Coming Full Circle

Coming Full Circle

The spotlight centred on my naked, kneeling body is bright enough to just reveal the dark forms stood in a circle surrounding me. I feel the men’s presence, rather than see them; I’m seeing the scene through my mind’s eye in any case, with my eyes squeezed tightly closed, blocking out reality, even while it commands my full sensory attention. 

Shoes. They’re all wearing shoes, the men; smart, shiny brogues and loafers in blacks and browns. The edges of the spotlight also shows the bottom half of their smart trousers, above their smart shoes. Tailored, freshly pressed, darkly coloured, some pin-striped. 

The scene commands my attention. My clitoris demands my attention. The exposure, the vulnerability, what I know is surely coming. Air currents between spread knees caress my swollen spread labia, and kiss the tip of my protruding clit, which aches for relief.  

As one, the faceless yet handsome men move forwards, tightening the circle. My breaths deepen as I sink into the sensation, allowing myself to savour every deliciously humiliating aspect. Their eyes hungrily roam over my nudity which is gratifyingly presented in submissive, kneeling form. My hands resting palm-up on each spread thigh, my heels providing my seat. Bare breasts jutting out for their appraisal and enjoyment, as if proud of their feminine fullness, each tipped with a rosy gem-like nipple.  

I hear the men’s collective moan of want and need in the silence. Large, strong hands move to unbuckle newly revealed belts, to undo buttons, to unzip flies. They’re very close now, I can sense almost everything about them. Mainly their desire, but also that metallic tang of masculinity – scents intermingled, overlaying a base of clean natural sweat which lightly coats them. 

I’m brought so tantalisingly close to the edge, to my own sweet release, and I force myself back from the precipice.  

Finally the men reveal more than simply tailored suits and barely concealed lust. A collection of cocks in a multitude of shades, with varying degrees of hardness are pulled from underwear to the sound of grunts laden with intent, exposed to the air, directed towards me. Their hot intimacy fills my nostrils. I imagine tasting every tip in turn, musing over how each different cock would feel in my mouth; my lips rolling back foreskins, my tongue traversing shiny heads, snaking through salty pre-cum, flickering over taut frenulums.  

Thick fingers curl round each fat cock, gradually stroking themselves to full hardness as a teasing prelude. Heat spreads from the centre of my bare cunt, radiating outwards, upwards. It coils in my stomach, electrifies my nipples, creeps over my chest and floods my face.  

They begin pumping in earnest, as if in response to my now obvious arousal. My labia’s sticky with it, and the drooling is so profuse it threatens to escape and make a mess below. I want one of them filling my arse. The thought flashes through my mind, the image of one of the faceless handsome pushing into my tight, vulva-lubed rear entrance and sliding in up to his hilt. My arousal makes good its escape. 

Working themselves in a well-practised rhythm, the men’s fingers grip their rods tightly despite the pearls forming at the tip of most. Leaked need which lubricates that pleasurable friction of foreskin over cock collar, or the crooks of rough fingers directly over frenulums on those who are cut.  

I’m unable to make a sound. The thrill of such intense exhibition and objectification is like a siren through my mind, demanding that my body hurls itself from that cliff-edge into the swirls of climactic pleasure below. It’s all I can do to remember to breathe; through the scene, through the sensations, drinking in their want, ready for the strike. 

Then it comes. They come. The first hot rope lands across my chest, the sticky spunk shot with surprising force from a man no longer able to refrain. They come in torrents then, the first causing a chain reaction of cum threads which decorate my naked body like pearlescent party streamers. There’s so much semen. What begins as separate droplets join together, their combined weight causing them to snake their way down my breasts, into the folds between my spread legs, teasingly travelling down over my vulva, dripping to join my own wetness below.  

My face is soon covered. Eyes still squeezed closed, the lids thickly coated with the heavy weight of several loads of cum. Stripes over my lips, underneath my nose and intoxicating me with the pungency of its pleasure. I wear white ribbons through my loose, dark hair, celebratory daubs to mark stripping the virginal purity from their bukkake bride. 

With that thought, I let myself fall from the height I’d attained, concentrating on as many facets of the scene as the deep rumble of the wand against my screaming clit allows. Eyes still squeezed closed against reality, the heat suffuses me entirely as my back arches and my thighs clamp together involuntarily. As the full body orgasm rips through me and transports me to the depths of that pleasurable abyss, I can almost taste the hot, salty cum between my parted lips.

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