GAME OF THRONES: Wrap After-Party [Part 2 out now!]

[the_5am_club]

GAME OF THRONES: Wrap After-Party
PART I
by
The 5am Club

Celebs: Emilia Clarke, Sophie Turner, Natalie Dormer, Rose Leslie
Codes: cons, FFFF, Futa, fDom, solo, oral, feet

After many months spent on a project of futa novel, I decided to clear my head with a short story. The self-imposed rule was to write as fast as possible, without the painfully long rewriting and overthinking I usually indulge in, and then to see what happens. I hope the result is readable. Feel free to tell otherwise in the comments.

Given the setting, I tried to make use of the British lingo as best as I could. Unfortunately I ain’t no specialist, so I apologize in advance to my Albionic readers and to the Queen.
 
Also DISCLAIMER: Obviously this is a work of FICTION. If some elements are based on real events, none of the scenes described happened, because we live in the worst timeline.
None of the situations and dialogues were intended to be calumnious toward the celebrities named therein, or to convey rumors. They only served my story and are for entertainment purposes.

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The wrap party had reached its climax. The 2,500 people (more or less) in Waterfront Hall were raising the final glass to the most successful show in the world, shedding the last tear, wetting the shoulder of the final hug for a cast and crew about to be officially dissolved after eight seasons.

Most of them had showed up to the giant get-together, actors, writers, tech people, money people, famous, non-famous, infamous, with a usual court of freeloaders, and were wholeheartedly hitting the peak of celebration through booze and uproar. But most of them had enough experience of the industry to know how things would go from there.
All the throwback videos played, all the speeches made, the theme from Game of Thrones would resound in the auditorium, met by an unsurprised but overly emotional rumble of dragonish chants, then the exhilarated sense of kinship and all the short-lived promises would crumble under their own weight. Despite the DJ turning the music up, going into a seamless stream of catchy songs and strobing lights, supposed to get everybody on the dance-floor till dawn, the ballroom would start to empty, slowly and then inexorably.

The more people had been involved in the show, the less likely they were to hang around. No one wants to get stuck for eternity in a black & white group photograph where it’s painfully obvious you’re drunk and already wallowing in the question of the big thereafter, the hardest one in show business.
After these few hours and drinks, after the ultimate ruckus, the true ending of a farewell party, they would leave the place to the +1s, who never have to sober up.
For some the small afterwards would be a good night sleep, a red eye out of Belfast for others, and to all a phone call to an agent first thing tomorrow.

For Emilia Clarke, it was an after-party.

Like everyone else at this moment she was crying her little heart out in the mess of castmates and co-workers surrounding her like an earthquake, sad to say goodbye, good luck, good memories, but her emotions had been somewhat hollowed out three minutes ago by a text message.

First by the *ding* of her phone she had managed to hear in the deafening crowd—after all she had been waiting for it all evening—and then reading it did the rest. The frantic excitement around her became a blur, its noise a drone, and only her internal voice appeared steady and full, repeating the four-word text over and over: Room 68, 15min, counting down Room 68, 14min… Room 68, 13min… Room 68, 12min… as her mind was slipping towards more intimate excitements.
To make things more nerve-wracking, the text wasn’t asking for an RSVP. The first text a month before had made it clear. As clear as its implication: no bargaining, you were either in or out.

Emilia was in. She had been from the beginning, her brain and the circumstances never gave her a chance.

She was in her hotel room when it all began, after a day of shooting, fresh out of the shower and ready for a night of testing out the brand new dildo from Bad Dragon, which they had gracefully sent her.

There was a knock on her door. Her pussy, damp with anticipation, became as tingly as her mind’s eye already visualizing the kind of sapphic delights this night knocker had planned for her and she ran for the door.

But it was only a package for you Ms. Clarke and she’d better put on a dressing gown.

She tipped the bellboy unenthusiastically and then dropped the cardboard box on a coffee table among the pile of other gifts and letters and flowers without any more enthusiasm, leaving its content for tomorrow. She had already forgotten about it striding off to the other box, the one on her bed, full of sextoys and cumlube, but that’s when she received a text, the first text.

The perfect timing gave her a hint that she should read it immediately.

Just seeing the first line made her run back to the coffee table and snatch up the box without any mercy for the expensive gift bags standing in her way.

And now she had two boxes of sextoys on her bed, side by side, one from a manufacturer, the other from Sophie Turner, slut extraordinaire and master strategist, Emilia’s regular night knocker and the only person in this world who could rock her knickers off without even being in the room.

The message consisted of short, clear instructions. No reply. And Emilia, still horny, still using her mind’s eye, gave in, struck by an additional shiver down her loins when she saw the text was a group text.

She followed what it said, waiting for further orders, hoping it wasn’t all a dream the rest of the month of shooting.

The second, final text had woken her up from the dream. Harshly.

The reality of its last instructions Room 68, 9min… was blazing like ice and fire over the frivolous confusion of the wrap party. It made it hard to see who had left and who was still here among the female cast; who was in and who was out. There would be no support, no certainties, she was to be alone with her instructions until she would enter Room 68, 8min…

There went a certain bassline of cello. Emilia gulped down her last round of whiskey, chewed on the ice cubes almost cartoonishly and after a last—almost feigned—look at her watch, escaped the forest of drunk arms and lips, strolling as casually as possible, like a respectable celebrity, to the underground passage connecting the auditorium to the Hilton hotel nearby.

The next day, a paparazzi photograph would simply read:
EMILIA CLARKE LEAVING THE PARTY BEHIND FOR OTHER IRON THRONES.

*****

In other circumstances, the muzak version of the GoT theme playing in the lift would have made Emilia laugh to tears, but all the humidity of her body was hogged by one central point. She was wet, counting the floors as they passed by on the panel. 4th floor… 5th floor… waiting for the *ding* 6th floor. The doors opened. She stepped into a hushed silence and the brushing of her heels on the thick carpet.

It was as if everything had calmed down gradually from the flashing ballroom to this well-lit hallway. Such irony. Here everyone could hear her nervousness or see her horniness, which would soon trickle down the inside of her thighs. She had to keep moving.

There was a man at the end of the path, twice as tall as her.

It’s not the end, only the middle, she thought.

His calm presence pulled her to the door of Room 68.

‘Good evening Ms. Clarke,’ the bodyguard said, ‘Mrs. Turner is waiting for you. If you allow me, I have to check for your price of entry.’

‘Oh…of course!’ Emilia stammered. The instructions came to her once again, in the voice of Sophie.

The man drew a handheld metal detector from under his Italian cut jacket. ‘Just spread your legs, please.’

It was over before Emilia could understand what was happening. The man checked her crotch *ding* She was in the clear. He stepped away from the door and ushered her in without a word.

And just like that, she was in. She could hear it, there was a music of feminine voices. It guided her through a dim entryway, told her everything would be all right, and hot, excruciatingly hot. One last corner and here they were. Room 68, 0min.

‘Milly, you came!’ Sophie Turner said, darting towards her.

Before she could reply, Emilia was in her arms. She wanted to close her eyes, as tight as this embrace, and maybe expel all her feelings at Sophie, everything the fear had compressed inside her heart all evening, but she needed to look around. Almost an atavistic precaution.

