Weird Fantasies 06 Girls Only Orgy

You've planned something special for tonight, you say. Just to warn me before we go inside. You were sitting outside your house, on your front steps, in a sparkly party dress, when I arrive.

"Okay," I say, a little suspicious. You show me a blindfold, and say I have to put it on before we go inside.

"Why?" I say.

"Because you do."

I stand there for a moment, then shrug, and decide I will. I hand you my bag, and put the blindfold on. You check, and make sure it's tight. It is. It's secure, and thick. I can't see a thing.

You open your front door, and steer me inside. You guide me with your hands on my shoulders, saying when to step, and when to turn left, that kind of thing.

You take me into the hall, and then the lounge. I'm listening, wondering what's going on, and because I'm listening I'm almost sure I can hear people. I must be able to hear breathing or clothes moving, something like that.

"Who's here," I say, but no-one answers.

"Is someone here?" I say to you, but you ignore me.

I almost think it's a surprise party, except no-one's shouting surprise.

Instead, you whisper in my ear, "Undress."

"But there's people here," I say.

"I know. They're watching you. So undress."

After a minute I do. I don't know why. I don't know why I don't just run out of there and never speak to you again. But I stay, and undress, fumbling a little, slightly clumsy when I can't see. You help me when I need it, and take my clothes from me as I take them off.

I stop with my undies. I keep thinking about all the people I think are here. That I know are here. I'm almost naked, and they can see my tits, but I don't care about tits and almost-naked isn't the same as actually-naked. So I stop, unsure.

"Go on," you say.

"I don't know I can."

You slide your hand inside my undies and rub me gently. It feels nice. I'm wet already, because I'm naked in a room which might be full of people, and that's exciting. I get more excited. I want this. After a moment I shift your hand and push my undies down.

"People are going to touch you now," you say. "So don't get a fright when they do."

"You?"

"Not me. People."

"Which people."

"Everyone else," you say. "Everyone who's here watching."

"There isn't anyone else here. It's a trick."

Then hands touch me. A lot of hands. So many I can't tell how many. They stroke me, and touch me, and caress me all over.

"Oh," I say.

The hands go away.

People kiss me. They kiss me, and touch my pussy, one at a time. As if there's a queue, a line waiting to kiss me.

"Is there a queue?" I say. "For me."

"There is," you say.

I like to kiss. I kiss a lot. I'm not sure if it's the same people over and over, or new people and there's a lot of them. I wonder, and try to remember how different mouths feel, but I'm not really sure. I keep getting distracted by kissing and being touched, instead of thinking about that.

So I kiss, and they touch me, and rub me, and slip their fingers inside me. They touch until I'm excited and breathless and desperately needing.

"Where are you," I say.

"Here," you say.

"I want more," I say. "I need more pretty soon."

"Now?" you say.

"Now's good."

You led me forward, and say, "There's a bench in front of you. Lean forward and you'll find it. Slide onto it."

I do. I find it. It's some kind of wide, padded bench the height of a coffee table. Like a weight bench but wider. You arrange me, turn me onto my back, and move my knees so they're spread. Spread wider than I'd have liked, with all these people watching, but never mind.

I lie there and wonder how many people are watching me right now.

"What now?" I say.

I feel someone climb onto the bench with me. They're above me, right over me, with their knees beside my face. They come closer, and I feel a pussy. Feel it, or perhaps taste it, I'm not completely sure which happens first.

There's a pussy and a woman, right above me as I lie there.

"Oh." I say, and lift up to lick her.

I lick, and someone licks me, too. Not the same person, I don't think. The angle seems a bit wrong for sixty-nining, like too low down on me, perhaps.

Not that I really care. I lick. Someone licks me.

"There's people here to watch," you say nearby. "There's people here to fuck you. There's other people here who just want to lick you out."

Your voice is near my ear, beside me. Not above me, and not between my legs. It isn't you licking me, and it isn't you being licked.

"Oh shit," I say, "That isn't you down there."

"No," you say, sounding like you think I just said something funny.

That's exciting. That's really exciting, not knowing who's doing what to me. I reach down, and find the head of person licking me, and feel long hair. I hold her head, and start moving against her mouth, kind of pressing on it, rubbing on her, moving all slippery and slow.

I hold her, and she licks me, and suddenly I come.

I hadn't meant to so soon, but I'm excited by what I'm doing. By the blindfold and mystery and strange women having sex with me.

Because I can't believe I'm doing this, even though I am.

I go back to licking the woman above me. I lick her, and I think she comes too. She pushes down on me, anyway, and holds onto my hair. Then she disappears, and someone else kneels over me.

I lick the new person too. I lick anyone who kneels over me, whoever puts her pussy above my mouth, I lick her out carefully. Sometimes I feel clothes. Sometimes I feel dresses brush my face.

As I lick, other people fuck me. People are between my legs, using my legs to pleasure themselves. Someone lifts up my hand and puts it against herself, and holds my fingers there as she presses against me.

I lick. I finger. I move as much as I can.

People have orgasms all around me.

That's exciting, actually. I don't know how many people I'm making come, but it's a lot, and I like that I am.

I do again, too.

I lick some more. Someone gives me a drink of water between women, which I realize I need. I'm thirsty, and drink.

I lick, and as I do, I hear people moving around, and feel people moving near me too. I wonder how many people are here. I feel more hands on me. I feel touches and strokes and caresses. I feel mouths. I taste pussies. More people lick me, too, tasting me as I am them.

I lick as many more people as I can. My mouth is starting to get sore, though, and my tongue to ache from lapping, enough I start trying to use my hands now rather than my mouth.

I lick someone's ass by mistake, because I slip, but I don't care that I am. I lick her there, and she tells everyone else, and says what I'm doing, and then they kind of lift up my feet a bit, and take turns licking my ass too. Two people lick me at the same time, I think. One in front and one behind.

Someone fists me. It might be you. Usually I can't manage that, not and actually enjoy it, but now I do. Now I'm excited, and have come twice, and am about to again. Someone fists me, and other people keep licking my ass and clit.

I melt. I burn. I stop thinking, and forget to lick.

I'm so close I can't stop myself, and come, and then, I suppose because they assume any more will be too much for me now, all the hands and mouths go away.

All but one. I finish off the person who was patiently above me, waiting, and then I say I think I can't do any more.

People clap. Clap to say thank you, I realize. Because they don't want to talk so I know who they are. They clap and then a lot of them kiss me, saying thank you that way too. A lot of people kiss me, far more than I'd thought were here.

You help me sit up. You say I should stay where I am for a moment. You say they're all just getting dressed to go. You stroke my arms and back while we wait. You stroke me gently, and I feel almost sleepy.

Eventually you take the blindfold off. I look around at an empty room.

On the floor, below the bench I'm sitting on, is a line of roses.

"What are those?" I say, puzzled.

"Everyone who had sex with you, they put a rose there when they were done."

I count. Twenty-six people had sex with me. I can't quite believe I did this.

"Thank you," I say. "Thank you so much for this."

You smile, and kiss me, and then we make it twenty-seven.