by Nicola Jane
At your hips the material is pulled down and hands meet in the middle as Richie's thumb finds your clit and Pete skims the delicate skin between your cheeks. Fingers dip inside you draw back, slide in and slide out. A gluttony of movement back and forth at the same time. You close your eyes and can no longer tell where one man becomes distinct from the other. There's a delicious, sensuous blur of fingers, muscled hardness, teeth and soft wet tongues.
Richie lies back again and you're half pushed, half fall, onto your knees on the bed over him. His jeans are undone and pushed down enough for his erection to invite. You position yourself over it but Pete is quicker and stakes his claim on you first. The tip and then the whole of his cock splits you open like a ripe melon.
It's the first move either of them has made towards their own satisfaction and the change in dynamic feels as if someone is missing out. You reach for Richie, clasping your hands around his cock, mimicking Pete's rhythm. He shifts further down the bed until his cock touches you. You bring him closer and put the tip against you where his thumb was moments before. Each time Pete thrusts you forward you bump against Richie and slide along the smooth length of his cock.
Like a flame licking the edge of paper, you catch and burn between them. Pete pulls out and spurts wet and sticky against your back. The suddenness creates a cold space inside you and you grip Richie and plunge down onto him, triggering the faint beginnings of a climax as he fills you warm again. Arms behind you, you arch your back to angle yourself so the heat builds from inside. The embers glow orange, fanned by the rocking of your hips and your ragged breathing until you erupt in a white hot blaze.
Pete's hands trail over your back and shoulders, reminding you of his presence but as an observer now his part is spent. Richie's holds your hips, pushing you down onto him as he pumps with an energy you've all but used up for yourself. With your free hands still behind you, you cup his balls and massage them, searching for the pathway that will get him there too.
His hands scoop under your butt and he lifts you without warning and throws you against the bed. He spears you again as he covers you and pounds once, then twice. He rams as deep as he can go, touching deeper places, roughly almost painfully. You groan at each impact, echoing his as he comes loudly in your ear, his sweat dripping against your cheek. Pete has retreated to the other bed and is laying on his back with his arm across his eyes. You wonder if they've done this before.
Although the more relevant question is whether they can do it again.
The end
Or...
Had enough? There’s only one way to find out how much fun there’s left to have, so you retrace your steps...
The Tease
'No touching me.' You shake your head. 'Sit on the floor.' He does exactly as you say and slides down, the leather chair squeaking a protest as he sits at your feet. You step forward so he has to lean his head back against the seat to look up at you. Your feet are either side of him and you sway gently again as you start to play with the elastic at your hips. Your fingernails graze your skin and you raise your head and look away, lost in your own thoughts and the sensation. Undulating in a rhythm set only by the movement of your fingers you seem to glide out of your body and look down at yourself. Your face is flushed and damp at the hairline and the warmth in your cheeks is echoed at your breasts and stomach. Your nipples stand out proudly and your groin pulls inwards as your hands slide lower.
You return your gaze to his, unwavering. His pupils are dilated and his mouth is parted, his tongue flickering out to moisten his breath dried lips. His knuckles gleam white at the strain of keeping his hands to himself. You have to give him credit for that. You can barely manage to stop yourself reaching down and touching yourself and you're beginning to wish you were just that little bit braver but some last vestige of shyness remains as a border you're yet to cross. Slowly you tug your panties down, one side then the other, inching the fabric lower and lower until the thong is almost touching his face. He stares up into your pussy and you know he can see you hot and wet and throbbing. You're totally exposed yet he's the one who seems powerless.
You step to one side, snatch the thong the rest of the way off and drop it on his lap. 'One thong, returned to owner.'
With that you scoop up your discarded dress and bra and march into the bathroom, knowing that he's watching you with unsated lust. Your face in the mirror is half crazed and your eyes glitter. You barely recognise yourself. Returning to the room, you glance at him, but say nothing. What could you say that wouldn't break the mood now for lame small talk?
You pick up your bag from beside the door and leave without another backwards look.
The end
Or...
That was electrifying, but there’s plenty more fun to be had so you retrace your steps...
The Bachelor Party
'Ever been to a bachelor party?'
It's a rhetorical question so you stay silent. Of course you haven't!
'It's going to be pretty wild. Especially now there's two of us. I'll bring you something to wear. Gimme your address and I'll pick you up.'
You give her the details before you can change your mind and then fret for the twenty minutes it takes her to drive over. Can you really do this? You tousle your hair and smudge on some eyeliner, aiming for the sex kitten look. In the mirror your eyes have a sparkle and some colour has risen to your cheeks. You look a lot fresher than when you got off work a couple of hours ago. Perhaps you're more ready than you thought. A car beeps outside and you lick your lips at the more daring version of you reflected in the mirror.
Giselle, as you've just learned is her name, or at least, the name she's going by, doesn't ask yours. You can choose any name you want to for the night. It's as if you've left your boring everyday self at home on the sofa while the bold you sneaks out to have an adventure.
