"Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six! Five! Four! Three! Two! One!"

The imposing grandfather clock chimed twelve times as the crowd in the ballroom shouted "Happy New Year!" and began singing Auld Lang Syne.

"Should auld acquaintance be forgot—" Delilah Davenport began, but was interrupted by an older gentleman spinning her around and kissing her full on the lips.

"Why, Mr. Davenport!" she exclaimed in mock surprise. "How very forward of you!"

Harvey Davenport smiled at his wife and said "Happy New Year, darling." He was fifty years old, with graying hair and a short beard.

"And a Happy New Year to you as well, dear. Nineteen twenty-six, can you believe it?" She paused. "I'll be turning forty this year."

"And you'll be as beautiful as ever." Mr. Davenport leaned in again for another kiss. Then he whispered in her ear, "I hate to mention it, Delilah, but your breath is a bit strong."

Mrs. Davenport's hand flew to her mouth and her mind went blank as she tried to think up a plausible explanation. "Oh, mercy me! Ah, what does it smell like?" she said through her fingers, buying some more time.

"Hmm, meat, I suppose? And your lips tasted salty."

"Oh, well. I was eating some sausage hors d'oeuvres a few minutes ago in the back hallway. A waiter was walking by with a tray and I couldn't resist."

"Ah, of course. Case closed."

Delilah thought back to a few minutes before midnight. It was true that she had been eating a sausage, in a manner of speaking, but the sausage was actually a waiter's cock. She had ducked into the hallway to get away from the noise and bustle for a moment, when a young waiter emerged from a side door with a circular tray loaded with full glasses of champagne. He appeared to be nervous, holding the tray unsteadily at waist height and looking down as he negotiated the narrow hallway.

"Why we didn't pour these in the ballroom I'll never know," he muttered to himself. The waiter sensed Delilah's presence and his head snapped up. "Oh, Mrs.— uh—"

"Mrs. Davenport. Charmed, I'm sure. Can you get around me with that giant tray?"

"Y-Yes, Mrs. Davenport," he stammered. "Of course I can," he added, mostly to convince himself.

Delilah backed up and pressed herself against the wall in an attempt to make room, but she encountered two main obstacles. One was her large, round ass that prevented her from getting very close to the wall, and the other was her prodigious bosom that jutted forward under her sparkling red dress. The waiter pressed his back against the opposite wall and tried to side-step past her, but he was carrying the tray at precisely the wrong height.

Or precisely the right height, Delilah mused.

"Delilah?" Mr. Davenport called her back to the present. "Are you still with me?"

"Oh, sorry. I was just thinking about the new year and what lies ahead for us." The band had struck up a jazzy rendition of Auld Lang Syne while they were talking, and people began to dance.

Harvey smiled. His wife looked truly beautiful tonight, he thought, from the tiara set on her black bobbed hair, to her rich brown eyes, to her bright red lips, and that was just from the neck up. "I'm sure that we can make this year into whatever we want. But right now, what I want is some champagne. I saw some waiters bringing it in just before midnight; I'll go fight my way to the table."

Delilah smiled back at her husband. As he melted into the crowd, she retreated into her thoughts once again.

As the waiter eased past her, the edge of the tray barely missed the underside of her right breast, and he stopped in a panic. The tray was now centered between Delilah's full, heavy boobs and there was a real danger that they would graze the nearest champagne glass and send all of the glasses crashing to the floor. The waiter stood, frozen in shock, unsure how to proceed, unwilling to look at the tray for fear of glancing at the astonishing sight behind it.

Delilah's lip curled into a playful smile. "It looks like we have a situation here," she deadpanned. "What's your name, sailor?"

"Uh, P-P-Peter."

"Okay, P-P-Peter, here's what we're going to do. I am going to stand perfectly still while you lower the tray straight down until the glasses are out of the, hmm, firing line. Then I can slide carefully to my right and give you a clear path."

