Le Grand Orgy

Le Grand Orgy

Serge was awaiting the night to arrive. He was pacing furtively around
his 2 room flat in downtown Tel-Aviv wishing the hours to pass quicker.
He lit yet another cigarette, absentmindedly flicking the ashes from
the 4th and last floor window and stood staring at the painting on the
wall.
The painting had been a present from his last girlfriend Tia and it
depicted a god- like figure spewing chocolate into the mouths of 3
seraphs that are bearing awe stricken expressions on a very large sized
canvas. The painting is very powerful in a decadent sort of manner.
It's an immediate favorite with a crowd that fancies itself to have a
strong stomach for excess and rather troublesome for people of more
gentle inclinations.
Serge has educated himself to like it.
They had been neighbors; his kitchen window directly viewing her
kitchen. They had looked each other over in silent observation quite
often from their kitchens until one night as Serge was with a couple of
friends at the Post-Caf?, Tia approached and introduced herself as the
'neighbor'. Things had pretty much taken off from there.
Tia was married at the time that she had given him the present. Before
this the piece had adorned her and her husband's living room. One night
on impulse she had removed the piece, and knocking on Serge's door with
a huge painting carried over her head, had handed him the piece. The
sight was quite comical; she with her petite frame carrying such a
large painting.
"What's this?" Serge remembers asking
"It was my final work at the art academy, and it has stopped creating
an effect in my living room. My husband doesn't even take a second
glance at it anymore. I'm sure no one will notice its absence."
"I'm sure the absence will go noticed", Serge remembers saying, as he
looks it over appreciatively. "What will you say when asked?"
"That I've given it to my lover", She says and takes her pants off
leaving her blouse on and approaching Serge's lower area and starts to
unbutton his trousers?
Serge allows a smile to creep across his face as he remembers that
episode. Yes Tia was very spontaneous and unpredictable. Funny how he
remembers mostly the good times. Why was it that he had ended it?
He can't remember and anyway his thoughts quickly return to the night
at hand.

He had received a call from his friend Aya the day before. They were
pretty good friends, who had managed to remain platonic, which was
pretty much of a rarity for the both of them who tended to mock this
bourgeous notion. Aya's name derived from the contraction of the
Greater Land of Israel, Eretz Israel Ha'shlema, in Hebrew. It was the
name her parents had given her. She was the granddaughter of Professor
Zohar, one of the chief ideologues of the revisionist camp, a man that
had influenced Serge's life a lot, ever since he was a young Jewish lad
in the rough streets of the St. Denis district of Paris where there
used to be constant racial friction between Blacks, Jews and Muslims.
It was there he learned first hand that a Jew must always be ready and
able to fight. He realized that things hadn't changed much by his
moving to Israel. One might even say that the perils of being a Jew
were even greater than in exile. But again one might not.
Aya was working as a hostess at a swingers club, her job was to make
sure nobody felt left out and that everybody was getting their piece of
the action as it were. Aya spoke at length of her job, which she
enjoyed tremendously, all the local celebrities going at each other
like rabbits in heat.
All was in stride for her as she also pursued an academic career at the
University. She was due to graduate with honors in Political Sciences
by next spring.
"How are your bartending skills", she had asked Serge in a casual
manner.
"Why, did your Barkeeper mysteriously fall ill?" Serge asks as his
heartbeat involuntarily speeds up just a notch.
"Yeah, something like that. Are you interested in some of the
action?"
"Fuck, is the Pope Catholic?"
"I'll take that as a confirmation of you coming to pick me up tomorrow
at 10 o'clock"
"Sure, Oh by the way what should I wear?"
"I'm sure you'll blend in with your Leather trousers"
"Ok, see you tomorrow"
Serge has 5 hours to kill 'till zero hour. He has always fantasized
about being at an orgy, or as politically correct advocates say; a
swingers club.
He is getting a hard-on by just thinking about all the bodies entangled
and interwoven with each other.
He wonders what starlet's will show up, which ones will he be engaging.
He knows the job won't be all work and no play. That would make Serge a
dull boy. He goes to his room to jerk off, but when he reaches for the
hand lotion he can't even shake a drop out of it. He opens the top and
tries to scoop the remainders of the fine lubricant with his index
finger. Nothing. He had gone through the exact same process 2 days ago.
