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© 2001 by J.D.  Coltrane

There was more than one person in the room with her.  She understood that now, but she had no idea how many there were.

She sat on the bed having followed his instructions exactly.  His e-mail had detailed the clothes she should and should not wear.  It had told her which hotel to use, what time to check-in, everything.  The black silk scarf and handcuffs had come by overnight mail.  The instructions on how to use them had come by a separate e-mail.

She sat on the bed, her black skirt pushed up to her hips, her white silk blouse open, her legs spread, her pussy exposed, her nipples hardening in the cool air, her wrists bound by the handcuffs, her vision denied by the black silk scarf blindfold.  She sat waiting, listening to the click and whir of a camera, frightened but wanting what was to come.  Her trust in him was unlimited.

"Stand her up and strip her," came a voice, his voice, she recognized.

Hands took her arms and lifted her to stand.  More hands pushed her shirt down her legs to her feet.  Other hands used scissors to cut the blouse from her.  It didn't take much effort to present her naked.

"Put her on the bed, on her knees," he said.

The unnumbered hands guided her onto the bed.  Hands attached some kind of cord to the handcuffs and tied her to the headboard.  Hands moved pillows under her breast.  Hands moved her hips and opened her legs.  Hands glided over her ass, her pussy, her wet inner thighs.

She pictured herself in that moment totally exposed to him and the others.  She pictured it in her mind as the camera clicked and whirred, as the weight of bodies moved on the bed around her.

"Do you want to take her?" asked his voice.

"Yes," answered a woman.

A body moved onto the bed behind her.  A hand moved between her legs, touching her pussy lightly, gently.  She knew the hand would find her wet and hot, she knew it.  The hand pushed a finger inside her slowly, straight away.  The finger moved in and out slowly, leaving her to paint circles around her clit with her own juices.  The same finger brought those same juices to the pucker of her ass and painted again, circling, wetting her.

The finger entered her ass smoothly as the camera clicked and whirred again.

Cool, thick liquid dripped down her ass, running over her and around the finger.  Lubricant, she told herself.  Another finger entered her pussy.  The same person, she wondered with no way of knowing.  The two fingers began to fuck her, to move in opposing time, one in, one out, alternating their entry.

The feel of the tongue on her clit surprised her, such a pleasant surprise.  The second finger in her ass caused her to moan before she could stop it.  She felt the warm, smooth plastic of the vibrator sliding into her pussy, the dull murmur of its purr as it joined in the chorus of her first orgasm.

As her orgasm built and crashed over her the fingers in her ass were withdrawn and replaced by a small vibrator.

"Stereo," he chuckled from behind her.  The camera clicked and whirred several times.

Bodies moved around her and as she was fucked by the two vibrators and the tongue.  Bodies touched her, held her, licked her, squeezed her nipples, tongued her ears, pulled her hair, consumed her.

She came again, then again, then again.  There was no point in counting, no record to be kept.  It became a dark blur, an unseeing mass of experience totally given to feeling.

Then it was over.

"Leave her there," he said.

The bodies were off the bed, moving away.  In a moment she was alone on the bed, she realized, still exposed, so wet, so genuinely taken.  The hotel room door opened and closed several times.  They are leaving, she told herself, leaving.  Please come back, she wanted to scream, but she didn't.

"Again sometime?" he asked.

"Yes," was all she said.

The door latched itself behind him and he was gone.

Copyright 2000 by J.D.  Coltrane  All rights reserved Reproduction in any form prohibited without written consent of the author.

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