Flappers, Floppers, and Fappers

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[This story was printed in the December issue of Ethical Non-Monogamy Magazine. Get yours today!]

We pulled up outside the stately mansion, exterior up-lighting illuminated its solid granite façade and the silver hue of the full moon reflected off the glittering snow of the estate. We could already hear music emanating from the warm glow within the large windows where the Christmas revelers were crowded into the grand ballroom.

We were a mere twelve days away from 2020 and the historic home was throwing a Gatsby inspired ball to usher in the new decade and raise money for the private trust which kept the historic home open to the public as a museum and park. Tickets were limited and expensive, but we managed to score four: two for Lo and me and two for Mark and Stephanie. You will recall that they are the married couple with two young kids at home. They like Lo and me because we encourage them to get out and do things like they used to, pre-kids. And Lo is in lust with Mark. He, for his part, has fawned on Lo, but resisted her advances thus far.

The four of us had dressed for the occasion; Mark and I in classic twenties attire, complete with bowties and him sporting a little straw hat, Stephanie and Lo both adorned as flappers. Lo wore a tight, shimmery silver sequin dress with tassel fringes and a silver Charleston pendant headband upon her dark mane of hair. Stephanie wore a sleek red velvet dress with a plunging neckline in the front and back, revealing almost more skin than it concealed. She wore a little black bowler hat with it and many strings of costume pearls.

We were a handsome foursome to behold, I’ll admit.

As we entered the ornate palace, we were greeted by the cheerful “maid” who took our tickets and said the exact words I like to hear upon arriving at a party: “The open bar is right there.”

Our pricey entrance fee included drinks for the evening, small appetizers and a light meal, as well as the ten-piece swing band playing the Shimmy, Fox Trot, and Lindy Hop for an enthusiastic audience, many of whom were either professional or amateur enthusiasts of this bygone style of dance. They were good and a delight to watch!

The drinks were poured generously by the barhops and the food was scarce and light fare, resulting in a lot of the partygoers getting sloppy drunk fast. Luckily, we had hired a limo for our transport to and from.

As the band churned out rhythmically charged dance tunes, made more intense by the brass accents and lyrical clarinet, more and more people got up to dance. Old, young, couples, singles, strangers, straight, gay, good dancers and bad all hopped and glided to the beat of the drums. For the first time I realized that punk and ska, with their fast tempos and driving beat, were not really new creations of an angst-ridden age, emerging from the ’80s disenchantment with hippy hope and prog-rock complexity. No, the Roaring Twenties had every bit of pent-up primal power in its music as anything that came afterwards in the age of amplifiers.

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Lo and I danced, Stephanie and Mark danced. Lo and Mark danced together as Stephanie and I danced. She shimmied and shook in her flimsy dress. Her nipples grew erect as the fabric rubbed up against them and little beads of sweat formed on her chest. Her breasts were small and sagged, so she had no cleavage to speak of, thus she easily emulated the ʼ20s icon of women’s fashion, the garçonne.

When I also worked up a sweat and needed a break, Mark accompanied me to the bar as Lo and Stephanie flew and flapped together on the dancefloor. Mark said something to me as we waited for our drinks, but I couldn’t quite make it out other than that it was about Lo and, I assume from the look on his face, it was complimentary.

As we made our way back to the dancefloor, drinks in hand, an older woman (yes, even older than I!) approached me, took Lo’s martini out of my hand and said, “Thank you, sweetie,” as she drank it down in one fell swoop and then invited me to dance. I couldn’t say no, so I asked Mark to hold my drink and I went out on the dancefloor with her. She just wanted to be held and to hold a man, any man, as she once was held by her man years ago. The Spirit of Christmas Past filled her eyes as she swayed in my arms. I knew not who she was, nor she me, but for a moment I was everything she longed for and I was happy to fulfill her Christmas Present, however briefly.

The song came to a close and the band took a well-deserved break.

