Read Part 1.
The applause of our audience is somewhere between a golf clap and the sort of reaction one hears when a football team scores a touchdown just before the end of the first half. It is sporadic, not exactly half-hearted but somewhat restrained. They have heeded my words and are showing us respect, but at the same time it’s evident that they are loving the show so far. I look down at you, enjoying the sight of your bare breasts rising and falling with each breath; the look on your face is one of ecstasy, though in a moment your expression gives way to self-consciousness, maybe even embarrassment. You start to blush.
You’re still smiling, but it’s a shy, very reserved smile. One might assume from the look on your face that you are having second thoughts about all of this, or even feeling shame. I know better, though; you are having trouble believing that you are worth all of this spectacle. The onlookers, right there on the patio, on the fire escape across the street, and undoubtedly watching from their windows in the overlooking buildings – They have to be watching for some other reason, haven’t they? It is as though I can read your mind.
I lean close to you and whisper so that you can hear but no one else can. “They are all here to see you. Not me, you.” I refrain from telling you that I am incidental, that I may as well be a dildo for all these people care; I know you’ll tell me that I’m crazy and that you wouldn’t be up here on this patio, six floors above the street, naked and vulnerable in front of dozens of strangers if I wasn’t with you.
Speaking of dildos, I eye the bag of toys. It’s sitting on the ground between our lounge chair and the unoccupied one beside it. I have so many ideas that involve penetrating or stimulating you with them, but all in good time. The night is still young, and we have so much more to show our audience.
You sit up and begin to fumble at my belt. I know what you want. I want to give it to you as desperately as you want to receive it, but I pull away and tell you no, not yet. As you hear my words I see you pout, so I waste no time before lowering my mouth to your breasts and sucking vigorously. Your moans of pleasure are a delight to my ears, but I don’t stop there.
My mouth still on your nipple, I slip two more fingers inside you. But instead of caressing your G-spot I begin fucking you with them. My movements are just as vigorous as is my sucking, and your moans take on a different tone and overall sound. This is not just play; you are going to cum and cum quickly. The sounds of your pleasure give way to sounds of release, and you bring your spread legs close to your body and hold them there, your hips slowly swaying as your orgasm washes over you.
I pull my fingers out of your pussy and bring them up to your mouth again. This time I allow you only the quickest of licks before they are back inside you. Soon I grow so aroused that I can’t ignore it, and neither can you. As I knead my erection through my jeans with my free hand, I notice you straining for a look. Even wracked with pleasure, all you can think of is getting me into your mouth.
“Please.”
The word is a throaty whine. The sound excites me, but what turns me on even more is the look in your eyes. It is a look I can best describe as urgent desperation. I like hearing you beg me, and I think the audience would like it as well, so I say one single word:
“Louder.”
You say it again, your voice higher, amplified, but somehow more desperate as well. Your unchecked desire has you all but unhinged, and I know I run the risk of taking this too far. But I can’t stop.
“Louder. I want our audience to hear how badly you need my cock. Make them hear you and maybe I’ll give you what you want.”
“Please!” This time, the word is an anguished exhortation. It’s louder, too; there is no doubt in my mind that our spectators can hear you now.
“Please what, my angel?”
“Please give me your cock.” Your last word hangs in the air for a very long few seconds and then you speak again. “Please! I need it.”
We both know that I have no desire to keep either of us waiting. But I can sense the exhibitionist thrill this moment is giving you. I know letting everybody hear you beg excites you as much as the anticipation does. So I prompt you further.
“What do you want to do with it?”
“I want to suck it.” Your words are low again, not quite a whisper but definitely not loud enough to excite the gathered crowd. This will not do.
“Louder. Tell them.” I gesture to the audience, standing just a few yards away from us. “Don’t tell me. I already know what you want. Tell them.”
Your voice is raised now: “Please! Please let me suck your cock. I want to worship you. I need it.”
I wonder if you can see me throb against the inside of my jeans as I hear your words. But I don’t wonder long before I unbuckle my belt. Soon your hands join mine, and before long mine are at my side while you pull my erect, swollen length from my pants. Before I can fully appreciate what is about to happen, your nose is pressed against my waist. I can feel the head of my cock at the back of your throat. I can hear you gag as you try to take me deeper.
I shift a little, moving myself to ensure the assembled masses can see you pleasuring me. I look over and see everyone watching intently, eyes wide. Some of them are touching themselves through their clothes, or even touching someone else. They don’t matter; all that exists in this moment are the two of us
After a very long moment you come up for air, gasping for breath as you replace your mouth with your hands. You look up at me with watery lust-filled eyes, a salacious smile making your intention very clear. You pump me in a tight grasp, then dive back down. As you swallow my cock you move your hands to my sides, slip your fingers into the belt loops on my jeans, and pull them all the way down. I remove my shoes with my feet and then step out of my pants, kicking them in the general direction of the pile of clothing you shed when our performance began.
When you come up for air this time, you go to work on my balls with skilled lips and tongue. At the same time you stroke me from tip to base. From the crowd I hear more excited murmurs; they may not know it, but this is my whore at her most wanton. Yes, you are performing to an extent; you want everyone presnt to see what I get to enjoy whenever I want to. But you aren’t embellishing your performance at all. This is exactly how you worship my cock when we are alone and nobody is watching.
As you take me back in your mouth, I cast off my shirt and toss it to the floor not far from my jeans. It seems I’m not the only one removing clothing; I hear what sounds like zippers being unzipped and clothing being taken off not far away. The audience must really be enjoying the show.
The thought turns me on even more than I already am. My hips begin to rock as I imagine the sea of aroused spectators behind me, so horny, so desperate to be part of our performance that they can’t help but play. I feel your hands on my ass, pulling me even deeper into your mouth, and all at once I begin to throat-fuck you. My hand finds your hair and I hold your mouth in place as I thrust as deeply and fiercely as I would if I were in your pussy or your ass.
I spare a moment and look over at the crowd. Several spectators have opened or even dropped their pants, and in some cases lifted their dresses. It’s a very tantalizing visual, and I know that despite your shyness it turns you on to be the center of attention in this fashion, to have captivated your audience to the extent that they have no choice but to get themselves off as they watch us. It turns me on too.
Read Part 3.