Peter nodded shakily, cleared the lump in his throat, and took a deep breath. He started to lower the tray but stopped after only a few inches.

"Is there a problem?"

"Uh, M-Mrs. D-Davenport, I can't lower the tray any further."

Delilah looked at him quizzically for a second, and then the light dawned. "Oh, Peter, is this too hard for you to handle?" she asked with feigned concern.

"Grahk—" was all Peter could choke out.

Delilah raised one eyebrow. "It's all right; we can manage this. I'm wearing flats. Just hold still while I get up on my tiptoes; that should give us the clearance we need."

Peter nodded in a daze and did as instructed. Delilah braced her hands against the wall to steady herself and raised herself up. As soon as her bust was above the level of the champagne flutes, Delilah slowly took one step to the right, then a second step, until she was free of the tray and could place her heels on the ground once again.

"I was never much of a ballet dancer, but I can still manage en pointe when necessary." She looked at the young waiter and became serious. "Mercy me, Peter, you're shaking like a leaf! Here, let me help you with that tray." Delilah gently grasped the rim of the tray with both hands and together they slowly set it on the floor.

"Now let's see what the trouble is," she said with a wry smile as she stepped towards him. Looking down, she saw the bulge in the front of his pants. "It seems as though your peter got in the way, Peter. Am I right?" She looked up at him and saw that his eyes were bulging out almost as far as his stiff cock. "Would you like some help with that?" she purred, flicking her eyes downwards.

Peter slowly cast his eyes down but stopped when they registered Delilah's magnificent cleavage. Her dress truly was a work of art, red with a plunging neckline, adorned with sequins and detailed with narrow vertical stripes of red and pink. It was belted with a gauzy ribbon which tied in a floppy bow at the front. His cock twitched visibly inside his pants and he gasped.

Delilah took him by the wrist and led him down the hallway to a closed door. Opening it and flicking on the electric light, she saw mops, buckets, and other cleaning equipment. "Perfect," she said.

Delilah dragged Peter into the supply closet and pulled the door closed behind him. She pushed him against the door, then began to stroke the bulge in his pants. She looked into his eyes. "I am going to undo your pants and relieve all this tension. Is that all right?"

Peter nodded, slowly at first, then more rapidly as his nervousness gave way to excitement. "Good," said Delilah as she began unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning the fly of his pants. She crouched in front of him, hooked her thumbs into the waistband of his undershorts, and yanked his pants and shorts down in one quick motion. His cock was caught by the waistband and dragged down for a split second, then it sprang back up to full attention when it was finally released.

Delilah leaned back for a moment and admired the raging hard-on that was bouncing up and down in front of her face. Then she leaned forward, placed both hands on his thighs, and ran her tongue up the underside of Peter's shaft. He closed his eyes and leaned back against the door.

"Oh, Mrs. Davenport..."

"Mmm," she replied as she flicked her tongue and stole a drop of precum that was oozing out of Peter's purple cockhead.

Peter's dick was wagging around, making Delilah's job difficult. She lifted up his shirttails with her left hand, then used the palm of her right hand to press the head of Peter's cock against his bare, flat stomach to hold it in place. She licked upwards along the length of his shaft a second time, then a third time. Moving down again, she licked his ballsack and his eyes sprang open.

"Mi-Mi-Missus D-D-D—"

"Yes, I'm still here. Do you like that, Peter? Do you like it when I lick your balls?"

"I—Yes. Yes I do. Hoooo," he exhaled.

"Well, I am going to drain these balls and give you some relief."

Delilah resumed licking Peter's balls, savoring the salty taste. They were covered in a light coating of soft hair, which was a change from the wiry hair she was accustomed to navigating at home.

Peter opened his eyes and watched Delilah, with her eyes closed and mouth open, tonguing his balls with a contented look on her face. He peered down the front of her dress and gaped at the sight of her enormous boobs and the inverted triangle of empty space between them.

