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What happens next takes point six-oh-nine seconds from beginning to end but drags on for approximately a year: a door opens, emitting a short creak, very close-(to the right. likely source: the louvered closet next to the nightstand)- reflex drives you to strike out in that direction, the side of your hand smacks into flesh-(much much sooner than you anticipate)-someone umpfs, a splash-thud; a bark of surprised pain; a laugh.
That landed on my toes, you knucklehead. Relax, wouldjya? … or I’ll tie your wrist back up.
Chastened, mumbling apologies until a small finger presses your lips shut.
Don’t worry about it. Touch yourself; we want to watch.
Hesitating, more than a little embarrassed, silently contemplating the circumstances—
Who is this person?-you rack your brain for someone we both know who just happens to be debauched enough to do this, come up with absolutely no one; someone only I know? … how the fuck would you know.
Options:
One ~you could take off the blindfold—you’ve got a free hand after all.
Two ~you could ask straight-up; who, what, when and how.
Three ~you could ferret out the section of your brain that won’t shut up and tell it take a cue from your cock and sod off.
Four ~you could remain in liberating ignorance of how, when, what and who—
wait a minute. is there even a who here? could I have rigged the door? you wouldn’t put it past me and it would certainly be possible to do so—a length of string, a well timed pull, the reason for this itchy blindfold. and no matter how hard you strain, you can’t hear anything that indicates another person—not since you began this little internal investigation. (and let’s face it, that could have been three hours ago for all you know.) not even anyone breathing, although my own quiet respiration is clearly audible in the heavy silence … well, nothing since ‘The Calamity’, anyway (as it will later come to be affectionately known). Then again—
To sum up: you’re picking apart the moment.
Stop it. Stop thinking. Just do it.—your hand is gently guided to your cock—Stroke. Let us watch.
Someone … someone else, some … some stranger … watching you … maybe … watching you … stroke your cock, but … but can’t see … not sure … ah—that thought alone could make you cum using only the lightest touch—is this real? … or a clever fabrication? … go slow … take it easy … settle … but, Fuck-An-A, someone’s watching … a jolt of lust zaps you from the back of your neck to the bottom of your feet.
A loud click … several cold drops on the head of your cock; fuel to the fire. You stroke to the tip and work the lube down. Long and slow until I say otherwise. Your breathing is heavy and irregular. Your mouth is tight and dry. My voice paints a picture for you, detailing each upstroke that swells the head and expresses another pearl of pre-cum; illustrating each down-stroke that stretches the skin and highlights lube-polished ridges. Slower. Move your hips. Something soft blocks your hand from achieving the next full upstroke. Lips? Probably. Yes. Cushioning you from teeth, sucking hard on the tip, only the tip, for an eternity … with an unusually precise scrutiny—you recognize one of my more favorite tactics. Damn! why can’t you get me to swallow more? You quicken the pace, trying to trip me up, and feel the recognition of your feeble attempt in my answering snicker. I’m pushing you against the roof of my mouth and humming … humming … humming… Go faster, commands a very muffled voice. You hesitate. I know what you’re thinking behind that dark blindfold; your head is pressed deep into the pillow and your teeth are clenched. Let go your inhibitions, would ya? Feels fucking good, right? Damn right it does. I love this … you love this, so … perform for me, already! … and for whoever else is here. … maybe. Planting your feet for leverage (I knew you’d come around if you just took a sec to think it through.) and pumping … fingers slipping … pushing aside the mouth, the lips … over the head … and over the head … and over the head … and over the head, listening to the sloppy-wet noises of a thoroughly slippery hand-fuck. Damn, baby … so sexy. You feel a hand … who’s? … wrap around yours, forcing you to squeeze your cock even tighter. I know you want to cum but you can’t. Not yet, anyway. But go faster. I want to watch so you will…not…cum. I know it feels good but don’t…don’t cum…not yet … go faster.—(Fuck! When in the hell am I gonna learn that telling you not to cum only makes you wannafuckingcum.)
