Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 ï>¿The Hand by CarolinaPeach

   Being trapped in a crowd is unexpectedly pleasant.

   Being a native to New Orleans, I had been through many Mardi Gras
seasons.  My parents were rather uptight though.  I was confined to the
tame areas near the universities where my parents both worked.  So despite
being a native, I had never been to the French Quarter on Mardi Gras day.
And the French Quarter is where it is all let out.

   I was 21 for my first time in the French Quarter for Mardi Gras, in my
last year at Loyola University.  I went with a group of friends from
college.  Like most non-natives, they seemed rather immature and inhibited
to me.  No matter how straight-laced my parents were, the hedonism of the
city seeped into me.  New Orleans is a place of the flesh...  eating,
drinking, music, dancing.  Wound through it all is the erotic.  People
blossom early in such a climate where little is regulated by law or custom.
I was not as inexperienced and naïve as my out-of-town friends.  I'd had a
few racy encounters.  I felt superior.

   I was not prepared for what awaited me, though.  There were costumes of
all kinds, a spectacle on every corner.  Some amusing, some beautiful, some
crude.  We saw delicate drag queens, men in leather, women rivaling Vegas
show girls.  The sights were phenomenal.  We stopped to admire a butterfly
man with wingspan of 6 feet, looking like he might loft up at any moment.
My friends stared open mouthed at a sinuous woman dressed in a tight cat
suit being led on a chain by a muscled woman in leather.  We all laughed to
see in a man in a top hat courting a mature faerie woman, pleading for a
kiss in exchange for one of his paper flowers.  Never had I seen so much
flesh on display, nor displayed in such artful and creative ways.  People
were taking advantage of the day to let loose.  Strangers kissing each
other, open admiration, teasing glimpses of more than was allowed by law. I
felt intoxicated by the atmosphere heavy with raw, open sexuality.

   As we wandered towards the more touristy streets, mainly there were
others like ourselves, looking to drink and enjoy being part of the crowd.
Our group made the big mistake of turning into Bourbon Street.  It was
packed, wall to wall, a slowly milling crowd flowing in two directions up
and down the street.  Once in the crowd, there was no escape.  There was
nothing to be done but to be slowly shunted down the street with everyone
else.  I was pretty miserable.  This was not my idea of fun.  I was not a
tourist and didn't find it amusing to be trapped in a crowd devoid of
costumes.

   I was exasperated when things ground to a complete halt.  I couldn't see
what the obstruction was, but it had utterly arrested all forward movement.
I was at the end of our column of friends.  I couldn't hear them or talk to
them through the thick crowd, so I was left to my own thoughts.  Mainly,
that I would never do this again.  I was fuming over being convinced to go
down Bourbon Street when I knew better.  My thoughts began to wander.  I
gazed abstractedly at the Spanish style architecture, the wrought iron, the
brick, the hanging plants of the balconies above.

   Then I felt it.

   A hand.  This hand very gently snaked between my legs.  It was so
gentle, and I was so far away in my thoughts, I was at first not alarmed.
That hand blended into the heady atmosphere, my drifting thoughts, the buzz
I felt from drinking a bit too fast.  But a belated bell went off in my
mind.  Some person was violating me in broad daylight!  I looked around for
escape, but I was hemmed in on every side, nowhere to go.  The hand rested
there, between my legs.  It didn't do anything, just gently touched me.  I
stood still, hoping it would go away.  It didn't.  All my being was focused
on that tiny area where the hand made contact.

   I knew this inquisitive hand could have barged in, grabbed me, mauled
me, whatever its owner wanted to do as I was caught and caught good. 
Instead, this feather light, testing touch.  The thin, silky material of my
sports shorts was no armor.  I desperately wished I had worn jeans.  I felt
stupid for being the last in our line of friends, leaving myself wide open
to such an attack.

   But here I was, like it or not, with this hand between my legs.  Very
slowly it began to move.  I was mortified.  The fingers cupped me, then
softly began rubbing with the lightest touch.  Gradually the shock came
down a notch and I noticed the fine nuances of the movement.  The fingers
of this hand slowly stroked me.  The cloth was smooth and slippery,
enabling the hand to glide back and forth over my sex.  As this went on, I
felt increasingly hot.  Flushed.  Wet.  Wet?  Was I enjoying this invasion?

