Excellent Orgy


I leave the television on at all times so that everyone at the orgy is entertained through-out.

I have learnt this the hard way.

One time, I was thoroughly enjoying an arse when I looked up and saw a guest awkwardly patting the backs of two strangers going at it, hammer and tongs, and looking like he didn’t know how to confidently become engrossed. And I saw one young lady check her phone during a particularly robotic doggy style performance from a plump man staring fixedly at a spot on the wall. I began to think that maybe the sensual background music wasn’t enough. Maybe I could put on an informative wildlife documentary with the subtitles on, so that no one has to suffer their own inner void during these group activities. Then I realised I was thinking so much about this, when I should have been thoroughly enjoying the splendid arse.

After this latest group fest, I wake up to a note on the dining room table. It said:

“Congrats on your excellent orgy.

We were properly catered for thank you!

I liked the swan documentary XOXO.”

It was definitely time to formalise and monetise my services. But then you have to deal with those blasted reviews peppered with poor writing and subjective marking. Still. Money is money and I could no longer justify the television license unless payment terms were upgraded. I would now charge, invest proceeds to improve things and take cards. I’m no longer taking token cash from those hands that have been…well…everywhere.
I opened up my laptop to read my latest review, for this I always need a strong cup of coffee and I make sure I am near my library of books to remind myself that while I allow indulgence of an animal kind in my home I am not an animal but highly educated. Unlike some of my clients. But there is no judgement from me on such things. The only (pointless) judgement is the one I am about to read.

Following your recent stay with Master Chains ‘n Whips please complete this short questionnaire. Your information will help Master Chains ‘n Whips to improve their offering and others to know what to expect when booking with Master Chains ‘n Whips.

Rate the following 1 = Disappointing, 2 = Acceptable, 3 = Outstanding

3 Sexual gratification
3 Pain
2 Respect
3 Quality of equipment
3 Cleanliness
3 Overall experience

Would you recommend Master Chains ‘n Whips to others?

Like. Yeah. A really great experience. It was all exactly what we expected but in an unexpected way because, like, you know it is never the same twice. We had a good sized group (haha, in every sense!) and we we’re all up for it (I know, I know, I am in the wrong job man!).

I gotta say that, despite the new toys and the refurb to the playroom the addition of the tv being on was, like, really cool. You know those moments when you’re like ‘ummm?’ Well they just, like, weren’t even a thing because there was something to take your gaze. You know? And not every meat in the room is like a visual feast so it helps!

Yeah, I mean, this wasn’t our first time here and I know it won’t be our last. One of our group liked it so much they’re still there, like, I didn’t expect that to happen you know!? Because normally they don’t like people to stay on after. You know? So I was kind of like ‘oh, ok’ but it’s cool. I guess I’m just a little jealous or something, that’s why I’ve only rated 2 on respect. I feel a bit disrespected by that. You know?

Oh, yeah, my girl asked me to say its rad that it’s all gone cashless now. Much easier. Right? Yeah. Covid does do us some favours! Handy that they’re taking Amex too right, cos we’re trying to build up our points.

You hope everyone at the orgy is as blind as you are, you hope that everyone forgets equally, you hope that the body parts you saw that day don’t show up sporadically in your life, like poisonous fungi does, one leg here at the grocery store, another arm there at daycare, an eye stretched and a pair of lips drawn thin on your taxi drive home. Over my years of committing this worldly and definitely collectivist sacrilege, I saw at least twenty, perhaps more on the TV, but fifty also once, and this city has a population of one million, so I’m not nearly through with everyone. I never really enjoyed the night unless I felt, with some particular stranger in some particular position relative to everyone else in the room, with somebody else’s hands chaining me to humanity, that we were alone.

One swan touching the other. One of these orange swan-noses with black pretend to be eyes, rubbing the others.

Two swans, on top of one another, facing each other. Two of these long swan-necks, entangling with the other, feathers roughed up and flying in the air. Feathers can be found as remains, long after, the swans are long gone.

Three swans, licking each other. Three of these long swan-tongues, catching saliva from the other. A conversation, about how the first time they made out felt disgusting, to have a tongue of another in your own swan-mouth!

