see any evidence of my arousal. My nipples were already stiff from the chill of the water. "I wonder what it would be like to climax right in front of a man without him realizing it?" I thought. 

When I left the water, my panties suddenly became clammy and uncomfortable. Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. I slipped them off, exposing my gray muff. Dottie gave me a "thumbs up" and the men smiled in appreciation. One of them followed me back to my blanket. I laid the panties on the sand to let them dry, and we chatted idly. Dottie got up to take a swim herself, followed by the rest of the men, and left the two of us to ourselves.

I was feeling so wicked again! I spread my legs, giving him a great view of my crotch. I played with the pearls dangling from my nips, and casually kneaded the inner lips of my cunt against each other. I feigned interest in what he was talking about. My shining eyes must have led him to believe that I was interested in his subject, but the truth was that they only betrayed the small climax that was at that time building in me. I felt myself trembling.

"Are you OK?" I heard him ask. "You look distant somehow."

I smiled and dug into my tote for a bottle of water. "Just a slight headache," I lied. "Dehydration, I think. I'll be fine once I've drunk something. Thanks for asking!"

"Well, I'll leave you now, then. I need to get going." He stood up, and I noticed that he was well on his way to an erection and heading for the water.

He needs to wank, I realized. What an erotic thought that was: stroking his erection to a climax under the surface of the waves and releasing his seed into the salty water! I bade him goodbye and stretched out on the blanket has he strode into the surf. He went in up to his waist and then his hands went to his crotch. I smiled knowingly as I watched him masturbate into the sea. I needed to get off, too, so I just lay there on my back with my legs apart, letting the sun beat down on my entire nude body. And that's when, out of nowhere, the bigger orgasm hit. I tried not to show it, but I couldn't conceal the shaking of my body or the sudden sheen of sweat on my breasts. I reached down with an unsteady hand, tugged at the cord, and switched off the vibrator. 

When I looked up again, there was a man standing about ten feet away. He looked to be in his sixties, with a body whose muscles once bulged but now tended to sag. His penis was fat but limp. His head and chest and crotch were covered with grey hair, but his mustache and eyebrows were still dark brown. He was smiling, as if we shared a secret.

"Pardon me for saying this, madam, but you are the most beautiful thing I've seen in a long, long time!" He had a slight accent, perhaps German. "I'm sorry to have intruded, if you wanted privacy."

I smiled back. "Well, I certainly didn't pick the right place for privacy, did I? No offense taken. I don't know what got into me just now."

"You were intoxicated by the sun and the wind and the surf. It happens to me all the time. Of course, it seldom leads to an orgasm."

"Could you tell?" I asked, suddenly feeling very vulnerable.

"My lady, I have known women for a long time. It is unmistakable. And it is always a beautiful sight for me. It brings back memories, ah, yes! And I find those jewels on your breasts most enchanting!"

"Well, since I've done everything else in front of you, at least let me introduce myself! I'm Ginnie."

"And I am Max. I'm very pleased to meet you! May I sit down?"

I nodded, and he spread out his own towel next to mine. 

"So, Max, tell me about yourself."

"There's not much to tell, really. I design computer systems for businesses and industries. They tell me what they want the systems to do, and I figure out what hardware they need to do it. I save them millions and they pay me thousands," he laughed. "But the pay is enough, and every day is a challenge. At my age, I should be thinking of retiring. I've gone to part-time, but I could never retire completely. I know I would miss the adventure, particularly when so much is changing in the industry. And you, my dear?"

"I sell real estate, mostly, but I do some work with my community theater ... acting, some directing and coaching."

"I think I've seen you on the stage! Tell me, wasn't it you who played Lavinia in that revival of The Heiress at the Cambridge Community Theater this spring?"

"Yes, that was me! I'm surprised. Only a hundred people showed up for the show when we took it there."

"And I was one of them! I thought you handled the role well. You gave a strong performance, yet you took care not to overshadow the leads. That takes some skill!"

"It wasn't hard. The leads were pretty good actors. They didn't get enough time to rehearse, that's all."

"But yours was the performance I remember. It touched my heart. I am honored to meet you and thank you in person."

"Thank you! Do you regularly go to that theater?"

"Every chance I get. I am a great lover of the theater. I have no talents as a thespian, so I give them a little money, a few dollars now and then, to support them. My artistic outlet is the clarinet, which I play badly but with enthusiasm."

I decided to play Dottie's game of almost-but-not-quite-masturbating, to see if it would have an effect on Max's penis. I would idly play with the string coming out my cunt or give my breasts or mons a scratch from time to time. His cock seemed to swell slightly, but didn't rise. Perhaps I needed to be more aggressive, and let him know I was available. "Are you married, Max?" I asked, not quite innocently.

"No. My wife died about three years ago."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

"No need to be, really. It was a blessing. She was sick for a long time." He looked out at the ocean for a while, then resumed. "That is why I was so moved by watching you pleasure yourself. Ginnie. It has been such a long time since I've seen that on a woman's face."

"If this is painful for you to tell ..."

"Oh, no! I would like to talk about this with you. Our love life died some time before that. It became too painful for her, she lost interest in sex. At first, I blamed myself, but then we found out about the cancer. They took her uterus and ovaries, but it was too late. The cancer spread anyway. It took a long time."

"I've had loved ones die from cancer, too. It's never easy. You're sad when it's over, but you're relieved, too, in a way."

"So you understand. You know, she told me to seek out sexual companionship elsewhere if I wished to, but I never did. I wanted to be faithful to her to the end, as I promised her when we married. I never strayed."

"What happened after she passed away? Did you start dating again?"

He grimaced. "Well, that. About a year ago, I went to bed with a woman. But it did not end well. When we began to make love, I found out that I could not perform as I used to."

"What do you mean? You couldn't achieve an erection?"

"Oh, I could do that, but I couldn't maintain it. Inside her for five seconds, and I came and went soft, and couldn't get hard again. I felt so humiliated! She was polite about it, but I could tell that she lost interest in me. And I said to myself, 'Well, Max, your lovemaking days are over. You might as well get used to it.'"

"Couldn't you get her off in other ways? Fingers? Tongue?"

"I don't know how to do that, really. My wife never cared for such things. She was very old-fashioned in that respect."

"But there are pills, I hear, that can help you ... stay up."

"I thought about that, but it seemed an unnecessary expense, when I had no partner to enjoy it with. You know, I can't believe I am telling you all this, and we don't know each other, really."

"Well, you've just seen me climax. That's more than any man has done. At least recently."

"Yes. You are so much in touch with your body. I admire that. It is beautiful to see you touching yourself. Were you always such?"

"Goodness, no! A year ago, I thought that my libido was gone for good. I've spent the last year getting it back."

"How did that come about?"

So I told him about my marriage, and how my sex drive waned after childbearing and mothering, and how my husband left me for a younger, more nubile woman. And without giving him details, I related how a visit to my old sorority house in college re-introduced me to the sexually active young lady I used to be back then. "The girls there taught me that that young lady was still there inside me, buried under years of neglect and shame, and they helped me bring her back out of the darkness. I am so grateful to them for that."




Daughters of Priapus Ch. 02



"I'm glad the story had a happy ending for you. But now I must go. Listen, if you ever get up to Cambridge, please call me or text me at this number." He fished a business card from a "man bag" he wore. I promised to do so, and he wandered off. I wondered what sort of man he really was, and whether he would ever find that happiness again for himself.