Serge reproaches himself for not having the insight on stocking up on
this essential product. He fights with his hard-on to try pushing it
back into his pants and when he finally does he rushes out, across the
street to the convenience store that is run by an Orthodox Jew, and his
son.
They must have their suspicions when Serge quickly pays for the hand
lotion and a pack of cigarettes and rushes out quickly.
Serge quickly enters his room and proceeds to spank his monkey as he
envisions a large gallery of naked people sprawled in many advanced
coital positions.
Serge comes quickly. He never ejaculates; not since he read about a
technique of stopping the ejaculation right after orgasm. The first few
times he tried it, it was very awkward, he ended up coming over the
living room sofa and leaving a nasty stain on its red velvet
upholstery. After about 2 weeks of solitary practice he had mastered
the technique. This had given him much satisfaction at first, but he
was keen on trying it out in vivre.
The first girl he had tried this with, was a drunken English tourist he
had met at the beach. When he was about to come, he had made sure he
was on top and right at that blissful moment of arrival, he had gone to
stick his finger in that magical point between the scrotum and anus
which inhibits ejaculation. His finger slipped over the point as he
reached for it and his pellets were released in a gusty torrent of fury
over the girl. The girl didn't understand the look of disappointment on
Serge's face, and he hadn't bothered explaining it to her.
This effort put him off for a little while, until he mustered the
courage to try it again with another girl. Actually it had been with
Tia that he had perfected the technique.
Serge has attained somewhat of a temporary relief from the pressure,
but he still feels like a caged tiger. After not managing to
concentrate on the newspaper, he calls his friend 'Bro. 'Bro's short
for Broderick; he had been good friends with Serge for a long time.
'Bro worked like a charm on anybody in need of some relaxation, he had
a soothing persona if ever there was one. He owned a high-end print
shop and was used to working long hours standing in front of the
printing machines, looking at the monotone movement of paper. This
could both numb you completely and render you socially dysfunctional or
either make you an extremely calm and patient person.
'Bro was a case of the latter. The Zen of printing.
"Hey 'Bro, what you doing now"
"I just came home from work, just chilling out"
"Great, I'll be over in a sec", 'Serge says before he hears a
reply.
Serge jumps on his vintage Vespa, an'82 model, the first year they got
the 200cc motors and crisscrosses around the 'Kings of Israel' plaza,
unjustifiably dubbed Rabin Square a mere few hours after the Rabin
assassination. An act of political opportunism at its best and a fine
example of just how lubricated the 'Unstoppable Peace Machine' was back
in '95 and, to quite an extent, still is today.
Serge parks the Vespa, in 'Bro's backyard and gives a quick triple
knock on the door.
After exchanging greetings, Serge in an excited voice proceeds into the
depth of detail about the upcoming events of the night.
"You want to smoke something before you hear this?" Serge says as he
starts rolling a joint.
"No, I'm good. Thanks."
Serge rolls up and takes a long haul, and releases a strong, sweet
cloud of blue smoke towards the ceiling.
"You remember my friend Aya who works at the Swinger's club?" Serge
continues unnerved.
"No, never met her, but yeah you mentioned her a number of times"
"Well she called me and asked me to start bartending at the place, said
that the regular has been rendered incapable?anyway you know me, always
there for my friends?"
"Yeah, you're a real gem"
"You don't seem very excited."
"Why should I, anyway it's not my thing, you know me I like things to
stay mellow, one at a time, mellow", as he says this he reaches for the
joint, relights it and takes a few healthy drags.
"Hey, but I'm happy for you, you know it seems your fantasy has finally
come true, I trust you'll be doing some work too."
Serge apparently has got the effect he was searching for because he has
suddenly relaxed for the first time that day. He eases himself on the
sofa and changes the subject towards less important issues like
football and politics.

The time has arrived, and Serge drives over to Aya's pad. She lives on
King George St. in a flat belonging to her parents. The place has a
hip, minimalist design to it, a big hall with walls completely covered
with caf? and Ninja Tune Records postcards announcing different and
diverse events.
The living room has a few scattered pillows, a semi-detachable futon
and an expensive low glass table, the kind that powder users find most
adequate. She has a decent stereo placed on the floor in the
corner.
Aya is clad in fishnet stockings with black 'heels, a white, buttoned
shirt worn loosely and a red beret that matches her ruby red
lipstick.
"Wow, you look hot", Serge says as he sees her as never before.
