begun by the Clean Sheets Staff
(12/29/99)

The CleanSheets Millennium Reader Challenge!

For the last two months, every sex-obsessed fantasist on the Clean Sheets staff has been contributing to this round-robin story. Now it's your turn!

Read the story and create your own ending. In 1500 words or less, tell us exactly what happens onboard the Priapus. The top two entries will be published in the January 19 edition to great acclaim, and the writers will each receive a special certificate from our editor-in-chief, and their choice of a Clean Sheets tee shirt or mug.

The tall yacht carried a single sail to steady her. The night was warm and moonless. Nicki sat alone, naked in her cabin, sipping retsina and feeling more nervous than ever before in her life. So many people in simultaneous orgasm on the stroke of midnight -- it was a terrifying thought. Everything would depend on her ... on her, and on a man the world knew only as Vadim. Vadim, whom she had never met.

Nicki had never backed away from challenge.

In their college games of "truth or dare," she had always pushed the edge, throwing out the hard dares, taking the ones that came back to her. She'd been the wild one: the first to go down on a woman, to masturbate in public, to take on a train of guys, to play with power -- and to enjoy the hell out of all of it. So when Laurie called and told her what the old gang had been talking about, about their plans to get together one last time on the eve of the Millennium and do something even they had never done before. . . Nicki had not only agreed to join in -- she'd volunteered to orchestrate the event, from its start to its climactic Millennial finish. And she had expanded the guest list in a spectacular and startling way. She thought Laurie would be pleased.

She slipped on deck to lean against the taffrail, starlight sheening her flawless skin. With every breath, the amethysts in her nipple rings winked; the jeweled chain that looped from her navel tugged at her clitoris, a constant reminder of the erotic crescendo that midnight would bring. The Aegean rolled phosphorescent and uneasy in the wake of the Priapus.

Nicki caught distant thunder over the dark sea. Her heart raced. The first helicopter was on its way from Vadim's mountain retreat at Poliknitos.

She dashed back to her cabin, grabbing champagne from the ice bucket by the bed. God knew there was enough of the stuff aboard, but her guests' airborne arrival demanded a stylish welcome. As an afterthought, she looped a coach's whistle around her neck before stepping naked and resplendent back on deck.

The helicopter settled toward the afterdeck. The downwash from the rotors whipped Nicki's mane of dark amber hair. She grabbed a stay to steady herself.

Out of the helicopter came an elegant, brutal-looking, broad-shouldered man; Nicki arranged her lithe body in a seductive pose, but he didn't see her. Instead, he twisted in a crouch to assist a slight, naked young girl. The tiny blonde creature shook off his offer of help, but he overpowered her, wrenching her arm behind her as he scooped her up in his massive arms. She kicked and beat at him, but he had no more trouble containing her than he would a kitten. He carried her until they were under night sky rather than whirling blades, then set her on her feet.

"...told you I hate that, it makes me sick, I don't want to be..." the waif cut herself off, suddenly conscious of Nicki. Nicki licked her lips as the girl's boyish body swung towards her; she glanced up and caught the girl's eyes flash from annoyance to searing arousal.

Nicki gave her most winning, wicked grin. "Another barely-willing, barely-legal lady for you, hmm, Daniel?" She aimed her pink nipples at the girl, "My dear, this evening will be worth whatever you've had to endure from this brute to get here." Daniel scowled.

The young woman, arms crossed, quirked an eyebrow as she looked Nicki's tanned body up and down. "Promise?" she said. She ran her tongue around her lips.

Without a word, Daniel returned to the helicopter to lift out his other guest. Nicki recognized her as the near-legendary Mona Battista, the 84 year-old former fashion model who still regularly made magazine covers -- and scandal sheets. She wore a gold tiara, a long-ago gift from the Sultan of Brunei. Her still-taut, heavy-breasted body was wrapped in jeweled gauze. Her bleached pubic hair was sculpted into a perfect heart.

The distant whutter of two more helicopters signaled the approach of the rest of the guests, converging on the Priapus from the distant Greek mainland.

The two helicopters came within inches of colliding directly above the afterdeck. "This evening is supposed to end with a bang, not start with one," Nicki thought nervously. She took a few deep breaths until her death-grip on the bottle of champagne relaxed. Calm, Nicki, calm.