Delilah ran her tongue up Peter's shaft one more time and held her open mouth just above the head of his quivering cock. She blew a gentle, warm breath of air onto it and was just about to plunge her slippery mouth down onto his straining prick when they heard voices in the hallway.

"What is this tray of glasses doing on the floor? Bob, help me pick this up; it's five minutes to midnight and we need to get all these on the tables!"

"Okay, Mr. Travers."

After a few seconds of grunting and clinking from the other side of the door, Delilah and Peter heard footsteps receding down the hallway.

Delilah whispered "Five minutes to midnight? I need to go find my husband before the countdown!" She gave Peter a mischievous look. "Meet me back here afterwards and I promise to finish what we started."

"O-Okay, whatever you say, Mrs. Davenport." Peter smiled and added "It sure was swell to meet you."

Delilah snapped back to reality. Swell? His dick was certainly swollen. She would have to take care of that later; Harvey Davenport was weaving his way back to where she stood, a glass of champagne in each hand.

"By golly, that took some time. I had to wait for them to bring more glasses out. Can you believe they brought out full glasses from the kitchen instead of pouring the champagne right there?"

Delilah suppressed a smile. "That seems very strange indeed. I can imagine all sorts of mishaps could occur between there and here." She took the glass Harvey offered her. "Thank you, dear."

He bowed with a flourish and said "I am ever at your service, Mrs. Davenport." He took a sip and held the glass up to the light. "Not bad; I wonder whether they had this in storage or acquired it recently." Prohibition had been the law of the land for almost seven years, but this had almost no effect on the Davenports and the people in their sphere. The business leaders and politicians of New York City high society had planned ahead, laying in copious supplies of whisky, brandy, gin, wine, champagne, and anything else they thought they might need. The Volstead Act prohibited the sale and importation of liquor, but it did not prohibit the consumption of liquor from one's own personal stockpile. Of course, a grand New Year's Eve party with three hundred guests didn't precisely qualify as anyone's personal use, but the number of judges, city aldermen, and other high-ranking officials attending the party ensured that no complaints would be heard.

"Do you think it came in from Canada?"

"Perhaps, but I suppose it doesn't matter either way." He took another sip. "Oh, I'm sorry, darling; I see Walter Carruthers in the corner and I need to speak to him before he leaves for Washington tomorrow. It shouldn't take more than ten minutes." Harvey Davenport was an economic advisor who often had to do business at parties.

"That's fine, dear. I'll try to find our daughter; I haven't seen her since well before midnight."

"It shouldn't be too difficult for you two to spot each other, seeing as you're both wearing the same bright red dress," he chuckled. "All right, I'm off."

As soon as Harvey disappeared from sight, Delilah scanned the room for her daughter. Daphne Davenport, who had celebrated her nineteenth birthday recently, was taller and thinner than her mother but had the same jaw-length dark hair, brown eyes, and dazzling smile as Delilah. It was no longer fashionable to have a large bust and curvy body—that had gone out of fashion with the Gibson girls of the previous generation—but Daphne had been cursed with a pair of spectacular tits that could be neither disguised nor minimized. So, she didn't try.

Daphne had spent the past year becoming accustomed to the nightlife in her parents' social circle. Both mother and daughter enjoyed dressing in nearly identical outfits on special occasions, and tonight's choice had been extremely popular with the men at the party. Daphne's slim-fitting dress sparkled under the chandeliers, and the deep V-shape drew everyone's eye to the enticing crevasse between her firm, round globes. Daphne's dress had an additional embellishment of thin silver cords trailing from behind her neck and draping over her bust. A tiara completed her look, because, why not?

With Daphne nowhere in sight, Delilah turned her attention to a more urgent matter. She made her way through the crowd towards the champagne table, hoping to catch a glimpse of—Wait, what was his name? D-D-Dick? R-R-Rod? W-W-Willy? She ran through each name in her head, imagining it with a stutter. Aha! She snapped her fingers. P-P-Peter! Well, where was the silly boy? Back in the closet already, most likely. He had seemed in no condition to continue working.