There were two women lying lavishly on the L-shaped couch that spread across the room, looking back at her.

Natalie Dormer was not a surprise. Rose Leslie on the other hand: definitely. Emilia and her were friends, confidants, and knew everything of each other’s long nights with Sophie Turner. Mostly. But Rose was a blusher, someone who always swore it was the last time everytime.
Being here tonight was more than having one last lesbian orgy with your soon-to-be ex-colleagues, it was breaking her promise one last time forever. In just one glimpse, their stunned gaze said I guess that’s it, we’re finally having sex together tonight and you’ll also discover how much of a slut I am. If it wasn’t for the body heat of Sophie surrounding her, Emilia would have panicked.

Hey, the two women said from the couch. Emilia waved back from inside the tight hug and then a tongue invaded her mouth. It shoved in the fact that she didn’t have to pretend, they had all gathered here for one thing and there was no need for any composure or modesty. Those belonged to Sophie now.

So Emilia closed her eyes and let herself be watched. After all she knew it would be like this, it was part of the thrill, to show her co-workers that yes, she too belonged to Sophie Turner, that all this time she had been her booty call.
The French kiss became very intense, everyone could hear each other breathing heavily. When Emilia was suddenly let go, she backed up for air.

‘Amir has locked the door now,’ Sophie said (It meant no going out). ‘You’re the last one. I expected more but I guess they didn’t make it. Their loss!’

A list of names scrolled in Emilia’s mind, images of what could have happened… Again she turned towards Rose. Why does fear have to be so close to arousal? she wondered. She was incapable of discerning the two when she was looking at her friend and her red hair, her freckles, her blue eyes…

Unaware or indifferent to these considerations, Sophie invited Emilia to sit and help herself with a glass of champagne.
She had her own considerations. She placed herself in front of her guests, magnetic, gorgeous and surprisingly timid:

‘So, first I wanna thank you all for being here. These last four years you saw me fuck my way across the cast of this stupid show and not really paying attention to what any of you might feel. You had every reason to just stay the fuck away forever now that it’s over. Especially you Natalie, you had it the toughest because of those pictures at Comic-Con.’

‘For the last time Sophie, unlike you I wasn’t drunk that day, I knew what I was doing. And really I’m honoured I was your first, it was worth the gossip.’

Sophie nodded, unable to lift her eyes from the floor. If she did she would have seen Natalie smiling tenderly at her.

She went on:
‘What I’m trying to say is: you guys are awesome, thank you, from the bottom of my heart. If I organized this after-party and if I made it so hard to access, it’s because I’m done playing sexual butterfly with you. I want something else. If you’re here you’ve guessed the nature of it. I want to be yours. And I want you to be mine. Like… it’s like if I renounce these one-night-stands with you and have you all at the same time… like… if you belong to me instead of belonging to my every whim, it could be like we are actually…a thing? Does it make sense?’

None of them could answer that. Natalie tried:
‘Well, I mean when I got that package, I guess Rose and Emilia will agree with me, I knew you’d want more than just sex from us. And…Sophie, our relationship has always been all-in from the start, I mean…’

‘What does Joe think about it?’ Emilia asked.

Sophie snorted. ‘I’m his beard!’

‘What?’

‘Google it!’

Emilia did just that and if she had never heard the word before, she was not surprised of its definition. It was still common practice in the wonderful world of entertainment.

Rose tried to figure it out: ‘So it would be like the Mormons or something? You’re the husband and you want us to be the wives.’

‘I’d prefer the term harem.’

‘All right but how does it work?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Oh…’

Sophie went on, ‘I really don’t know. To me submission/domination is still this thing almost comical with whips and leather jackets and stuff, I don’t know what to make of it. And I don’t know how we can sort things out with our careers and everything. But I’m sure we’ll find something. Because if you decide to belong to me, if we get things to that extreme, we’ll have no other choice but to make it work.’

There was a long silence. It had been a confused speech overall, compared to the determined sobriety of her two text messages. But the meaning was the same. And one word had stuck out: renouncement. They liked this word. They related to it more than ever.
Emilia (and Natalie, and Rose) had already her mind set. Even before the first text, she had let Sophie penetrate her every thoughts, her days and her nights. The pain of seeing her fucking other people only ever showed how strong her bond was, only ever made way for the plenitude of submission.
To her, it had reached that point where Sophie could only be described in French: she was a raison d’être.

‘What would Kit think about this?’ Sophie asked Rose.

‘Well… I guess he doesn’t have to know.’

‘Emilia, your boyfriend?’

She shrugged. ‘Who cares?’

‘Nat?’

‘Single!’

Sophie sat down crossed-legged on the floor and asked one more time.
‘You’re here because you chose to follow my instructions. Now will you follow me forever?’
If tingles in the tummy had been a noisy phenomenon, the long silence that followed would have been cacophonous.

Emilia spoke first. ‘Of course I want to be with you, Sophie. Actually I don’t see how it would change anything, I’ve always been yours, baby, you know that!’

‘But do you really want to be mine this way?’

Emilia took a pause that wasn’t hesitation. ‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘I don’t know. That’s the whole point. Because if it made enough sense I could think myself out of it.’

As the conversation was slipping towards these religious undertones, Natalie and Rose stepped in, each in their own way, with their own words, but their answer was the same. They gave Sophie their soul by handing her their body.

And then there were tears. From the four of them. Until Sophie added: ‘I propose you call me mistress—’
Her three slaves burst out laughing, saying No fucking way! and Sophie joined them in, with her whole heart and humour. Nothing breaks if it can bend, this she learned playing powerplay. And after all they were friends. None of them had to forget that. They were. They really were.

Deep down Emilia knew they would do it eventually, as ridiculous as it would sound out loud, she was their mistress, their goddess, she had been for a long time and they had accepted it the moment they crossed the door of Room 68.

‘The gifts I sent you have a tracking device inside,’ Sophie explained, ‘I’ll be able to know where you are anywhere on earth. I can give you the app if you wanna have fun together someday.’
Emilia had always been too shy to ask Natalie Dormer out and too respectful to ask Rose to cheat, but in the glance the three of them exchanged, all she saw was the possibility of eight years of sexual frustration evaporating.

‘From the look on your faces I guess it’s a yes,’ Sophie said. ‘I propose we spend the rest of the night fucking each other’s brains out, to celebrate.’
‘Yes!’
‘Yes!’
‘Yes!’

She sprang up and dropped into their arms for a group hug that had nothing to do with fucking or with brains. They were four girls, still friends, still laughing, about to plunge into a strange relationship, based on strange feelings, of which they’d still have to figure out the rules and the nature. It was a liberating reaction, and as opposed to the moshing in the auditorium, it was not a hug for an ending, it was a hug forward.

They messed around on the couch like a bunch of kids, then, spontaneously, adulting came over and they began to kiss, a four-way sloppy kiss with lots of tongue and frisky hands.

Emilia was taking in everything she could, she now had not one but three mouths to perceive and communicate with, three women to fall in love with. She could vividly remember every time she had sex with Sophie, but she had lost count of how many times she had masturbated thinking about Rose or Natalie. And now she could taste their lips, she could taste Sophie on their lips, it was incredible, nuanced, a friend, a lover and a celebrity crush, the three melting in, bleeding out. And she wanted more.