I switched the egg back on, and fantasized making love to all the nude young men I was watching on the beach, imagining what their cocks would look like when they were hard, and how they might feel inside me. So I was in a high degree of arousal by the time Dottie and I left the beach, and so was she. We spent the night at her place making love, trading orgasms, and cuddling (which, I suspected, had been her motive all along). But I kept thinking about Max.

The next morning, I called Tina at the sorority house, where she was staying during the summer. "I have a favor to ask," I said. "Here's the contact information on a man I met at the beach last weekend. See what you can find out about him." There wasn't much you can do with a computer that Tina couldn't do, whether it was programming or using the various search tools. When I got her report a few days later, I wondered how many private databases she'd hacked into.

Max, she said, was born in 1948 in Czechoslovakia. He left with his parents after the aborted revolution of 1968. He got a degree in computer sciences at MIT in 1975, worked at DEC and a few other places, and then set himself up as a consultant. Married in 1976 to a woman named Maria, a statistician, also from Czechoslovakia. Wife died in 2009 of cancer at age fifty-eight, according to the obituary. Two children, both grown. Four grandchildren. No police record. Clean driver's record. In good health, no serious medical problems or venereal diseases (and how on earth did she find that out?). Owns a late model Jaguar and a co-op apartment in Cambridge. Annual income $230,000.00 before taxes. Excellent credit score. No mention of him on any of the sexual offenders lists. And he did more than simply give that community theater a "few dollars here and there;" over the past seven years, he had donated over a hundred thousand dollars to them. He was also a member of several clubs devoted to the arts, two country clubs, and three music societies, and had published several short works of fiction under a pen name. Plays clarinet in a highly-regarded amateur jazz band. Appended to all this was a personal note: "Ginnie, I think this guy is a keeper! If you don't take him, maybe I will!"

After I got Tina's report, I gave Max my own contact information, and soon I received an invitation from him, for dinner and a concert by the Boston Philharmonic. I sent back a message: "I accept, but only if it includes a sleep-over at your place." 

There was an interval of a day and a half, during which I was kicking myself for being too forward. But then there was a text that made my heart soar: "You would be most welcome here!"

I dressed carefully, choosing a silver gown with a daringly low neckline. My boobs usually had too much sag to really capitalize on the cleavage the gown was exposing, but I wore a lacy black demi-bra that pushed them up into view, white mounds with my areolae just barely out of sight. What I liked about this bra was that it left the nipples exposed, giving me the chance to attach the nipple clips that Max commented on. I must confess that I tightened the clamps more than usual and my nips, swelled and darkened slightly as the loops constricted the flow of blood, rubbed tantalizingly against the fabric of the gown whenever I moved. I considered slipping the vibrator egg into my vagina, but figured I wouldn't really need it. For what I had in mind, it wouldn't do to cum too quickly, and my nipples were already insanely sensitive to the touch and would remain so for the rest of the evening. 

The dinner and concert went swimmingly. During dinner, I caught him stealing glances at my dÈcolletage, and pushed my boobs together to form more of a valley. I also leaned forward now and then, giving him opportune moments to glimpse the tops of my nipples. And during the concert I whispered, "Put your arm around me if you like, dear." He slipped an arm behind me and drew me close. So far, so good! But when I laid a hand on his crotch, I felt him tense up.

"It's all right, love," I said. "I want to do this." He relaxed then and let me stroke him lightly as we listened to the music. I felt his cock swelling as I traced its outline through the fabric of his trousers.

When we got home, he suggested a nightcap. And then I made a suggestion was well. "When we met, we were both naked. Let's be naked again."

He smiled and said, "You first!" My answer was to kick my shoes off and then slowly unzip my gown, let it drop to the floor, and step out of it. When he saw my nipple clips with their pendant pearls, his smile widened. I stood before him in my demi-bra and matching black lace panties. And then I stopped. "Your turn," I said.

He removed his jacket and tie, and then his shoes and socks. Next came the shirt and pants. He stripped off his undershirt, exposing a gray-haired chest. I unhooked my bra and let it fall. My breasts sagged down, but I lifted them up by their engorged nipples and gave them a little shake. And then I pushed my panties down and stepped out of them. His eyes were locked on my swaying tits and my vulva.

"Are you ready?" I asked gently. He nodded, his smile gone, and he dropped his shorts. His dick was just as I remembered it: of medium length and thickness, but now curving slightly upward from the gray hair of his groin. 

We stood naked in front of each other. This was so different from the first time we'd met. Now the sexual excitement was buzzing through the room. I had not coupled with a man in twenty years, and in an odd way, I felt almost virginal. And I could read a variety of emotions in his face: lust, panic, and uncertainty.

I held him close and kissed him with utmost tenderness. "Oh, Priapus," I prayed silently. "Grant me beauty, grant me luck. Don't let me disappoint him."

"Ginnie," he said. "Don't expect much from me. I told you that my lovemaking days were behind me."

"I'm expecting nothing, except to give you a good time and show you how to give me a good time, regardless of what your penis is doing. Will you allow me to do this?"

"You may certainly try. But first let's have that nightcap. I need it. You may need it, too!"

He opened a bottle of a very, very good Burgundy. We drank to each other, and then filled each other in on how we'd spent the past few days. Within minutes, we were as comfortable about being nude in front of each other as we'd been at the beach. As we chatted, he played with his penis, keeping it hard. And I found myself fondling my slit as we talked, and playing with the pearls on my nipple clips. At one point, I pinched my already swollen nips lightly to increase the stimulation. I could feel myself sliding into serious arousal, and decided that it was time for the next step.

"I think it's time for bed, don't you?" I asked coyly.

He gave me a searching look, followed by smile. "Yes. Please."

His bed was huge. "I like lots of room; I'm a restless sleeper," he explained.

"So am I!" And I pulled him onto the bed. We hugged, chest to chest and groin to groin. My nips were on fire. His cock was hard. I stroked it. "Don't," he said.

"Why not?" 

"I'm so close to cumming. I'll cum before I'm even inside you."

"Is that what's bothering you? We'll solve that problem right away. I'm going to give you a blowjob."

"But I'll cum even faster! And I'll be no good for later!"

"Let me worry about that," I said. "Right now, this is about your pleasure, not mine." And I proceeded to give him the first blow job I'd given any man since my husband left me years ago. I started slowly and lovingly, licking his shaft from base to tip, then pulled back his foreskin and ran my tongue around the ridge of the cap. I licked the pre-cum as it welled up from the hole in the cap. Whenever he seemed on the verge of ejaculating, I'd let off the licking and stroke his belly instead. I teased him mercilessly for about ten minutes, and then put my lips to the cap, sucked hard, and finished him off with a few quick strokes of my hand. His cum spurted into my mouth, that old familiar taste of semen, a blend of sugar and bleach and musk and that certain something that is like no other taste in the world. His cock instantly went soft, and he groaned. I contented myself with straddling his body and rubbing his limp cock against the folds of my labia as my tits dangled down, my super-sensitive nipples grazing his chest as I kissed him.

"Little Max lasted longer than you thought he would, didn't he?" I murmured.

"Because you are a goddess, my dear. You will not believe this, but that was the first 'blow job' I have ever received in my life. I have read about it often, and dreamed of it as I played with myself, but have never experienced it until now. My wife refused to do it, and my other recent partner never suggested it."

"Am I really only the third woman you've made love to?"