Holding back the inevitable insanity by gritting your teeth, using your hips as pistons, you force your cock faster and faster through your tight fist. Moaning in that harsh way you know I cream for. More cold lube drips onto your dick and hand and the wet sounds get … uhhhmm … wetter. A hand slides under your ass, massaging that minty oil around-(oochrist! you forgot about that!)-a finger slips inside your tight hole, probing for that sweet spot that drives you crazy, and slips out again. Fingers caress your chest, pinch your nipples. Hands … too many hands? … moving and roaming … a lot … you can’t concentrate enough to count them … touching you … everywhere. The finger slip in again, the oil tingles, the sensation is … indescribable—it must have its own fingers … a zillion of them. You can’t control it anymore, you want to but this is … it’s too excessive … the fantasy … the hands … working deep—your skin is crawling with the need to cum. You think about other things: times-tables, fiber optics, Alaskan salmon, the Doppler effect, exchange rates, Barbara Walters-(eww!—hey! she kinda looks like Dr. Ruth, the sex expert with a bossy German accent … accents, now they’re sexy … dirty talk with sexy accents). Fuckitall, it’s not working. Just when you know that you couldn’t do this—not for one more second—and keep yourself from ejecting streams of cum onto your stomach, you feel a hand grip your forearm and jerk it away. For a second you feel like you’re going to cum anyway—phantom friction.
That slim finger—it must be mine, for who else knows how to flick and twitch inside you in just that way?—is still now. Your heartbeat slows, your mind focuses again. Your arm is placed above your head to be tied to the headboard again. And now you’re sure; that’s my finger inside you, and there’s a palm on your chest, and your wrist was just tied up.
Holy mindfuck.
You must admit, though, you did it to yourself.
Someone besides us, someone who just watched you jerk off … helped you, even? … is standing right here in this room. Wickedness thickens your blood and you expel a shaky laugh. The bed dips right, the finger slips out, and you roll back to level. You feel a smooth body brushing weightlessly across your stomach, then up both sides along your ribs, under your arms to the backs of your arms. You can feel slight warmth from right above your face and inhale. That’s me, you know my scent. I must be straddling you. Those are my thighs touching your arms, that is my pussy giving off the heat you can feel.
Open your mouth. You hear my knees pop as I lower myself a bit. You feel my fingers against your lips, spreading my swollen labia. Stick out your tongue. Your tongue comes in contact with the hard little bud and I sigh. My hips shift and I rock back and forth against you, my thighs brushing your arms, my toenails scoring your sides, my clit stroking your tongue. You start to lick and I pull back. Ah-ah-ah…not allowed. Just hold still while I take my pleasure. Thirsty?—You can hear the puckish laughter in my voice.
I shift again, licking my clit against your hard tongue. The bud all tight and small, tickling the tip of your tongue as it moves over and back across it, circling around so that you taste cushy lips and bumpy-wet skin. A hand wraps around your cock, stroking. Fingers brush your mouth again as I spread my cunt wider. Your tongue is guided to dripping entrance and I lower myself onto it oh so slowly. Automatically you flex that muscle, making it a hard, slender hook. Ahhh, yesss. Good … so good. Can you taste that? Can you feel that? I tense around your tongue, sucking on it, rising up and coming down on you again and again … can’t go very deep, but it’s deep enough. You can feel the throbbing, taste the tangy nectar. The hand that strokes you falters. You moan … someone else moans. It sounds like they are maybe to your right. You hear slurpy sounds—definitely on the right—like someone fingering a wet pussy, or stoking a slick cock. So sweet … to just get a little …torture to feel your tongue …just … just barely inside, when what I want … what I really really want is … is your cock … deep. Over and over I pierce myself, moaning, panting, gasping, groaning. My voice sounds far away. Your cock is getting its massage again, doubling the frequency of squishy noises and such, but now that you’ve heard it you can’t stop hearing it. Those sounds! Those sounds are driving you crazy. Sounds of fucking, right there and you can’t even watch, you can only listen and imagine…and you don’t even know what to imagine. You picture a girl, cunt stretched wide around a fantastically thick dildo, pumping away. A guy stroking his well-lubed cock.