Sophie noticed. She grabbed Emilia by the upper arm and made her get up.

‘Take your clothes off,’ she said to her.

As blunt as it was, Emilia didn’t budge. She didn’t have to repress any surprise in her because there was none. Sophie had only stated the obvious, her clothes were a stain on the hierarchy now implicit to Room 68. Her place was to be naked.

She walked to the centre of the room, three pairs of eyes getting attentive, running up and down her body, Sophie in the middle, her two slaves flanking her on either side.
It was like her first time on stage all over again. But this time she wasn’t going to play someone else.

Her fingers reached for the straps of her dress, she marked a pause so her audience could see they were trembling.

‘Go on then, it’s nothing we haven’t seen before!’ Sophie quipped and the Givenchy silk camisole dress fell between her ankles in a heap, unceremoniously, with no music, no dance moves and certainly no twerking. Emilia wasn’t wearing any underwear, as is customary with designer clothes, neither nipple pasties nor a flesh-coloured thong. She had made herself simply and utterly bare for all to see.

But she wasn’t done yet, she crouched to unbuckle her heels. Underneath, she was wearing delicate ankle socks. As she took these off, a moan escaped her lips. Not just because she was finally completely naked, because she loved showing her feet. She loved any and all attention to them. It was her twisted nudity, her sweet, sweet shame. She never made a secret of it either, as a lot of photographers could attest and most of her photoshoots could prove.

Fame had greatly helped her indulge in flaunting them to the world. Tonight no less than three celebrities were perving at her feet and it outshined the countless nights she spent thinking about all the loads shot to her soles, every clit rubbed for her toes.

‘Look at this absolute footslut!’ Sophie sneered, ‘I bet you creamed your pants when you had your last pedicure, thinking about tonight!’

‘I did. The girl at the waxing salon noticed how wet I was, it was awkward…’

Emilia expected all eyes to rise up to her smooth mons but it didn’t happen. It made her moan again and she would have had a feet orgasm on the spot if such a thing existed.

‘Did you touch yourself when you got back home?’

‘I masturbated all afternoon. Actually I opened your Wikifeet page and I made myself cum to your beautiful feet. Several times.’

‘Good girl!’ Sophie wrapped her arms around Natalie and Rose’s shoulders. Her voice had now reached the full sternness expected of her. ‘Don’t be jealous, girls, I’m sure she did the same with you before.’
From the look on her face, it was undeniable she did.

‘Now,’ Sophie went on, ‘tell us about my little gifts.’

This time all eyes did move to her crotch. Rose and Natalie were blushing all of a sudden.
Emilia turned around and bent over. And there was nothing much to see, except silicone. The stems of two buttplugs were poking out of her anus and her vagina, so large they hid her entire crotch like saucers stuck between her buttcheeks.

In a quivering voice, Emilia explained it took her a fortnight of training to wear them comfortably.

When she opened the package a month ago, she would have never believed she could take 4"-thick toys in her holes, let alone both at the same time.
But it was the price of entry, the instructions were clear. And during those two weeks, she had discovered sensations she didn’t know were possible, deep, intense, implacable. And she was grateful for it.

‘Took me the whole month,’ Rose said, ‘My pussy gave me the most difficulties. Kit helped me a lot.’

‘I only spent a few days,’ Natalie said, ‘but I guess you’re not surprised.’
Indeed, Sophie was not.

Having proved her physical devotion, Emilia turned back. She discovered the two women were legs spread, fidgeting with their own toys through their clothes.

‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’ Sophie asked her.

At once Emilia straightened up and braced for the little speech she had prepared:
‘My name is Emilia Isabelle Euphemia Rose Clarke. I’m 31 years old. I had 46 different sex partners in my life, 17 men and 29 women. The last time I had sex was 4 days ago, with my boyfriend. The last time I masturbated was last night in my hotel room.
‘The sluttiest thing I’ve ever done was hiring four male escorts for a night. It cost me a fortune cause I asked the agency to have them tested. I took one in my mouth, one in my pussy, one in my arse and the last one was fucking my feet. They went at me for a while and then when I gave them the signal they all came at the same time, that’s what I had instructed them to do.
‘My best friend was there, she filmed the whole thing. I masturbate to the video all the time.’

‘I think I’m going to need this video, Milly,’ Sophie said.

‘Sure. It’s on my laptop, I’ll send it to you.’

‘All right, come sit next to me. Rose, it’s your turn!’

The redhead stood up, her pale skin turning crimson. She switched places with Emilia and her clothes fell off just as quickly despite visible self-consciousness.

Emilia almost felt disappointed to not be the only one naked anymore. She snuggled up to Sophie like a cat—a very submissive cat—and enjoyed the new show.

Of Rose’s (and Natalie’s) body, she already knew everything (4K Blu-ray discs and even screencaps on her phone for emergencies), but her eyes scanning a few inches down, she discovered the uncut version of her friend, a red bush, unabashedly grown. Emilia gasped, eagerly, felt tingles in her tongue, let her imagination go wild, but she never let the hierarchy slip out of her mind: this pussy was reserved.

‘My name is Rose Eleanor Arbuthnot-Leslie. I’m 31. I had 11 different sex partners in my life. 3 men and 8 women. 8 women at the same time thanks to you Sophie, I’ll never thank you enough for this eye-opening night.’

The interested party raised her glass and let her go on.

‘The last time I had sex was this morning, with my dreamy husband. The last time I masturbated was back at the party. The plug was rubbing against my…my clitoris and I had to go take care of it in the loo.
‘The sluttiest thing I’ve ever done was leaving my webcam on so Ms. Turner right here could watch Kit and I have sex.’

They all let out a laugh which was the cue for Natalie to go and strip down.

It differed surprisingly from her topless scene in S02E03: two silver piercings were adorning her hardening nipples. But the real surprise came when she dropped her panties, as even Sophie didn’t know about it: glimmering among her perfectly trimmed blond pubes was a clit piercing, a stainless steel barbell going through her clitoral hood vertically, the bottom bead resting on her pink button.
Because she knew all eyes were on it, Natalie flicked it a little, nonchalantly, which of course looked positively provocative.

‘You cannot imagine the constant torture it is to wear such a big toy in your cunt when you’re pierced! Anyways… My name’s Natalie Dormer, I’m 36. I had around 89 sex partners, not counting the handjobs and blowjobs. 52 men, 37 women. Last time I had sex was last week with Lena. By the way, she sends her regards.’

‘That bitch!’

‘The last time I masturbated was this morning when I put my plugs in. I kind of came spontaneously, so I don’t know if it counts.
‘The sluttiest thing I ever did was an all anal night with two studs I had rented. They were bi, it was really hot. At some point I took one in my mouth and made the other fuck his arse until he had a prostate orgasm. And yes, his load did taste different if you were wondering.’

There was a moment of contemplation. Then Sophie snapped out of it and said:
‘Show us that clit, it looks all swollen.’

At once, Natalie was using her fingers to pull her hood back and make her clitoris stick out. It was inflamed and almost purple like the head of a penis. She came closer so they could have a better view. Her pussy was the distance of a kiss from their mouths.

‘Make yourself cum for us.’ Sophie ordered.