Delilah slipped out the door to the back hallway and made her way to the supply closet. She heard something inside clatter to the floor and smiled with satisfaction. Peter was here and she had no intention of keeping him waiting any longer. She turned the doorknob and the door flew open and Peter tumbled into the hallway.

Wait, no, not Peter. The young man was dressed as a waiter, but he wasn't Peter. In fact, he wasn't technically dressed as a waiter because his pants were around his ankles and his shiny wet cock was pointing to the ceiling.

"Mother!"

Delilah tore her gaze away from the waiter's throbbing erection and saw her daughter Daphne kneeling in the closet, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Daphne Davenport! What in heaven's name—No, never mind. I can see what you're doing." Delilah flashed a wicked smile. "And who is this young fellow?"

"Bob? Mrs. Davenport?" Peter had arrived and was trying to figure out why Delilah was standing over Bob's boner. "What on earth—"

"It's all right, Peter; I just got here. If you take a look in the closet, you'll see who Bob's special friend is." When Peter didn't respond, she sighed and took him by the wrist once more, pulling him towards the open door. "Peter, meet my daughter, Daphne."

Peter was surprised to see a younger version of Delilah kneeling on the floor. "Gee, Mrs. Davenport, you two certainly have a lot in common!"

Daphne gave a thin-lipped smile and arched an eyebrow at her mother. "Maybe a little too much in common, if you ask me."

"Oh, don't give me the raised eyebrow, Daphne. I'm the one who taught it to you. Now everybody, get into this closet before anyone sees us!"

Bob, completely confused by recent events but quick-witted enough to recognize what was developing, scrambled into the closet as Delilah and Peter followed close behind.

"Now let's lock this door before anyone else comes barging in," Delilah suggested.

Peter nodded hurriedly and turned to face the door. "Uh, there isn't a lock."

"Hmm, I suppose that makes sense. There's no reason that anyone would want to lock themselves inside this closet," Delilah mused, "excluding the current situation, of course. Well, don't either of you boys lean against the door; it's liable to pop open again. Make sure you put your weight against the doorframe, all right?"

All this time, Daphne had been watching her mother with a bemused expression. Delilah caught sight of it and huffed "Mercy me, Daphne. You know this is how I amuse myself, n'est-ce pas?"

"D'accord," Daphne laughed. "Okay, let's stop flapping our gums and get down to business."

During this repartee, Peter had been fumbling with his belt and fly, eventually managing to pull down his pants and undershorts. His cock had been limp for the past few minutes, fortunately for him, but it began to rise as Delilah locked eyes with him and stepped closer.

Delilah nodded once. "Daphne's right—enough talking. We don't have a lot of time before Daphne’s father will wonder where we are."

"And our boss, Mr. Travers," Bob added lamely.

Peter lifted his shirt with one hand and grasped the doorframe with the other. Delilah made up for lost time by kneeling in front of Peter and pressing his hot cock against his stomach again. She worked up some spit in her mouth and proceeded to give one long lick from the bottom of his nutsack, up the shaft, and was pleased to discover another glistening drop of precum when she arrived at the head. She caught it with the point of her tongue and leaned back, forming a shining gossamer thread connecting them tip to tip.

"P-Please, Mrs. Davenport—"

In response, Delilah snaked the thread into her mouth, then grabbed his cock in her petite fist, pointed it at her face, and engulfed it in her warm mouth. Peter groaned in ecstasy.

Delilah stole a glance at Daphne, whose head was bobbing up and down on Bob's stiff cock. She felt a small burst of pride seeing her daughter attack his cock with such alacrity. Bob was also moaning his approval and lightly stroking Daphne's hair. Delilah fell into the same rhythm, sucking Peter's cock while rapidly moving her head up and down. This was no time to be delicate; they needed these boys to blow their loads quickly.