Get the lube, and … that. Rustling—to the right again—a soft thud … a click … the wet release of lube from it’s bottle … a hissing breath … cold droplets on your chin … a very brief touch upon your chest … fingers playing with your lips.
Close your mouth, rest your tongue. My hands disappear and your head dips a little, something knocks against the wall above your head … my clit settles on your nose—I’m ready. ( ready for what?) Yesssss! ohhh-yess … this is going to feel—I giggle—very naughty. My clit slides down the bridge your nose again, maybe because hips shift slightly?, probably to allow access to my ... whichplace? for ... whateveritis? You get a quick taste of my cunt … not there then.
Hole-EE fuck—deeper … as much of it as you can. Please! Someone is holding it, fucking me with it. Sounds … slurping, sticky and filling your head. You listen hard to it, in the dark, getting high on the sexual haze. Your brain feels fuzzy, buzzing. Something keeps chucking you under your jaw, repeatedly, occasionally scratching. And now the buzzing is in your ears. You feel like you've stood up too fast. A knuckle bumps into your chin, then something harder than that. My breathing is harsh, my moans—a low, almost constant rumble. The buzzing abruptly grows louder, filling your head. You can feel it in your face, on your nose. I scream ... I actually scream. I cuh-can't anymore ... ohfuck ... open your mouth. Sobbing. My clit bumps against your teeth in my haste to press it against your mouth—you know what I want. Jittering quakes from the vibrator pressed deep in my ass shimmy up your tongue as you french-kiss my pussy past the last barrier to convulsing, dripping orgasm and humming pleasure that milks and feeds your mouth.
The bed bounces as I tumble off you and land on the left. A hand lazily brushes your side, tickling your hip and ribs, traveling up to your armpit and bicep, then back down again. I wipe the moisture from your mouth and walk my fingers down to your belly, pausing to pinch a nipple, and finally down to your groin. OK? You tell me that yes, you’re okay. You sure now, right? That it’s not just me … pretending? Cause I know that’s what you were thinking. You nod. A sticky hand wraps around your cock, squeezing the shaft. You know that whoever it is fucked my ass while you licked me to orgasm? Again you nod (and shiver). I chuckle—You felt those good vibrations, did you? You shiver again. You want to cum so badly, I know you do, so I begin to slip my fingers over the head with every stroke—hmm, you feel so good…so hard…so ready. I think I want to make you cum. Rustling, to the right, lots of it, a clink, and then nothing for a moment. Your body dips again to the left, the hand stroking you never falters; more weight on the bed. I'll watch your cock slide through my fingers while I jerk you off. I'll watch it twitch and pulse when I make you cum. Fuck you. Stroke you. Milk you. I know it’s throbbing, I can feel it. And it feels so fucking good. I know it aches. I know what you want ... I’m going to give it to you.
Now that my voice is quiet you notice the bed is bouncing. Lightly. And the sounds. Gulping … and lapping … sounds like a dog, ferchristsake. Feel my hand, feel it grip you. Feel it milk you like the tightest cunt. Feel it squeeze you like the sweetest pussy. When you cum, I’ll see it…we’ll see it.