She isn't a great one for small talk you discover after a couple of attempts. Instead she handed you a canvas bag containing the clothes you're now wearing. The look is a lot trampier than the designer gear she was in last time you met and she's clearly taken to the twins theme. You're both in tight Lycra skirts with splits at the thigh and white strapless tops which cling to the curve of your braless breasts, the thin material hinting at the darker shadows of nipples underneath.
'So, there are eight guys. The groom, the best man and the fathers of the lucky couple, plus friends.'
'Lucky her that her future husband's got in the hookers for his bachelor night.'
'She can consider herself lucky if he's not banging hookers once they're married. Besides, Miss Morality, the best man is an old client. He's the one that made the booking and his instructions are leave the groom alone once things get really down and dirty. Not cool in front of the bride's father. But you can tease him all you want. Just follow my lead and don't talk unless it's really necessary. Anything you can't handle, tough.'
She parks under the building and you take a cramped lift up. She smoothes your hair and her hard face softens for a moment. Then she cups your breasts and thumbs your nipples so they stand up, clearly visible under the white fabric, as do hers. Desire threads its way down your belly and you stare at her breasts. Your hand twitches as if to touch but the lift doors clank open and the rush of cold air breaks the mood.
Loud music pumps through one of the two doors in the stairwell and the door is on the latch. Giselle, having made a quick call to announce your arrival before you left the car, opens it and you follow, trying to prepare a suitable expression for the scene you're about to enter stage left.
It's predictable enough. The first thing that hits you is the smell. The air is as beer drenched as a brewery and a waft of marijuana drifts from a door to the side. Raucous cheers and whoops greet your entrance. Furniture is pushed up against the wall to create an open space with only one chair in the middle of the living room and every surface is littered with beer cans and condoms blown up as balloons. You fix a smile in place, mentally counting the men prese
nt but not daring to look long enough at them to risk making eye contact and inadvertently initiating something. You hesitate, unsure what you're supposed to be doing. There are only six men present, two of them older looking and clearly the fathers. They're all sprawled in their seats, too wasted to sit straight and you needn't have worried about making eye contact. None of them are looking at your face.
Giselle goes through a door to the side and you slip right after her. If she's your twin you intend to make it a Siamese connection. The door leads to the kitchen where two men are sitting at the table, surrounded by more cans and tobacco. One of them is wearing only boxer shorts and a blindfold and necking a glass of something and the other is a tall, thin man in his late thirties who's fully dressed and looks like a librarian. Once again, you're surprised by the kind of men that use prostitutes. You automatically expect them to look a lot sleazier.
He and Giselle greet politely but silently with a kiss on the cheek and he gives her a fat envelope. He nods a brief welcome at you and then ushers you both back out into the living room.
You and Giselle stand behind the chair set up in the middle. The room erupts again and the blindfolded groom is brought to sit in it, his arms placed around the back of the chair so his hands are out of the way. His best man flourishes a strap on dildo to a chorus of more cheering and attaches it somehow to the groom. Lastly, he whips off the blindfold and the very drunk looking groom focuses blearily and guffaws at what's in his lap.
'Now, Frank,' instructs the best man. 'Your prick and everything else you own belong to your future wife, the wonderful Lizzie. So we've clubbed together and bought you a substitute for the night.' Everyone laughs but by now Frank has realised something is behind him as all eyes are on you girls. Then the older men step forward with riding crops in their hands and you start nervously. This is way more than you bargained for. A little stripping, some fumbling maybe more but you're not into pain. She should have warned you. But then she did say whatever you couldn't deal with was tough luck.
You gulp and look at Giselle for reassurance.
'Wait and see,' she whispers, her voice covered by the racket from the guys. What that means, you have no idea but you hope it means the whips are for you to use on the men. You start imagining yourself dishing out discipline to the room full of drunken bachelors but the best man's speech resumes and you pay attention.
'Your olders and betters,' continues the best man, 'are going to make sure you keep Lizzie's hands to yourself.'
Ah, you understand, and your stomach lets go of a knot or two. Frank's father and father-in-law-to-be take up position either side of the groom, whips poised. They take a few mock practice shots, falling just short of striking him despite their inebriation. Then Giselle runs a hand down the side of Frank's face and traces his lips with her fingernails, jerking her head for you to do the same. From now on, you'll just do whatever she does. Thank God you don't have to improvise by yourself. You wouldn't have a clue what to do.
You come round to the front of the chair and stand together in front of him. a quick glance at Giselle and you copy the way she stands just within reach and beckons him with her little finger, challenging him to reach out. He pretends he's about to make a grab for her, playing up for the audience, and the whip holders brandish their weapons accordingly.
You both lean down and press your breasts against the side of his face so he's squashed between you. His two day stubble scratches your skin as you rub your nipples against his cheeks, setting off little fireworks inside the thin fabric of your clothes. Your face is inches from Giselle and you look down at the creamy skin above her top and you're as excited to see further as the men must be. How sexy the two of you must look to them.