‘Now?’

‘Yes now, I’m sure you have an orgasm right on the edge begging for release.’

Without loosening her grip on the hood, Natalie put her middle finger on the bead that had been teasing her clitoris night and day for three months now. She rubbed herself and after a few seconds, she was cumming in front of the three women, her over-stimulated nub fluttering, the plugs swaying inside her, rattling against each other through the thin membrane separating her two horny fuckholes. Her legs buckled. Her mouth opened wide for whatever cries and expletives that wanted to come out.
She tried to stay upright despite the assault of shattering pleasure on her body, aware that she was here to show, not to enjoy.

Then eventually, her hips stopped twitching and her mind was back from heaven and she took a few steps back, like an athlete facing the jury.

‘You’re beautiful,’ Sophie said softly.

‘Thank you, Mistress’ Natalie muttered. There, she said it.

Emilia and Rose jolted. They stood up and rejoined Natalie in front of Sophie. Skins feeling warm and soft, pressing, brushing, a nipple against an arm, a toe over a toe, hands searching another hand, hair and body hair and gooseflesh. In one voice, they thanked their mistress. In one body, they presented themselves to their goddess.

‘You’re all so beautiful...’

With great difficulty, she looked away, for her phone.

She took it and dialled a number then it all happened very fast:
*picking up*
‘Is he here?’
*inaudible male voice*
‘Let him in.’

The door opened, someone entered, the trio froze.

It was a waiter pushing a trolley covered with buckets of champagne.
There were nine steps between the door and the vicinity of the L-shaped couch.
The man, despite being in his early twenties, was used to celebrity encounters and eccentricities, a perk of working at the Hilton, he probably even had a few stories to tell, but… it was Emilia Clarke and Rose Leslie and Natalie Dormer standing completely naked in the middle of the room. He stood rooted to the spot.

And the horrified stare contest started.

His professionalism tried to take the yoke back as fast as possible before G-LOC. Every alarm had set off in his skull yet he couldn’t hear them, he was crash-diving, in flames.
‘Put all this on the table,’ Sophie said, snapping her fingers in front of his face, which miraculously tore him away from the vision of the Three Graces and sent him back to work.
He began arranging the fresh bottles on the table and disposing of the empty ones.

 ‘What’s your name?’ Sophie asked.

‘Um…Brian, Madam.’

‘Do you watch Game of Thrones?’

‘O-Of course.’

‘Ever wanked it to one of these harlots here, Brian?’ She was pointing at them like at the salve market.

The waiter stood speechless. Sophie made a cork pop out of a bottle and he jumped in startle.

‘Tell me!’ she said, ‘Do you jack off to them once in a while?’

‘I… I… Yes I mean I…’

‘Show me.’

‘Wh…?’

‘Show me how they make you pump your cock! Come on, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity! Show me!’

He hesitated for as long as the bulge in his pants would remain unnoticeable. He looked at Sophie, at her three nude slaves, at the door.
‘Amir won’t let you out anyway. Pants down, mate, now!’

After all he was here to serve. Brian unzipped his fly and his dick sprang out.

Sophie snuggled down in the couch, sipping champagne straight from the bottle.

With a tense hand, he grabbed his unbelieving manhood, half hard but not for long: after stroking it for about fifteen seconds—and despite his best efforts—he was rock hard, and ready to demonstrate the extent of his appreciation for the TV-show and its female cast.

Sophie saw it but found nothing to complain about, quite the opposite.
She asked ‘Which one makes you cum most often?’

Brian struggled with his incoming load and his duty to remain courteous and diplomatic: ‘I… I can’t—’

‘For fuck’s sake, I need a name! Hurry up!’

‘Ms. Clarke!’ he whimpered out in a flutter of panic.

Emilia’s heart sank. She knew this question was not innocent.
She tried to lock eyes with Sophie but her grinning attention was still on the waiter.

And then Sophie leaned forward and said ‘Come closer and shoot your load on my face,’ eyes already closed, pulling her hair back, waiting.

His mind blown, Brian took a few wobbly steps towards her, about to blow something else. He aimed his cock at her head, not sure how close he was allowed to get. He repressed a groan and started cumming.

Emilia, Rose and Natalie were watching it all with a crippling fascination, no longer concerned about their forced exposure, because for the first time, they were seeing their mistress for what she really was; in fact a little more with each rope of cum blasting her face. And Brian did blast a lot. His cock may have lasted only a few seconds, his balls were definitely delivering.

When Sophie opened her eyes again, she was covered from forehead to chin in long streaks, so thick it would take a while to dry off.
She took Brian’s shaft in her hand and sucked the last drops of semen out of it in a sloppy, languid kiss.
‘That was impressive!’ she said and handed him a tenner from her pocket. ‘You can go now.’

And Brian, all sheepish, put his junk back in his pants, took the most unnecessary tip of his career and then, with one last look at the three naked actresses, one last look at Sophie Turner with his cum on her face, left Room 68 for a well-deserved drink.

The door slammed behind him.
The four women observed each other. No laughing anymore.
Sophie sighed sultrily, closing her eyes, enjoying the warm, sticky sensations of her facial and the looks of awe and envy being sent her way.

Only Natalie dared to say the truth:
‘So…I’ve no idea what just happened but…wow… You are one mad slut, Mistress, oh my God… Should we clean you off?’

‘No.’

Sophie shot to her feet, her sperm-coated face dripping down everything, the carpet, her clothes… Almost casually, she headed for a door and opened it to the pitch blackness of an adjoining room.

‘Ladies, Room 69 is waiting!’

*****

Emilia took her sisters by the hand. She wasn’t nervous or scared—even when Sophie disappeared through the doorway and into the darkness like the Phantom of the Opera—their mistress out of sight, it was a solemn moment, where they could express sisterhood for the first and the last time before what they knew would be the big night.

She sent Natalie a glance that said Nice to meet you, nice to fuck you. To her friend Rose, she simply mouthed the most obvious three words of affection.

They joined in a circle (more like a triangle).

And kissed.

Because they belonged to Sophie they belonged to each other now.

‘I’m terrified!’ Rose whispered.

‘Good,’ Natalie replied, ‘the adrenaline will only make you cum harder.’

‘Let’s go,’ Emilia said.

She stood in front of the open door. She had no idea what was beyond, but evidently Sophie had spared no expense. In a few seconds she could have the whole Crusaders F.C. tag teaming her mouth, or have her buttcheeks branded by Allison Mack, or perhaps the lights would turn on to reveal the whole cast of Game of Thrones whooping SURPRIIISE! in which case Emilia would be greatly disappointed.

They stepped in, one after the other, engulfed by a tense silence.

As they explored further in, guided by Sophie’s shadowy shape, they realized the silence was actually the sound of a woman panting through her nose.

Sophie told them to stop once they had reached her and she turned the lights on.

