Rich old big dick guy throws a party with big tits sluts to fuck all hard

The doorbell chimed, its melodic dinging echoing through the opulent mansion. Inside,powerful businessman Mr. Richardson checked his Rolex, a smug grin spreading across his well-aged face. The party was about to begin, and anticipation coursed through his veins like the finest champagne.

Guests began arriving – a steady parade of nubile young things and busty, experienced MILFs. They flowed into the grand foyer, drinks already in hand, the air electric with anticipation. Snippets of conversation drifted:

“Is he as impressive as they say?”

“You mean 9 inches? Oh honey, that’s not even close…”

The women were a cornucopia of curves, their tight dresses straining against the onslaught of gravity-defying cleavage. Collarbones glistened with perspiration, lips glistened with gloss and something else. Gazes were hungry, expectant. The men fared no better, bulges announcing their arrivals like’«announcing lines».

Mr. Richardson greeted them all personally, a polite but firm hand on a bare lower back here, the occasional brush of knuckles against a tantalizing expanse of décolletage there. His dark eyes drank in the spectacle of so much flesh, so much need, so much want.

“The festivities will begin in the orgy room. Please follow me,” he intoned, leading the lemming-like throng down a labyrinthine hallway. His heart pounded a primal rhythm.

They spilled into the room and the scene was a feast for the senses. The air shimmered with cruelty-free fur, silk, and the unmistakable aroma of desire. Glittering surfaces reflected the debauchery below. The bed, a dominant force, dominated the space with its many pillows and Cyr-King sheets that begged to be soiled. An altar for the alt regimen.

More guests arrived, pouring like a river through biblical gates. Someone, the Devil perhaps, turned up the industrial music, its beat echoing through the room and into their bones. The tide shifted, the party caught fire.

Bodies writhed in a tapestry of lust, limbs interlacing like the branches of a tree of life. Moans and squeals of pleasure rose above the cacophony like arrows to the heavens. Canapes circulated but no one partook. The only hunger to be sated was primal.

Mr. Richardson, the master of ceremonies, watched from the sidelines. His silk pocket square had long since abandoned its post, flopping merrily as he strode forward, grabass notables be damned. The scene before him was exactly as he’d envisioned it. The chance to slake his carnal appetites with the finest cut of flesh was upon him.

He stepped forward, a man possessed, and disappeared into the ocean of nakedness. Silk, satin, and skin were the only layers to penetrate now. Fingers expertly unbuttoned, blouses were shrugged with abandon. Pandora boxes burst open, unleashing a hedonistic Armageddon.

Breasts spilled forth, the great uncaging. Waistlines cinched as he plunged his fingers into backless zones,elsewhere thighs parted, an invitation to the carnival. Smooth legs clamped tightly around his waist and thighs as he ravaged her, his hips moving like the pendulum of a grandfather clock.

Cruelty-free furs provided a soft landing for an unbroken string of women who arrived all astronomy and left as comets. Moans vibrated through their bodies and into the plush seats beneath them, the Kevlar fabric drinking them in greedily. The Altar of Alt was the altar of lust, worshipped in niches and cradles, transformed into a maze of pleasure.

Sweat streamed down necks, pooling in the hollows of throats. Imprint skin on skin on skin, a polyamorous parody. Clothes became a distant memory, the ephemera of propriety. The mindless ravishment of each other was the only neddiant.

Voices called out, words lost in the industrial cacophony. Hair became fingers in myriad orifices, a symphony conducted in pentagrams. The night wore on, a relentless mural of depravity.

The liquor cart held little sway, its fine ware unused as glasses crowded chair backs and tabletops, some artfully topless Others standing guard, their dmagnification an invitation to the carousels of contact high.

As the party wound down, mindlessly spent, bedraggled bodies piled atop each other haphazardly, a pleasure burrito of unfathomable dimensions. Snores and satisfied sighs filled the room. Mr. Richardson, a predator spent but content, watched over his domain with a king’s smile. Another year, another party, another decade of satiation. But his eyes were already turning towards the next orgy on the horizon, the next chance to quench his thirst.

The doorbell chimed, a lewd undoing.