   I thought about it.  It was not really an invasion, more of an
insinuation.  I had the feeling that it had started so slowly as a sort of
request, asking for permission.  Had I given that permission?  I didn't
roughly shove my way through the crowd, I didn't yell, I didn't reach
around and grab the owner of the hand and push him away.  Instead, I found
myself unconsciously spreading my legs and pushing back into the touch.  I
became conscious of this response.  I was horrified.  Some strange person
was touching me in the most intimate way, and I liked it?  Acquiesced? 
Invited more?  For this spreading of my legs, this arching of my back that
pressed me back, surely that was an invitation for more.

   The hand gave me what my body was asking for.  One finger on either side
of my nether lips, the middle finger was drawing the lightest sketch right
over my split.  It rubbed more firmly now, the cloth of my shorts slightly
folding into my crevice.  The outer fingers spread wider.  Touched bare
skin.  Where the crotch of my shorts ended.  Oh god this was good.  Skin
against skin, the silky rubbing of the cloth, growing wetness.  What was
wrong with me?  I wondered for a moment, but then the sensations
intervened, shorting out my will.  All I wanted was more.  The tips of the
outer fingers drew together a bit as they glided back and forth.  Under my
shorts.  The fingers were now under my shorts.  The soft flesh where my
legs joined was so sensitive, this light brushing of skin against skin was
unbearable.  Then the entire hand slipped sideways through the leg hole of
my shorts.  I wasn't wearing any panties.  The hand now had complete access
to me.

   It continued rubbing, now with the middle finger directly on my slit. 
Every pass back and forth, the middle finger pressed more deeply into the
flesh that lined my outer lips.  And then the finger broke through and
entered.  I flowered open, engorged with excitement.  It slid across my
slick inner lips, questing.  I was breathing hard now, in little gasps. 
The finger was firm and more confident, stroking, wiggling, teasing.  I had
never been touched this way.  First dancing over my wet inner lips, then
stroking my clit, entering me slightly, teasingly, back onto the slippery
folds around my clit.  Then the hand honed in on my rhythm.  It was more
purposeful now, stroke after stroke across my clit.  I rose higher and
higher, immersed in the pure sensation of the rhythmic touch.  Finally, it
was too much.  I was pushed over the edge, my entire body clenching around
that moment of ecstasy.

   I went limp as the orgasm washed away.  And found myself supported.  The
hand, the magical wonderful hand, had withdrawn.  Now I was being held
steady by two hands at my waist.  I came to myself and glanced around.  Had
anyone noticed?  Noticed me having a mind-blowing orgasm?  No, no one was
interested in me.

   Then the crowd was moving again.  In a daze, I allowed myself to be
pushed along with the rest of the crowd.  As I came to my senses, I focused
on my friends.  They were still there ahead of me.  I pressed on, not
wanting to be separated from them.  The cause of the blockage was now
evident...  women on balconies displaying their breasts for all to see and
admire, while they were pelted with beads and enjoyed the wolf whistles. 
Police officers were now forcing the crowd onward, while others escorted
the bare-chested ladies off the balconies and into the shadowy rooms
behind. Then we were out, like a cork shot from a bottle.  My friends were
tittering and seemed shocked by the show the ladies had given from the
balcony.  I looked around, hoping to glimpse the owner of the hand.  But it
was nothing but crowds, random people moving aimlessly, no way to tell him
from any other man.  So I caught up and joined my friends.



   The Genius Of Mardi Gras by CarolinaPeach

   A novice explores her sexuality on Mardi Gras day.

   I caught up and joined my friends.  I had just had the most bizarre
experience...  an anonymous hand brought me to climax in the middle of a
crowd on Bourbon Street.  It had been both exciting and embarrassing.  I
could never let them know what had happened back there, especially that I
had enjoyed it.  Suddenly, I no longer wanted their company.  I feigned a
headache.  "No, really, you guys go on...  I'll find a cab." Of course they
had no idea a cab was absolutely impossible on Mardi Gras day as all major
streets were blocked off.  All the better for me.

