There are two of them.
Seated together but apart, side by side on the sofa, naked, cocks exposed and straining.
They are not to touch — not me, not each other, not themselves — not yet.
.
Call it imagination; call it fantasy. Whatever it is, this is a scenario I build. Sometimes the details are filled in — red leather sofa, goosebumps along forearms, button-fly undone, naked torsos (or shirts unbuttoned) (or wearing fitted T’s), bare feet (or cowboy boots) (or sneakers) (or socks), their faces taking on the familiar shapes and expressions of men I’ve known (or loved) (or despised) (or fucked). Other times it is a broad-stroke impressionist perception I create, less about zooming in on the details than about the wide-lens view filled with lust and bodies and space between us and the possibilities that fill it.
.
I am seated (sprawled?) comfortably — sometimes naked, other times partially clothed with _just_ enough exposed to make them want to see more — and when I am ready…
knees opened, pink flesh glittering with wet, fingertips poised to massage my clit
…I nod for them to begin.
.
It’s hard to say what this is about, really. Is it about having two at the same time? About having control? About keeping physical distance but fanning the flames of flesh desires? Is it about watching them? About knowing that they are getting off on watching me get off (on watching them watch me)? Is it exhibitionistic? Voyeuristic? I don’t know. Perhaps it’s some combination of all of those things or perhaps it’s something else all together. The ‘why’ doesn’t matter to me so much as the ‘what’. And ‘what’ is going to happen is that I’m going to cum.
I’m going to look them each in the eye with a tease — with a dare, with a “You want to fuck me and I know it” haughty shake of my head and an insouciant grin — while I stroke my swollen nub and coat my fingertips with slick drip-cream wet running in rivulets from my slit. I’m going to watch their cocks get harder while they stroke, trying to keep time with me, knowing they aren’t allowed to come — not yet, not until after I do — and let my eyes traverse the trail of veins that pop bright burgundy against each of their swollen purple shafts.
.
I always reach my peak first — how I get there varies, as do the details of whether their cocks are inside me at any point along the journey; sometimes I leave my place on the floor to ride astride one and then the other, other times I turn onto my knees and spread my lips, listening to them gasp and groan with the denial-wish of desperate desire — and when I do finally cum…
ONLY after I do
…then (and only then) they are allowed to come too.
.
Yes, they are allowed to come then.
But they must come together.
And the reason they’re coming is over me.
.
This post is part of my Music As Muse September Song Project. To read more about the project or learn how to participate yourself, please click the badge above.
Post title for this fantasy concept courtesy of The Beatles’ famous lyrics from Come Together.
I like this!
Who is the lucky one you choose first…. what is it about them that makes you want to gift yourself too???? Absolutely love that look you will be giving us ….. so we could meat your demands