I was encouraged to write this after a chat with a friend - pure fantasy, unless we can find the four men for her
Let me take you to that night...
It begins at your home. You greet me in your robe, bare beneath, eyes alive with nerves and excitement. You kiss me slowly, your lips soft and yielding, and I step inside, the air between us already charged with anticipation.
"Upstairs," I say.
In your bedroom, everything is just as we agreed: a beautiful set of lingerie - elegant, sensual, and wickedly flattering. You slip it on slowly: the bra lifting your breasts just right, the knickers tracing every soft curve. You look stunning. I take my time - adjust a strap for you, brushing my hand over your back, grazing your nipple through the bra. You gasp.
Then, the dress. You slip into it without hesitation - elegant, sexy, refined. It hugs you in all the right places, concealing nothing from the eyes, trained to appreciate.
As you smooth the fabric and check your hair, I step behind you and press my hand gently between your legs - cupping you through the knickers. You’re soaked.
"On your knees."
You sink, obedient. Still dressed, still perfect. You take me in your mouth - slow, deliberate, full of reverence. Your tongue circles with practiced ease. I rest my hand on your head, guiding you, never rushing. Just enough to claim your focus. To leave you carrying the taste of me on your lips.
When I pull you up, I kiss your forehead and whisper, “Now they’ll have what I allow. But only I had you first, my taste will be on your lips.”
Downstairs, the room is ready - soft lights, music humming low, glasses lined up. The doorbell rings.
One by one, the guests arrive. Four men, hand-picked. Well-dressed, polite, composed... but their eyes say everything.
You serve drinks with elegance and a subtle smile. But their hands grow bold - one on your waist as you lean forward, another on your lower back. One cups your breast in passing. Another lets his palm rest on your thigh for just a moment too long.
You say nothing.
You glance at me.
I nod.
You return to me, cheeks flushed, breath shallow. You refill my glass and I say, just for you:
"Any bulge you see, touch it. Or kiss it. Just enough to tease. They’ve earned that."
You obey beautifully. One man receives a gentle squeeze as you kneel beside him, your hand brushing the heat in his trousers. Another gets a kiss - light, confident - through the fabric of his trousers. A third moans softly when you stroke him just once... and walk away.
The room simmers. Suspense is palpable.
Then I rise.
"Blindfold. Stand in the centre."
You obey instantly. I tie it carefully, making sure you can hear everything, feel everything, but see nothing.
"Gentlemen," I say, "She is yours. Just a few minutes. Hands and mouths only. Make her want. Clothing may be undone, dishevelled, not fully removed."
And they do.
One behind you, kissing your neck, squeezing your breasts through the fabric. Another slips his fingers beneath your knickers, teasing you, spreading your slick warmth for the others to see. One kneels and slides his tongue over your nipple through the lace. Another unzips himself and guides your hand to stroke him.
You moan, arch, tremble.
Then I speak.
"Stop."
They obey though they don't want to stop. I remove your blindfold. Your lips are parted, your chest rising and falling, skin flushed with heat and attention.
I help you smooth your dress, adjust your hair. "Back to service."
You return to the lounge, poised but glowing. You pour drinks again. The men grope you more now - hands on your hips, your breasts, your thighs. You don’t flinch. You smile.
Then I whisper:
"Choose the first. Take him to your room. Serve him fully. Then come back and pour for the rest."
You offer your hand. He rises and follows you upstairs.
I give it a few minutes. Then follow.
You’re on your back, legs spread, him between them - thrusting steadily. Your knickers are still on - pulled aside as he takes you, your heels still on, your hands gripping the headboard.
You see me and gasp.
"Keep going," I say to him. "She’s yours."
I sit and watch. He finishes deep inside you. I help you up, kiss your shoulder.
"Clean yourself. Return. Pour for them again."
You reappear glowing, a little unsteady and head straight back to work.
You top up glasses, kneel beside one man as he strokes your hair. Another places a hand beneath your dress as you stand and strokes you through your damp knickers. Your mouth opens slightly. You look at me.
I nod.
"Take the second."
He follows you eagerly.
I trail after, more quickly this time.
You’re on your knees, sucking him slow and deep, your hand between your thighs as you moan around his cock. I walk in just as he grips your hair and groans, thick ropes of cum filling your mouth. You swallow, smile at me, and wipe your lips.
"Good girl. Serve the others."
Back downstairs, the men are emboldened. As you pour, one bends you slightly over the coffee table, lifts your dress, and runs his fingers over your bare bottom. Another lifts your chin, strokes your cheek. You’ve become the room’s heat source.
"Take the third."
This time you’re mounted from behind, head pressed into the pillow. He spanks you once, lightly, then thrusts deep and hard. You scream - but it’s pleasure. You’re gripped and used.
You return red-faced, breathless, but still proud. You pour more wine. You’re groped from every angle.
You keep serving - drinks, your body and their demands.
Then the fourth.
He undresses you slowly—removing each piece as if unwrapping a gift. He lays you out and tastes you, tongue slow and thorough. You writhe beneath him until he climbs over you and enters with purpose. He finishes deep inside you, eyes locked on mine as I sit beside you, hand on your hair.
When he’s done, you rise.
You dress yourself again. Just enough. Lipstick reapplied. Neck flushed. Thighs sticky.
Back to service...
And then I rise.
"Gentlemen... any unfinished business? A top-up, perhaps?"
They look at each other. Two stand.
"Kneel for them".
One fucks your mouth while the other fingers you, whispering in your ear. Another strokes your breasts, pinching your nipples. You're passed between them, used again - soaked, slick, eager.
Finally, I speak:
"Gentlemen, finish quickly. She's done everything asked of her."
When they have left, I take you upstairs. The bathroom is quiet. Warm. I run the bath.
I help you undress - slowly, gently - and lower you into the water. I wash your body with reverent care. You close your eyes, finally letting go.
When you're clean, I lift you out, wrap you in a thick towel, and dry every inch of you by hand.
We sit on your bed, your legs over mine, your head on my shoulder. I stroke your thigh, kiss your temple.
"How do you feel? What did you enjoy most?"
You try to answer. But your smile says everything.
And anyway, I already know. "Sleep well, you have earned it." |