"Well, there were others, before I married, but they were all as ignorant of sex as my wife and I were. Remember that this was in the days before 'women's liberation.' You don't remember those days, I'm sure."

"Oh, but I do! How old do you think I am?" 

"I don't know. In your forties, I'd guess. Forty-four? Forty-five?"

"I'm fifty-nine, dear. And, before you ask, I'm no longer fertile, so you needn't worry about that."

"But you had a tampon in you the other day. I saw the string ..."

"Not a tampon. A vibrator. Older girls like me sometimes need a bit of a buzz."

"But fifty-nine? You don't look it!"

"Thank Priapus for that!"

"Who?"

"Never mind. Private joke. But I lived through that era, too. We women weren't educated about our bodies and what we could do with them for pleasure. It took me years to learn that. And now that I think of it, most of my sexual partners were as ignorant as I was. It was all about jamming their cocks into me and squirting. I needed foreplay, and afterplay, too. They just didn't get it."

"I confess that I was just as ignorant, my dear. My wife taught me what she wanted from me, and I did my best. But she herself was quite conservative in our love-making. It is the culture we were born in. She did not like fingers inside her. She did not want me to kiss her below the waist."

"Well, I like both of those things. And you don't need a cock for them. Would you do that for me?"

"I don't know how, I'm afraid."

"Let me teach you," I said. And I did. He began by giving my slit some exploratory tonguing. He was somewhat at a loss about what to do with my inner lips protruding prominently from my cunt, as so many of my lovers had been, but when I detailed how I liked them sucked and nuzzled, he delighted in playing with them. And then I grabbed them and pulled them apart like butterfly wings, exposing my entrance and pee-hole and pearly clitoris. He licked the insides of my folds, and I was in heaven. Or, at least, at the gates of heaven.

"My clit is super-sensitive," I said softly. "Many women's clits are. I'll tell you when you're going too far. Just explore, and have fun!" I gave him a few more minutes to get acquainted with my genitalia, while I removed my nipple clips, allowing my nips the exquisite tingle of the blood flowing back into them. I coached him on how to tongue me while pinching my clitoral hood, forcing the clit back into its hood while sliding his tongue into the pinch to tickle my clit's underside. That has always driven me wild, ever since Amy performed it on me. I felt my sexual tension rise, and a frisson of energy rippled through me, but I was still nowhere near an orgasm. Not yet.

"I have something else to teach you, Max. What do you know about the G-spot?"

"Well, I know what it is. For 'Grafenberg,' right? A sensitive area in a woman's vagina. But I have never had the opportunity to examine one."

"You have that chance now. I have a perfectly good one that wants tickling. Now put your middle finger into me, palm up. Slide it in and out. Ooh, I like that! Now feel for a difference in the vaginal wall. With some women, like me, it's a little bump. For others, it's a slight roughness. And for others, you won't be able to feel any difference at all, and you're going to have to ask your partner to tell you when you've found it. Don't be surprised if she says she can't find it either, because some women just aren't sensitive there. OK?"

"Let me feel. I think ... yes, there it is. Am I right? About two inches in?"

"That's it. Now rub it, stroke it like it's the underside of your penis when you play with it. Like your penis, you'll feel it get bigger. There's a gland there that swells up with fluid, just like your cock."

"How fast? How hard?"

"Feel my cunt muscles squeezing your finger? That's the speed I want. Not too hard, sort of flick it, but wait until it swells before you start putting a lot of pressure on it."

He was a quick learner. My arousal went up another notch. At one point I asked him to put two fingers in. And then it was three. "Harder!" I panted. And he did. "Even harder! Now use your tongue! On my clit! Push from both sides!" And then I was cumming, cumming, my cunt muscles crushing his fingers and then releasing them in the next instant, clenching spasmodically. My hands grabbed his head, forcing his mouth onto my cunt. And then I closed my legs, squeezing his head between them.

The orgasm swept over me, and then subsided a bit without really going away. I relaxed my legs, his fingers slipped out of me, and he slid his body over mine. He kissed me fiercely on the neck. I came again. He played with my nipples as though he had never seen one before. "Suck on them, darling," I said. "Suck hard!" When he did, one after the other, I came a third time.

I kissed him. "Thank you, Max. That was wonderful. You've still got what it takes!"

I heard him chuckle. "I only did what you wanted. What you asked for." 

"That makes you a good lover. The only difference is that I asked for more things than any of your other partners did. And you did well, for somebody who hadn't done them before. You'll get even better when you learn what your partner wants, when you can sense it even before she asks. Never be afraid to ask them what they want; sometimes they'll be too shy to tell you, or they'll assume you already know."

"Then I ask you now: is there anything else you want, my dear?"

"Just one thing. Your cock in me. It's hard again, I see."

"But it won't be for long, I fear."

"I'm not going to time you," I said, as I splayed my legs.

He crouched over me, his cock at my entrance. "Wait just a second," I said, and I fingered my clit to rekindle my orgasm. When I felt it starting to crest again, I spread my butterfly wings and breathed, "Fuck me, Max. Now!" And his cock slid in, the first cock I'd had in years and years. My climax swelled, a climax even more profound than the last one. As it coursed through my limbs in a delicious wash of ecstasy, he gave me three or four hard lunges, and then I felt his cock spasming as he pumped his seed into my depths. I could feel his cock softening inside me as I squeezed it. And then it slipped out.

"I'm so sorry, dear. I wish I could make it last."

"Listen to me, Max," I answered as I kissed him. "You are not responsible for my orgasms. I am. Sometimes I have a lot of them. Sometimes I don't have one at all. It has nothing to do with what my partners are doing, or aren't doing. Do you understand that?"

"Nonetheless, I would like to pleasure you with my cock. It is important to me."

"Then take one of those little blue pills we talked about. Not to make it better for me, but to make it better for you. And remember that this is not like before, when you thought that your cock was the only thing you had to please ladies with. Now you know that it's just one tool among many in your toolbox, and not even the most important one."

We cuddled and chatted lazily for a while and then drifted off to sleep, with my breasts pressed against his side and my head using his hairy chest for a pillow, feeling it rise and fall. In the morning, I woke up with my usual horniness and showed him how I liked to masturbate. It was the first time he had seen a woman bring herself to a climax, and the sight of it so aroused him that I had to give his cock only the slightest touch before it squirted its cream onto my thigh. We laughed as I scooped it up with my finger and licked it off, and then put another fingerful to his lips ... his first taste of his own semen, he told me. He no longer obsessed about having a hair trigger, I noted with satisfaction. After a quick playful shower, we went out for breakfast, and then I went home. 

The next time I visited him, he had gotten some of those pills and enjoyed a three-hour erection that he kept planted in my cunt until I begged him to stop. I was out of shape for that sort of thing, and needed more stimulation than that, anyway. So he went to work again with his mouth and fingers, and he got me off without difficulty. After the orgasm he gave me from that workout, I was ready for more cock, and managed to get him to slow down to the easy pace I liked the best, like the rocking of a boat. I only knew he'd ejaculated again was when he groaned as he gave a final lunge; his cock was already softening as the effects of the drug wore off. But it was enough. He felt his virility restored, and I ... well, I lost count of the orgasms I had.

We drifted somewhat apart after a while, meeting only at the beach or at his apartment for sex. While we still looked forward to our mutual fucks, he sought out other partners as well, not content to confine his newfound lusts to me alone. I learned from Tina that she had become another of those partners; she really had really been serious about taking him from me! Or, at least, borrowing him for a while.

