Happy Mardi Gras

It's rerun day here at Word Oyster. This is a story I ran two years ago on Mardi Gras. I wrote it as an entry in a Good Vibrations contest. They provided the first two and a half lines; I wrote the rest with a thousand word limit. I lost. But the story amuses me. I like Maia. And Nawlins.

Have a wonderful Mardi Gras everyone!

TETHERED



mardigras.jpgShe couldn't move her arm. Her trusty right hand, almost useless. The same hand she had used only minutes before to punch a pissant ass pincher. The same hand she had used to slap a boy dressed as a hot tamale who thought Bourbon Street crowded enough to try fondling her in broad daylight. The pincher was apologetic. The tamale she left crumpled behind his foam rubber suit at the corner of Toulouse Street, leaning against a light pole and gasping for air. A good time was had by all.

But now, a block closer to Canal Street, the crowd had closed in and Maia's arms were pinned to her sides. Where the crowd moved, she moved. Up, sideways, forward. She found she could pick her feet up off the ground and let herself be carried along simply by the grip of other shoulders and arms pressed against her arms, back, chest. "I am a sardine," she thought. "A sardine in a bad costume."

She was here at Mardi Gras with Jason and Terri. Jason wasn't in costume; he wore beads and was trying to carry it off as festive. Terri was dressed as Xena, Warrior Princess. And Maia? Terri had convinced her to wear a toga — basically a sheet that made her look like a cross between a pillowcase and a parachute."Actually, I'm going as Greek dressing," she had told Jason. Now, pressed up against Jason and Terri, all Maia really wanted was a pair of shorts and a safety pin.

"Dammit! Whose hand is that?"


The crowd had carried Maia along as it moved and twisted to find the latest coed baring her breasts on the balconies overhead. She was starting to feel warm and faint from it. Not the heat of the New Orleans afternoon, but from the crowd. Everyone was supercharged, waiting for the spark to jump. The tension made Maia's vision hazy, as she watched the blonde overhead lifting her shirt and shaking her breasts from side to side in a hail of plastic necklaces. They wanted her, but couldn't have her. Desires couldn't even bubble to the surface; there wasn't room. "Enough room for some drunken fuck to slide a hand up my thigh, though," she thought. She shot Jason a look. He smiled and leaned over to whisper something to Terri.

Like a herd of cattle confronted by a pasture of purple grass, the crowd didn't quite know what to do about the leggy transsexual on the balcony. Some frat boy yelled, "Show your tits!"and thought better of it as his friends taunted him. But then, someone else said it... "Show your tits!" and then another... and soon it was a chorus of raucous voices. The transsexual reveled in the transitory adulation, pulling off her tube top slowly at first, then whipping it off and gyrating to the sounds of jazz coming up from the club below. "She has better breasts than I do," Maia thought. The hand on her thigh was getting awfully high. She tried to turn away, but there wasn't room. She couldn't move either arm enough to hit or pinch. "It's got to be Jason. Look at him smiling." She made to stomp his foot, but when she lifted her leg that inch, the hand quickly slid between her legs. Her knees buckled, but she could not fall. She scowled at Jason, but he ignored her.

Meanwhile, the transsexual had lifted her skirt, revealing a long, thick cock, which she held out for the crowd to admire. Women took beads off their own necks and tossed them skyward, trying to snag them on the veiny pink pole. The transsexual pranced back and forth along the railing, waving the cock to the crowd below. And when she pulled the cock completely out of her panties and held it aloft, revealing that it was silicone all the time, the crowd went wild.

The more Maia squirmed, trying to get the fingers out from between her legs, the more excited she became. The fingers stayed, pressed against her clit, sliding over her vulva through the damp cloth. She wiggled; the fingers wiggled back. Now, as the crowd cheered, Maia felt another hand slide between her legs from the other side. Terri's side. Maybe. Terri wasn't even looking at her. The transsexual was performing fellatio on her own fake cock. Everyone had to look, even Maia, with the strange uninvited hands stroking her from front and rear. The transsexual was joined by two young women who began undressing each other. Another hand slipped inside Maia's toga and began playing with her left breast. Jason smiled and waved his left hand. And one of Terri's hands was on Maia's shoulder. Yet three hands... no, four... were still on her, in her. Who? Whose?

And then came the beads. Maia couldn't see, but she imagined they were a set of the huge fake pearls so coveted during Mardi Gras — the kind women showing their breasts often get as a sign of the crowd's appreciation. Smooth, round, less than an inch in diameter, strung together in a rope. At least, that's what she imagined. The first hand pulled her soaked panties to one side and the second hand pushed a bead up inside her pussy. She wiggled, but the hands on her breasts tightened. Another bead slipped in and then another. The crowd swayed and roared, oblivious to her weakening knees, her flush face. And though she willed the orgasm to stop, to not come... it came anyway, like Christmas in Whoville. Suspended there, hung between bodies, resting on the hands of strangers and friends... she fainted.



Maia came to in the lobby of the Royal Sonesta. She was lying on a couch with a young paramedic hovering overhead. He took her pulse. "He has gorgeous eyes," she thought.

"What are you supposed to be, anyway?" he said.

Maia smiled and thought, "I'm a parachute. I'm a parachute. Pull my cord."
Posted by Prospero on 02/07/05 at 11:20 PM

  • From a native Louisianian, HAPPY MARDI GRAS!  I can’t think of a better way to ring in Fat Tuesday than with a steamy story. 

    That was *hot*!  I love the idea of being groped by mysterious, skilled hands in the throngs of Mari Gras revelers!

    Posted by Bendis  on  02/08/05  at  08:11 AM

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