She tips his head up and stands so he's looking up at the two of you and she begins to edge your top down at the sides as you do the same to hers. It slides down to uncover full, round breasts and prominent brown nipples. In any secret fantasies you ever had about being this close to another woman's breasts, you never factored in male spectators. Their shouts of lustful encouragement remind you forcefully of their presence. Your own nipples harden at the knowledge you're being watched as they pop free and you play with each other, caressing and squeezing as Frank opens his mouth and stretches his tongue out in vain. You arch your backs and your pink tips meet her darker points, your sensitive skin able to feel every dimple and line of hers.
She moves back and Frank is engulfed in the softness again, nipples playing against his sand-papery skin. He turns his head from one side to the other, slobbering, hidden from view and able to indulge. Looking down you see the dildo pushed to one side as his own erection competes with it, despite alcohol and the room full of his friends. You don't blame him.
Now Giselle stands straight again, her breasts shining, and takes your hand to pull you round in front of Frank. The men that were getting a good view from the chairs directly in front of the groom, scrape and shuffle their seats round to the side eager not to miss anything. She stands behind you and cups your breasts in each hand before moving down and pulling the top over your hips so she can roam around your stomach and down over your crotch. Everywhere she touches is a direct line to your throbbing core. She kisses your neck and pushes the skirt up as her hands find the top of your panties and her fingers creep inside. Every nerve ending strains to be within reach of her fingertips. She moves them around more for show than to do any of the things your body is crying out for.
'Go on honey!' shouts the groom's father, his eyes glued to your crotch.
'She's dying for a little tickle!' cries another.
'So am I!' joins Frank and everyone cheers.
With not a trace of shyness, you move your feet sideways, opening up, but her fingers only skim as they lower, taking up wetness and trailing across your electrified flesh. She puts fingertips covered in your juices to Frank's lips. He looks askance at the two whip carriers and then greedily sucks her fingers. You've got to give him credit for keeping his hands down so long.
You eye the dildo in his lap apprehensively. Its lifeless form isn't what you want to feel where Giselle's hands have teased. Smoothly, she switches places with you so she's in front and you see how cleverly she was working for their benefit and yours. After her expert demonstration you know what she wants you to do. Her breasts are firm in your hands and you lift and stroke them, breaking away only to explore further down. Like her, you edge under her skirt, which she is removing as she writhes against you. You finger the lacy panties before they come off too and all eyes are on your hand as it covers her hairless mound.
With the other hand you glide over the places between the V of your fingers as they hold her open, impatient to see if she's as wet as she made you. Surprising yourself with your aggression, you push two fingers deep inside her and her low moan is lost amid the clamour of the ever rowdier men. It's not just Frank that needs discouraging from touching. No wonder Giselle was keen to bring you along. What she said earlier about it getting 'down and dirty' comes back to you. Perhaps they're not to be discouraged at all.
She moves forward a pace, breaking your thoughts as she separates herself from you and straddles Frank, poised for a second above the dildo. Her thigh muscles tense and she slowly lowers herself, teasing the spectators as they watch the end of it slide in and out of her. Frank gives up and grabs her ass in his hands, pinching the flesh. The whips crack against his knuckles because he's obscuring the view, not because his father-in-law cares what his daughter's future husband is doing anymore. Every man in the room is imagining it was him being ridden by Giselle and you marvel again at her cleverness in dressing the two of you lookalikes the same. She dips down taking the length of it full inside and arching her back while she grips Frank's shoulders.
Someone grabs you around the waist from behind and you stumble backwards. He supports you with one arm and pulls you onto his lap. His erection, already free of his trousers, presses against the crack of your ass. Before you know what's happening
, he's pushed your panties aside and manoeuvred himself under you until he finds the entrance, already wet for him. You tell yourself this has happened with you almost unaware and it's too late to think about whether you want to or not. As if there your body has any doubts about what it wants. Like everyone else in the room, you're transfixed by Giselle and your body matches her rhythm, as you rock your hips. She throws her head back, curving her spine as Frank's fingers mould and squeeze her backside.
A tightness grows inside you, clenching your muscles around the cock that raises your hips one last time. Whoever he is, he's spent as soon as Giselle rises, the dildo slick from her excitement, Frank's enjoyment still evident beside it. Completely naked, except for her high heels she takes the end of a whip in each hand and draws the fathers towards her, grabbing both their crotches as soon as they're within reach. You turn your head and see that it's the best man whose cum is now dripping out of you. You wonder if either of the older men will go as far but you don't get chance to watch as you're heaved sideways when the best man gets up. One of the men to his right shifts to the seat next to you and takes his place. He turns you around and pulls at your panties. You push your breasts into his face, not needing to see who he is or to connect with him by looking into his eyes. You find his unfettered cock and ride it for yourself, for what the best man started.
Someone else grips your shoulders and urges you on from behind. It's a man's hands but you don't break the pace to see who they belong to either. You realise it must be Frank when you feel the hardness of the sex toy at your back. Feet planted on the floor and arms braced on the back of the chair, your hips pick up speed but it's the nudge of the dildo between the cleft of your buttocks that sends you over the edge.