Opportune moments. They haven’t rolled around many times for me in my twenty seven years. I’ve never been lucky, never expected anything to just fall into my lap. Everything I have I’ve worked damned hard for. If you were to pick something of mine up and hold it in your hands, look at it, feel it… what you’ll be seeing and touching is my blood, sweat, and tears.
Now imagine how being offered something so completely new and so utterly wonderful would feel for someone like me. Not a thing, though, an encounter. Something I’ve wanted for a long time but never thought I’d get a chance to experience.
Well that’s what happened to me just a few days ago.
I was returning a book to my neighbours, Mr and Mrs Murphy, when I happened to peer through their kitchen window on my way to the back door. I’d taken half a dozen steps before my brain processed what I’d seen. It shames me still to admit that I’d backtracked those half a dozen steps, just so I could take another look.
Mrs Murphy hadn’t noticed I was watching, but her husband had. I’d stammered an apology at the closed window, waving the book around my head like an excuse wrapped in a white flag. Murphy had rolled his eyes and I’d dropped the paperback, escaping back to my place without bothering to close the adjoining gate.
The phone call I dreaded came two days later, and it wasn’t at all what I’d been expecting. I’d expected Murphy to tear me a new one and demand I stay the fuck off his property. He had given me a short lecture on doubling back to look in windows – yeah, he’d seen me pass the first time – but had followed it up with an offer I couldn’t refuse.
He told me my choice of book borrowing had made them consider putting the offer on the table, so to speak, but the reaction he’d seen in me during my short career as a peeping tom had decided it.
I’d said yes, of course, and now I was on my back on a table in the Murphy’s grand dining room, wearing nothing but goosebumps and a shit-terrified smile.
Mrs Murphy fussed around me, making sure I looked exactly how she wanted me to. She was about my mother’s age, and had her colouring too, but her glamourous appearance reminded me more of Joan Collins than my mum.
Her bracelets jangled as she shook her spray can to unblock the nozzle. I confess, being covered from head to toe in shimmer spray hadn’t been on my ‘can’t wait for that to happen’ list. The stuff was cold, and it tickled and made me itch.
I took a deep breath. So deep, my chest rose and my lungs burned when I held it. Mrs Murphy just chuckled.
“I bet you can’t wait to tell all your friends I did this to you.”
Oh, Mrs M, so very incorrect. I could wait a lifetime. Two, even. I mean, would I ever be able to look my buddies in the eye again if they found out sexy Margie Murphy had peeled my limp sausage of a cock off my thigh so she could spray my balls with silver glitter? If I had to guess, I’d say no.
Once she’d decorated my body, she clapped her hands until her husband brought out the next batch of ornaments. But she didn’t start putting them on me right away. She grabbed the spray again and covered my hair in it, spiking it up until it was all pulled away from my face.
A soft tap on my cock made me lift my head with a snap. Mr Murphy laughed as his wife chastised me for moving. “If you do that once you’re decorated you’ll ruin everything. You must be still if this is going to work, Calvin.”
“Sorry, Mrs Murphy.”
Did I sound like a twenty seven year old man when I apologised to her? Did I fuck, I sounded like I was getting wrong off my mother.
But she was right, of course. I’d read about this exact thing in the book I had borrowed from her. I knew what my role was, and I knew how I was supposed to perform it. Still, serene, looking like I was part of her room, not an attendee at her party.
Jangling her bracelets again, she leaned over me. Her cleavage was right in my face, smelling strongly of musk and powder. This close up I could see the fine texturing of age that made her skin look like crepe paper. I wanted to touch it, to see if it was as rough as it looked or if she’d still be smooth. But I didn’t dare move again, just in case she said I wasn’t going to be suitable for her guests.
She straightened, passing her hand over my eyes as she went. Before I could open them again, something cold was placed on each of my eyelids. It would appear that her wrinkled décolletage would be the last thing I’d be seeing for a while.
Once my sight was taken from me, the decorating of my body began in earnest. Things were placed on my stomach, my chest and thighs. A row of something ran down each of my arms – which were both above my head – and my hands were flattened so my palms could be filled. Something else was piled onto my groin, and there was a lot of it. It was cold and lumpy, some of it hard and some soft and squishy.
Even my toes and fingers had things wrapped around them.
Soon enough I was ready, and Mrs Murphy was getting excited by the sound of her doorbell ringing. I was left in silence with a rumbling belly and a cock so scared stiff it was pillow soft.
I counted to one thousand and twenty six before the door opened and noise invaded my ears. Chatting, laughing, gasping. Most of the voices were women, but I could hear the deep tones of men there too.
God, I felt ridiculous. I was pleased I couldn’t see what I looked like, because I suspected that I looked ludicrous. Oh, if only I’d been brave enough to search for pictures of this. The book hadn’t had any pictures in it, and now I knew why. The abstract idea of this was insanely erotic, but the reality was just an embarrassment.
I was in the middle of telling myself that this would be a one time only event, when someone touched my chest. Fingers trailed from spot to spot and the woman they belonged to spoke quietly.
“Hmmm, what should we start with, darling?”
Another hand was on me, this one on my ribcage, moving slowly to my stomach.
“I wouldn’t know where I was if we didn’t start with the figs, my love.”