"You're not too shabby either", She says as she pecks his cheek with a
minute kiss.
"So you ready to go, mademoiselle?"
"Sure, let me just go powder my nose", she says with a mischievous
wink.
As she comes out she tells Serge 'I must warn you about the females,
they're absolutely carnivorous, you've been warned.'
Serge smiles as he feels his member reawakened by a gorge of vital
blood.
They hop on the bike and drive towards Ramat-gan's Stock Exchange area.
It is a suburb of Tel-Aviv to the east, mostly quiet except for this
area, which is usually packed with businessmen by day, and prostitutes
by night, or some might say prostitutes by day and businesswomen by
night.
They reach a quiet back street, a regular looking house from the
outside. Serge feels a bit disappointed by its mundane appearance, but
says nothing.
The door is opened by Doron the Operator;it's his flat and he runs the
show.
Aya introduces Serge, who is looked upon by the Operator with a look of
subtle dismay. He was expecting at least a Chippendale. Serge would
have to do.
"You have to stand behind here", the Operator says as he points to the
bar. 'There are no free drinks, for anyone, I don't care if the fuckin'
prime minister comes. No free drinks.'
'Keep a smile on at all times, be friendly and remember this is work.
If you want to fuck around come back next week with 500 NIS and a hot
chick and you can spread your semen as much as you fuckin' want.
Tonight you work.'
Serge can't believe this guy is for real, but he smiles anyway and says
he's got it.
' Besides the drinks, at the end of the night you help clean up. Oh
yeah the Jacuzzi tends to over flood about 3-4 times a night' as he
says this he makes a vulgar jest with both his hands, indicating the
reason for the over flooding.
'So every now and then pop up and make sure things are in order', He
gives a cheesy wink and leaves Serge in a bit of a deflated mood.
The first people start coming in. Serge recognizes one as Dan Zayan,
grandson of General Zayan the renown, one-eyed military philanderer and
somewhat of a minor celebrity himself. The apple hasn't dropped too
far. Mr. Zayan is escorted by 2 quite stunning females with semi-blank
expressions.
Aya exchanges greetings with the group, gives them bathrobes and
saunters over to Serge.
'What do you think so far?'
"Who the fuck does he think he is?' Serge says nodding towards the
Operator's direction.
'He's the Operator. Anyway he's nice once you get to know him. Just
don't piss him off.
It's 10:30 and more couples are coming in. The average age is between
35-40. There is an older couple, early sixties maybe. Some young
couples, about early 20's but the majority are late 30's early 40's.
Not everyone is good looking; the men are holding their potbellies
proudly. Some of the women are quite self-conscious of the Cellulitis
that hasn't been suctioned properly. These are well to do people, and
this is their pastime. Some people play Bingo, some go to orgies.
Serge spots Deandre Knocks as he walks in with a huge grin, with a
silly looking blond on his arm. Deandre is a huge, 6ft4 Negro who plays
professional ball for Maccabi Tel-Aviv. The Operator stops whatever
he's doing and walks over to Deandre, barely reaching his shoulders.
He's all smiles and he warmly introduces Deandre around. The women in
the room are looking him over with intense interest, many of them to
experience the black myth for their first times.
The men look at him with a great admiration, and a bit of fear knowing
their wives are gonna be a bit disappointed back in the privacy of
their own homes.
Deandre jumps out of his clothes and doesn't bother slipping into the
customary robe; he walks around totally naked, as his rigid member
swings in anticipation.
An older woman, who looks like a typical librarian, knowing that it's
now or never approaches him and starts fondling his organ.
Deandre is terribly amused at first, but quickly his eyes close in
rapture. Another women, 30ish approaches and greedily pushes the older
woman away and pulls Deandre by his cock and pulls him towards the
corner where he proceeds to fuck her from behind. As he feels his boat
is nearing port he gets out and sprays the older woman on her chest
with a violent rush of his treasure. The shot has been shot and all the
people begin engaging themselves with the ones nearest to them. Not
many words are spoken; the room is heavy with smoke and bestial sounds
of pleasure. The sounds are enhanced by the porn that is being
projected on the 2 bigger walls.
After sometime, there is a moment of relative relaxation as the men
reload their drinks. Some talking is taking place. Serge can hear 2 men
talking about a merger, and an attractive, hugely breasted woman is
talking to a man, about some campaign budget.