A bedroom. Subdued atmosphere. Super king size bed.
Sprawled on it was Maisie Williams, bound by the same nakedness as them except for the thin red rope that had been expertly, intricately, aesthetically tied all over her body and restrained any movement.
On her eyes, a blindfold. In her mouth, a ballgag. In her ears, music coming from wireless earplugs.
Her legs were bent and tied up against her chest, leaving her crotch in plain view. There was her anus, covered by the bejewelled, heart-shaped end of a silver plug; there was her vagina, tight-looking and glistening; and then there was what the three women had seen the moment their eyes fell on the young actress, what they first mistook for a strap-on dildo harnessed to her hips, but it stirred and throbbed and leaked, it was real, it was a 16" cock, ready for them, it was a pair of apple-sized balls, full for them. It was the final gift, carefully packed by Sophie Turner.

‘Come on, let’s break my toy,’ she said.

[Cadeauxxx]

Great writing, thank you for sharing with us! I will change your profile to author now, so you'll come up with a green name at the bottom of the front page where the users are online.

I hope you don't mind, but this story will also be moved to the Futa section. Because we have a good sized archive of those stories, it's easier for Futa fans to find them there. Thanks again for sharing with us!  Hope you enjoy your time on our forum!

[the_5am_club]

There's a futa section?? 

[thenewcomer]

There's a futa section?? 

Heck yeah.

[Viri]

Damn, that was some hot writing. Really like the feet stuff, don't see that often.

[the_5am_club]

Really like the feet stuff, don't see that often.

Well prepare for more foot action, Part II is coming this weekend! I think.

[the_5am_club]

Game of Thrones: Wrap After-Party
PART II
by
The 5am Club

Celebs: Emilia Clarke, Sophie Turner, Natalie Dormer, Rose Leslie, Maisie Williams
Codes: cons, FFFF, futanari, fDom, fist, feet, squirt, ws?

So after going through post-first draft depression, here's part 2. Hope you guys like it, I know I didn't.

It should be said that there is a scene out there with maybe/maybe not watersport. It's actually very mild and really up to you to decide if it is or not. (Author's hint: it's not, I'm not into that shit, you weirdo!)

And DISCLAIMER: All the famous names appearing in this work of FICTION are purely coincidental, I swear.

============================

It was a haunting spectacle Maisie was giving unaware. Her mind cut off, suspended between a violent arousal and a waiting fear, her body had taken over—though not any less constrained—over time reduced to a range of muscular reflexes that were the pure and never-seen depths of an intimacy.

Nothing more/Nothing less than this she had made herself: a body, left alone to fight with lust, thinking itself alone enough to allow lust to win. And now its bareness was a delirium visible to the three sets of eyes fixed on her. Under the ropes, this perfectly naked thing was loose, deaf to the footsteps closing in, blind to the light turning on, instead struggling against the bonds with the most involuntary utmost sensuality, mumbling pleading things no one could understand, shifting on the bed to hump the air with all-powerful genitals intoxicated of being so denied.

And Emilia was uncomfortable being able to see Maisie like this. She never had been much into peeping, to have this ascendancy over someone, and thus she was feeling out of place. But had she been a little more honest with herself, she would have spotted the Freudian slip. Yes, her due place was on that bed, with this fourth slave—another sister—bundled up like a fucktoy begging to be picked out of its box.

Yet her gaze was of helpless fascination, rough like a tongue, running over the naked body, dwelling on the abnormal penis. It was the same for Natalie and Rose. And those three were the actual spectacle—irresolute looks, dangling arms—reserved to Sophie who was standing aside, arms crossed, observing her three new pets with a perverse satisfaction. As planned.

She could even guess the internal monologues: How long.

Long enough to leave bruises under the rope; long enough to leave a pool of precum on the mattress. (Had she been hard the whole time?) She was there when the party started. They saw her when… They saw her, they shared a drink, they hugged, they…
Long enough to lose my mind, Emilia thought.

Something that would never happen to Maisie’s kind. According to the rumours at least. The futanari, as they were called, were a modern-day legend, circulating on social media, not backed by any science, any visual proof, and if it was true—so far it was—those dick-women were made for going through such purgatories of horniness. Hypersexual beasts, eating dopamine raw.

Turns out Sophie Turner had captured a live specimen.
Emilia’s pussy clenched around its plug.

The scheming host finally broke the entertaining awkwardness:
‘Yes it’s true, this woman has a dick. Forty centimetres and fully functional. Come closer, don’t be shy!’
She sat on the bed. The young futa turned her head in a swift, animalistic impulse, unable to stretch it completely towards the source of the pressure on the mattress.

‘Are you ready for us, Maiz?’ Sophie purred, stroking her friend’s hair, loosening some of the knots, tightening others.

‘You couldn’t imagine my surprise when after all these years my BFF finally told me her…secret. Such a sneaky little slut! This big boy right here can be so small when it’s soft.’ She removed a bud from Maisie’s ear: ‘You sneaky little slut!’ she whispered and put it back immediately. As she did, Maisie moaned in fear and anticipation, ballgag vibrating. Then she sniffed the air and whimpered, having caught the reek of the load on Sophie’s face.

Alongside smell, she had one other sense left to feel: touch. Sophie poked the monstrous penis and it throbbed so abruptly it startled Rose.

‘She’s a futanari? Is that the word?’ Emilia asked.

‘Yep!’

‘So they’re real after all.’

‘Yep!’

‘And I guess Mophie was real too after all,’ Natalie said, not without some trepidation in her voice.

‘Yeah…’

‘How did it happen? Did it grow all of a sudden, like a werewolf or something?’

The eyes of Sophie immediately became hazy as she recalled the moment.

She always thought Maisie was a prude. The funniest girl in the world but definitely a prude when it came to bedroom stuff.

‘Like, she was a never-nude because of that dick, can you imagine? While I walk around tits & butts out pretty much all the time.’

And then Comic-Con happened. When Maisie saw her flirting with Natalie, when she heard the story of that first time, when she listened to her friend affirming her bisexuality with so much liberation, she couldn’t hold back her condition anymore. And they started talking. About sex. About everything. And how Maisie Williams had been lusting over someone and this someone was Sophie Turner.

The young woman cupped her palm on her cheek. The girl responded to the pressure, tenderly. Then she jolted: Sophie had just pulled her foreskin back, making the bulbous cockhead pop out and flare wider in the cool air and turn purple and glisten. Her body arched as if everything in her, everything vital, all her force was magnetized to this swelling central point that was her glans. Then the great and slow contraction let go, just as suddenly, but not without a volley of precum which spattered her stomach.

‘After that, she had no other choice but to tell me about the "detail". And show me too. I expected something horrible like a deformity or whatever. So I was relieved when I saw her little pecker.’

‘And you just jumped at it,’ Emilia joked.

‘No! Honestly it looked like a micropenis.’

‘A grower then.’

‘Yeah. What I did was, I toyed with her pride to make her feel better. I convinced her to get hard to show me she had a big dick. You know…boys will be boys… And when she saw my face she felt like the queen of the world. I probably looked like how your faces look right now! I mean, you guys had seen a 16" cock before?’

No, they hadn’t.

‘She explained to me when you’re a futa, after puberty you’re basically horny 24/7 and it feels like heroin withdrawal and she was fucking exhausted. I was the only one who could relieve her, cause she saw how sexual I had become, she knew it wasn’t just a phase. And she trusted me. And then—’

Then the tears were undeniable, rolling down her cheeks, mixing with the thick load.

‘…then the L-word got involved,’ Rose deducted.

‘Yes.’