"Thank God you were able to get him out of his shell, Ginnie!" she texted me afterward. "I'll be forever grateful to you for that. You're a good teacher, too. He gave me the screwing of my life!" That didn't surprise me. Balling a nubile woman in her twenties must have done wonders for his self-image. And Tina was from a new generation of girls, who knew what satisfactions could be wrung from their bodies, and how to demand those satisfactions from their lovers. She was a perfect fuckmate for Max in that respect, and guided him adroitly through his next lessons in pleasing a woman. And of course, when they weren't balling, they had a common interest in computers, an interest I didn't share.

As for me, I was determined to seek out that nice young man I saw at the beach and see if I could get that beautiful cock of his to dance to my tune. And there was Greg from the theater, too; he hadn't found a new beau. The only limits now were those of my lust, and I had yet to plumb those depths. But there was a world of cock out there, and I was going to claim my share. Thank, you, Priapus! Thank you!



Daughters of Priapus -  I Said Yes



(This is the concluding piece of my stories entitled "Daughters of Priapus." Although it could be read on its own, readers might find it informative to read the others first, in order to acquaint them with some of the characters that are mentioned.)





I glimpsed his erection through his boxer shorts, straining against the fabric, and then it disappeared into the pants he pulled on. But I couldn't take my mind off it. Like most women, I've appreciated the sight of a hard cock on my lovers, but it's not like the turn-on that men seem to have when they see a woman's breasts exposed. A man's smile or kiss or a caress will stoke my libido more than the sight of an erection. Or so I thought.

We were actors at a community theater. It's not a large theater, and there were times when we needed a quick costume change between scenes and the dressing rooms were too far away. So we'd just strip to our underwear backstage and slip into the next costume. It's routine, and usually there's not much to titillate you if you've seen people in underwear before. And it happens too fast, and the actors are too busy getting their own costumes changed, to spend time ogling each other. So I didn't expect this Saturday night to be different. And I certainly didn't expect it to change my life!

My own costume change involved a change from blouse and skirt to a party dress, so I'd kept my soft bra and panties on. First, the blouse came off. While I was pulling my skirt off, I happened to glance at Kent, who was exchanging his trousers for Bermuda shorts. There was no mistaking it: his penis was swollen, very long and fat, and clearly outlined in the sheer fabric of his boxers. I could even discern the outline of a very large glans. And was it my imagination, or was there the trace of a wet spot right where its tip would be? The next thing I knew, he was looking at me. And when he saw me looking back, he blushed.

I gave him a smile and a wink, to reassure him that all was well, and pulled on the dress for the next scene. The stage manager called "Time," the curtain went up, and we performed the next scene without a hitch, except that Kent's timing seemed a little off. We were playing the parents of the hero of the play. Kent and I had acted together a few times before, and had come to know how we could bring out good performances in each other. Good acting is like making love, and depends on giving your fellow actors space to develop their characters, instead of simply imposing one's own character on them and expecting them to respond to it. Kent understood that perfectly, and always gave me space to bring all sorts of things into the performance.

Kent was in his mid-sixties, tall and silver-haired, with a long face and large, strong hands. He had the lean hard muscles of an active man and, while he'd put on a few pounds over the years, mostly on his paunch, he carried them well. What struck people about him was his exceptional skills at listening and putting people at ease. His voice was a cello's voice, resonant and reassuring. And he was, to me, extraordinarily handsome. I'd sometimes wondered what he looked like with his clothes off, and whether he'd be as anxious to please in bed as he was on the stage. But I'd pushed those thoughts back as unprofessional. I'd almost convinced myself that he felt the same about me: a colleague, maybe even a friend, but not a lover. But then I saw that boner of his, and it set my mind awhirl.

We finished the play and were about to say our goodbyes, but something in me told me that here was an opportunity to know him better. So I invited him out for a drink. He accepted, and we went to a bar within walking distance of the theater.

"I'm glad you asked me out, Ginnie," he said as the drinks arrived. "I don't really know many of the other actors here. They're not my ... well, you know ... age group. You're far more mature than they are. What are you? Fifty?"

"Thanks for the compliment! I'm almost sixty."

"Well, you don't look it. You're quite attractive!"

I winked at him. "Does that explain what I saw in your shorts between scene four and scene five?"

He grinned sheepishly. "You saw that? I'm sorry."

"I'm not! I enjoyed it! I almost found myself imagining that it was for me." I gave him a quick wink.

"No need to imagine it! To tell you the truth, that erection was your fault, Ginnie. I've been admiring you ever since we met. Can I be honest with you? I've always been fascinated by the way you move and talk. And when you pulled your blouse off and gave me a peek down your bra, I was struck by how beautiful and soft your breasts looked, and how they swayed as you bent over. Now what man could resist that?" I blushed and smiled.

"But that's not all," he continued. "I was struck by how un-selfconscious you were about being half-dressed. Most of the women seem to try to hide it. They turn around, they crouch, they glare at me when I just glance at them. Not you." 

"Well, we're all adults here. What's to get upset about? And men get erections from time to time, right?"

He smiled. "Well, in my case, it's worse than that. I have an erection almost all the time, of one degree or another. When I was younger, I was always being embarrassed by it. Gym classes were always a torture for me. And it didn't do my marriage any good."

"Are you married, Kent?"

"Not now. My wife and I divorced ten years ago. She'd been battling depression for years, and the only medication that worked for her also killed her libido. My erections made her uncomfortable. I guess it was because they were a reminder that I needed things that she couldn't give me any more. I tried to be understanding about it, but it just didn't work out."

"I'm sorry."

"Well, she's happier now that we're apart, so there's nothing to be sorry about. The pressure's off, and we're friends again. That's the important thing."

"May I ask you a personal question, Kent?"

"Well, our conversation is already pretty personal, so go ahead. Like you said, we're all adults here."

"Do you miss the sex?"

He gave me a long look. "Yes, Ginnie, I do. I have a high sex drive. If you want to know the truth, I masturbate at least once a day. Sometimes twice. Sometimes I have to, like when I'm going swimming, I have to lose the erection so I can wear my swim trunks. Otherwise, I'd be giving people a show they might not appreciate."

"I appreciate your honesty about this. If it makes you feel better, I masturbate at least once a day, too. Usually twice. Does that surprise you?"

"Really? Somehow I didn't think women did that! At least when they get older. I thought that your libidos kind of faded once menopause sets in."

"In my case, it did. I've only recently revived it, a couple of years ago. Before that, I hadn't had a real orgasm in over twenty years. To be honest, I didn't know what I was missing."

"What changed, then?"

I gave him a level look. "Would you believe that I was seduced by a woman almost young enough to be my grand-daughter?"

"No!" he laughed. "But I wouldn't blame her if she did!"

"It's true! It took her a while, but she re-lit the fires. And after that, there were more women, and two men. I think I like men better, though."

"Why? I mean, I have absolutely no problem with gay sex, although I'm not into it myself. But what's the difference, for you?"

"Well, with women, the sex is good, but there's something still missing. Some sort of emotional contact, I guess. There's still a part of me that wants to be a woman to a man, to complement my yin with his yang. It's hard to express."

"I think I know what you mean. I've wanted that, too, since my wife and I broke up. I haven't been with anybody since then. But I do want to be a man to a woman again. I'm just not prepared to pay the price, that's all."

