They were a fairly handsome set. All younger than her. No models or movie stars, but they all looked fit and clean. Could have been much worse. Lots of tattoos, all over them. Dragons and wolves and lions. Ah, kids these days. Besides the leader, they all had shaved heads, like good little soldiers should. A couple had kept their sunglasses on, like dipshits. She wasn't sure where they were from. Couldn't tell just from looking them over. They weren't white guys, and they weren't all the same. But she couldn't identify their nationalities or even their races more specifically than that.
"And now?" the leader prompted.
"Now we're going to proceed ... but in an orderly fashion. And by that, I mean one by one. Are we clear on this? I'm not having your whole gang climbing all over me at once. You better all not to be in too much of a hurry. Each one of you will get a turn to show me your stuff, but when your chance comes around, you're gonna damn well let me set the pace. Is that understood? Anybody have a problem with this arrangement? If you do, tough. I'm the one with the gun. I'm running the show. And this should go without saying—but I will say it anyway. Misbehavior will not be tolerated. Consequences will be terminal."
"You know" said the leader, "I don't usually respond to bossy women. It's not my nature. But I like this—I like the way you're taking charge. It's kind of—I don't know how to put it. Nifty."
"Glad you feel that way."
"Which of us you wanna start with? Who gets to go first?"
"You do. You're their leader, after all."
"All right! Yeah! Here we go!"
"You're gonna start off with—"
"With my mouth," he interrupted, crouching down, "I know. I've read the manual."
He wasn't bad at it. Wasn't the best she'd ever had, either. But he did it pretty good. Still, she only kept him down there like that for a minute or two. He was proficient enough that he could have probably got her off like that, eventually, if she made him keep going. But it would have taken too long. It wouldn't have been a very satisfying come. She wasn't really into it, even though it felt decent. Wasn't in the mood for getting off like that. Not now. She wanted to get crazier. She was in a cock mood, not a tongue mood. She wanted real proper full-on fucking.
Also it had put her off some that he'd anticipated her. She hadn't been happy about that. As if she was obvious. And it sort of was, wasn't it? The obvious thing for a woman to demand, starting off—to start off with tongue. She didn't want to be obvious. She wanted to be shocking, right now. She wanted to shock these men.
So she moved him upward. Let him enter her. He slid in easy. A good fit. A good start.
"Show me what you're made of," she told him, "Show me what you can do, if you can do anything."
He didn't go about it the way she would have guessed. He didn't take off like a racehorse, like most men would have, if you said that shit to them. Instead he kept shifting around, trying different angles. He kept taking himself all the way out and sliding it back in, in slightly different ways. He wasn't really fucking her yet. Instead he was probing her, testing her. Like an oilman, sinking discovery wells. He was watching her face very close. It was a scientific look—like he was peering through a microscope. Gauging her reactions.
So far he wasn't finding what he wanted. He wasn't making her react much at all. Might have been doing better if he put less thought into it. Maybe he was starting to realize that. His face had got rather red, but he kept on experimenting, wiggling around. A little higher, a little lower. Fast a while, then slow. Slow for a steady count of ten, than faster again ... and then faster still. A little left, a little right. Still no major success. But he wasn't giving up. Not just yet ...
Fucking guy was trying his damnedest to impress her. And she liked that he was trying. The results were not proving exceptional, to any degree—but the effort he was making in itself, she found impressive, or at least charming. So many men even in the modern day and age still don't care if they can get a woman off, so long as they get off themselves—or they just assume it happens automatically. That all it needs to get the job done is plugging in and pumping, like you're inflating a bicycle tire. But it ain't that goddamn straightforward. It takes more art than that.
And then all the sudden one of his silly tiny adjustments unexpectedly paid off, at last rewarding his exertions for both of them. It was something he did with her legs, raising them a good deal higher than she usually positioned them herself, when she took a man into her. He was actually holding her thighs too tight, putting too much strain on them. He might leave bruises. And yet it was worth it, for the way it realigned the contact points inside her. So his strokes were homing in full length across her most sensitive spots in there, along the top of the passage. And that surface was also being stretched taunt inside her, by the angle of her legs, and the strain from her muscles—and this tension increased its resistance, when his cock pushed against it—making it more sensitive, more responsive. And it had already been damn responsive to begin with!
It made her cry out. Just a little. More of a gasp. But he didn't miss the signal. Hearing it made the man cry out himself. "Ha! There! There we go!"
Yes indeed, there they went. Now that he'd found his target, he sped up his thrusts. She was afraid that would ruin it. All too easy for a man to do. Either he'd throw himself off the target, in his galloping eagerness, or start hitting in too fiercely, overstimulating her tissues and turning the good sensations into bad ones. Too intense if not actually painful. That had happened to her too many times before ... But this time it didn't happen like that, thank God. This time the good sensations just got better.
Good enough to get her off? Maybe ... Hopefully ... If he could keep going like this another minute or two without giving out on her or screwing it up, making another unneeded adjustment. He better not. She'd be pissed if he made that mistake, at this stage.
