A Secret Annual Summit

[NOTE: This story is a sequel to "A Circle-Jerk Miracle".]

2025. It had been one year since the miracle.

There was excited but hushed consensus through secret channels of we almost-strangers that it must happen again.

One year ago, the most boring conference imaginable accidentally brought together several, several horny men on their way to separate encounters, stuck suddenly in an elevator and left with nothing to do with the situation but the most wonderful thing imaginable, beyond anyone's hopes.

And it was all because of me, noticing what we all without exception wanted, the safe location we had an excuse to be in, and desperately impatient horniness. Our need to enjoy sex with another man was by the time of this accident so eager, when we noticed we were all solely in the company of five other horny cock-hungry men, I took a risk and wordlessly invited five strange penises to me.

The annual summit of a boring company had accidentally and unbeknownst to anyone too normal to enjoy it, founded a subcommittee on cock worship. Was this going to work? A secret tradition of mutually worshipped penis?

I was the first. I was the key. I was the official worshipper.

And that's because, in that elevator, I noticed the feeling was eagerly mutual, but I now had the reputation. As the happy kneeler. The one who had first taken off his clothes in a broken elevator, and silently invited any penis in range to uncover, request pleasure from me, or have it near me.

And now, during this 2025 conference launch, as the knowing smiles were exchanged throughout the tedious morning, as the conspiratorial nods between vaguely familiar faces were exchanged and then carried on to further men I had never seen, and then as the secret top-floor suite began to populate after morning sessions concluded, I realised something both worrying and comforting:

Our idea had become known and been taken up by quite a large number of men. We hadn't been quite so secret with this opportunity for release as I would have thought wise. We had escalated - expanded. We had spread the word more than any one of us realised. It felt hazardous, so near to disaster and scandal and terminations...

And yet... maybe this was fantastic. When you thought about it, who would congregate in this room with us except those so eager to have their penis treated with love that they'd offer it in strange (though very willing) company.

There was already a culture throughout the room: a bit bashful, but reassuringly friendly.

And clean: many people were having quick showers, rapid showers, as they arrived, returning clothed to the main space. I heard frantic lathering, I'm sure to prepare, I can't imagine anyone would be stupid to waste their progression to orgasm on their hand when surrounded in a room of happy hungry mouths.

It was as though they not only wanted to be clean for anyone about to enjoy their bodies, but wanted, unspoken, some ritual I presume we had silently agreed upon, of starting altogether.

I showered too, rapidly, scrubbing everything important clean within 30 seconds. It was regrettable to reset my accumulation of precum, it was precious fluid and I had been silently producing it all morning, but I knew I would have a wellspring for my hungry colleagues.

One more unspoken custom was my central role. I had no chance to satisfy everyone present, and there would be mouths and hands everywhere, but almost in a holiday-like re-enactment of the miracle, I was known as the official centre of attention.

And so I was sure my pleasure would be treated as a limited resource. I would be lavishly and gratefully pleased, my body tasted and explored and served, but the greatest disaster would be for me to be satiated and exhausted early, losing my hunger for the others. I had a feeling I may still want more after these gentlemen found my orgasm, but it was a hazard I would wait to risk.

It would be frustrating to wait but I knew I could do this.

I can do this. Oh gosh, there are so many of them. Will I like every penis brought to me? Will the smells be too much together? Will they want things I'm not prepared for? What would happen if my jaw got too sore?

But the concept was just so perfect. A crowd of men had entered this space hoping I'd manage their pleasure. Believing that I could. I saw on their faces gratitude before the fact.

Okay. I can do this.

It seemed so silly, really. I'm talented, and horny, and something about my charisma encouraged filthy ideas from others, but there was nothing magical about me. I was a young man who adored penis. There are quite a lot of those.

When I finished from my hurried wash, I returned to the suite studio space with the crowd, from the heat of the shower I was still steaming from to the sharp chill of the air conditioning we would soon need, again wearing the entirety of my unconvincingly innocent outfit, sweatervest tie and all. They actually whooped and clapped a little as I chose an official centre of the room and came to it.