Nicki saw a familiar figure clamber out of the first copter. Angelica! She had declined the first invitation: "Long and happily married," she'd told Nicki, but it had been easy to change her mind. Angelica: full-bodied, with an erotic presence Nicki had never found in any other woman. The confidence she radiated was captivating. Nicki smiled, remembering the last time she had been with Angelica. Closing her eyes, she could still taste Angelica's musk on her lips.

Behind Angelica's ample form was another familiar face from college days: Hershel, the quintessential New York stockbroker, hawk-nosed, horny, hung, and hidebound. She hadn't had Herschel's ten-inch, doorknobbed cock in her since their sophomore year. She caught Herschel with a slightly wary look in his eye. She tried to keep her own eyes away from his crotch.

Next to jump on deck was Adrahm Fazzool. Adrahm had a sultry, pheromone-laced aura about him that belied his proletarian Brooklyn origins as the street-wise, Black Irish Jimmy Gilooley. Jimmy -- Adrahm -- had made his fortune as the king of Turkish underground porn.

The fourth passenger was a hulking Oriental man. Nicki gasped as she recognized the steroid-pumped, buff body of Woodrow Wilson Chan. Woodrow, the skinny, cerebral computer geek who'd given her so many worshipful hours of oral pleasure. God, he'd gained a hundred pounds of beef (and a quarter billion dollars, she reminded herself; she remembered her amazement at the account of the sale of his Silicon Valley company she'd found in the Wall Street Journal). The second copter lifted and tilted away westward.

The third helicopter whispered to a flawless landing, its uncanny hush speaking of great wealth, even by the high-rolling standards of this party.

Three pairs of leather-clad legs emerged from the hatch. Black leather, of course. Nicki watched anxiously as first Laurie, then someone she knew was certainly Vadim slid out from the sleek black fuselage, crouching low as they made their way toward her. Vadim was ax-faced, dark, tall, his raven hair spiked in shiny points against the night sky. His manner was a disconcerting mix of high camp and flickering unpredictability; he had the look of a cobra, poised to strike. Laurie, with her long legs, swaying hips, and sleepy smile, walked a few paces behind him. Behind her was a woman so tall, so night-black, so alarming that Nicki's heart skipped a beat as she unfolded to her full height: Grace had come, after all!

"Nicki, love," cooed Vadim. "Sure you're ready?" His head dipped to Nicki's breast. With a quick flick of his tongue, he tugged her amethyst ring and licked her nipple. Nicki could barely hold on to the champagne bottle. It was intoxicating to let herself be treated this way by a man she had only heard stories -- hair-raising stories -- about. His hand slid across her stomach to dip momentarily into her wetness.

"You're the last ones -- everyone's here!" Nicki threw her arms around Laurie's neck and kissed her quickly. Grace leaned over the two of them and ran her tongue deep into Nicki's mouth.

Nicki gasped for breath. "Let's go! Put your things below deck and come up as soon as possible. We're exactly on schedule!"

"Wait!" she said. "Where's Arnold?"

"Detained by the Greeks for sodomy," Vadim sneered. "I told him not to fly into Athens." He rubbed his crotch and winked.

Nicki spun around. The hatch on the black helicopter was sighing shut. She leapt toward it and rolled inside at the last moment. The young Greek pilot looked in amazement at the naked, jeweled woman on the floor of his craft.

Nicki scrambled to her knees. "Do you speak English?"

He stared, his face coloring. She looked at his square jaw and clear, dusky skin, at his crisp uniform. "It doesn't matter," she said. "You'll do."

She swung his seat harness aside and unbuttoned his tunic. "Kill the engine. You're staying the night." An even dozen, six men and six women: nothing would get in the way of her plan.

He was pleading with her in Greek. She pulled him from the seat and stripped his pants off. His golden cock rose in front of her face.

Nicki reached past the pilot and killed the helicopter's engines; then she dragged him, stripped and still pleading, onto the deck. She went to Daniel and his young, tasty dish.

"Daniel. We've only got a little while. I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name, darling." Nicki turned to the blonde waif.

"Daphne," the girl smiled and turned to go below. "I'll be right back."

"One can only hope, darling. Hurry up! You, too, Daniel."

Daniel winked. "Nicki, you always were a pushy bitch!" Nicki jostled him, sloshing champagne over both their bodies.

"Now I've done it," she simpered as she licked her fingers and hands.

"You just stay right there...I'll be back." Daniel turned and pulled Mona along with him below decks.