He didn't. He didn't mess up or quit on her. He brought her over the line, real good.
She cried out for him, again, as it happened. A short yelp—no mighty glass-shattering scream, but a much louder exclamation than the previous one. Unrestrained.
The other four men all hollered like football fans at a goal. They all recognized what her yelp had signified. That embarrassed her. She'd almost forgot for a minute the others were watching. Maybe it was stupid to feel ashamed about it. The problem was it took the orgasm away from her, a little, when they cheered. It was her moment, or it was supposed to be. She didn't like that the men were getting off on it too—feeling like big studs. Was that selfish of her?
The problem with fucking these men was that she didn't just get to fuck them. They were all gonna get to fuck her. She wished she could have the one part without the other.
She shouldn't have let them do anything else but eat her out. Maybe that would have worked better. She shouldn't let any of them come. She should make them pleasure her, but not reciprocate. That would have showed them. Put the fuckers in their place.
But she wanted to feel the cocks. She wanted real sex. Real fucking, nothing halfass. She'd got too worked up. She wanted to see the men come for her. She needed to make them come. She wished she didn't, but she did. When the urge hit her like this, that was part of it. She got off on getting people off. The power-trip of that. It wouldn't be real fucking if she didn't make all the stupid men come too.
The men wanted the same power-trip, of course. Perfectly natural, and only fair. But it still made her mad, a little. Selfish or not, she couldn't help it. She wanted to make them all come, and she wanted them all to make her come—but she hated how it would proud of themselves it would make the fuckers.
She would do her best to hide it, if the others gave her orgasms. She would try to sneak it past them, holding the pleasure in. She wasn't very good at that, though. It was difficult. If the feelings didn't hit you strong enough to make you lose control, it wasn't a proper climax, was it? You weren't getting off good enough, if it didn't make you yell.
The leader was ready to finish now. He pulled out and tried to scramble up in range of her face, but she wasn't going to allow that shit. She grabbed hold of it with her free hand to steer him, and made him shoot on her stomach. Most of it. A little fired out far enough to reach her tits.
"God," he panted, "God damn. Wow."
"You enjoy yourself?"
"I sure did, Miss Chopra. You appeared to enjoy yourself, too."
"I have no complaints. Get out of the way, now. Let's see how the next man measures up."
It was the guy that had giggled. And he was giggling again, as he shuffled up to her. But she stopped him, before he could lunge himself over on top of her. "No. On your back, please. On the floor there.This time I'm driving."
He was disappointed, and didn't disguise it. "Would you rather wait, then?" she asked. To her surprise, the guy nodded, backing away. "One of the rest of you better be willing to accommodate me on this, or the fun stops right now." Two of the others hopped forward, to offer themselves. She made her selection between them with a rapid "Eeny-meeny-miny-moe."
(TBC)...
"And now?" the leader prompted.
"Now we're going to proceed ... but in an orderly fashion. And by that, I mean one by one. Are we clear on this? I'm not having your whole gang climbing all over me at once. You better all not to be in too much of a hurry. Each one of you will get a turn to show me your stuff, but when your chance comes around, you're gonna damn well let me set the pace. Is that understood? Anybody have a problem with this arrangement? If you do, tough. I'm the one with the gun. I'm running the show. And this should go without saying—but I will say it anyway. Misbehavior will not be tolerated. Consequences will be terminal."
"You know" said the leader, "I don't usually respond to bossy women. It's not my nature. But I like this—I like the way you're taking charge. It's kind of—I don't know how to put it. Nifty."
"Glad you feel that way."
"Which of us you wanna start with? Who gets to go first?"
"You do. You're their leader, after all."
"All right! Yeah! Here we go!"
"You're gonna start off with—"
"With my mouth," he interrupted, crouching down, "I know. I've read the manual."
He wasn't bad at it. Wasn't the best she'd ever had, either. But he did it pretty good. Still, she only kept him down there like that for a minute or two. He was proficient enough that he could have probably got her off like that, eventually, if she made him keep going. But it would have taken too long. It wouldn't have been a very satisfying come. She wasn't really into it, even though it felt decent. Wasn't in the mood for getting off like that. Not now. She wanted to get crazier. She was in a cock mood, not a tongue mood. She wanted real proper full-on fucking.
Also it had put her off some that he'd anticipated her. She hadn't been happy about that. As if she was obvious. And it sort of was, wasn't it? The obvious thing for a woman to demand, starting off—to start off with tongue. She didn't want to be obvious. She wanted to be shocking, right now. She wanted to shock these men.
So she moved him upward. Let him enter her. He slid in easy. A good fit. A good start.
"Show me what you're made of," she told him, "Show me what you can do, if you can do anything."
He didn't go about it the way she would have guessed. He didn't take off like a racehorse, like most men would have, if you said that shit to them. Instead he kept shifting around, trying different angles. He kept taking himself all the way out and sliding it back in, in slightly different ways. He wasn't really fucking her yet. Instead he was probing her, testing her. Like an oilman, sinking discovery wells. He was watching her face very close. It was a scientific look—like he was peering through a microscope. Gauging her reactions.
