After much deliberation, we decided the event should take place at night. It was billed as adults-only, after all, and thus it would be more sensible to hold such an event after dark rather than at mid-morning or even late afternoon. As a downside, we knew the darkness would make it difficult for spectators to watch from the neighboring buildings, and that didn’t sit well with either of us.
Fortunately, management agreed to let us use one of their industrial outdoor floodlights to fully illuminate the patio. It was just as well; they were already providing security for the event, plus several staff members to operate the barbecues and serve the food. There would be no alcohol provided nor even allowed on the premises; among the duties with which security had been entrusted was checking all guests for alcohol or other contraband before admitting them onto the patio. This was in addition to checking IDs to ensure nobody under legal age to attend such an event was present.
We considered that it might be difficult to attract spectators if alcohol was prohibited, but I made the decision because I knew it was what was best for you. Besides, the lack of alcohol would probably make for a safer, more comfortable environment. Booze and antagonistic fratboy bullshit went hand-in-hand. Our audience might have needed the alcohol to loosen up enough to enjoy the show, but we were the ones performing and we didn’t need it.
Anyway, it was going to be an exciting show, featuring things most of our spectators had never seen in person. This is how we sold the event to the public, and even with the clear ban on alcohol, we knew there would be a sizable crowd based solely on that fact. In addition, food and non-alcoholic drinks were included; even if someone wasn’t there to watch us perform together, they would surely not object to a sumptuous meal.
I thought about ordering a couple silk robes, something extravagant and sexy that one might see a porn star wearing on the set while waiting to shoot. For weeks I had been imagining the audible gasp spreading through the crowd as you dropped your robe at long last, revealing your naked form to dozens of excited spectators who’d been mentally undressing you all evening. I wondered if I’d be able to feel your confidence rising as they applauded, or even cheered, your disrobing. Unfortunately, it completely slipped my mind until the last minute, which is why your jeans, shoes, T-shirt, and everything else are scattered on the patio as you sit in one of the lounge chairs with your legs spread.
You are showing yourself to the crowd. You are displaying what is mine. Everyone looks on in awe, struck by your immense erotic beauty. My arousal builds as I catch sight of a couple guys I’d noticed earlier checking you out; their eyes are wide and their expressions suggest complete focus, as though what they are now seeing was very worth the wait. I can relate; I remember the first time I beheld your nakedness. I remember the anticipation and the excitement. For me, it was worth the wait as well.
Before we get started, I address the crowd. I don’t waste time thanking them for coming; their stomachs are full and now they are about to witness sex the likes of which most of them will never see, much less experience firsthand. I won’t make them thank us, but neither will I express my thanks. My remarks are simply an explicit statement of the rules.
“For this performance to take place, we insist on a respectful environment. You are here to watch us. You are not here to belittle or degrade either of us. You are not here to give instruction. You are not here to catcall. This woman is my wanton whore.” At this, a couple excited whoops emanate from the crowd, so I continue. “But she is also my precious angel, and she is never to be mistreated or objectified without consent. Violators are subject to ejection.” I gesture to the four uniformed security personnel standing at regular intervals at the far end of the patio, then pause and survey the crowd briefly; nobody seems to have an issue with what I am telling them.
After a moment, I go on: “You are free to enjoy the show. In fact, you’re encouraged to enjoy it. You may applaud or cheer, respectfully, at appropriate times. You are free to desire her, and to envy me. You may do anything else that comes naturally as you watch the show provided you have the consent of those standing around you. However, this is strictly a spectator sport. There will be no direct audience participation.”
The flood light stands not far away, with an angled shield installed to direct the illumination at the lounge chairs without blinding us. As you had hoped, we are lit sufficiently that the people we’d noticed on the fire escape across the street should be able to make out what’s going on. If they can see us, we will look like 4K ultra high definition video to the crowd gathered on the patio not far away.
I resume massaging your thighs. You sigh softly as you feel my warm hands, and lean back to rest on your elbows. In the light I can see your glistening arousal, and I can feel your excitement as I lower my hand between your legs and part your lips. I hear you gasp as two fingers slip into your wetness and begin to stroke your G-spot. I don’t do it long; I just want to gather your juices on my fingers so I can bring them up to your mouth for you to taste.
As you lick my fingers clean, an excited buzz ripples through our audience. This is something they were not expecting to see. Knowing how excited they must be, you savor your arousal erotically, then suck my fingers as though they were a pair of cocks. To the gathered crowd, your hunger is plainly visible. But I don’t wait long before pulling my fingers away and putting them back inside your pussy. As I manipulate your G-spot, you writhe and moan. I know it won’t be long before you climax, so I lower my mouth to your clit and lap eagerly before sucking until your movements and sounds tell me you’re right at the edge.
A hush falls over the spectators as your moans increase in volume and intensity. Or perhaps your moans are so loud that they have drowned out their murmuring. Your wet pussy bucks against my dripping mouth, and I hold on for dear life, never missing a single lick. Soon I become conscious of your hands tangled up in my hair; you draw me in further, your hips undulating against my face as you throb against my tongue.
The sounds of your release have given way to screams. Inwardly I acknowledge the ego boost that comes from knowing that my ministrations make you scream, but I still don’t stop licking and sucking your clit as I finger your G-spot. You tighten your hold on my hair as you ride out your orgasm, your screams reaching a crescendo before dying away as you finally collapse against the lounge chair.
Read Part 2.