   I wandered off, in the vague direction of Jackson Square and the
Cathedral.  My experience, on Bourbon Street, loomed large in my mind.  I
had to be honest, I HAD enjoyed it.  Some part of me knew I could lie to
myself, swear it was against my will, disown the massive pleasure, absolve
myself of guilt.  But I have never been good at lying.  The anonymity was
exciting.  I had not known I had such a hunger within me.  I had wanted
every single movement and touch, accepted it, eagerly devoured it.  Knowing
my own limits were being pushed thrilled me.  What would I do?  What
wouldn't I do?

   I wanted to find out.

   This was the perfect day to learn.  Everything was permitted, nothing
was taboo.  I was more experienced than my friends, it was true.  But I
found myself out of my league, far too shy to actually seduce a stranger. I
was still stumbling over my recent experience like it was new furniture in
the dark.  But I eyed men, imagined touching them, imagined all sorts of
pornographic things.  This was entirely unlike my normal mind frame.  What
was happening to me?  Now I was ogling women too.  So much cleavage.  It
made my mouth water.  I had no idea this was inside me.  I longed to boldly
grasp at what I desired, but found myself not equal to the task.  I had
always thought myself worldly and experienced, but now I felt like the
rankest novice.  How to translate my desires into actual experience?  Was I
brave enough?

   I took another pull on my fruity drink.  I didn't really need more, but
I drank anyway.  Now I was admiring what looked like a Vegas showgirl.  She
had chosen pasties, and my god what a choice!  Perfectly shaped, large,
beautifully brown.  The flaring collar her shoulders supported must have
weighed 10 pounds, encrusted with glass beads and sequins.  Her feathered
headpiece must have weighed almost as much, similarly decorated.  A long
skirt sparkled...  but it did nothing to cover her as it was slit up both
sides to the hips.  My mouth was parted, and I wiped saliva from the corner
of my mouth.  She walked so smoothly and gracefully, as if her costume was
feather light.  She paced on, the crowd following her with hungry eyes.

   I felt someone grasp my shoulder, turned to see brown eyes looking
intently at me.  A pretty brunette.  "Makes you want to eat her up, doesn't
it?"

   My mind hunted for a reasonable answer to this.  Finally I muttered
"Yes."

   The young lady rubbed my arm and laughed.  "It was pretty obvious.  Want
to join us?" I saw just behind her a tall guy, maybe 20 or so.  Handsome. I
felt like my eyes never wanted to leave his shoulders, chest, forearms.  My
god, I had been drinking a lot.  I couldn't seem to hide any of my
reactions.  I licked my lips.  Now he was laughing.  They took me by the
arms, one on each side, as if we were old friends.  I had to laugh too.  In
a bold move that never would have occurred to me before today, I put my
arms around them.  It was peculiar, such a soft pliant curving waist under
my hand.  Of its own accord, my hand stroked this lush curve.  My new
friend pressed herself against me.  Her companion put his arm around me and
leaned to kiss the girl.

   She introduced herself.  "My name's Kerri, and this is Jim." I stammered
my name.  I blushed.  Kerri laughed delightedly.  Jim squeezed my shoulder,
Kerri nuzzled my neck.  "You're ok with us, don't worry." And I did feel ok
with them.

   They bought me another drink (a virgin daiquiri for me, I'd had plenty
enough already) and we leaned against a wall watching the crowds of
costumed and masked revelers.  After I threw away my empty cup, I embraced
them both again, this time more deliberately, stroking both and pulling
both closer.  Was this me?  Yes, it was me who turned and kissed Kerri. 
Turned and kissed Jim.  They snuggled closer, Jim rubbing my back, Kerri
with her arm around my waist.  "Let's go to my sister's place, we can get
more comfortable there." Kerri steered us up one street then another, then
to a door in a brick wall.  She unlocked it and we pushed through into an
amazing courtyard.  Unlocking a tall French door to the right of the
fountain, we found ourselves in a high cool room.  A large sectional sofa
gathered around a sheepskin rug in front of a fireplace.  It was a plush,
inviting arrangement.

