The boys caressed their living statue everywhere but her superbly waxed and gently tanned pubis. Each in turn kissed her on the lips, slipping a tongue between them to taste HER tongue, if she allowed it. They sucked her nipples, licked along the curves of her buttocks, then pushed the cheeks apart to tongue the gently opening muscle ring of her anus -- such intimacy made her cry out softly, legs going wobbly, and they had to hold more firmly to keep her from falling. A fetishist rubbed his whole face from her toes to her ankle, a romantic ran his fingers through her greying hair, pushing it aside to kiss her shoulders and the back of her neck. The panty freak was out of luck, contenting himself with licking along the subtle boundary between her buttocks and the darker skin of her back and thighs, dreaming that she might let him watch her getting dressed... afterwards.
Each got on his knees in turn to fumble with the padlocks that sealed her pussylips. Golden brass shone with the polish of many tongues and fingers and -- of course -- her own pink flesh, but the years of wear showed too. This was not the first crop of boys she brought to her party. The key would jam in the lock. The shackle would seize up, have to be coaxed open slowly, fingers slippery with her juices, juices that somehow didn't seem to lubricate the tiny mechanisms they fumbled with.
Patience ran short: the boys were so aroused each had his own little denim tent at the crotch of his jeans. Even finding the right keyhole gave him nothing more than permission to put his key and keychain in a back pocket, unzip and struggle to free his erection, pushing his trousers down and peeling off his tight, white cotton briefs. And that only after he'd carefully unthreaded the balky shackle from the piercings in both of her soft, wet pussylips.
Two locks remained when one boy, practically sobbing with frustration, simply could NOT get his key to work. He thrust in one hole, wiggling and twisting and nothing, pulled out and tried the other, nothing, then back again to the first, so roughly they were afraid something might snap and end the game there and then.
The only other boy still wearing jeans was by now vigorously pumping his tongue into the woman's pulsing back passage, delighting in her moans of excitement, but the fumbling and clacking of locks distracted him. Coming around to the front, he whispered that he would help, go out of turn and try his key.
They all gasped. They'd never even bent the rules of the game before, but he was so desperate the boy seized the key himself, stuck it in the padlock at the top, right under her stiffly erect clitoris, and twisted so hard it almost broke. But it worked. The key and lock went into a jeans pocket and now only one boy was left with a cock in prison.
A deep breath, a pause, a wet hole carefully penetrated as the boy shoved it in deep, then twisted...
It wouldn't go!
Shaking with frustration, he forced his fingers to gently jiggle the slick brass shaft in and out, back and forth, again and again in futile, compulsive repetition.
"There's enough room," he choked out finally, "Only one left!" He paused, then, plaintively, "Please?"
"You know even if it weren't the one directly blocking the opening to her love tunnel," a voice said quietly, reverently, "It would still be against the rules!"
"Fuck the rules!" he yelled, struggling to his feet, "Find some bolt cutters!" He pointed an accusing index finger at the small metal chastity barrier. It mocked him, swinging gently with each deep breath she drew, "She wants to fuck as much as any of us!"
"More" the woman's lips mouthed silently.