The woman's name is Neta, and as she finishes her conversation she
saunters over to the bar and sits on a stool with the robe open,
allowing her full breasts to stare Serge straight in the face.
"Double JD, please', she asks
Serge gives the drink and says it's 30NIS.
' I don't pay for the drinks here', she says in a voice that reminds
Serge of a five year old girl saying she doesn't want to eat her
food.
'' Everyone pays'
'I don't'
The Operator, with his 6th sense for trouble in the making, comes by
with perfect timing, and asks Serge and Neta how are things.
'This young gentleman insists that I pay; you must inform new help
about me. You know how I hate to be put in these positions.'
The operator makes a quick motion to Serge, indicating that Neta is
special.
Then she exchanges a couple of words into the Operator's ear, who in
turn tells Serge to go upstairs with Neta and help her out of
something.
Serge leaves the bar and mounts the stairs with Neta, his arm draped
over her shoulder.
When they get upstairs, Neta gets on her knees on the first mattress
and tells Serge to fuck her hard and quick in a very quiet yet
authorotive tone.
Serge isn't used to be spoken to in this fashion, but readily complies.
He fumbles with his belt and sheds his leather pants.
'Let me look at you, handsome', Neta says and looks at him in a way one
might look at a washing machine. Her voice has an out of breath quality
to it. Serge suspects that she is on quite the narcotic cocktail by the
way she's behaving. Serge finds it irresistible.
' Come, time is scarce and work is plentiful', she purrs.
He mounts her quickly from behind, and is amazed at the strength of her
screaming as he delivers the pizza in forceful fashion.
He comes quickly, to Neta's obvious irritation. No words are exchanged
as Serge goes to put his pants back on and return to work, as he's
putting them back on 2 men are already on top of her and the screaming
resumes.
Serge is completely confused, he has never felt this empty after a
shag; the whole process reeked of free market commerce, and he feels
like a young Thai worker, stamping the swoosh mark on the side of an
Air Jordan trainer.
He gets back behind the bar and tries his best to put a smile back
on.
'Yo man, give me a double JD straight', Deandre Knocks barks. He is as
naked as birth.
'Hey, Deandre I'm a big fan of yours, are you going to take the
European cup this year?' Serge eagerly asks.
'Yeah, yeah, whatever, just get me that drink, willya boy', Deandre is
scanning the floor as he's talking. He sees a cute blond in the corner
giving head to a Moroccan in his 40's, a fat cigar dangling from the
corner of his mouh, with big golden chains on his neck and some heavy
bracelets on his hands,and an immense belly protruding through his
robe. Deandre walks over, puts his drink on the floor and starts
screwing the woman as she continues her oral chore.
Serge can hear the older man saying to Deandre in barely
incomprehensible English: 'Good game man Haha Haha, you got big stick
Haha Haha, You give big stick to girl Haha Haha.' as he says this he
gives the athletic Negro a hearty high five.
Serge is smiling to himself as he looks around and scans the room for
the action; he is smiling at the absurdity of the whole scene, he would
never have believed that an orgy could be so devoid of sensuality and
sexuality. It looked like an overproduced parody on sex. The erections
are due to some sort of reflex, the women are behaving as if they
learnt about sexuality from watching porno cassettes. Two men are
fucking a mid-aged woman right in front of the bar and are talking
about yesterday's football results. Serge turns his eyes towards the
projected wall that is screening a German porn flick, from the early
80's and finds himself being mildly turned on.
Neta comes downstairs and asks Serge for a double JD, she looks at
Serge as if she has never seen him. Her tits are amazing as she flaunts
them shamelessly in front of Serge. He regrets not playing with them
more when he had a chance.He calmly hands her the drink and returns to
polishing the glasses playing the clich? bartender a la Tom
Cruise.
From the corner of his eyes, Serge catches a familiar face making a
late entrance. Tia enters with her husband, who seems quite timid. Tia
is looking as confident as usual, and pecks a kiss on the Operators
cheek. Serge is mildly stunned by the sudden turn of events.
She has caught sight of Serge, and walks over, on her own, to say
hi.
'Serge, amour, how are you? You fit in just grrreat around here', she
says as she swivels her head around in a mock-glamour mode.
'You'll be joining us tonight, yes', Tia says as she penetrates Serge's
glance.
'I don't think the Operator wants me to mingle with the crowd. You know
how these people get? thirsty.'