Four swans, sitting on each other. Four of these swan-buts, caressing the back of one another. Back to back, back to black. Thats how you actually measure who is taller than the other. Swans have usually a sense of over achievement strike, they think they are taller than they are.

Five swans, fucking each other. Five of these spiral swan-dicks, out for like five seconds. The vagina of the swans is shaped like a spiral clockwise, so when the male penetrates the female with his penis also spiral counterclockwise.

Six swans with spiral dicks, so extra. Swans flying, one is flying low, the other high, one in the middle and one flies dry. One finds the other, semi attractive, the other looks away and does a swan-laughter.

Swans in their natural habitat: swans are like silk, the most precious material.

Swans in their natural habitat: swans in a lake and swans taking a brake.

One could say, swans are not gracious, when they walk they look like ducks. That would then be, speciesism. But swans would say, swans are the best species in the world.

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But is it really a swan song if we don’t think about death when we fuck. It loses all elegance when we fail to direct feelings toward finality, scientifically speaking. From a strictly pedagogical perspective, orgies build confidence and decrease self-hate. It should be a second coming of age, perhaps not religiously. Pagan orgies for wintertime, swans on lakes with anger, nothing is what is seems. Feel, I beg that you feel

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Epilogue

This was the best orgy I ever went to.

I stood in the corner most of the time. Edging between minding my own business while people got down to theirs, and minding their naked writhing bodies. What I look like standing there is of supreme importance to me. I’ve thought of getting an old-school beige trenchcoat, like one of those dirty old men wear to the park, but it would look out of sorts, not to mention be highly uncomfortable in the heat and humidity. The payoff wouldn’t be worth it. The point isn’t to feel physically uncomfortable. It would be a distraction.

I stood there carefully titrating the path of pleasure for me. It’s difficult to work my way into, because there is a real risk of ruining everyone’s fun, or at the very least taking something away from it.

I usually begin such an evening by getting into conversation with someone. There’s always someone feeling out of place, working up their courage to participate. I speak to them in reassuring tones, complimenting them and tracking their attention to get a picture of who they truly desire, then tell them flattering white lies about how I noticed the object of their desire checking them out. I tell them what I know about this object, guiding their minds to subjectify them. We’re all just humans here I try to remind them, looking for a human connection. After thus doing my duty, I retreat into the corner and the orgy can begin for me.

The path for me opens right where the orgy participants start really getting carried away by their instincts. Where they are so into the people they are rubbing against that they just barely register my presence. If they were to look up, really look up and not just have some vague awareness of the white man standing in the corner, there would probably be consequences. It’s a sad fact that creepers are everywhere, old dirty men who missed the bus to fulfill their own desires before it was too late and now have worked themselves into the sad space where reading Vladimir Nabokov becomes arousing rather than heartbreaking. At the same time, it’s tricky as fuck because asking the whole room for consent to do what I do will call undue attention to myself, which will ruin the whole thing for me. The television helps, and I always place myself in the diagonal corner to it.

I stand there feeling the rise of self-consciousness. What sort of person does that, stands in the corner while others are fulfilling their carnal desires? What sort of creeper am I to do such a thing?

These are the unanswerable questions I stand there with, having a conversation with my feeling of self-consciousness. I don’t stand in the corner out of any vampiric drive to gain pleasure from disrupting the pleasure of others or making them uncomfortable. Nor do I do it because I don’t know what else to do… Well maybe that’s not true. But it’s definitely true that I do it out of choice. I do it because I’ve been dealt a strange particular hand to play this game of hedonistic excess that we call sexuality.

That hand may have been dealt to me by watching my 4th grade teacher, Miss Haze, standing in a tight skirt and leggings, teaching existentialist philosophy, Sartre and Kafka to boys who were much too young to handle such things, installing very adult ideas about the nature of reality into my developing brain right as the first sexual hormones began to pump through me. She was such a good teacher though. I had hung on her every word, transfixed. For a distractable boy like me, that was true love’s first kiss.

My kink is self-consciousness, existentialist quandries, and alienation. Without these, there is no pleasure for me to be had.

And these people let me have it. It’s a rare flower to find.

5/5 would be the creeper in the corner again.

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