By Mickey M.
© October 2002
Soft cotton presses against your face, covering your eyes,
blocking all light.
Chris is a solid weight behind you, the warmth of his
chest pressed against your back, the rough scritch of denim rubbing against
your naked skin. He shifts you so your legs are draped over his before he
spreads them wider, and instantly you feel open, exposed. It takes every ounce of your control not to
moan, because you know there are eyes on you – three pairs of them, to be
precise.
You're naked before your friends, spread wide open,
nothing hidden from view. Chris' hand
sweeps slowly down your neck, over your chest, down your torso, leaving
goosebumps in its wake, and you can almost feel the eyes watching you following that
hand. Seeing every bit of you, watching
the way you move into the touches, the way your body shows your arousal.
You wiggle slightly on Chris' lap, can feel the hard heat
of his erection pressing against your back.
He's not unaffected by this, though he's not—on display like you are.
You're the one they all want to see, touch, feel.
Everyone wants to touch you; only the four other men in
this room get to.
That thought makes you bite your lip, cutting off another
small moan. You're here for your
friends' pleasure, knowing they'll get off seeing yours. You shiver and lean further back against
Chris, shifting again so your legs splay open wider.
Hedonist. Exhibitionist.
You love it. You
love being blindfolded, being spread and displayed, being touched without
knowing who's touching, who's doing what.
"Slut," Chris whispers in your ear, breath
tickling slightly. His hands are warm
against your sides, fingers rubbing gently just beneath your ribcage. You want those touches everywhere and arch
upward, enough to press harder against him.
He laughs and kisses your neck, breathes the word again, his voice rough
and amused all at once. "Slut."
"Mmmm."
You are. Oh, not in a
sleep-with-anyone-and-everyone sort of way, but in the way you're like a cat,
arching into a petting hand. In the way
you're aroused by the stroke-and-glide of soft cotton or slick silk over your
skin. In the way heat spreading through
you from a good coffee will make you shiver and grow hard. In the way warm sun and cool water make your
muscles tense and clench, contracting like sex.
Eyes on you make you hard and hot, make you bite your lips
until they're sore and swollen, until Chris licks them, wetting and soothing
them. Your dick swells, hardens, and
you want to touch, to make yourself come while they watch, but you won't. Their pleasure is yours and yours is theirs,
and you don't do anything they don't choreograph.
"You ready?" Chris speaks softly, lips and
tongue brushing over your neck.
Licking. He's not speaking to
you, though; the words are directed to one of the other three. No one answers, not verbally. Someone's nodding their head, you're sure,
but no one will say anything.
No one ever does, except Chris. His is the only voice you ever hear when you're like this, when
you do this.
"Raise your arms, C," Chris' voice is right in
your ear now, breath warm, moist, licking into you, tendrils snaking outward to
grab your senses. You raise your arms
and lock them around Chris' neck, groaning softly when he rubs warm fingers
over your nipples. You vibrate with the
sensation, body thrumming hotly. Your
dick aches, wanting a touch. Wanting
something.
Heat settles in front of you, then on you, when warm hands
slide over your thighs, spreading them a little more. You shift, tongue licking out, wetting your lips. Your mouth is caught in a hot kiss, open and
slick, the other tongue stroking over yours, over your gums and teeth,
swallowing you down whole.
"Mmm, so pretty…." Chris licks your neck again,
and you're caught in between hot and hotter, wet and wetter, two tongues
teasing you. "Go on," he
hisses softly, and you shudder, knowing he's encouraging – whoever. The pressure of the kiss increases before
breaking, and you sigh softly when it's over, wanting more of that mouth.
Wet heat slithers downward when he licks over your jaw,
across your neck, and then nothing but sound as he kisses Chris, the slick
sound of their mouths and tongues meeting echoing in your ear. You hear the soft whispers of clothing
rustling, of zippers being released, of flesh-on-flesh, and it layers over the
sound of kissing in your ear, of the sensation of warm hands stroking over your
skin.
"Please," you whisper softly, hissing when sharp
teeth bite your earlobe and someone licks then sucks to soothe the sting.