   I felt like a complete schoolgirl when I had to ask for the bathroom. 
Kerri pointed me to the left.  I imagined a small powder room as would be
usual in an American house.  Instead I found myself in a huge flagged room.
There was a claw foot bathtub in the middle of the floor and two toilets
against one wall.  A sink was built into a niche between them.  I had never
seen anything like it.  I felt exposed pulling down my shorts in such a big
room.  I hurriedly took care of business, noting along the way that my
shorts were still damp in the crotch.  As I was washing my hands, Kerri
came in.  "I forgot to put out a hand towel," was her explanation.  Indeed,
my hands were wet and I had nothing to wipe them on.  She approached and
took each hand in turn and tenderly patted it dry.

   I clumsily stood there, not knowing what to do.  Then this bold stranger
inside me reached out and cupped one of her breasts.  She kissed me slowly,
deliberately put her hand on mine and encouraged me to explore her breast.
I flicked my thumb over her taut nipple and my palm followed over.  My
other hand came up to help, then I was burrowing my head into her chest,
nuzzling in her cleavage, kissing my way over to the other nipple.  I
licked it through the cloth of her gauzy top, pulled it gently with my
teeth.  How did I know to do this?  It was what I had always longed for
from the different boys I'd been with.  I stopped, went back to kissing
Kerri, moving my hands as if I caressed women every day.  Kerri ran her
hands over the silky fabric of my shorts, grasping my bottom, pulling her
hands up slowly.  Still kissing me, she stopped my plucking, teasing hand
on her breast.  She led this hand down to her thigh, under her short skirt.
Still operating by instinct, I kneaded her thigh, followed the inner curve
up.  Then my courage stalled.  I took my hands away, pulled back and looked
at Kerri.  She had a secret smile on her face, as if she was satisfied with
something.  "Come and have a drink."

   I went after her.  She turned at the door and gave me an encouraging
smile.  I found Jim at a bar in a shadowy corner of the room.  This time, I
had wine.  We went and sat on the sofa, all holding wineglasses as if this
was perfectly natural.  Jim had sprawled on one end of the sofa, Kerri and
I sat more primly in a curve of the couch that pressed our knees together.
There was music, light bells and a flute.  Kerri put down her glass and
took away mine.  Kissed me again, again guided my hand to her inner thigh.
Loosened up by the wine, I felt easier.  Her flesh was so soft.  Up the
firm soft line, then hesitated.

   Kerri pulled away from our kiss and whispered "Do." So I did.  She was
breathing in my ear, licking my neck.  My hand traveled on into unknown
territory.  And found her panties.  I stroked the crevice between her leg
and the panties, felt her breath come faster.  Slid my fingers over the
cotton to stroke the other side, just on the rim of the elastic of her
panties.  It was incredible.  So smooth.  No hair?  A spurt of dampness
between my legs at this discovery.

   I found myself sliding off the couch, onto my knees before her.  I ran
my hands under her shirt, up to her breasts as I pressed myself between her
legs.  She pulled the shirt over her head.  I admired the gentle curves of
her exposed breasts, leaned in to suckle them, one hand on either leg.  Her
legs spread easily as I ran my hands up her skirt again, my thumbs going
back to the delicious crevice between leg and sex.  I could have stayed
that way forever, licking and sucking and stroking.  Then some impulse led
me to unbuckle her belt, unzip the skirt.  She helped me work it off her
hips.  I looked up at her, amazed and arrested.  I was undressing a woman.
She had only her panties on now.

   She seemed to sense how taken aback I was, and pulled me up off the
floor, back onto the couch.  Kissed me gently.  Began pushing my t-shirt up
to my sports bra.  "You don't need this." She pulled it over my head.  I
glanced over, suddenly and acutely aware Kerri and I were not alone.  Jim
was still sprawled on the end of the couch, watching us.  I wanted to cover
my chest and fought the urge with great difficulty.  He smiled but didn't
otherwise move.  Kerri took my face in her hands gently, turned my head
back to her.  "Don't mind him." I pushed his presence to the back of my
mind.