"Price? What price?"

He sipped his drink in silence, pondering what he would say next. Then he found the words. "Ginnie, I'm a terrible ex-lover. I've broken up with three women in my life, including my ex-wife. It's devastating to me. I don't know if I can stand to go through all that again, particularly with somebody I'm still going to have to socialize or work with, like you."

"Can't you just be a 'friend with benefits,' as the kids say, or do you feel you need to make a commitment?"

"I don't know. For me, it's always been a committed relationship. At least since college."

"Well, why don't we try?"

"What are you saying, Ginnie?"

"I'm saying 'Take me home. Make love to me.'" I reached under the table, touched his crotch, and traced the erection pressing against his trousers. "I want to feel that cock inside me. But I promise that I won't expect anything but sex from you."

We stood up and hugged. I held him tight and felt his stiff penis pushing against my belly. We kissed. And then he drove me home.

It was a curious mixture of pure lust and giddy shyness. We undressed each other, and his erect penis, now exposed, was impressive. It was larger by an inch or two, and definitely thicker, than any others I'd had inside me. It was circumcised, had a graceful curve upward, and was capped by a large glans that was wet with fluid. And it was very, very hungry; it was bobbing up and down with his heartbeat. He undressed me and, when my bra was off, fondled my sagging breasts, lifting them and letting them fall, pressing them against each other, and pinching my long nipples and sucking on them hungrily. I needed no foreplay; when he slipped my panty-hose and my panties down to reveal my vulva, they were already wet. I wanted him inside me. It was as much curiosity as lust; would I actually be able to accommodate an organ that size?

As I lay on my bed, he removed my underwear. I spread my legs invitingly, and he stared at my vulva with its gray muff and generous inner lips ... my "curtains," as the girls in the sorority called them ... which I pulled apart to expose my hole. He could not take his eyes off them. I was suddenly afraid that he didn't like what he was seeing. Would it be a turn-off for him, as it had been for so many other men? But then he pulled on them and stroked them and kissed them and sucked them into his mouth, savoring the juices that were welling up from my vagina. And then he was on top of me, guiding his organ into my sheath. There was a moment of discomfort as I felt my vagina being stretched further than it had ever been stretched before by a man, but it passed as I relaxed and found myself able to accommodate him. To my surprise, he could bury his shaft in me right up to the base, until our crotch hairs ground into each other, without me feeling it on my cervix; I hadn't realized my pussy was that deep. I tasted my pussy on his lips as we kissed. And then he began pumping, and within seconds he was cumming, filling me with his sperm, and then it was over. He groaned.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Ginnie! I wanted to last longer. I really did!"

I kissed him. "It's all right, dear. We have all night. It's been a long, long time for you. I understand." His penis was already softening, but I kept it inside me, treasuring its feeling of fullness. Even though I hadn't climaxed, I was happy, because I was sharing his happiness of satiety after a long fast. Somehow I was sure that he would make it up to me. 

And he did. We played with each other's bodies, exploring all the creases and folds. His penis, although now softer, was almost as big as it was when it was erect, and begged to be sucked to hardness again. As for me, I felt myself being devoured. No man in a very long time had paid so much attention to every inch of my body. He licked my belly and pawed at my breasts, rolling them in his hand and sucking on my nips until I could feel their points touching the back of his mouth. Then his mouth was on my engorged clit, pressing on it, flicking it with the tip of his tongue. I showed him where and how to excite the sensitive front wall of my vagina, and gave in to the waves of pleasure that swept my body as his thick fingers pressed against that sweet spot as they plunged in and out of me. 

By then, he was hard again, and I spread my legs to invite him in. This time, he pleasured me for what must have been fifteen or twenty minutes, taking it slow and teasingly, letting the cap of his penis glide along every square inch of my now expanded vagina as he kissed my neck and squeezed my nipples. Not that I was keeping time. In fact, I came again almost as soon as he bottomed out in me, and was on the ragged edge of another orgasm as we fucked, slipping into ecstasy only after I felt his penis spurting its second load into me.

We drowsed off that way, with his thick cock still inside me. When I awoke the next morning, he was lying beside me on his back, with that cock rock-hard again. I gripped it as I kissed him awake. Then I straddled him and eased myself down on his erection, my breasts swinging as I moved up and down his shaft, letting my nipples graze the silver hair on his chest. "Oh, Ginnie..." was all he could gasp before he came. It was just as well, because I found myself sore after last night's exertions. So while still straddling him, I lifted myself off him and masturbated my clit to a gentle orgasm, wetting my inner lips with his sticky sperm as it oozed from my slot. My other hand went to my left breast; I grasped the nipple, lifted my breast with it, and gave it a shake. His glance darted between my tits and my crotch. It was obviously the first time he had ever seen a woman masturbate in front of him.

"Ginnie," he said at last, "you are full of surprises!"

"And I'm hungry, too," I replied. "Want some breakfast?"

We never got dressed that day, until the late afternoon sun shone through my bedroom window. We spent the day fucking and talking and drinking coffee and wine. It was as though he had ten years of pent-up libido, and I found to my amazement that I could match him cum for cum. Between fucks, we cuddled and chatted. He delighted in playing with my inner cunt lips and my nipples, which (he said) were the largest and longest he'd ever seen on a woman. In turn, I played with his cock, which never really went soft but had the firmness of a frankfurter even when he had just climaxed. He swore that drugs had nothing to do with it, that he had been that way for his entire adult life. 

"I have to tell you, Kent, that your cock is the biggest one I've ever seen," I told him as I squeezed it. "The guys must envy you!"

"To be honest, it's been a pain in the ass. Some of the women I've been with have complained about it being too big for them. And, as I told you last night, it's hard to hide when I'm swimming or whatever. I get all kinds of dirty looks, even from the guys, and it bothers me."

"I think I know how that feels. I get nipple erections all the time, and it can be embarrassing. I like to wear soft bras, and they don't really hide them. And going bra-less is really out of the question, particularly with tee shirts or summer dresses."

"I can't imagine a man being turned off by the sight of stiff nipples."

"It's not that. It's just that men seem to equate stiff nips with horniness. They assume that the women are signaling sexual availability."

He gave my left nipple a pinch. "Well, your nipples are stiff now. How am I to read that?"

"They're stiff because I've got a naked man next to me in bed! So, yes, I'm horny! What are you going to do about it?"

He chuckled and kissed my breast, and we snuggled. And when our libidos crested again, we made love, slow and teasing and with light hearts. 

Well, that happy Sunday couldn't last forever. We had another performance that night, so we showered, dressed, and went out for dinner. He was unusually quiet, and I finally asked him what was on his mind.

"I'm afraid that I'm falling in love with you, Ginnie," he confessed. "It's not just the sex. You and I are alike in so many other ways, too. I suddenly found myself thinking about how wonderful it would be to never have to say goodbye to you again. And I am so afraid of another messy break-up."

I reached for his hand and squeezed it. "I'm not asking for any commitment, Kent. But I want to say that the past day has been one I'll treasure for the rest of my life. And I want to spend more days like that. And if we do 'break up' somewhere down the road, I will have no regrets. I will treasure each and every day as it comes. Good things don't have to last forever, but I'll be damned if I'll forsake them out of fear that they might end someday. Do you understand?"

He smiled. "I think so. If we do break up, I only ask that it be gentle. Please help me find the courage to face it, and give me time to absorb it."