‘And it’s mutual.’

‘Definitely.’

Sophie stopped; the rest of the story was private. There were no further questions about it, no jealousy either, no rivalry, no hierarchy. The only hierarchy Emilia and Maisie and Natalie and Rose and Sophie recognized was a small game embedded in submission, and submission only a small game within the sentimental immensity they were bathing in together without a clue of up and down, left and right.

Everyone’s attention moved back to Maisie and her futa boner towering over the bed.

‘So I guess you understand now why I made you wear those plugs.’ Sophie said, carefully wiping the tears off her eyelids and avoiding the semen around.

‘That knob is like twice as big though!’ Natalie said.

‘Of course, you thought I was gonna make it easy for you?’

Emilia felt shivers sweep down on her holes. Rings and walls. During her daily training, she had imagined how the night would unravel. She had pictured collections of toys and heaps of orgasms; but she had not prepared for such an unreal experience.

‘Here’s what I propose…’ Sophie said. Without ever breaking eye contact with the three women, she went on to all fours over Maisie, facing her penis like for a 69. She brushed her face against the shaft and strove to delicately smear Brian’s load all over it.
Then, once she was done and after a hungry look at the result, she snatched the giant bellend with her lips and pushed it in her mouth.

It was unreal, it looked unreal, Emilia had definitely found the right word.

The jaws of Sophie bent and she fed the shaft down her throat, steadily, with no pause for any of her gags and chokes or Maisie’s jerks and squirms, only stopping ten long seconds later when her nose was buried in the swelling ballsack.

Everybody was staring, back and forth, in complete silence. Except for Maisie who was wailing hours of frustration out.

Then, with a total disregard for warm-up and build-up, Sophie began ramming her gullet, as easily as if she was pumping her pussy with her favourite toy, growling out the most obscene throat sounds Emilia had ever heard.

The eyes of Sophie, darting straight at them, were red and drowned in stingy tears but her only expression was of defiance.

Eventually she regurgitated the penis, strands of semen dangling between her lips and the tip. She straightened up to her knees, a mixture of spittle, cum and precum flowing down her chin, tears and sweat messing everything else, makeup, hair and dress, and at that moment Sophie Turner didn’t look like a mere actress anymore, she looked like a pornstar.

‘First, I’m gonna give Rose a lesson!’ she said.

‘What did I do wrong?...Mistress.’

‘You blush! that’s what you’re doing wrong! You blushed when you took your clothes off, you even flinched when you said clitoris, for fuck’s sake! It was cute when we were having casual sex together but now you have sworn you belonged to me! If you’re self-conscious it means you’re not sure I’m worthy of it! So I’m gonna fix it once and for all! Get on all fours! Now!’

When Sophie arrived, the redhead was already assuming the position, shaking and lost. Her mistress put a high-heeled foot on her right buttcheek, gripped the plug in her anus and pulled firmly. It resisted, they yelped—Rose in pain, Sophie in frustration. Then there was a wet fleshy noise and the sound of air rushing into a gaping hole. This time Rose yelped in pleasure.
‘Keep yourself open! I swear if you let your arse close down I’ll kick you out!’ Sophie said and she spat through the anal ring.
Eyes shot open.

She turned around and headed back towards Maisie, grabbing an empty champagne glass from the bedstand. She put it under the peehole discharging precum in large globs. With her free hand, Sophie kneaded the testicles impatiently. It made the oozing a constant flow, so much that the glass was full in a few throbs.

She went back to her other slave, the opened one, kept wide by two trembling hands, and poured the clear liquid down the offered hole.

Emilia saw Rose’s face contort in shock but it was still a stunned silence in Room 69. Sophie put the plug back in and moved back, probably to get a good view of a new spectacle about to happen.

Which happened.

Rose began throwing gasps at the floor.

‘Is it working?’ Sophie asked sternly.

‘It feels weird. What did you do to me?’

‘Futa precum is the most potent aphrodisiac ever. You told me you never had an anal orgasm, well you’re gonna cum with your arse in 5…4…’

The short span of the rest of the countdown was enough to crush Rose between having to stay still and panicking. It felt that long to her brain, with way too many signals raining to her muscles before it was decided whether she would run away or be taken away by this alien orgasm already building up. The result was only pitiful little whines and scared looks around.

3…

Emilia, who caught some of these looks helpless and wickedly turned-on, knew that Rose had never been able to truly enjoy anal sex, but she knew something else: Rose had never been able to squirt either. To the point of becoming obsessed with trying. It was going to be too much to witness, because—2…—because Rose was rolling her hips like she had an itch inside she couldn’t scratch—1…—then like she had a fire inside she couldn’t put out—0…—then like she was understanding the scale—Come on, don't fight it—accepting—Don't fight it—Because arousal was so close to fear and both had been viciously hurled at Rose. It was too much to look at. But they all looked.

The gasps were knocked out of her mouth, replaced by still concentration, replaced by one drawn-out high-pitched roar which could only mean one thing, for the first time Rose Leslie was cumming with her arse. And for the first time, she constricted whole, like a tense dance pose, and liquid dripped between her knees as the slap of pleasure in her arsehole had ricocheted on her G-spot which had whiplashed through her Skene’s glands.

Even Natalie cursed under her breath.

‘So how was it?’ Sophie teased her again.

‘IfeltitinmyarseohmyGod!’ Rose blurted out, twitching and panting.

‘Yes you did. And how do you feel?’

‘Oh…hn I…it feels goo—’

‘No, how do you feel?’

‘I-I feel like a cumhole!’

‘Good enough. But not good enough. Tell us how you really feel, Rose.’

‘I… OOOOOOH! I feel like the most beautiful whore in the world!’

‘Spot on! Now you see, futa cock is like magic,’ Sophie explained, ‘So if you don’t submit to me, I’ll make you! Is that understood?’

Not quite listening, Rose worked her precum-saturated bowels around the plug again and came again, for an inordinately long time, very ostentatiously, unconcerned by the mess, unconcerned by anything anymore. The oversized plug inside her cunt was compressing her urethra, making the stream of cum stronger than what the squirters around her were used to.

Then instead of collapsing in stupor, Rose pounced on Sophie. ‘Thank you, Mistress! Oh my God, thankyouthankyouthankyou!’

It was her turn to sob. Tears rolled down her face and more girljuice trickled down her clit. At that moment, she did look like the most beautiful whore, Emilia could witness.

It urged her to say: ‘Mistress, I need to squirt too!’

‘Me too.’ Natalie added.

‘Fine, have your way with her then.’

The two women mobbed their sister out of Sophie’s arms and pushed her to her knees.
Natalie, the first ready, snarled: ‘Open your mouth, little flower!’ and before Rose did, the smirking blonde, with a few expert flicks on her pierced clit, was splashing her face. Then she was hitting the back of her mouth.

Emilia quickly joined in, aiming at the red bush she had always lusted after. Her jets of cum, long-awaited, felt like a blaze from her tight hole down to another blaze of pubes.
Rose came a few more times, without touching herself, without even acknowledging it, too caught up on gulping down squirt like she had done it her whole life.