The man who had spoken plucked something from my belly button, and something else immediately rolled in to take its place. I could hear biting, chewing, a feminine little moan of pleasure.
Oh my God, I wish I could fucking see!
The voices around me grew immediately louder, and all of a sudden I was swamped. Hands were everywhere, touching me, taking from me. Every now and again someone leaned in and pressed their lips against mine. I tasted the juices of exotic fruits, the smoke of meats, the tang of cheeses. As quickly as adornments were taken were they were replaced, and the eating began anew.
But that wasn’t the only thing that was happening. I could hear different sounds now, and none of them had anything to do with feeding. No, these sounds were all made by people fucking, and there I was with my eyes covered by god knew what, unable to see a damned thing.
I could feel, though. And I was feeling someone pulling on my left arm until it flopped over the table. I could feel my hand being pressed into something warm and wet, and I could feel a slow rocking that got quicker and harder as the moaning beside me grew louder.
Someone was fucking my hand! I could feel her rubbing her clit against the knuckle of my thumb, feel her wriggling against my fingers until they slipped inside of her. And then someone else was doing the same thing to my right hand. But this one didn’t mess around with the rubbing, she went straight for three finger penetration.
My cock had gotten over its fears by now. Whatever had been piled there tumbled down my sides as it rose, breaking free of the depleted weight that had been holding it down. Nobody touched it, though. Women climbed onto the table so they could fuck my toes, men wrapped my hands around their dicks and fucked my fists… someone even tugged my chin down and dribbled sharp white wine down my throat before tongue fucking my mouth while someone else fucked them right above my head.
Hands pulled my hair, lips moved over my stomach, teeth bit my thighs.
The table shook with all of the bodies that descended on me and I wondered if the legs would give way before they managed to devour me completely. The only part of my body that consistently went untouched was my cock. It wept, it bounced, it waved itself in the air, begging for attention, but not one finger was laid on it.
“What would you give for me to climb onto that table and take your neglected cock deep in my ass?”
Oh my God! I’d been desperate for someone to offer anything even close to that, but I hadn’t imagined Mr Murphy would be the one. I’d lusted after his wife for probably five years, but I’d never looked at him twice.
Imagine my surprise, then, when the words, “I’d give everything I have,” came from my mouth in a hoarse whisper. “Anything I have is yours, just please fuck me.”
Murphy actually laughed at me. Not a quiet laugh like earlier, but a deep laugh that was filled with mirth. “I’m sorry,” he said, patting my forehead. “I’d love to, but someone else has claimed me.”
The table creaked and wobbled dangerously as someone climbed aboard. I was yanked further down by my ankles, and I felt a soft ass bashing against my groin. Someone was being fucked between my legs. It was torture not knowing who she was, never mind not being the one making her dig her nails into my thighs and making her arch her back so far she tickled my belly with her hair.
The table groaned when a third person clambered on top. I felt legs pressing against my shoulders, and then heard a loud cry. What turned out to be grapes were taken off my eyes, and when my sight adjusted I choked at what I could see.
I didn’t even peer out into the bacchanalian feast that was going on all around me. My eyes remained fixed on what was happening right above me. Straddling my face was Mr Murphy, and behind him was his wife. A long black dildo poked from between her thighs, and her husband cried out every time she sank it into his ass.
The motion of it sawing in and out of him was mesmerising. Every time she reared back I caught a glimpse of her tits, and the way they swung as she moved made me half sob with need.
She fucked him for what felt like hours. I didn’t even feel the people using my body anymore, though plenty of them still were. My cock was my consciousness, and if it could have screamed for attention it would have.
Grabbing her husband’s hair, Mrs Murphy shoved him forward. Almost as if a slow motion switch had been flicked, I watched down the length of his belly as his mouth opened, as his lips closed around the head of my cock.
“Fuck yes!” I hollered, no longer able to keep my cool.
My right hand tightened around the dick that was using it and began to stroke, just as the fingers of my left hand curled around the pubic bone of the pussy they were in and began to rub. All of me moved, and one by one, the people around me started to come.
Cocks spurted, cunts tightened, people screamed and moaned and cried.
Mr Murphy started to wail in the back of his throat, sucking on me so hard it hurt. But I didn’t care, I thrust up, matching Mrs Murphy’s dildo thrusts. As soon as I had a free hand I reached for her, finding her clit and doing my best to keep up with her frenzied fucking.
Murphy’s cock let go, covering my glittery chest with hot white fluid. Mrs Murphy came next, holding my wrist to make sure I didn’t stop until she was ready.
And then they were both hopping down off the table, and my cock was waving in the air, abandoned.
“Please,” I whispered, but I wasn’t sure anyone heard me.
Mrs Murphy clapped her hands again. Someone sat up on the table at the other end of the room. It had been empty when I’d still had my sight. The woman on there was my age, with long dark hair that had been sprayed gold.
Two men helped her down off the table and led her to mine. Taking her hand and helping the shyly smiling girl on to my table, Mr Murphy said, “Calvin, this is Gemma. She works with me at the bank, and she likes to borrow our books too.”
“We’re going to go clean our pallets,” Mrs Murphy said. As Gemma’s tight, swollen pussy slid over my cock she added, “But you two must be starved. Enjoy your starters, my darlings, then once you’re ready we’ll get started on the main course.”
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