"Oh, god—"
Heat slides wet and slick down your body, wrapping around
your nipples, wetting the hair sprinkled over your chest. Your navel is tongued in lewd, suggestive
strokes that make you squirm and gasp, fingers aching to fist into someone's
hair. Chris turns your head to an
awkward angle and kisses you, wet and sloppy, and you shudder as layer upon
layer of sensory input builds within you and around you.
Strong hands spread over your thighs and you mewl in your
throat, wanting to feel a mouth, a tongue, anything wet and hot, moving over
your cock. You're so hard you ache,
blood pounding hotly with each beat of your heart, until you can feel your cock
throbbing in time with the pulse echoing in your head.
His tongue drags over the head of your cock, then down its
length, making sparks snap inside your brain like blue electricity. Your balls are cupped, licked, nudged aside,
and Chris' legs strain beneath yours as he shifts again, spreading you
impossibly wide. You whimper, fingers
clenching and unclenching as you undulate, but nothing more than moist breath
touches your skin. The first touch of a
tongue to the tight, puckered muscle behind your balls makes you hiss sharply
through your teeth, then moan loudly.
When he tongues you slowly, slipping and sliding back and
forth, you shake, body arching and twisting until Chris grips your hips,
holding you still, grinding you back against him.
"Feel it, C…I can see him, licking you, I can hear
him… hear his tongue touching you…"
"Chris—"
"Feels good, doesn't it, baby?" Chris rocks upward, just a nudge, his cock
so hard against you. You want to push
backward, but can't move, can only sit there, feeling sweat sliding down your
neck, down your back, while -- someone -- tongue-fucks you, smooth, wet
heat poking and prodding at your hole, coaxing you to relax and contract, a
tiny mouth grasping, trying to catch the slick intruder.
"Feels so good," you moan breathlessly, fullbody
shivers racing through you. You try and relax, pushing down, out, and groan
when the tongue breaches you, sliding inside, pressing you open. You wish you could spread wider, could push
down on that hot, wet tongue fucking you.
You wish you could take it deeper, could feel it slither all the way
through you.
"Want you to come like this," Chris mutters
against your mouth, tongue licking your lips.
"Don't touch his cock," he says softly to whoever it is
kneeling between your spread legs.
"Make him come on your tongue, dude."
A soft sound hums through you, low and rough, a growl
muted by your skin. You feel it in
every inch of you and squirm again, shifting to rock downward as best as you
can with no purchase, nothing to hold onto.
"Oh, C," Chris' voice is hoarse, rough.
"Christ, you should see yourself, all hot and squirmy. Your cock's wet, you're so turned on.
" He slides two fingers across
your lips and you lick at them, suck them into your mouth almost
desperately. The sharp hiss of a zipper
adds another layer to the cloud you're engulfed in, then that tongue, oh, my
god, it's so far up inside you, licking at your insides, sliding in and out
just like a dick would, just like you're being fucked.
Your brain is on fire, and blue and white sparks snap at
your vision, though your eyes are closed tightly against the blindfold. You rock your hips and grunt when they're
held fast, when your cheeks are spread wider and the tongue fucking you becomes
hard and hot, slicking inside you, then slithering out to lick at the smooth
skin between your balls and hole, then over the wet, open hole itself before
fucking you again.
You can feel the rhythmic press and shift of Chris behind
you, and the soft grunts of the one between your thighs, jacking himself as he
fucks you. You fuck your hips upward,
then down, trying for some friction against your cock. Close, so close, and then it's nothing but
electricity flowing through you, heat sparking and spreading outward like the
flashpoint of a fire, consuming you.
You hear the low, hoarse growl as your body contracts and relaxes, and
the slippery heat of your come landing on your chest and stomach. Damp heat flares behind you as Chris groans
and arches, grinds into your back and comes.
The sounds are all around you and you pant through them,
body still fevered, blood still pounding harshly in your veins. A soft tongue strokes back up your body,
licking and cleaning you, lapping up your spendings.
You're still shaking, body limp now, spread out over
Chris' lap. He lets your arms down –
unclasping your hands where they'd locked together – and rubs them slowly. You lean back against him and listen to the
soft sounds of Chris kissing someone, of tongues licking against each other.
A soft mouth presses against yours as the blindfold is
lifted and you blink against the light, as dim as it is. It takes a minute to bring the world into
focus, and then it's there, bright and Technicolor, as you take in the green
eyes crinkled into a smile.
~fin~