When they were done, the newly analslut was a squirming shapeless form on the drenched carpet. Emilia stayed with her, kissing and licking her face, moaning joyfully, mouth open as Rose was ranting how she wanted to be filled up again and again, how she was gonna outslut everyone tonight and other pleading things no one could understand.

Then she plunged her hand between her soaking legs and came one last time, her tremors making her insides slosh.

*****

To cool things down, they had a little more champagne. And it gave them the time to realize two things:

• They were drunk.
• At some point you really have to pee all that booze out.

Like a bunch of girls, they moved the party to the bathroom where they relieved their bladders one after the other on the only toilet and then "freshened up" together in the shower.

Not Sophie, who was to stay clothed all night, they guessed.
Because of it, someone dropped the word watersport and after a comedic beat, they all burst into a tipsy laughter, mocking the word as much as the idea itself, right away declining the kink.

Or postponing it.

*****

Walking back to the bedroom, Emilia could have almost forgotten it wasn’t a girls’ night out; her nudity had become a dress that comfortably fitted her and the buttplugs were like the ring you keep on at night. She was still giggling when she realized her mistress was addressing her.

‘Since you were Brian’s favourite,’ she was saying, ‘you get the first ride. Take the plug out of your cunt and replace it with Maisie.’

Natalie and Rose turned towards Emilia. She couldn’t tell if it was envy on their faces; couldn’t put words on the turmoil in her own mind either. But irrevocably, she wanted to comply.

Emilia stepped forward. She clawed at the base of the front plug. Her fingers were shaky and sweaty but she pulled and pulled. All around her, breathing became heavy. The toy slipped (that wet slurping noise again) and tumbled out to the floor.
She sat on the bed facing Sophie who was now lying beside Maisie. Emilia spread her legs and presented her gaping pussy.

‘This hole is yours,’ she said, holding her labia open with her fingers.

‘Mmmh, looks very tempting!’

‘Mistress, can I…worship your toy before I use it?’

‘Sure.’

With visible relief, Emilia loomed over the petite futanari and zeroed in on her soles. As much as she hated the autistic cesspool that was the foot fetishist part of the Internet, she had always agreed with the general consensus that Maisie Williams had some of the most gorgeous feet in the business. And she was about to do what all those poor chaps could only miserably dream of doing.

She wrapped her fingers around her feet. And she kissed them. Slowly. Avidly. She reached for her not any less luscious legs, caressing them while suckling on her toes, giving a demonstration of her fellating skills.

Maisie was looking up blindly, delighted of the attention, bracing for something more or something worse. Behind her ballsack, her vagina was getting wet. Wetter. Emilia interrupted her fulfilled fantasy to go straight at it but Sophie swatted her away. ‘Nuh-uh! Pussy’s off-limits!’

Not losing momentum, Emilia fell back on Maisie’s breasts which she smothered tirelessly. The cockhead was close now. She could feel its heat. Better save it for last.
While her kisses were spreading around, her hands were just as busy. Emilia was caressing anything that wasn’t rope. Her new sister was smooth as silk and so reactive it was giving gooseflesh all around.

In just one surprisingly simple stroke, Sophie untied the ropes binding her thighs to her chest and Emilia could sit astride Maisie’s lap. As she did, the stiff member stuck along her spine, going way past the middle of her back.

‘I forgot you’re so short,’ her 5'9"-tall mistress said. ‘This could make for an interesting sight. Go ahead!’

Emilia tilted and crawled back to get Maisie’s genitals below her. She reached down. First the testicles, so big she could grab only one at a time. She massaged them, taking immense pleasure in it. The skin was hairless and taut, the two glands taking all the space inside the sack; it was obvious the futa had been denied for days, if not weeks.

Something churned inside, like an angry hive under her fingers. Emilia jumped and cursed.

‘Oh yeah, I prepared her for tonight,’ Sophie said. ‘This whole month I edged her every chance I got and I locked her in chastity the rest of the time. Futas have to cum several times a day. She’s fucking stacked up! Her first load is gonna be something to remember!’

‘You mean it’s her sperm I just felt?!’

‘Yea.’

There was a furtive glance of OMG WTF between Rose and Emilia. Cut in by Natalie looking like WOW. Just WOW.

Next was the shaft. Veins buzzing just as hard as the torrents of cum inside the balls. The flesh underneath the skin responded to the delicate fingers Emilia placed onto it, making itself hard and tender for any fuckhole that would come and appease the agony.

Then at last, next was what Sophie ordered her to do:
‘Saddle up and tease that horny clit of yours on her cockhead!’

Emilia sat on the shaft, her loose pussy locking itself like a suction cup onto the sixteen inches. She pulled her clitoral hood and started grinding her engorged bud over the frenulum. She knew from experience that stimulating (licking) a guy there could make him cum in seconds. Maisie jolted so promptly at the sharp sensation Emilia had to lean on top of her. She hushed her softly, planting a kiss on her forehead and running her fingers through her hair, telling her how beautiful she looked, even if she couldn’t hear her. The disoriented, strained expression on her gagged face was worth the lost compliments.

Emilia picked up the pace of her imperceptible motion as she was feeling the sparkling tingles of pleasure grow inside her clitoris. Already her whole crotch was covered in pussy juice and precum.

Sophie got to her feet and nodded at Nat and Rose. ‘You two sluts come help me get her full of cock!’

Emilia saw herself surrounded. They took her by the arms, by the shoulders, by the waist and before she could say anything, any last words, they lifted her up and lowered her onto the impossible penis.

Her lips stretched around the flared head. Despite the dilation, despite the lubrication, the woman and the futa cried out at the strain. Only Emilia could express it freely:
‘Fuck! Fuuuck! It’s so big—UUUUGGH my God it hurts so good!’

They were not going easy on her. Seven inches were forced in straight away, as deep as the plug that was there not too long ago. After that point, Emilia fell silent, focused on the long descent down the shaft. She clenched her teeth and worked her muscles to ease the way for Maisie. Already she was feeling full and distorted beyond reason but Sophie tightened her grip and pushed harder.
But the warmth… the strange warmth of that miraculous precum…

Emilia had to hold onto the pillows. As she did she realized Maisie was pushing her penis in at the same time.

I’m just a hole to them right now, a hole melting down into Sophie’s will, she thought, growing lyrical, and from it I can feel all is right.

She offered an affectionate look to Sophie, who offered a naughty smile in response. Trust was pouring out the two of them. So when Maisie bottomed out against her cervix and they still pushed the few inches of cock left, Emilia only struggled weakly out of their grasp, despite the pain, despite the bared teeth, despite the yelps, and the shaft went up and up and up. Her eyes were closed but she knew exactly what she would see over her shoulder: Rose uneasy, Natalie somewhere between nervous and mischievous, and Sophie in control, knowing where the middle was and where the end should be.

Emilia had to take a decision, before the pain did.
She groaned in.
And groaned out ‘Fuck me, Mistress! Do it!’

Her mistress jumped up and fell back with all her weight on her shoulders. There was a snap in her stomach, cock sucked in to the brim, and her whole body seized up. Emilia’s eyes flew wide open as she let out a short, soundless shriek like she had been stabbed, overlapping with another shriek, this one of pure raving ecstasy.

All the hands on her disappeared, left her pinned to the cock like a ragdoll. Emilia was at the beginning of orgasming harder than she ever orgasmed.

