Why, look what I found!
I will be your armchair. Wouldn’t you like one with real arms?
My beard down under,
rubbing your down-under beard…
Your lips on mine.
Your hands around my waist.
My lips on your neck.
My hands running through your hair.
I want you.
In my bed.
Right next to me.
Holding me tight.
Talking about anything.
Gentle kisses in between thoughts.
Our tired eyes holding contact.
Slowly falling asleep.
You heard them enter the room. Multiple footsteps on the carpeted floor. Whispers. All you could do was shiver, standing there in your blindfold, heels and nothing else. You felt goosebumps form over your entire body. You sensed bodies next to you. Heard breathing.
Suddenly, fingers take your left nipple. You gasp in surprise, but feel your pussy contract involuntarily. The fingers roll your nipple back and forth. As instructed, you say nothing, holding your hands together behind your back.
Another set of fingers grabs your right nipple. You gasp again, despite your resolve to be silent. These fingers tug and tease mercilessly; twisting, pulling; coming right up to the threshold of pain, but not crossing over. Your cunt clenches and feel a drop of moisture begin to slide down the inside of your left thigh. Oh god…
Hands slide over you body, your arms, your legs, your buttocks. How many hands are there? Five, eight, ten?! You can’t tell. Your skin becomes a whirling blur of sensation, of touch. You are breathing so loudly, you might as well be speaking. You want to hide yourself, take a moment to focus on just one set of hands, but you are not allowed this luxury.
Gently, tenderly, your arms are taken from behind your back and raised high over your head. You realize you are to hold them there. Grazing fingertips travel from palm down to your elbow, your shoulder and brush lightly against your armpits. You begin to giggle, but a Shhhh comes from behind and you stifle it. Hands are caressing your face, your hair, your ears, your neck. There is a low moaning sound. It is you.
The sensation in your nipples, teased and rolled all this time, is almost unbearable. You want to move, to respond, to caress at least one of these many lovers. When you start to reach out, though, your hands are abruptly pulled back and held, gently but firmly, over your head.
The hands stroking your legs seem to have coalesced along your inner thighs. Gently, insistently, they are pulling your legs apart. You widen your stance. Still, they insist. You move your feet further apart. More, the hands tell you, more. So, you move your feet as wide apart as you can, even though this makes your balance precarious. You are fully aware of how exposed this leaves you.
The hands seem to cover every inch of you, to follow every curve. Fingers from your thighs tip-tap upwards and strum your labia. You gasp and moan, almost losing your balance. The hands hold you firmly, keeping you upright. Safe.
You sense that you are as wet as you have ever been, You must be red and engorged, but have no way of telling. The fingers slide between your labia, then up over your belly, trailing cool tracks of your liquid with them. God, but your wet. Aching. Shaking. It is hards to focus on any one place as the hands touch everywhere. Just as your concentration goes to the marvelous touches to your pussy, your nipples are pinched, hard, yanking your mind back.
Fingers stroke your mouth then, gently but not questioning, open your lips and enter your mouth. As they do, other fingers enter your vagina. You are taken at both ends and your mind roars with overload.
More fingers enter your vagina, filling you, stretching you. Other fingers are circling your clit. You can feel your orgasm rising. Your hips rock involuntarily. Suddenly, the hands are yanked away and a whisper in your left ear says, “No. Not yet.”
You stand there trembling, legs wide, arms high, body throbbing and nod your head. The hands return and resume their travels. You feel the orgasm trying to happen; rumbling, boiling, trying to come out, but with a supreme effort of will, you hold it back. You cry out with the effort.
One of the pairs of hands that has been kneading and sliding over your back slides down and grasps your ass cheeks, pulling them apart. You feel the cool air on your exposed anus. You clench. Fingers begin stroking your asshole, teasing it, making circles around it. Your muscles tense. Everywhere. The fingers swoop down, dipping into your vagina, covering themselves in your wet excitement. They slide back and one finger, one finger tip, slips into your anus. Oh god, the orgasm is coming, you are moaning, begging, yes, yes…
Abruptly, the hands are pulled away again. The only touch is the the single fingertip in your ass. You are suspended on it. Your ass clenches it with a death grip as every inch of your skin cries out, no, no don’t stop. Don’t stop now. Don’t stop now!! You are shaking like a leaf, gasping for breath. Your entire pelvis is contracting, grasping for the fingers that were there just s moment before. No!!!
Again, the whisper in your ear, “No. Not now. Not yet.” It ames all your control to not yell, to not complain, to not lash out at this cruel deprivation. But, with tremors and spasms, you wrestle yourself under control and, swallowing hard, nod your understanding.
The hands return; warm, caressing, tingling and your skin cries out its welcome. Yes! Please! Touch me! Everywhere. Touch me. What was an overload is now a requirement. You have stopped thinking. You have stopped wondering who these hands belong to, what you must look like, sweaty, dripping, gasping, mewing. You are your skin, your vagina, your ass, your nipples. Your mouth. The nipples are being pulled harder now. What would have been painful is now welcome. Yes, more. Please, more! The fingers on your shaking torso, occasionally scratch, making you cry out and shake. But all of it is pleasure now. All of it.
Your orgasm bubbles again, your pelvis tight, full, screaming for release. Despite your efforts you know you are going to come. Suddenly, the hands lift you off your feet, making you cry out in astonished disbelieve. Gently, tenderly, you are laid back onto the carpet, your hands and feet placed under you; your body bridging between them. You understand that you are to hold yourself this way.
Once again, the hands begin their journey.
If you can make a woman laugh, you can make her do anything…