'Nonsense, I'll talk to Doron. I'm sure he'll let us steal you for a
little while', she felinely hisses.
'C'mon Tia, I'm not going to share you with your husband'
'Why not? You didn't mind fucking me in his bed '. This sounded like
fuckinmein'sbed.
C'mon Tia, you came here to have a good time, let's not fight'
'Ok, just the 2 of us. For old times sake.' she says as she manages to
regain a bit of composure.
'For old times sake', Serge knows it's a mistake, but he's getting hard
and rather misses Tia, to whom he would masturbate over in those
moments he would find himself in his room alone with the inviting hand
lotion in reaching distance. Ughm, Do you need to warm up first?'
'I'm ready"
'How romantic'
They both walk upstairs, not much more than strangers and find a
relatively quiet corner.
Serge can't help being affected by the general atmosphere, and he
delivers a completely mechanical, highly choreographed performance,
which leaves them both very empty.
They don't exchange words as he slips back into his pants. He notices
Tia's husband looking at him from the corner as he's cradling his
drink. Serge feels for the guy, whom he knows from back when they were
neighbors, but can't bring himself to look him in the eye. He knows it
was Tia's idea to come and he's been dragged along. Poor fellow. He
hurries back to the relative safety of the bar, and starts polishing
glasses even though they are all polished.
Neta is still at the bar, sitting on the stool and playing with her
nipples absentmindedly.
Serge tries to make light conversation with her, 'I see you must be a
regular around here, and quite the popular one at that'
'What's with you, another graduate of The Royal Charming School of
Fuck'All', she says this as she continues to play with her
nipples.
'No, I'm just trying to be friendly', Serge says with the most charming
smile he can muster.
'Do you like my breasts?'
'Very much, they're quite exquisite'
'I should hope so; they cost me a small fortune. But it's true, I
didn't believe them when they told me, but I have no sensitivity in
them. Nada.'
'Does it bother you?'
'No, not really. I don't need my tits to come.'
'I guess not', Serge says as he gives them another look. 'You know why
most men are actually attracted by silicon?
'No, but I'm sure you're gonna enlighten me'
'Well?, men are turned on by the fact that women are willing to go so
far just to make themselves more attractive. They're willing to
mutilate and endanger their health to attract a rather shallow man who
just wants to fuck'em. It's not a character thing; fake tits don't show
any character, they hint to a selfish woman who is preoccupied with
only her looks and instant gratification and is using her body to
attract men.
Men see this act as almost a sub-conscious confession of the woman's
will to submit herself to carnal pleasures of the moment. This sits
well with man's lack of compliancy to commitment.
Biologically the women's attractive assets were those that hinted of
successful pro-creation, incidentally, the man is also measured up in
the same fashion, but today that has almost no meaning whatsoever, and
the only important assets are those that promise an encounter of chance
and quick release.'
'You wanna fuck me now Mr. Philosopher'
"Sure', Serge says as he lays down the glass he's been polishing for
the last 15 minutes. He comes out of his little cubicle and is about to
mount the stairs for the third time that evening when Neta stays put on
her stool.
'Here', She says with authority.
Serge rolls his pants down to his ankles and nears her, he plays with
her tremendous breasts from behind, and he is kissing her nape and her
neck. He is suddenly oblivious to the surroundings, he has found his
neutral spot, he is in control as he slides his right hand into her
magical garden, her breathing is becoming very heavy, he anticipates
her well known screaming to commence soon.
' Come in now', she requests in a quivering with anticipation
tone.
He complies by pushing her back gently forward and entering from
behind. Serge feels a surge of emotion that he mistakes for love, as
one tends to do in certain instances of lust. His eyes are shut as his
body reaches a perfect synchronization with Neta's gyrating body. As
Serge finds himself in a blissful groove, he is suddenly aware of a
tongue that is exciting his asshole and a hand that is applying a fair
amount of pressure on his testacles. He turns his head quickly to find
Tia, on one knee behind him.
She has a crazed expression on her face, Serge doesn't ever remember
seeing anything like it. As he explodes into Neta, he feels an
unbearable pain that radiates all the way to his brain; it is nothing
like he has ever experienced.before.
Tia doesn't let go of his balls, even as Serge falls to his side with a
shattering scream that eclipses the guttural scream emanating from Neta
as she comes.