Lily
Idon’t know what to do with myself.
Cross thinks I'm being difficult—or proud and selfish, as he just said—but I'm just…frozen.
I don’t know how to respond to fifteen men watching my tits, their cocks in hand. I don’t even know most of their names. Who would?
I keep telling myself that this won’t bear unfortunate consequences.
They won’t call me a slut in the corridor, tell everyone what they’ve seen, what they’ve done to me.
From what I know of Cross and his friends, they’re a vault, keeping their affairs private and never mentioning them outside of their own circle.
If I’d been half naked in any other company, there would be at least ten phones taking a video. Not here.
But knowing I’m in no danger of ridicule doesn’t ease the awkwardness, the fear, the general confusion at not altogether hating to find myself being watched. Especially by him.
Cross hasn’t given any specific instruction but his teammates move at once, as if they’d rehearsed it. Then all of a sudden there’s a hand sliding over my breast, another on my neck, and to my endless embarrassment, I find Nate Carmichael seated between my legs.
I’ve barely exchanged a handful of sentences with him in a year of vague acquaintance—most of them, veiled insults—and he’s lowering my skirt, tights, and panties to my knees, then ankles.
I don’t know what to say or do, or say. Feeling myself flushing all the way down my throat, I awkwardly mumble, “Hi.”
“Hi back, Lily darling.” His lips press against my knee, sending shivers along my limbs. Spreading my legs apart, he brings his face to their apex and flicks his tongue.
Oh, fuck.
“She has such a lovely pussy, doesn’t she?” Cross says, reminding me that we have an audience.
I have strangers’ hands on my breasts, my thighs, my stomach, and cocks in my hands, that I’m absentmindedly pumping.
And I’m wet. Drenched, in fact.
Who even am I?
Nate lifts my legs up, making me lean back against the bench. With better access to me, he pushes his tongue into me, dragging it against my folds.
I let out a moan, and no sooner have I parted my lips that another stranger’s cock is pressed against them.
Do I know this guy’s name? I’ve seen him around, I think, though he still has his helmet on. He’s tall, black, and has an uncommonly straight cock—thick and large.
My insides tighten as I imagine what that cock could do to me. I open wider, tilting my head back to let him in.
“Fucking hell. She doesn’t have a gag reflex!” he groans.
Enthused, I move my head up to his pelvis, and withdraw, nice and slow.
“Marry me,” the stranger says, and I chuckle around his cock.
The rest of the guy find him just as amusing. Especially when he comes in my throat within instants.
Then Nate sucks my clit and it’s my turn to whine, though at least, I utter no proposal.
Another stranger steps above me on the bench, presenting his cock, and tendrils of arousal warm me all over.
I flick my tongue at the tip.
This is…fun. Good. If I can stop thinking and just feel, I’m enjoying myself. Quite a bit, in fact.
I glace aside, my gaze falling on Hector Cross, who grasps his cock firmly as he watches his friend.
It occurs to me that this moment might just define my future desires. How am I supposed to ever content myself with some guy whose idea of sex is missionary or doggy-style in the dark for five minutes, when I’ve been the center of attention like this?
Not to mention that Nate seems to suck pussy like it’s ice cream. My core is on fire, my hips moving of their own volition up and down his mouth.
Someone I don’t see steps over me, behind the guy in my mouth, and presses his cock between my tits, holding them firmly as he drags the warm, heavy member back and forth.
That’s it. I can’t take any more. I come, screaming around the shaft in my mouth.
Nate laughs, sounding far too satisfied. “And that, gentlemen, is how it’s done!”
Our audience claps while my pussy clenches, needy, wanting more.
“My turn,” some guy says.
I don’t see who takes his place. Not only is a stranger’s head between my thighs, but I don’t even know what he looks like. It doesn’t matter. Nothing does beyond the pleasure I give and receive nonstop.
The man sucking me adds his fingers to his tongue, and if my mouth wasn’t otherwise engaged, I’d beg for his cock instead.
My hands are still full of cocks when the man in my throat withdraws, aiming his cock at my face just before he comes.
“Ugh! Not the glasses.” I can barely see a thing with the viscousness blurring my vision.
Somehow, this amuses my audience. The guy in my left hand frees his cock from my grasp and aims straight for my glasses too.
I wipe them as best I can with my forearm, rolling my eyes, when I hear the door open.
I gasp as I watch Dez walk in through my hazy glasses.
If she’s surprised to see me surrounded by cocks, including her boyfriend’s, she doesn’t show it.
Markus Goltz’s leaning against the lockers, next to Cross, leisurely wanking himself. He doesn’t stop as she approaches, and Dez reaches between them to handle his cock herself, his mouth seeking his.
They’re both acting as though this situation is absolutely normal, which it might be for them.
Lucky dicks.
Dez casually turns her back on her boyfriend, arching her back as she places his cock under her skirt and draws her hips back.
I can’t see a thing, as she’s for all intents and purposes fully dressed, but there’s no mistaking the way he moved with purpose behind her, fucking her while standing up as they both watch me.
I grow hotter, wetter, my pussy so empty and hollow, I’d beg for it to be filled if I could say anything. But the moment my mouth is free, another cock replaces it.
They come on my tits, my stomach, my face; they love to come on my glasses. They touch me everywhere, fingers exploring every crevice, curling inside my asshole, my pussy, my fucking ears, and I let them.
I let them use me, and I love every moment of it.