The low throb of the onboard diesel swelled as Nicki signaled the crew to get underway. The stars swung in the sable sky and left diamond trails on the black sea. She sighed. This was going to be the perfect night. Nicki glanced at the clock -- 10:37. Perfect.

She strolled toward the large, gleaming foredeck, leaving her young pilot wide-eyed and achingly erect on the afterdeck. She had scattered huge pillows and chaise lounges and laid down a thick Persian rug. The air began to stir as the boat picked up speed, a light, warm wind teasing her nipples and rings. She toyed with the coach's whistle. This was going to be fun!

Nicki draped herself on a lounge, the champagne bottle still in her hand. She heard laughter and the creak of oiled leather in the companionway. Her pussy clenched wetly as she thought of Laurie's long leather-wrapped legs, and the forbiddeness of Vadim's black hair and sharp olive face trapped between her thighs.

One by one, the guests assembled on deck. Most were now naked, but not all. Mona was still gauze-wrapped. Hershel wore a frown and a studded leather jockstrap, bulging ominously. The pilot held a seat cushion in front of himself. Angelica had a silken strap-on harness slung around her broad hips.

As she imagined Vadim's snaky tongue coiling around her clit, Nicki slid the cold glass of the champagne bottle along her neck, cooling her fevered heat, bright beads of condensation slipping over the curve of her breasts. With a slow, wicked grin at the assembly, she draped her long legs over the two arms of the lounge. She slithered the bottle down her body, her nipples puckering, the muscles of her belly spasming with the cold.

She gripped the bottle in both hands, gasping as she slowly forced the flaring, frosty neck into the hot, soaked gape of her puss. She pushed it deeper, arching her head back, a half-laugh, half-gasp caught in her throat. She felt the others crowding closer.

"Come, darlings! Who wants to warm my pussy?"

Her abandon was their signal. They had waited for tonight, waited for this ultimate license to be -- whatever they wanted. Nicki was their license. She knew each of their most torrid dreams. Tonight, they would live out their fantasies; they would possess each other, utterly. They watched with glittering eyes as she worked the bottle in and out of her body.

Nicki raised her flushed face to them. "Adrahm, translate what I'm saying to the pilot." Her voiced shuddered with pleasure. Adrahm nodded, his eyes never leaving her. He passed on her words in slurred, husky Greek, thick with lust.

"You know our plan," Nicki said. "You know how much time we have. You know that we have agreed there are to be no limits to pleasure, no nay-saying, no failure of will or desire." Her voice faltered as the bottle plunged deep, and then deeper.

She took a long, trembling breath. "Let it begin, darlings."

They advanced on her straining flesh.

What happens from here? You get to tell us!

Midnight was signaled by the ringing of a large brass bell found on the bow of the Priapus. Captain Nielsen, the tough old Swede in charge of sailing the yacht while Nicki and her gang of exotic swingers fornicated on the foredeck, did the honors.

"Happy New Year!" he shouted into the warm, moonless night, yanking on the bell's cord with hands scarred and calloused from 25 seasons of crab fishing. "Happy New Year and may the Lord bless us all!"

No one was listening. The echoes of the clanging bell were blocked out by the guttural grunts and groans of 12 simultaneous orgasms, of contracting vaginas and erections erupting with seed. The unthinkable had been accomplished: At the stroke of twelve, all dozen of Nicki's cohorts were coming their brains out.

Including the amber-haired hostess herself.

Nicki was lying on the Persian rug between two chaise lounges, lost in the euphoric paradise of the flesh. Her face was flushed and running in the red, ready to overheat, to explode like a pressure cooker. Her eyes were white -- so white -- against the redness of her skin. Bulging out of their optical sockets like the Cookie Monster or the late great Marty Feldman, and for a moment Vadim was wondering if something had gotten lodged in her air passage, if she could breath at all.

But she was breathing, oh yes. Breathing in short, digging gasps, laboring for air while the tall, ax-faced gentleman pinned her long legs back behind her ruby-studded ears and pounded her like a madman, her sexy little feet pointing toward the twinkling stars, his full body weight on top of her, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip, breast to chest.

And eye to eye. Nicki's hazel eyes a forest of rods and cones, gazing upon Vadim with an expression of love and lust -- of passion -- of the best fuck she'd ever had, ever known, ever dreamt of knowing. There was something about Vadim that set Nicki off like a rocket. It may have been his rough methods of foreplay, or the raspy tickle of his voice, or the fact that, during a hunting excursion in Tibet, he had killed a man with his bare hands.