"You have my word on that. And I think it will work both ways. Since my divorce, I've never had feelings for anyone the way I have feelings for you right now. And I'm a little scared, too. I don't honestly know where this will lead, but I'll tell you this. Right now, I've got to know how deep these feelings go. Will you give me the chance to find out?"

"You just took the words right out of my mouth! So we'll be 'friends with benefits,' as you called it?"

"Let's give it a try! And right now, we've got to get going. Curtain's in an hour."

The performance that night went swimmingly. It was as if Kent and I were clicking on a new level, seeing and responding to each other's performances as never before. We no longer needed to feign that we were a couple who had known sexual intimacy. Maybe it was this new-found dynamic that gave Dottie, our wardrobe specialist (and occasionally my lover), the clue that we'd become intimate. Or maybe it was during the costume changes, when we were looking at each other and obviously appreciating the other's semi-nudity. Whatever it was, I found myself being hugged by her after the last curtain came down. "You've got a guy now, don't you? I'm so glad for you!" she whispered into my ear. I hugged her back, remembering the many hours of enjoying the pleasure of having those soft breasts of hers pressing against my own, nipple to nipple and skin to skin.

I kissed her. "Thanks, Dottie! And now that I have a man of my own, maybe I won't have to borrow yours as often! But you two are still welcome in my bed!" 

"We'll talk about that later. Now, what sort of lay is he? Is that cock as big as I think it is?"

"It's pretty big. The biggest I've ever had, anyway. And almost always hard! We're a good fit. If I can teach him to eat pussy like you do, I'm going to keep him!" She laughed and let me go. Usually the cast showered in their dressing rooms after the show, but we went straight home, not even bothering to shed our make-up. The hot lights of the stage usually made us sweat at least a little bit, but tonight that animal scent went straight to my pussy.

We spent that night at his house, not mine. It was a nineteenth-century farmhouse near the edge of the woods, secluded and comfortable. We stripped the minute we walked through the door and showered together; the bathroom had once been a bedroom when the house was built in those innocent days of outdoor toilets, and was easily large enough for the walk-in shower he'd installed. After washing off our make-up and teasing each other's bodies, we moved to his bedroom for some serious fuckplay. He filled me twice that night, and once again in the morning; his libido was impressive for a man in his mid-sixties. My morning soreness was gone, and I was even able to use my Kegels to tease him.

We both went to our jobs after breakfast, but the relationship had taken firm root, and we continued to see each other. We spent most weekends together, naked and as horny as teenagers. When we weren't actually fucking, we were either masturbating in front of each other or masturbating each other. Somehow our sexual energies fueled each other. He loved my blow jobs, and he loved giving me oral until I was wobbly. If he had just cum in me, he would catch it in his mouth as I squeezed it out and share it with me, so that the taste of his sperm and my pussy would become intermingled.




Daughters of Priapus -  I Said Yes



I came to know his pattern of arousal. His first orgasm of the day would usually be lightning fast, so we usually dispensed with coitus and I'd blow him or masturbate him. I had never found a man's ejaculation to be very sexy before, but I loved to have him straddle my naked body and decorate my belly and breasts with his warm cum. Then I'd wank as he would watch, coating my nipples and clit with his sperm as his softening dick dripped the last of its cream onto me. His subsequent erections would last longer and give me ample time to get myself off, using his cock as a fuck toy.

He proved to be amazingly adventurous in sex. Within a few months, we had experimented with piss play and role-playing and light bondage. When I asked him to slap my breasts to set them swinging as I fucked him "cowgirl" style, he at first demurred, but soon it became a regular part of our sex play. Before long, I had a varied collection of nipple clamps which he'd put on me as part of our foreplay. In return, he found to his surprise that my taking an occasional swat at his erection and squeezing his balls to the point of pain heightened the force of his climax.

We even tried anal sex, although the size of his erection proved too great for me to enjoy it. I introduced him to my Cocksicle and he loved to fuck my cold wetness after I had used the toy to masturbate myself. I made an Ice Vadge to suit his cock and we spent many happy hours with it, chilling his tool and then sliding it into my warm sheath. I shared my vibrators with him, teasing his cock for hours at a time until it wept almost continuously with pre-cum. After a session like that, his ejaculations would be prodigious, and that was when I loved to have his cum gushing onto my belly or between my tits, splattering hotly against my skin. Then he'd take a spoon and scrape it off and spoon-feed it to me, followed by my own cum as it oozed from my slit. 

By spring I had moved in with him, sharing his beautiful old house in the woods. It was the house of my dreams, with a huge kitchen and a library with thousands of books, records, and CDs, most of which reflected my own tastes in art, music, politics, and literature. We were almost always nude when we were alone. It wasn't all fucking, but when he was in the mood for sex, he'd give fondle his cock to full hardness and press it against my leg. And when I was horny, I'd grab my nips and give my breasts a shake, which never failed to grab his attention. Even after we'd fucked and the lust was burned away, there was always a level of sexual excitement that we kept going by kissing and teasing each other. 

I would tease his cock almost all the time, so that it would be available for me whenever I wanted it inside me. In turn, I kept myself wet either with my fingers or one of my egg vibrators, which he would love to lick dry after I'd pulled it out of me. We took an almost pagan delight in fucking on the thick sheepskin rug in front of the living room's large fireplace, our nude sweating bodies illuminated only by the firelight. There is no graceful way to put this, so I'll have to make do by saying that we were like animals in heat, with no other thought than to satisfy each other's urges. Every fuck was an adventure in lust, a playful pastime, and a way to show our love for each other. And I loved him more each day.

And when the weather was warm enough, I took him to that nude beach at the Cape that Dottie had shown me the previous year. I wore my favorite nipple clips with the pendant pearls, as it had become my custom to do when I went to the beach, although I left my egg vibrator behind this time. 

It was his not first trip to a nude beach, and he was afraid that his constant erections would be a problem. (Many years before, he had gone to one, but he was asked to leave because his tumescent cock apparently offended some of the other beachgoers.) But I sucked him off in the parking lot, and got his cock to the point where it was no longer straight up, even though it was as thick and long as it usually was. To our surprise, he found that he liked showing it off, and within an hour he had gotten to full erection again as the sight of all that naked female flesh took effect. I had to take him into the water up to his navel and jerk him off in order to return him to a more or less presentable state; to the casual onlooker, we were merely chatting, although he came just as a wave receded, exposing his cap at the instant he spurted, his cum splattering against my belly. I looked around, but nobody seemed to notice, and I casually rinsed his cum off my body with the seawater. When we emerged from the water, his cock was no longer pointed straight up, but out and just slightly below level. Well, that would have to do! After two ejaculations within an hour, I figured (or at least hoped) that his libido would settle down for a while.

As we returned to the beach for our towels, I saw two familiar people: Max and Tina, both naked and walking arm in arm toward us. I could swear that Max's cock was larger than when I had last seen it, but it was flaccid. I hugged them both and introduced them to Kent, who was studying the gold labial ring gleaming brightly from Tina's bare cunt. Her fat pink nipples were now similarly adorned, with each stud bearing two diamonds that flashed in the sun. Damn, I thought. He's going to be hard again in a flash. But thankfully, his penis didn't rise as he gave Tina a tentative hug and shook Max's hand.

Tina and I left the men to get acquainted, and spread out a blanket a few feet away. 