So far he wasn't finding what he wanted. He wasn't making her react much at all. Might have been doing better if he put less thought into it. Maybe he was starting to realize that. His face had got rather red, but he kept on experimenting, wiggling around. A little higher, a little lower. Fast a while, then slow. Slow for a steady count of ten, than faster again ... and then faster still. A little left, a little right. Still no major success. But he wasn't giving up. Not just yet ...
Fucking guy was trying his damnedest to impress her. And she liked that he was trying. The results were not proving exceptional, to any degree—but the effort he was making in itself, she found impressive, or at least charming. So many men even in the modern day and age still don't care if they can get a woman off, so long as they get off themselves—or they just assume it happens automatically. That all it needs to get the job done is plugging in and pumping, like you're inflating a bicycle tire. But it ain't that goddamn straightforward. It takes more art than that.
And then all the sudden one of his silly tiny adjustments unexpectedly paid off, at last rewarding his exertions for both of them. It was something he did with her legs, raising them a good deal higher than she usually positioned them herself, when she took a man into her. He was actually holding her thighs too tight, putting too much strain on them. He might leave bruises. And yet it was worth it, for the way it realigned the contact points inside her. So his strokes were homing in full length across her most sensitive spots in there, along the top of the passage. And that surface was also being stretched taunt inside her, by the angle of her legs, and the strain from her muscles—and this tension increased its resistance, when his cock pushed against it—making it more sensitive, more responsive. And it had already been damn responsive to begin with!
It made her cry out. Just a little. More of a gasp. But he didn't miss the signal. Hearing it made the man cry out himself. "Ha! There! There we go!"
Yes indeed, there they went. Now that he'd found his target, he sped up his thrusts. She was afraid that would ruin it. All too easy for a man to do. Either he'd throw himself off the target, in his galloping eagerness, or start hitting in too fiercely, overstimulating her tissues and turning the good sensations into bad ones. Too intense if not actually painful. That had happened to her too many times before ... But this time it didn't happen like that, thank God. This time the good sensations just got better.
Good enough to get her off? Maybe ... Hopefully ... If he could keep going like this another minute or two without giving out on her or screwing it up, making another unneeded adjustment. He better not. She'd be pissed if he made that mistake, at this stage.
He didn't. He didn't mess up or quit on her. He brought her over the line, real good.
She cried out for him, again, as it happened. A short yelp—no mighty glass-shattering scream, but a much louder exclamation than the previous one. Unrestrained.
The other four men all hollered like football fans at a goal. They all recognized what her yelp had signified. That embarrassed her. She'd almost forgot for a minute the others were watching. Maybe it was stupid to feel ashamed about it. The problem was it took the orgasm away from her, a little, when they cheered. It was her moment, or it was supposed to be. She didn't like that the men were getting off on it too—feeling like big studs. Was that selfish of her?
The problem with fucking these men was that she didn't just get to fuck them. They were all gonna get to fuck her. She wished she could have the one part without the other.
She shouldn't have let them do anything else but eat her out. Maybe that would have worked better. She shouldn't let any of them come. She should make them pleasure her, but not reciprocate. That would have showed them. Put the fuckers in their place.
But she wanted to feel the cocks. She wanted real sex. Real fucking, nothing halfass. She'd got too worked up. She wanted to see the men come for her. She needed to make them come. She wished she didn't, but she did. When the urge hit her like this, that was part of it. She got off on getting people off. The power-trip of that. It wouldn't be real fucking if she didn't make all the stupid men come too.
The men wanted the same power-trip, of course. Perfectly natural, and only fair. But it still made her mad, a little. Selfish or not, she couldn't help it. She wanted to make them all come, and she wanted them all to make her come—but she hated how it would proud of themselves it would make the fuckers.
She would do her best to hide it, if the others gave her orgasms. She would try to sneak it past them, holding the pleasure in. She wasn't very good at that, though. It was difficult. If the feelings didn't hit you strong enough to make you lose control, it wasn't a proper climax, was it? You weren't getting off good enough, if it didn't make you yell.
The leader was ready to finish now. He pulled out and tried to scramble up in range of her face, but she wasn't going to allow that shit. She grabbed hold of it with her free hand to steer him, and made him shoot on her stomach. Most of it. A little fired out far enough to reach her tits.
"God," he panted, "God damn. Wow."
"You enjoy yourself?"
"I sure did, Miss Chopra. You appeared to enjoy yourself, too."
"I have no complaints. Get out of the way, now. Let's see how the next man measures up."
It was the guy that had giggled. And he was giggling again, as he shuffled up to her. But she stopped him, before he could lunge himself over on top of her. "No. On your back, please. On the floor there.This time I'm driving."
He was disappointed, and didn't disguise it. "Would you rather wait, then?" she asked. To her surprise, the guy nodded, backing away. "One of the rest of you better be willing to accommodate me on this, or the fun stops right now." Two of the others hopped forward, to offer themselves. She made her selection between them with a rapid "Eeny-meeny-miny-moe."
(TBC)...