Mark, Stephanie, Lo and I explored the various rooms of the Tudor Revival home. Lo was feeling frisky and, at many of our stops by bedrooms with canopy beds, she was groping me and whispering in my ear something slightly intoxicated about Mark. Her words were not quite audible enough for me to comprehend, but the tone was one I knew well — full of desire and sensuality.

The rest of the evening’s entertainment was mostly a blur for me, until our quartet got into the limo for the hourlong ride home. Lo was riled up and reaching for relief. As soon as we were in the dark, leather interior of the car, she leaned in for a long wet kiss from me, grabbing my hand and placing it up, under her sequin dress, between her legs, seemingly oblivious to our companions, but secretly glad to have them, or particularly Mark, as an audience.

“I want you Daddy,” she whispered to me.

I looked over her shoulder and saw that Stephanie was similarly engaged with Mark. That put me at ease a bit.

Soon Lo scootched on the seat and slid out of her panties (also silver) and she dropped them on the floor. The hem of her sequins was up around her waist.

I looked over at Mark and saw he was eyeing Lo while Stephanie was allowing her braless breasts to fall out of the taut fabric.

Lo also noticed this and she sat back, putting her feet up on the seat, spreading her legs, and pulling at her pussy lips, watching Mark and Stephanie. “Look,” she said, diddling her unusually long labia with her finger like a miniature boxer at the speed bag, “I’m a real flapper!” She cackled and I could tell she was very intoxicated.

Mark moved from next to Stephanie to my side. Lo was on my left fapping as Mark was on my right, very close to me. I looked across at his wife as she looked at the three of us.

To my great surprise, Mark placed his hand on my knee and said, “Do you like what you see?” meaning Stephanie.

“I do,” I replied.

Stephanie, I realized for the first time, was basking in our attention.

Mark’s hand slowly but firmly made its way up my thigh to my crotch. I was frozen in place. I think Lo glimpsed what was happening from the corner of her eye and she reached over to feel where Mark had placed his hand. She cooed, “Oh yeah,” in a long, drawn out whisper as her left hand continued pull and stretch her loose labia.

“Are you hard for her?” Mark asked me.

I didn’t know what to say, so I stayed quiet and he slid his hand up and down my hard shaft.

“Take it out,” he gently instructed me. “Show her.”

I opened my pants and pulled out my cock. He held it as Lo leaned over and went down on it with her mouth. Suddenly, I was the center of attention. Stephanie’s eyes met mine and she proudly displayed her breasts.

She was ten years older than Lo, the mother of two young children, and her already diminutive breasts were flat, sagging, and flopping, forming the same shape as her drooping pearl necklaces as she leaned over. I could see by her expression that she longed to be beheld, to be an object of desire. She also knew that I was off limits. Lo is free while I am happily her kept man — an arrangement I had explained to Stephanie in the past.

But then, to my astonishment, Lo and Mark switched — Lo held my member as Mark swirled it in his mouth. All the while his betrothed voyeuristically observed from her side of the limousine.

Lo’s lips locked with mine and she held my manhood firmly in Mark’s mouth.

“Cum, Daddy,” she encouraged. “Cum.”

Her blessing granted, I took it as a command and obeyed without delay just as we pulled up to Mark and Stephanie’s driveway.

Mark kissed Lo a long, open-mouthed kiss goodbye. I gave Stephanie a polite kiss on the cheek and wished them both a very merry Christmas.

Once they were gone, leaving Lo and me alone in the car, I turned to Lo and said, “What was that all about?”

She just smiled and replied, “Now I finally know why he has rebuffed my advances all this time. It had nothing to do with me.” She sounded quite relieved.

“Ooooh,” I said, slowly making the connection.

“Did you like it, Daddy?”

“I did. Did you?”

“So much.”

“Did you have a good time?”

“It was magical.”

“I think we’ll really enjoy the ’20s.”

“Yeah. Let’s hope that flappers come back in style,” she said, looking down at her pussy and pulling again at her stretched labia.

“Lo, your beauty is timeless.”

Little did we know then what the Spirit of Christmas Future had in store for all of us in 2020.

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Just your average nymphomaniac next door. I love fan mail: downloladown@gmail.com

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