There was no alcohol, no cigarettes. In fact someone had apparently ordered a cheese and pastry trolley. Wholesome, nice touch.

They were waiting now, happily, bashfully. Thank goodness there was still bashfulness. We need bashfulness: it grounds us as safe to one another, but it also is something to leap out of, in the wonderful moments we let ourselves take.

The crowd around me made happy little sounds around me as I blushed and undressed. Every piece of clothing I gently discarded vanished, and I distantly heard hangers on a rack. Soon, just like 365 days ago, a solitary naked young man with a hungry erection knelt in front of many men in dress shoes, ties, even a blazer or three, and smiled hopefully at all their faces.

The cheer the crowd around me sounded wasn't lurid, it wasn't objectifying, it wasn't dominating. It was friendly hope, right back at me. No matter how many men sought me for my sex at the same time, as long as there was friendly shyness there was wonderful joy coming.

We were depleted, tenacious, deeply sexual gentlemen without someone to reliably give all our desires to, in a year we knew would be many colours of terrible. And we had found each other, and agreed to cause each other's joy.

And so, some men now became naked and hung their clothes on the clothes rack or amassed them in friendly messes on the floor. Somehow I enjoyed even more those who kept their dress clothes on and let their needy penises emerge from open flies towards me and towards each other. A glistening dribbling erection peaking out from the split in a crisp white dress shirt told volumes.

I made lots of eye contact, biting my lip a little, but I wanted someone to come to me. I may have influenced decisions ever-so-slightly, my gaze biasing some over others. My profile of preference was probably nice-looking penis, nice clothes, kind eyes. I think I have a small preference for tummies over fitness, but that's by no means my priority.

And so, when a middle-aged someone in a blazer carefully brought their exposed and requesting long circumsised veiny organ close to me, unassuming in his look but eager in his excitement, my freshly bare bum rose off of my feet, I arched up, smiled thankfully and fondly, and hands-free began a thankful and hungry open-mouthed kiss to the man's offering of clear liquid salt and warm meat.

The sensation rekindled memories, and I was back in that elevator, planning and learning. One year ago, I was surrounded by erections; and, remembering how erections worked, knowing that there may be awkwardness and inequities if any of us were all finished up in a few minutes.

It came back to me: there were rules. I had made up rules. One of them was something about giving each penis fleeting love, raising everyone's progression equally, so we could experience our need, our pleasure, and our completion as close together as humanly possible.

I glanced around and transferred. Someone untouched but bold enough to approach, surprised and happy to suddenly be deep inside a mouth.

I heard a delighted guffaw above me, and happy sighs around me. I could tell that I had officially began our event. I heard the happy beginnings of release as men's hands found each other's bodies, and I felt the presence of masturbation in a close circle level to my face. At first I only heard it, my eyes gently shut in enjoyment. But it was all obvious.

Transfer. I soon learned that I didn't have to plan where I was going next. I'd leave a penis hanging after an affectionate goodbye French kiss, and someone would approach. If many approached I'd choose the one that looked the most untouched, dry and highly arched and bouncing in flex. There was always one that deserved and needed my love the most.

I don't understand that one girl who had once told me that 'Once you'd seen one dick you'd seen them all'. They're so different. And there really is something lovely about each kind.

Uncut erections will dance in pleasure when you kiss their delicate foreskin, so pretty and soft. Cut penises hop up and down when you lick along their slits, and if you keep your tongue still its dance will slide its slit along it. Medium-sized penis means you get to place the entire thing in your mouth, and they're so thankful to feel a throat on their tip and a tongue on their sack. Large penises are very,v ery thankful when you do more than pump the tip, slathering up their base, treating every part of them as precious.

And there are so many different ways for a penis to be beautiful. And examples surrounded me, in needy little requests around me, as though my kneeling body was doing something selfless, as though my labours meant I wasn't having the time of my life.

And so the first wave of penis around me gradually progressed in pleasure and need as I always gave each request my happy mouth for a long lingering moment, but always moving on. The gentlemen above me sounded like they judged me as being both very kind and very harsh.