"Oh sweet Vadim," Nicki whispered, groping at the moving muscles of his back. Her cunt twitched and contracted around his cock. He continued to fuck her hard and deep, his strong hands gripping her delicate-boned ankles, until the last of his cream had spurted from his short thick penis and into her receptive womanhood.

And while they were coming...

The handsome helicopter pilot, who'd been kidnapped from his chopper and stripped out of his crisp uniform, was sitting on top of Adrahm Fazzool on a chaise lounge several yards to the left of Nicki and Vadim. A closer look revealed that Fazzool's penis was up the Greek man's firm round ass. The two men were fucking like inmates in an armature prison movie, the Greek pilot bouncing up-and-down in Fazzool's lap, moaning in ecstasy.

Standing directly next to the two men was big beautiful Angelica. She had placed a pink jelly dildo into the harness of her silken strap-on, and, stroking it slowly and soothingly, had instructed the handsome Greek man to take it in his mouth.

"Suck on it, baby," she said, and tapped it against his square jaw. "You know you want to taste my cock."

He said something in Greek she couldn't understand, made a sexy moaning noise, and took the jelly dick in his mouth. He sucked on it eagerly, as if it was his mother's breast and not a synthetic appendage hanging between the legs of a 185 pound woman. Angelica rubbed the dildo up against her clit as he sucked it, feeling herself getting wetter. Occasionally, she would pull the dildo out of the Greek man's mouth, replace it with her slick, musky mound, and order him to lick her clean; Angelica couldn't tell what he liked more: Eating her pussy, or sucking her cock.

And then the bell bonged midnight.

The Greek pilot jerked himself off furiously, hoping to keep time with the others. Just as his throbbing penis started to erupt and explode, two things happened: One -- Angelica glazed his face with a clear fishy secretion; and two -- Adrahm, the king of underground Turkish porn, shot a warm liquid load up the Greek man's tight olive ass, an ejaculation that would remain up his tailpipe until it trickled out into his Calvin Klein's during the helicopter ride back to Poliknitos.

Sprawled over a pair of huge pillows, not even ten feet from the threesome on the chaise lounge, were Daniel, Grace, and Laurie -- and yes, they were coming as well.

Their situation was a little different. It had started with an argument between Daniel and Grace. Daniel said he wanted to fuck Grace's jet black ass while she leaned her long frame forward and buried her head between Laurie's juicy thighs. Laurie smiled at the idea of the tall, exotic woman sucking on her swollen clit, but when she sat on the pillow and spread her legs, Laurie noticed Grace was frowning.

"What's the matter, Grace?" Laurie said, concerned. "Is it me? Don't I turn you on anymore?"

Grace responded by stepping forward and kissing Laurie tenderly on the mouth. "Of course you do, baby. I've been dreaming about making love to you for weeks. It's just that I have a problem with anal sex." She pointed her finger at Daniel. "There's no way I'm letting this guy fuck my ass."

Daniel looked confused. "But I thought Nicki had this prearranged?"

"Sorry," Grace told Daniel with an attitude. "Nicki must have made some sort of mistake. I don't mind having a threeway with you and Laurie, but anal sex is out of the question."

Instead, the threeway went like this: Laurie and Grace got into a 69, Laurie on top of Grace. Around back, Daniel was fucking Laurie savagely in the cunt. He was gripping her beautiful hips with his large hands. His fucking, like his body, was strong and powerful. Laurie's head jarred against Grace's clit over every thrust; every so often, just to show Daniel that there were no hard feelings, Grace would pull his prick out of Laurie's pussy and suck it clean.

After a good 15 minutes of fucking and sucking, all three were ready to orgasm.

They did it at midnight, just like the others.

The last group of people worked as a foursome. On a space of floor between Nicki and Vadim, and the Adrahm/Angelica/Greek pilot trio, were Hershel, Daphne, Mona Battista, and Woodrow Wilson Chan. This was clearly the most bizarre and eccentric escapade of the entire night.

The orchestrater of the session was Mona Battista, the 84-year-old ex-fashion model whose sexual appetite was nothing short of perverse. Although her age was approaching the century mark, she was still able to reach orgasm. The only way she could hit her climax, however, was through masturbation; despite the cosmetic surgeries to improve her appearance, she was too old and brittle to get fucked.