Both Peter and Bob were huffing and gasping, and the Davenport ladies knew they were close. Delilah had spotted two empty champagne flutes on a shelf earlier, presumably brought in by Daphne and Bob, which gave her an idea.

She pulled her mouth off Peter's prick with a popping sound and declared, "I have an idea." Peter began to protest, but she continued. "We are going to finish you boys with our hands. You are going to shoot your cum into these champagne glasses and we are going to walk back into the party and drink it in front of everyone."

Daphne popped her mouth off Bob's dick with a devilish grin. "I'm game for that."

Peter and Bob were in no position to argue. They looked at each other and shrugged, then turned their attention back to the two gorgeous women kneeling in front of them.

Peter spoke up. "If I may say so, Mrs. Davenport, that will give us a much better view of your tits."

Delilah fluttered her eyelashes at him. "Do you like looking at my giant tits?"

"Yuh huh."

Daphne looked up at Bob and squeezed her arms against her sides, which made her tits bulge out ever so slightly. "And you? Do you like looking at my tits, too?"

"Yuh huh!" Bob nodded vigorously.

With that, each woman grabbed the cock in front of her and beat it furiously while holding a champagne flute up to it. They didn't have long to wait.

"Oh, god!"

"Oh, jeez!"

Both of their cocks started spurting hot jets of cum into the glasses. Wave after wave of pleasure coursed through the men's bodies as Delilah and Daphne continued pounding their pulsating cocks, expertly aiming the heads into the glasses and not spilling a drop of the scalding hot cum.

Leaving the boys to recuperate, the ladies eased open the door, and seeing no one, glided down the hallway with their prize.

"Mother, you need to reapply your lipstick before Father sees you."

"Oh, you as well, honey. Quick, let's visit the powder room."

A moment later, they rejoined the party in the ballroom. The band was playing Yes Sir, That's My Baby, and the clarinetist was enjoying an extended solo.

"Yes, sir, these are my babies!" Harvey Davenport laughed.

"Hello, Father!"

"Hello, dear."

"No, sir, I don't mean maybe," he continued singing, then stopped abruptly. Gesturing at the stemware in the women's hands, he asked, "What are you two drinking? It certainly doesn't look like champagne."

"Oh, it's a new cocktail the waiters convinced us to try. It's made with, uh—" Delilah hesitated.

"Coconut milk!" Daphne jumped in.

"Egg whites!" Delilah blurted at the same time.

"Yes, coconut milk and egg whites.” Daphne finished smoothly. "And white rum, I think." She shrugged. "They gave us champagne flutes because they didn't have any other cocktail glasses."

Mr. Davenport laughed and made a face. "Well, that doesn't sound very appealing. I won't be asking you for a sip."

"Your loss, Father. Come on, Mother, down the hatch!"

Daphne and Delilah clinked glasses and tilted them to their lips. The cum had cooled rapidly but still retained some warmth to remind the ladies that until a few moments ago it had been stored in a young waiter's hot, engorged balls. The salty, sweet, and sour liquid coated their throats as they chugged the entire contents of their glasses.

"Wow, impressive!" Harvey exclaimed as Delilah licked her lips and Daphne dabbed at the corner of her mouth with a fingertip. He shook his head and grinned. "I don't know how you could drink that vile concoction. Here, Daphne, take my handkerchief."

"Happy New Year, Father!" Daphne gave her father a quick peck on the cheek, tucked the used handkerchief in his breast pocket, gave it a pat, and twirled away into the crowd of revelers. The band was in between numbers, and the bandleader was discreetly giving the clarinet player an earful.

Delilah turned to her husband and broke into the chorus of Auld Lang Syne.

"For auld lang syne, my dear..."

Harvey joined in on the second line.

"...For auld lang syne,

We'll take a cup of kindness yet,

For auld lang syne!"

"I love you, dear. Happy New Year." Delilah gave her husband a big, wet kiss on the lips. Maybe Harvey wouldn't take a cup of kindness tonight, Delilah smiled to herself, but what about on their anniversary next month?