At this point I didn't always bother looking up at faces, I just saw presenting erection, approaching, surrounding, dancing in many hands, hopping in patient request... I often recognised returning shafts, and always welcomed newcomers with an especially warm welcome into my mouth.

I admit, it was just all so much. I wanted this, but this time it was a lot.

It had already been a long while, and the room of men, as I had hoped if I was being honest, was finding several ways of making each other happy. I was a happy centrepiece but they weren't alone in the outskirts.

And so, when a breathtakingly beautiful shaft with long hanging balls and salt-and-pepper fuzz returned to me and a hand stroked my cheek and ear to plead, and as my mouth found him and as his thankful sounds told stories of where he was at and as his dancing testicles struck under my chin with every gentle hump forward, I relented my rule.

I couldn't resist forever, I couldn't expect this kind presence inside my mouth to wait. And so, while at first I matched his movements and welcomed his pushes inside me, I soon took over the rhythm and added some twists, and softly held his hips in place, and I think he got the message that he was meant to stay, that I wasn't going anywhere.

And the moment he realised what that meant, what I meant by telling him to stay, his gasps changed into something happier, the movements of his hips became less rational, and his shaft grew just that tiny bit more.

There are two possibilities: either I have an unusual love of penis that causes me to drool all over it, or something in the design of the human mouth is programmed to produce lots of lube when conditions say a penis is about to erupt inside it. Because my hungry mouth renewed this elegant shaft's pleasure just in time to upgrade what was coming.

And, for what may or may not have been the first time in the room, with a closely held face from above me, my whole head gently being asked to stay exactly where it was, an erection released its orgasm.

Always the showman, my instincts caused me to keep and drink most of it, and let a remnant spill and dribble. A single web-line of cum attached us still together as the older man slipped away from me.

This iconic image was the second landmark moment of our little festival. A message to all, perhaps, something to the effect of orgasms being free game.

Everyone watched for my reaction. The whole room saw me transform from dazed to happy, with a sloppy mess of a grin. And they loved me.

A renewed rush of presence approached, knowing that my touches were different now, a little less reserved, a little less teasing. And yes, while I still dashed between them, no longer did I treat changed sounds as a signal to leave.

This led to a few desperate almost-theres, but sure enough, soon after a sharply curved cut erection transformed into my mouth in the universal signal of approaching cum. I let him do what he needed, and he soon found the exact angle to pump along my mouth that overwhelmed the cum out of him.

Men were watching me entranced. Including men with penises inside other mouths. Including at least one man mouth full of someone else. I could understand why, my resolve had made me relentless, indefatigable.

The third orgasm I gave to the crowd was from an erection less aggressive, one that wanted not a hole to hump but a mouth making out with his penis. I deeply appreciated that, I thoroughly enjoyed that my happy adoring movements sent him all the way over the top, and when his point of no return had passed neither of us held each other, he just danced for me, trusting my left hand to hold his base and my right hand to excite his wet ballsack and for my mouth to know what he needed. He stayed in my mouth until he was soft. I enjoyed that, the feeling of a soft penis slipping along the shape of my mouth out of me.

My eyes tightly shut, I leaned back to the ceiling, still smiling, rubbing my jaw and heaving. I was already slick with other men's joy, sticky and shining in several bullseyes of thick slick.

In some unspoken agreement I was gathered up by the arms of many men, held now pallbearer style on several shoulders. I must be lighter than I thought.

There, momentarily suspended, another man approached between my held legs and began a highly indulgent soft slathering of my entire ballsack. The pallbearers cheered on my needy whimpers as the man succeeded in reducing me to a passively happy Yes, a yes to whatever was happening and about to happen. I voiced it, I squirmed it, I sang it, I held my yes without breath.

Several men I didn't know cared enough for my joy to have lifted me stably to the face of a mouth that showed me overwhelming appreciation.

My whimpering squirm eventually buckled me gently down to the floor and I didn't even have the presence of mind to discern which erection to find and thank, I just took a participant's penis and adored it with my mouth, in aftershock groans.