She sat on a large pillow and gave instructions: "I want to have an orgasm and make the night complete. In order for this to happen, you must do exactly as I say. Understand?"

Daphne nodded. So did Hershel and Chan.

"Wonderful." Mona began to unwrap her body from the jeweled gauze. "Now, when I was a young girl, I loved double penetration. 'Front door, back door,' I used to call it. Anyway, I'm much too old for that now. Of course, I'm not too old to watch you three pass on the tradition, am I?"

"No," the three said in unison.

"I didn't think so." The jeweled gauze was completely removed. Now Mona's fingers were creeping toward her bleached, heart-shaped pubic region. "Okay, we might as well get started. Hershel, take that ridiculous looking jock-strap off, and start fixing Daphne's enema."

Hershel did a double-take. "Daphne's enema?"

"Of course. If you're going to fuck her ass with that ten inch monster of yours, we must make sure her ass is clean." Like magic, Mona pulled a preassembled enema out from under the large pillow she was sitting on. She handed it to Hershel, giving him step-by-step instructions on how to administer it to Daphne. A minute later, the two pints of soapy water were up her ass. Making a face like she was constipated, the young petite blond struggled to hold the water in her bowels.

"How do you feel?" Mona asked Daphne.

"Full," Daphne told her.

"You know you like it," Mona said, her middle finger in the moist crease of her aged pussy. "What you're really going to like, however, is when Hershel drinks the water."

Hershel's eyes turned to white saucers. "What? Drink the water? You can't--"

"Of course I can!" Mona said, and made a fist. "Have you forgotten who I am! I'm Mona Battista, fashion model, sex symbol, and former mistress to the Sultan of Brunei! Now drink that shitty water, you hawk-nosed fool!"

At first, Hershel didn't move. Mona's request was too bizarre to even consider. But of course, as everyone on the Priapus knew, it wasn't really Monica's request at all. No. It was Nicki's. And if Nicki requested it, it must have been because it was a fantasy of Hershel's.

Hershel finally did as he was told, kneeling down behind Daphne's tiny ass. When the shower of brown soapy water poured from her sphincter, Hershel opened his mouth and drank every drop of it.

Midnight was approaching fast.

Mona snapped her fingers and instructed Hershel and Chan to begin the double penetration of Daphne. They did. Hershel carefully lowered the petite blond onto his cock, sliding six of his ten inches up her well lubricated -- and squeaky clean -- ass. Then the hulking Oriental got on, working his steroid impaired -- but still usable -- five inch prick into Daphne's cunt.

The two men fucked the young blond for a good ten minutes. They could feel each other's cocks through the thin skin of Daphne's interior, and for a moment, this made them uneasy. But then the uneasy feeling passed. They were about to come, as was Daphne and Mona.

"Fuck my ass and cunt!" Daphne blurted out suddenly, and for the first time, Mona saw how much the young girl enjoyed getting drilled by two cocks at once; of course, just as with Hershel, Daphne had gone to Nicki and made the request.

Mona continued to finger her bleached-blond beaver, keeping pace with the others. She was getting close, so close...

"I'm gonna shoot!" Woodrow Wilson Chan shouted, and uncorked his spurting dick from Daphne's cunt. His white sticky seed squirted everywhere -- all over Daphne's tits and stomach. But Daphne wasn't aware of this fact, because she was climaxing also. Her face flushed bright red, and her neck broke out in rashy blotches. As she came her asshole contracted around Hershel's cock, a cock that was -- yes, you guessed it -- erupting in jolting orgasm, just like Chan's. The only one who didn't make any noise was Mona, who, after having orgasms for nearly 70 years, knew how to endure them quietly; one small tear rolled down her cheek when she came, and that was all.

That was all.

There was a sound coming from the bow of the Priapus. Someone was ringing a large brass bell. Over the clang of the bell Nicki's friends could hear the following: "Happy New Year! May the Lord bless us all!"

It was Captain Nielson. For the past several minutes, the tough old Swede had been celebrating the New Year the old fashion way: By making an obscene amount of racket.

"Captain Nielson," Hershel said, covering himself with his studded leather jock-strap. "How are you tonight?"

"Fine, my good man. I hope I didn't disturb you and the other guests. I just think the New Year should come in with a bang, don't you?"

Hershel smiled.

"What?" the Captain said.

"Nothing."

The two men shook hands. Nielson went back to his place at the wheel, Hershel to his friends below the deck, where they sat waiting for the approaching helicopters.