"So you and Max are still together," I said. "Is it a serious thing now?"

"Not really. I'm working for his IT business now on a contract basis, and we're still occasionally fuck-buddies, but I want children and he doesn't. I think he's right. He says it wouldn't be fair to have a child that late in life, and besides, our kid would be younger than his grandchildren. So I'm seeing other guys now, and Max doesn't mind. But tell me about this new guy here!"

I filled her in on how Kent and I had met, and how I had come to fall in love and move in with him. "Tina, he's a sex machine! I thought I had a strong libido, but he's a challenge to keep up with!"

"My God, I saw that cock! He's hung like a horse! And he's walking around with a hard-on!"

"That's not a hard-on, Tina! In fact, that's about as soft as it ever gets!"

"No way! Does it get bigger, too?"

"Not really. Maybe a little thicker."

"Jesus! Is it ... too big for you? Does it hurt?"

"No, it fits fine! It took some getting used to, though. It was pretty tight at first."

"Does he cum a lot? I mean sperm. Max says that men cum less when they get older."

"I don't know about that. But he cums by the bucketful. More than Max ever did. You just missed a hell of a show a few minutes ago, when I jerked him off in the water! But he needed it. And do you know what? That was his second cum within an hour!"

"Damn," she said, and then she was silent for a minute. "Well, Ginnie, you've got your very own Priapus now."

I smiled, remembering that statue in our sorority house with its long, slender phallus and exaggerated glans. "I suppose I do! I guess I always wanted a real live Priapus of my own." 

"Well, you deserve one! Hey, I see you've still got those nipple clips I gave you. They sure look great on you! Those nips were made to have something dangling from them!"

"I remember you saying that when you gave them to me! Kent loves to see them on me. In fact, that's about the only thing he wants me to wear when we're alone. I can never thank you enough for them, dear."

"Well, we're going to have to give him a cock ring to match them. If they make one big enough, that is!" We laughed, and the men glanced over at us with amusement in their eyes. I noticed that Tina was flicking her labial ring back and forth absentmindedly as we talked. The conversation was obviously turning her on, although the masturbation wasn't overt enough to call attention to it. But her next question showed that her mind wasn't totally on genital jewelry.

"So how serious is this relationship, Ginnie?"

"I don't know, Tina. I've spent the last two years re-discovering myself. As much as I like being with Kent, I've spent all the years since my divorce persuading myself that I don't need to be defined in terms of somebody else. Now I'm in charge of my body and my career and my life again. I'm asking myself: do I want to go back to being defined by another man? And lose everything I've gained?"

"Well, let me ask you something. Is that something that Kent wants you to do?"

"God, no! He's not going to ask me to do anything like that. It's just that he's been burned by commitment before, and I don't know how to reassure him that it's not going to happen with me. I don't want him feeling that he's dependent on me for his happiness. If we break up and he takes it badly, it's on me, and I don't want that."

"But that's not what's bothering you, is it? I don't think it's about disappointing him. You're worried about him disappointing you."

"Well, that's been on my mind, Tina. I'm thinking about how my last marriage left me without a sex drive at all, how it died. Yeah, I know, it was pressures of child-raising and getting older and the monotony of sex with one person before I even knew how good sex could be. But what if it happens again?"

"I haven't known you for very long, Ginnie, but I don't think you have it in you to be anybody else than who you are. The question is really whether a relationship will subtract from your sense of self, or add to it. It sounds like your marriage might have been an example of the first sort. But this relationship sounds like it could be the second sort."

"Is that sort of relationship really possible?"

"Sure! My parents have it. I could name dozens of others. It's not all that common, at least with people who don't know themselves and project their fantasies on their partners. Maybe that was you, when you married before. But I think you know better than that now. You're a mature woman in every sense of the word, Ginnie. Trust your heart. It won't steer you wrong."

Addition and subtraction. It was as simple as that. Kent added to me. Together, we were more than the sum of our parts. And now that I'd tasted that, I wanted more, and I wanted it forever. The only question remaining was whether Kent wanted it, too.

Our attention gradually drifted back to our companions. It was obvious that they were enjoying each other's company, not to mention the parade of nude women passing by. True to form, Kent was getting hard again, and even Max's cock was rising. So we decided to call it a day, and the four of us walked back to the parking lot. By then, all the families with children had left, and the remaining adults had no qualms about seeing men with erections, particularly the gay men who had boners of their own. Kent's staff, now pointed directly upward, got its share of stares, that's for sure. It probably didn't help that Tina and I had our arms around each other's waists as we walked, and that when we made our goodbyes, our kisses and hugs were certainly more than merely sororal. Tina was no Lesbian, but she liked to give the guys a show, and I'd known from the day I met her that she enjoyed the occasional contact of another woman. "It looks like I've got my work cut out for me," Tina whispered into my ear as we hugged. "It would be cruel to tease Max this way and then not ball him. And you've got to keep your Priapus happy!"

Tina was right: I had my own Priapus now. I recalled the dream I had that night in the sorority house where Amy, the senior sister, had slipped into my bed, brought me to a climax, and then fallen asleep in my arms. In my dream, the statue of Priapus in our sorority house had become human, with imploring brown eyes and a continuous stream of semen from a phallus that never went soft. Those eyes were now Kent's eyes, and that phallus was his phallus, ever firm and wanting. I would worship him, as the ancient Greeks worshiped the god, but this time Priapus would worship me back. I was not diminished by him, but fulfilled.

Which is why I found myself crying like a baby after our first fuck that night. It wasn't pain, I reassured him, and it wasn't heartbreak. It was simply the breaking of the last string that held me to my past life with its fears and doubts and frigidity. Then the tears went away, and we cuddled and kissed. No words were necessary. After his penis was again hard, I lay on my back and spread my legs, and he mounted me. I felt his weight crushing my breasts and his mouth locked onto mine and his rigid cock sliding into my wet sheath. We fucked slowly, languorously, savoring each stroke, our slick bodies gliding against each other's, the air censed with the scent of our sweat and our sex. And all at once, I was climaxing, hugging him with all my might and moaning as the orgasm swept through me. That triggered his own climax, as I knew it would, and he gave a final lunge into me, burying his tool completely into my depths. I felt it throbbing inside me, spewing its cum, filling me. At that instant, I felt reborn in his arms, and the semen he was pumping into me was an infusion of his life itself, new and fresh and wet and warm, and I answered every pulse with a squeeze of my own cunt. 

He groaned and rolled off of me. I nestled up against him and held him close, running the fingers of one hand through the silver hair on his chest as my other hand went to cradle his balls. He put his arms around me and hugged me, and we lay that way for a long time.

That's when he asked me to marry him.

And I said, "Yes!"



Daughters of Priapus



"Let me see!" Amy said, and then she was in front of me, her own heavy breasts inches from mine. She, too, was shaved. She had a dragon tattoo that decorated her rib cage, going all the way from the underside of her right breast to the center of her back. Together, the girls fondled my breasts. "Can I suck on them?" Amy asked. I nodded, and then felt two mouths on my nipples, their tongues circling them as they sucked. I first tensed, and then relaxed as they made no further moves on me. Then we finished our showers, and I went to bed.

I was reading when I heard a knock on the door. It was Amy. She asked if I was all right. And then she asked me something else.

"You've got the most amazing pussy, Ginny! Can I lick your curtains?"

"My what?"