You almost want to tell me to shut up. In fact, if I wasn’t saying such indecent things, you would. Not tha—oo-wait she’s quiet again … Ok, so it’s not a lapping dog(phew!), more like slapping … kinda … but fast, really fast …drubbing and clicking …drubbing and clicking. A picture of some 80’s rocker flicking his tongue like a cunnilingus champion on a berserker rage pops in your head. Shit! what’s making that sound; whatever it is it sounds fucking hot. You’re about to swallow your pride and ask for a feeble clue—We’ll watch as ri(fuckitall, she’s talking again)nd splatter on your stomach and I’ll le(whoops! missed a good part; pay attention!)iss your(fuck!)mouth so you can taste it, too. My hand is pumping you … pumping you … pumping—I start growling … at least, you hope it’s me.
grrwah … hofuck. spank it. yes, like that. perrrfect … no! go faster. oh, ohfuck, up, yesohgodyes, up there! whoafuck-ohyes-oh-oh ……… wanna know wh-what …… feels so good? You nod your head crazily. Muh-my pussy … hsss getting spuh-spuh-spanked … oh-ohfuck … buh-by the tip of the strap-on … h-hard … really hard … right on my wet cunt … right there … an-an fast, so fuh-fast …fuck it feels good … mmmm you’re cock issso pretty right before you cum.
You’re belly constricts and everything else fades out as a pulsing orgasm holds you immobile a minute; forever. A few hot streams of cum jettison onto your chest and stomach and you can move again. Your chest heaves as a greedy tongue cleans off your stomach—just like I said I would. Kisses your mouth, transferring the flavor—just like I said I would. Cool air replaces my body-heat and the bed dips to left of center.
Come closer. You shake your restraints, thinking duh, I can’t moo-oove. Oh—I giggle—I’m not talking to you. I’m going to tell you who is here with us … if you want to know? Suddenly nervous, you shake your head. Alright…are you ready to know if it’s a man or woman? You nod.
The bed dips again as more weight presses on the mattress. Here, give me your hand, we’re going to let him feel for himself. Your mouth goes dry with anticipation…you can’t honestly say if you’d rather a man or a woman, both prospects excite you.
A hand touches your thigh; it’s larger than mine but soft…hmmm. It strokes your leg, squeezing and massaging … skims your torso—Can you tell yet?—hovers over your soft cock … knuckles brushing, tickling … fingertips dancing. You hear heavy breathing: not mine. And a pounding heartbeat: yours. Fingers graze over to your right nipple, circling around and around. Something wet replaces them … a hot probing tongue. The hand that was teasing your cock finally wraps around, squeezes tight … tighter … tighter. Hot breath washes over your nipple. Teeth close around it, pulling. Hair barley brushes your chest. The hand on your cock begins to stroke slowly. You’re getting hard again. Waiting. This is killing you. Who is this? Which do you want? The wet tongue that was on your nipple travels to the head of your cock—licking and licking and licking the whole way there. Lips close around the thick head, sucking.
Do you know yet? No, damnit. You’re still not sure.
Tell me … right now … don’t think, which do you want?
Both! you blurt, shocked but caught up in the moment, drunk on lust and feeling like anything goes, thrusting your hips, forcing your cock into that eager mouth.
Tsk, tsk … how greedy you are. But that, I’m afraid, was beyond even my own debauched talents and capacity for shady dealings.
You falter. Shady dealings!?
I’m kidding.
.
.
.
Well, except for that one dealing. But it was only slightly shady/stop sucking; I’m going to untie one of his hands. Your cock and hand are loosed almost simultaneously. Immediately you reach out, trying to grab … anything. At this point, you’d take a touch of any body part, really—but all you get is air. A giggle.
You flinch as someone grabs your free hand and guides it. Your fingertips are allowed the merest stroke. Skin; smooth with hard bumps just beneath the surface. A fiendish chuckle. A backbone.
Bitch.
Alright. Enough. Cry mercy and I’ll let you touch something that will tell you exactly what you want to know. You curse me for a sadistic hussy … I’ll accept that. … your hand is transferred to another … for a fleeting moment your wrist feels the slithery effect of too many fingers occupying not enough space. A hand wraps around your wrist, turning it so that your palm is up, your fingers open. Let him touch you somewhere … telltale. It guides you … mild heat radiating from above.
Raise your hand…just a little bit…
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