This is a story I wrote for Lib, it is a long standing fantasy she has, but she has never had the opourtunity, in fact she is brand new to the scene. I am planning on turning this into reality for her on Tuesday, 7th October @ A&S Walsall.
“Oh god…” The whisper escaped Lib’s lips, a shaky, breathy thing she barely recognized as her own voice. A dozen pairs of eyes felt like hot coals on her exposed skin. “Taylor, I can’t see.”
“I know,” Taylor’s voice was a low, steady rumble right by her ear, his hands firm on her hips. “That’s the point, beautiful. Just feel.”
She could feel everything. The rough, worn leather of the cinema seat against the backs of her thighs. The cool, dusty air of the theatre raising goosebumps on her arms. And the weight of their attention, a palpable, humming energy that made her heart hammer against her ribs. She was blindfolded, adrift in a sea of sensation, and the anchor was the stranger whose lap she was sitting on.
It had started three weeks ago, an advert she had posted for a photographer to come and shoot her, she was stepping out of her comfort zone and wanted to explore her need for more. He’d replied to her ad with a polite message offering his services, his name was Taylor, lived in the West Midlands and worked as a Professional Photographer. Their conversation was an immediate spark, a rapid-fire volley of flirtation that left her feeling electrified, it soon became quite sexual, as Taylor realised Lib was looking to push further than he had previously imagined, but he had to admit this is what he was hoping to discover.
“I know an interesting place you might like to visit with me,” Taylor had said in one of his messages she hadn’t hesitated. "Tell me about it". The thrill of doing something so utterly out of character, so not the careful, composed, sensible Lib everyone knew, was an intoxicant in itself.
"It is a sex cinema where you get to live out your fantasies," he said.
Lib was excited to hear this and they talked about all the scenarios they could think of over the next couple of weeks.
Before she knew it the day had arrived when Lib was really going to do this.
The “place” was a discreet cinema, tucked away on a Walsall industrial estate: a dim, cosy room smelling of sex. The flickering light of a pornographic film played on the screen, but no one was watching it. They were all watching the new arrivals.
Taylor led her to a sofa in the middle of the cinema, they sat down and he produced a blindfold from his pocket which he gently tied around Libs head covering her eyes, then slowly his hand slid up her thigh, his fingers finding the lacy top of her stocking, tracing the taut line of her suspender. “Lift up for me,” he murmured, his voice leaving no room for argument, only a seductive command.
Her breath hitched. She shifted her weight, and she felt the cool air hit the backs of her thighs as he gathered the material of her short skirt, slowly, so slowly, folding it up around her waist. A low, collective murmur rippled through the shadows. She was on display. Her plain white lace panties, her white suspenders, the sheer black stockings—all of it was now public spectacle.
This is madness, she thought, a final flare of panic. I should run.
But then Taylor's palm flattened on her stomach, pulling her back flush against his hand, and she felt the hard ridge of his erection through his jeans as she stroked his thigh, a stark promise of what was in store. The panic melted, replaced by a liquid heat that pooled deep in her belly. The anonymity of the blindfold was freedom. She wasn't Lib the sensible one here. She was just a body, a collection of nerves waiting to be played.
“you look so so beautiful exposed here for us,” Taylor whispered, his words for her alone amidst the audience. His fingers hooked into the waistband of her panties and began to peel them down. The slide of lace against her sensitized skin was exquisite torture. He helped her step out of them, leaving her bottom half bare except for the stockings and heels.
He lifted her up off the seat, turned her, guiding her to bend over the back of the plush sofa in front of them. The position was one of utter vulnerability; her cheek pressed against the leather, her arse lifted and exposed to the room. Her pulse thundered in her ears.
“Gentlemen,” Taylor announced, his voice projecting now, clear and commanding. “Don’t be shy.”
A beat of silence. Then, the sound of shifting bodies. A chair creaked. Footsteps approached.
The first touch was tentative. A calloused hand, gentle on the curve of her right buttock. She jumped, a small gasp catching in her throat.
“It’s okay,” Taylor soothed, his hand resting on the small of her back, a grounding weight. “I am here, just enjoy it.”
Another hand, this one smoother, glided over her left cheek. Then a third, brushing the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. The initial shock began to morph, transforming into something else entirely a radiating, dizzying pleasure at being the sole focus of so much pent-up desire. The hands weren’t rough or demanding; they were reverent, exploring the landscape of her body with a hungry curiosity. She heard the unmistakable sound of zippers sliding down, the soft, rhythmic stroking of flesh. They were touching themselves while they touched her.
A moan escaped her, long and low. She was wet, desperately so, her own arousal a slick, aching need between her legs.
“She wants to reciprocate,” Taylor said, and it wasn't a question.
He guided her back upright and turned her to face the small crowd of men, their silhouettes outlined by the flickering screen. He took her hand and wrapped her fingers around a hot, hard cock. The feel of it, velvety steel pulsing in her grip, made her head spin. Yes. This. She needed this.
Her nervousness was gone, burned away by a raw, primal hunger. She began to stroke him, her movements growing more confident as his breath quickened. Another man stepped closer, and her free hand found him, working him in tandem. Then one stepped right in front of her, and she didn’t need guidance. She leaned forward, her blindfolded world narrowing to the salt-and-precum taste of him, the feeling of him pushing past her lips, filling her mouth. She sucked, her tongue swirling, her head bobbing, lost in the rhythm and the chorus of groans that surrounded her.
One of the men, unable to wait any longer, positioned himself behind her and entered her in one smooth, deep stroke.
The first thrust took her breath away.
The gasp was muffled around the cock in her mouth. The fullness was overwhelming, stretching her, hitting a spot deep inside that made her knees buckle. But Taylor was there, supporting her, his hands on her hips as she was fucked from behind.
It became a frenzy of sensation. As one man took her from behind, another replaced the one in her mouth. Her hands were never empty, stroking, tugging, milking the men waiting their turn. She was the center of a wanton orbit, a creature of pure sensation. The slap of skin on skin, the guttural groans of the men, the taste and smell of sex—it was a symphony of depravity, and she was its conductor.
She felt the building tension in the cock in her hand, heard the ragged warning of the man in her mouth. It was everywhere, all at once, the imminent climax of a dozen men converging on her. Taylor guided her down until she was on her knees on the sticky carpet, surrounded by a forest of straining bodies.
“Open,” he commanded softly.
She did, tilting her blindfolded face up, parting her lips. The first hot, pearly jet hit her cheek, a shocking, Claiming warmth. The second splashed across her lips and chin. Another streaked across her chest, painting her sheer blouse and bare breasts. Ropes of it landed in her hair, on her neck, a volley of their shared release. She kept her mouth open, tasting the bitter-salty essence as the last few pulses landed on her tongue. Her own body convulsed in a silent, powerful orgasm, triggered by the sheer animalistic glory of it.
The room was filled with the sound of heavy breathing, the soft thud of retreating footsteps. Lib knelt, panting, covered in their spendings, feeling the warm trails of it on her skin. Taylor’s hands were on her shoulders, his thumbs making slow, circles.
“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice thick with awe. “Absolutely perfect.” He gently reached up and tugged the blindfold down.
Lib blinked, her vision swimming into focus in the dim red light. A few men lingered at the edges of the room, watching her with sated, heavy-lidded eyes. Her white blouse was transparent now, glued to her skin, her breasts glistening. Her face was a mess.
A slow, triumphant smile spread across her slick, sticky lips. She had never felt more powerful, more utterly and completely alive.
Taylor leaned down, his face close to hers. “What do you say we get you cleaned up?” he asked, a dark, promising glint in his eye. “The night’s still young |