"Your curtains. You know, your inner lips. When I saw how big they were, how much they hung down from your pussy, I knew I had to taste them!"

I laughed. "Forty years ago, I used to think I was a freak. Are these ... 'curtains' in fashion now?" 

"I dunno. But I like them. I think they're hot!"

"The guys I went with back then didn't."

"Why should you care? They're you." And she gazed at me, waiting for permission.

"What about Tina?"

"It's cool. We're not lovers. She doesn't really get off much on girls, she just likes to get groped a little."

I got up and slipped my panties off. She smiled, and then gently kissed my pussy lips ... my 'curtains' as she called them. I lay on my back on the bed and spread my legs, affording her complete access to my crotch.

She went to work with a will. I'd never had so much attention paid to this area of my anatomy, and was soon groaning with pleasure. Then I felt her finger snaking up into my cunt, searching for my G-spot. She was an expert lover, taking her time and waiting for my reaction. I became lost in my sensation, and then I climaxed with a force that left me shaking ... my first climax in years. I began to weep.

"Jesus, I'm sorry," Amy said. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, dear. You did everything just right. It was my first orgasm in a long, long time, that's all. Thank you so much!"

"So everything's cool?"

"Everything's perfect, darling!" She slithered up to me and we kissed mouth-to-mouth. She smelled of oranges and lavender and arousal. I smelled the juices of my pussy on her mouth and licked them off.

"I'm glad," she said. "You know, it took you a long time to cum. I thought I was losing my touch!"

"If I took such a long time, it was because I had so much further to travel. You did just fine."

"Was this the first time you've been with a girl?"

"Oh, no, dear. The first time was almost forty years ago. In this very room!"

"Wow. That is so cool! That's like, twenty years before I was born!"

"Yes. You could be my grand-daughter, almost."

"You don't look that old. I mean, you've still got a hot body. That pussy! Those nips! I could go crazy!"

"Thanks, dear. You don't have to be patronizing, you know."

"I'm not! You are really hot. If this is what Priapus gave you, I want it, too!"

"It's funny that you mention that. I was thinking how sad it was that our traditional rites have gone away."

"Yeah. You know what? We could bring them back! You have the penis part, right? You know the rite! Let's do it!"

"Don't you have to talk it over with the rest of the girls?"

"Yeah. I'll do that when they all get back. But I bet they'll go for it." And we nuzzled each other, and fell asleep in each other's arms. I dreamed. I dreamed of Priapus, still a statue but animate, with his phallus restored to him, staring at me with eyes that were not sockets in the marble but dark brown and moist and yearning, and stroking his long brown penis. The semen dribbled from its tip in a constant stream, but he never went soft. When I awoke, Amy was gone, but her lovely smell still lingered, and I wanked myself to another orgasm as I lay there. When I went downstairs, I found the house empty. I wrote them all a quick note of thanks, stopped at a diner for breakfast, and then drove home. A few weeks later, when the term began, I got an email saying, "We've agreed. Come back home. Bring the piece."

And that was how I came to visit your house again, last fall. Thoughtfully, Amy left my old room vacant as the "guest room." I put away my things and took a shower, this time in the company of several of the girls. I was pleasantly surprised at how free and easy they were with their bodies, even more so that I and my sisters had been at that age. Body jewelry and tattoos were common now, and only a few of them left their pubic hair untended. My own thatch, thick and now mostly gray, seemed out of place here. But they accepted me with good grace and pleasant smiles, and I soon felt like one of them again.

That night, we performed the ritual. Before I went downstairs, I was accosted by Tina and Amy. They were both wearing only their robes, as I was. Tina opened my robe and kissed my breasts. She then produced a small jewelry box from one of the pockets in her robe. She opened it up to show me two nipple clips. They consisted of a loop of fine wire with a slider; the loop ended in a beautiful teardrop pearl. The girls slipped them onto my nipples and slid up the slider until I could feel the wire gently biting into my nipples.

"If they're too tight, just squeeze the slider and slide it back down a little."

"They're fine. I like the stimulation. And they're beautiful. Do you want them back after the ceremony?"

"No, they're yours to keep," Tina said. "They're a homecoming present from me to you. We figured that nips like yours deserved them. The moment I saw them, I thought: if there were ever any nips that cried out for something to dangle from them, those are the nips!"

"And I got you something, too," Amy said. She took something out of her pocket and put it into my hand. It looked like a small egg, with a cord attached to it. She pulled the cord, and I felt the egg vibrate. She then took it from me and, keeping hold of the cord, poked the egg into my vagina. The sensation was exquisite. 

"I thought you might have a little trouble lubricating. You'll be the first tonight, you know."

"How thoughtful of you! Actually, I just wanked myself, so I'm pretty wet. But this feels wonderful!" I kissed her and felt her slit; she, too, was wet. Tina, meanwhile, was stroking her belly, just above her mons. We all closed our robes and went downstairs.

And there were all the girls of the sorority. Fifteen of them, plus six new pledges, all naked. They each held a copy of the initiation oath. As the Senior Sister, Amy gave a little speech about how they were about to undergo an initiation that stretched back in time to the founding of the sorority. "None of us has had this initiation, since the rite was broken in the days when the house was closed. So, in a sense, we are all pledges tonight. But one of our sisters, who has often participated in this rite, has returned to us tonight. She will initiate us, so that the line will remain unbroken." And then she kissed me and nodded. I said a few words and then dropped my robe and stood before Priapus naked, as I had done so often before. Amy handed me the box I had brought down earlier. I removed the phallus, held it up for all to see, and kissed and sucked on it, tasting my own pussy on it from its most recent use. Then I bent down and slipped its peg back into the hole in the statue's groin. It fitted perfectly, as I was sure it would. Priapus was again whole, and waiting for me. I pulled the egg from my vagina, straddled the statue and, pulling my cunt lips apart, impaled myself on that dark brown penis. I let my now bejeweled nipples press against the statue's cool breast and wept with joy as I heard the girls chanting: "Priapus, accept our sister Virginia. She is your willing servant. She consummates her devotion to you with her body. Grant her beauty, grant her luck, grant her your protection." 

And then I kissed each girl in turn, starting with Amy, as she mounted the statue. One difference from the old days was that many of the girls took the trouble to cover Priapus's penis with condoms they were provided with, a precaution that I thought most sensible in this age of STD's. I remember that, during the ritual, one of the pledges whispered to me, "Virginia, I'm a virgin. What do I do?" I whispered back that when I first fucked Priapus, I was a virgin, too, and never regretted losing my cherry to that stone god. "Let your blood help renew the beautiful color of his penis, as mine did," I said. That reassured her. She bit her lip as she fucked the statue, but didn't wince or cry out. I was so proud of her that I gave her an extra kiss as I wiped the blood from her labia. 

After the ceremony was over, I fucked the statue again, the first of a row of waiting women. Every girl stroked my back and ass and legs as I rode the phallus. My orgasm came easily now, and I once more felt like the sensual, sexy woman I was forty years ago. That feeling only deepened when, later that night, Amy slipped into my bed and it was my turn to use my tongue and fingers to transport her to ecstasy.

My dear sisters, I write these words not for those who were there that night, and who remember the rite, but for all the sisters yet to come. I write them so that you may know that the ritual you have undergone is part of the history of our sorority, and that you are part of a chain that stretches back to its origin. The chain was broken, but has been repaired, And I rejoice that I, through the grace of Priapus, am the link that mended it.