I was so obvious in my need now, so unmistakably requesting for lips to give me my orgasm. I knew I mustn't, not yet. But I knew that from then on if someone was willing I had lost my ability to resist release. I would give my erection and my cum to any of them, any moment I found a Yes or one of them found me.

I was theirs.

And they deserved it... I had chosen my companions well. We had arranged this perfectly. I could tell that I didn't mind being needy and willing to these men one bit. They were my people, they deserved to take and give cum with me, I had long since resolved they were welcome to this body.

Someone must have noticed how much I gazed back and forth, planning. A familiar voice now uttered,

"Hey, remember the blackout?"

The elevator had lost power one year ago. Instead of being afraid, we had become indiscriminately sexual, enjoying the surprise of unexpected touches and requests appearing from the dark.

Now, I moved to remove someone's necktie, but stopped when I saw how filthy my hands were. I had caught in them at least one load. At least. I had done nothing to change how full my hands were of it.

So then, this man in the bright white shirt removed expertly the deep blue necktie with the grid of bronze and the matte sheen from his collar, and, reading the room, now tied it snugly around my head at eye level.

I was no longer truly naked, now blindfolded in necktie and politely awaiting the next source of sex.

All this was only possible because the last thing my eyes did before being removed from the situation was to beam serene consent at the man with the silk gift.

Because now, the kind men had no recourse but to come to me, more actively but wordlessly request my attention. I would have to feel the presence of each of them, and reach for them.

It was a non-competitive tie between two of them. To my left and to my right, my hands each extended towards the radiant heat of two very close-by erections, and found thigh, and I clumsily found each erection. Before gripping, I travelled both hands all around their groins, exploring and memorising the shapes and qualities of both sets of new meat.

I embraced their mutual victory and gave them equal love. Clumsily, one by one, I kept my soft grazing touches going, going, until one of them, ever-so-slightly, drifted further forward.

And I kept the most lavish, adoring, gentle little handjob going to my right as I kissed the penis to my left hello, a long soft kiss that never ended, not for a long long while. I invited liquid out with my tongue, I wordlessly complimented its length and taste and curve with my lips and my sounds, and I introduced the shaft to my mouth as far down as I could, letting the tip twitch and dance inside me, finding whatever flesh it liked.

And it wasn't until I had the soaked shaft enraptured in a soft twisting stroke of enjoyment that my mouth left him behind and I found his companion, whose patience for me had rewarded him (and me) with a stream of warm arousal. Starting from its source, I chased the first drops of precum down the shaft and caught it before it escaped diluted. I could tell from his sounds that returning to the source would already present me with more.

Now giving myself another moment to breathe, my hands slipped without force or squeeze up and down two soaked and tractionless penis shafts, listening to these men sing for me.

I gave my hungry kiss to the next one to step forward. Someone new. I released the two soaked shafts, knowing I had given them a wonderful minute of my adoring attention.

I had a large crowd to make happy today.

This continued for a while. Eventually, I absolutely had to stand. The men looked almost worried, maybe they thought it was possible I was finished and leaving. But I smiled sheepishly and showed my intentions with an arching crack of my back and they laughed. They laughed more when I ceremoniously whooped a sound of fatigue and walked to a couch to lean on for a moment.

Some stayed in the centre to jack each other off and more, and many followed me. Soon the couch was the new centre of the orgy.

That started when I saw someone sit on the handrest of the couch, facing outward. Someone whose erection was absolutely stunning. And he saw me noticing him. I walked around the couch to get a better look and I knew he knew for the moment I was his.

He stood up and sat down again in a better position on the rim.

As the lap descended onto the rim of the couch and my mouth chased it to finally put a penis in my mouth again, I soon felt a new hand on my hip. And a warm presence along my rear. I wasn't ready for anything to be inside me, and that wasn't what we'd discussed, but I trusted them.

Sure enough, the shaft behind me was content to start a rapid graze along my entire crack. It was soaked, whether with his saliva or someone else's, and it darted along the entire trench, back and forth. So many nerves. As I explored the tastes of the gorgeous ballsack beneath me, I found myself thoroughly enjoying the swiftly moving erection, shooting from top to bottom to top of my entire ass.