My Group Sex

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The room is cavernous, arched wooden ceilings, high paneled walls draped with dark sumptuous velvet. Countless candles cast flickering shadows and warm light across the soft, simple benches that line the walls, the padded platforms scattered around the floor, and occasional velvet tethers laid out in rectangles on the floor, on the walls, and around the platforms.

The others have been milling around curiously for a few minutes when we arrive. They are a beautiful crowd of 30 people or so, each dressed in a distracting mixture of elegance and sultriness, tall, slender, and in phenomenal shape. We see skins of every color here: deep African browns, glowing Scandinavian alabasters, sun-loved California tans, swarthy, peach, olive, golden, café au lait, bittersweet chocolate. And all shapes, too: men that are boyish and smooth, others ripped and hard; some long-haired rebels, some serious and rugged; some women stately and aloof, some bubbly; long blond hair, short black hair; stern, frivolous, exotic; some almost innocent, others feverishly passionate. Large breasts spilling out of low cut tops, small breasts held firmly in thin, clingy tops, bodies thoroughly hidden in denim, leather, and vinyl; others barely covered at all, in silk, lycra, and lace. All milling around in the dim orange candlelight, being titillated by looking unabashedly at each other and feeling the eyes of everyone else in the room looking them up and down, seeing what they can and lustfully imagining all that’s left unseen.

I guess the same thing happens whenever ANYone enters the room, but when you and I come through the main door, all eyes are momentarily on us exclusively, evaluating us, probing, undressing us, yearning to touch us both, feel us inside and out, taste us, bite us, bind us, take us, press close to us, feel our parts swelling, hardening, moistening; stimulate us, penetrate us, quiver around us and inside of us, burst into us and onto us. I notice myself feeling these things for others there, too, and I see the same in your eyes as I follow your gaze run across their bodies, stopping here and there, your eyes widening as you catch your breath and bite your lip in anticipation.

A trio in the corner near us breaks the ice, with no words, only a glance of permission from the busty blonde to the lanky, long-haired, brunette man. He reaches behind himself and pulls along the woman he arrived with—a delicate, short-haired East Indian dressed all in a diaphanous red sari, through which her tiny russet nipples show. The Indian woman glances to one side and smiles with a coy wickedness, hinting that she would play RELUCTANT…for now…at least until she takes control for her own pleasure.

The man approaches the blond furtively from one side, his Indian friend following with one arm wrapped around his waist. He reaches up to her face, toying gently with a wisp of golden hair that hangs over one eye. As he brushes her cheek, she shivers at the touch of this stranger, beginning what she knows will be a sudden and thoroughly indulgent intimacy with someone she will never see again. She runs the back of her hand up the front of his shirt, feeling the taut, smooth musculature beneath. When her hand reaches his chest, she slides one finger between the buttoned front of his shirt and repeatedly traces an intense circle around his nipple. He subtly leans into it, feeling that initial charge of first being touched by a stranger, stimulation barely beginning but promising so much more. Her hand continues up his chest, back outside his shirt again. As her hand reaches his chin, the hand of the Indian woman grazes across his cheek and traces a sinuous line down the length of the blonde’s forearm. The electricity is palpable as we watch this mutual, three-way seduction.

Everyone begins to get into the act now. A rugged, Marlboro-man type wearing tight blue jeans, a heavy black belt, and a snug satin shirt sidles up behind an almost stern-looking woman with short black hair—Selma Blair, if I didn’t know better—and reaches his arms in front of her, and pulls her close to him. The startled and pleased look that comes over her face suddenly makes me think he’s already hard and not tucked under or out of the way at all, and she feels that, pressing into the small of her back. His hands run up her rib cage, crumpling the bottom of her snug, white, long-sleeve T-shirt below her breasts. He moves his hands around to her sides and presses her breasts together while she reaches behind with one hand and squeezes his ass and, with the other, runs her hand along the inside of his thigh. He grinds himself a little harder into her back, and she fumbles to find the buckle to undo his belt.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice that you and I have been watched closely by a tall, strong, but boyish looking man with olive skin and piercing brown eyes, and it’s honestly hard to tell if he’s more interested in you or me! His mouth might actually be watering as he looks closely at the way your ankle-length, dark-blue, lycra skirt hugs your hips, accentuates the lovely curvature of your ass, and how the side slit that rises above your hip bone reveals that you are—at least very likely—wearing nothing underneath. At the same time, his eyes have covered my legs and my crotch, and he seems to be peeking around to see if my butt is as round as, I think, he’d like it to be.

With a flourish, I take your hand and twirl you around, your skirt spinning out around you, revealing your luscious muscular legs and hinting more at the juicy pleasures of the flesh that await within. As I spin you, I indulge our admirer in my most dandy-like show, slowly turning, running one hand slowly across my chest and pinching my nipple through my shirt and smoothing the other hand roundly across my ass, suggestively running my middle finger between my ass cheeks, hiking up the material of my smooth, stretchy wool pants. He laughs, in that, “Oh, my God! I can’t believe you’re both coming on so hard!” kind of way. You and I both laugh, too, as we realize we want to make him WORK for anything he gets from us!

We pull each other into a close, hard embrace and teasingly kiss, barely touching our lips, brushing our cheeks, and oh, so slowly tasting each other’s tongues. You run your hand slowly down my spine; I lean in and kiss your neck. Your hand alights on my butt cheek. I pull you close and feel your breasts press against my chest; you pull me close and grind your groin against mine. You drop to your knees and grab the zippers at the waist of both sides of my pants. You slowly draw the zippers down to the floor, and my pants fall away. You grab my bare ass and pull me close to your face and bite the head of my cock through my mesh thong. I lean forward, strip your top off, and run my hands from your waist, up your back, and grab your hair at the back of your head. I roll your head back sharply, drop to my knees, and meet you with a powerful kiss.

On your knees, your legs are wide open. I grab each side of the slit in your skirt and rip it from your body. I reach forward and feel the heat rising from between your legs and the pressure rising between mine as my cock hardens and strains against my underwear. I drop my hands to your thighs and run them slowly up your body, feeling your smooth, inner thighs, then the neatly trimmed hair and soft, swollen lips of your pussy, your strong hipbones, the inviting velvetiness of your belly, the luscious underside of your breasts. I lean forward slightly and, as I start to stand, my hands press tightly against your breasts and ribcage to pull you up with me. You resist and, once I’m standing, you dip the tips of your fingers into the waistband of my thong and ease it to the floor. You dip your face between my legs and take one of my balls into your mouth, sucking gently and running your tongue across the smooth, freshly shaved skin.

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