   It wasn't hard, Kerri was licking my ribcage just below my bra.  I had
no idea I was so sensitive there.  Her hands were on me too, caressing my
belly, moving up and down my waist as if to enjoy the slight curves.  I
always felt self conscious about my athletic build, more firm than lush. 
But Kerri was making me feel beautiful.  Now she was gnawing on my breast
trough the sports bra.  The material was thick and tight, and it had to
come off.  That was evident.  I struggled to pull it over my head, threw it
aside.  Suddenly free and exposed to the air, my breasts came to attention.
It was heaven when she sucked first one and then the other.

   I had never lost myself to sensation in this way before.  I heard cries
of pleasure coming from my mouth, distant and unconnected.  I was wholly in
the now.  Kerri's fingers slipped under the waist band of my shorts, slid
around the waist, not pulling them down or pushing in deeper, just slipping
around with her fingertips.  It was my turn to guide her hands.  Together,
my hands over hers, we pushed down my shorts.  She put her hand between my
open legs, rubbed my outer lips, my sex blossoming open.  She was touching
my slick pussy.  I was still swollen and sensitive from my earlier
encounter, which made her touch all the more electrifying.  The lightest
touch was shooting off rockets in my head.  An animal sound came out of me
when she licked my clitoris.  She laved it, her tongue flat and soft and
velvety and wet.  It pushed me over the edge, crying out, pleasure a
prolonged explosion from my innermost part.  I was panting wild with
excitement, writhing, wanting more, anything, she could do anything with
me.

   Then Jim was there.  He was what I needed.  I pushed him down on the
rug, tearing at his jeans.  Some part of me felt his surprise, but I did
not care.  Frantically I pulled his cock free from his boxers.  I straddled
him, rubbing my pussy lips against his shaft, leaned forward for a savage
demanding kiss.  His hand guided the head of his cock into my swollen
throbbing cunt.  I rode him hard, crazy wet and loose and now clamping down
as another orgasm flattened me.  I collapsed, rolled off, my selfish desire
satisfied.

   There was Kerri, taking over where I left off.  But she was quiet,
careful, impaling herself slowly and then resting there.  She began a
gentle rocking.  Some part of me thought Jim must be confused with the
sudden shift.  His eyes were closed, his hands on her hips, an inward look
on his face.  She was so beautiful.  I crawled over, put my mouth over her
nipple, sucked, teased it with the tip of my tongue until it sprang up
hard. I reached up and kissed her, slowly, gentle, long, deep.  All my
frantic energy was gone and I was in tune with her gentleness.  I rubbed
her arms in long sensuous strokes, kissing her neck, delighting in her soft
moans.

   Jim's eyes were open now, devouring the sight of Kerri and me.  He ran
one hand up and down the furrow in the small of my back.  I jumped at the
contact, but his hand stayed there, firm and warm.  He was wordlessly
urging me closer and I complied by straddling him once again.  I kissed
Kerri again and acquiesced when Jim pulled my hips down so that his mouth
met me.  Kissing Kerri and feeling the expert tonguing of Jim made me
shiver.  Kerri's hand was on my clit again, I was being eaten and rubbed.
This time my orgasm came long and unbearable.

   I dismounted, backed away, looked on as Kerri pulled Jim over on top of
her.  Jim sped up.  I watched the sinewy muscles in his back as he pumped
into Kerri.  She was warming up too, wrapping her legs around his waist,
meeting him thrust for thrust.  They were beautiful.  I had never watched a
couple make love.  Then they were both cumming, Jim with one deep low
groan, and Kerri crying out a sharp strangled, drawn out "Ah." I sat
leaning against the sofa, looking at them as they disentangled them selves.
Jim curled around Kerri as they both rested.  Kerri smiled sleepily at me,
gestured.  I fitted myself into her curve and she folded her arm around me
so that we were three spoons nestled together.