Sophie had to shout over her screams: ‘Maiz’s dick is stuck inside her uterus, that’s why she’s cumming so hard! And you two are next! Now move, Milly! Fuck that cervix! Come on!’ But Emilia was too stunned to do anything.

So they griped her again and made her pump her pussy (the full length of it) up and down. The permanent detonation of her climax doubled down, her screams became a broken howling everytime the flared cockhead burst through the neck of her womb to bloat it into its own shape. A shape of orgasm shaped like a uterus stretched into the shape of a shallow clitoris filled of seas of billions of clitorises fantastically rooted into the erogenous inner-walls of her mind. Panning across them repetition lost its sense, like each day repeats each sun different and her cunt was comprehending at last the experience of a long direction instead of a sum of steps. That’s what the shape made her feel, made her cum at this instant, a feasible unity in place of an end.

Until it ended.

But Emilia didn’t recognize it. The choir to her brain was still singing, re-performing the voices of every orgasm she ever caused, including her own. (That was the point: including her own)

She was torn away from Maisie and left to writhe on the bed.

It didn’t matter. Emilia had a new horizon within her now. Concealed deep.

When the world before her eyes began to impose itself a little more comprehensible, she spotted Rose taking her turn at getting her cervical cherry popped.

Her screams were just as loud and unbelieving. Even after a first anal orgasm, after a first ejaculation.
She's gonna lose her mind, Emilia thought, and tried to catch her breath and her sanity. She wiped the sweat off her forehead. Her whole body was shaking. She wanted to go and hold her friend, reassure her, tell her. But what was it to tell really? What could she do? Quote Timothy Leary?

Natalie was no better, squirting in anticipation without even touching herself. Knowing what was going to happen to her was probably more terrifying than being taken by surprise.

So instead Emilia touched her vagina, expecting a mess beyond recovery. It was pulsating, it was feeling like a vacuum and she could feel every square inch of its walls.
It was also permanently gaped now despite the other plug pushing against it.
She tried a finger in, feeling around, then another, she paused, shivered at the thought of what she was about to do and then, without ever looking away from the spectacle of Rose cumming out of her mind, her whole hand slid in to the wrist.
She moved around on the bed to find the best position and when she found one, Emilia began fist-fucking herself.

Somewhat numbed after her wombgasm, the pleasure felt more emotional than physical; that's why her voice came out jagged and weak: ‘I’m fisting myself! I’m—’

‘No one cares! Help me get Nat drilled!’ Sophie said while helping Rose lie down on the bed. The redhead was wriggling like a tourist spiralling into a first shamanic trip.

Emilia pulled her hand out of herself and licked the juices off her fingers while taking place next to Natalie.

The blonde was quivering and wheezing anxiously, girlcum streaming down from her piercing.
Seeing it, Sophie asked: ‘Oh my God, you’re a wreck! Are you squirting or are you pissing yourself?’

‘I don’t even know! I’m so fucking scared!’

Sophie reached out and scooped the sweaty hair away from Maisie’s face. ‘My toy is overheating. Nat, come here and cool her down.’

She obeyed at once, straddled Maisie’s head and let herself gush all over her unexpecting face.

Maisie protested helplessly but Sophie leaned down and kissed her, sucking droplets off her cheeks at the same time. And then she turned to her slaves and her eyes made it clear Natalie had to sit on that cock and cum to insanity.

Emilia and Sophie gripped arms and shoulders and, after the long slide down, pushed mercilessly till they heard the snap and Natalie started to squeal.

The woman, the oldest in the room and without a doubt the sluttiest, started the up and down motion by herself, looking for the best way to fuck her cervix and ride the mighty bliss.
She came for endless minutes, without help, from lips to ovaries, drowning the sheets in her juices, and everybody was watching in awe, observing the waves of pleasure rippling through this body, this face, this soul on overdrive.

The second Sophie noticed the sharp breathing coming out of Maisie’s nose, she pulled Natalie away from her. ‘That’s enough, you’re gonna make her cum.’

Natalie crashed down next to Rose. They held each other and started to cry. Emilia joined them, in their arms and their tears and they could come down from their shared uterine revelation.

Their satisfied/unsatisfied bodies entangled in a dizzy mass of lesbian touches and kisses. Soon it became impossible to tell who was where, what was doing what, if it was the hand of Rose or Nat or Emilia inside Rose or Nat or Emilia, if it was one or two or three voices howling out an orgasm.

Sophie decided Maisie had to see this fuzzy orgy of three of the most desired women in the world. She untied her blindfold. Their eyes locked, Emilia had a glimpse of it before she buried her face back into flesh, then she heard Maisie moan at the surreal tableau.
Nothing was lasting more than a few seconds in this slithering clinch, a clit sucked, a nipple bitten, going from mouth to mouth, mouth to hand, tongues tugging, wet lips wetting wet lips, legs rubbing against legs, against feet, against bated breath, and fingers were disappearing and reappearing, playing with whatever they would find, skins were entwining into an infinite knot only Sophie would resolve…

Emilia was back in a trance (like everyone else in the room anyway), closing her eyes for a tunnel of pleasure, reopening them for a salve of tongue-lashing, three permanent climaxes lingering all over her, all across her. But from inside the frenzy, she could catch other glimpses: distant visions of Sophie taking the gag out of Maisie’s mouth, of them kissing, a spark of pure love passing through their gaze, wordless and more meaningful than any word.

And then, as Rose was fingering her—or perhaps it was Natalie—or perhaps it was herself—Emilia read whispers. She was adamant it did happen, it was no delusion, she did see Maisie say Clean this mess. and Sophie mouthing Yes, Mistress. before swallowing the cock and the three different tastes of grool coating it. It’s what she saw.

The threesome slowed down. Maybe they had seen it too.

Maisie looked on the verge of bursting again. ‘No no no, you don’t get to cum yet!’ Sophie said to her as she took a thin and long beaded plug on the bedstand and slid it down her peephole to the brim, leaving only the ring out for ulterior pullout.



The three women were lying side by side now, masturbating each other, watching.

Casually, Sophie transferred Maisie’s silver plug from her anus to her mouth and reached for one of the big plugs on the bed, one that was inside a pussy not ten minutes ago. She punched it into Maisie’s tight hole. This time the futa could moan freely around her new, smaller gag.
(Emilia wished this plug was hers so it was her own juices seeping in Maisie’s rectum.)
Sophie replaced the blindfold on and left her slave (..?) squirming at the head of the bed to finally throw herself into the orgy.

There her dress could finish its disintegration by sweat, saliva, squirt and friction.
But again, her nakedness slipped out of their hands before it could happen, she stood up, in rags, and simply said she had to leave for a while and the resulting shivers put an end to the scene.

*****

Sophie had disappeared into Room 68 and they felt lost. They couldn’t make anything of that sudden freedom while the shape of Maisie Williams was looming over them, like a scary temptation.

Emilia was lying next to her, at a respectful distance, as if the most chastised slave in the room was radiating with the presence of their untouchable goddess.

Rose was sitting by herself, still astounded by her newfound ability and testing it out with a flick of her fingers on her overworked clitoris.
‘This is the most extraordinary night of my life!’ she whimpered as she spurted, once more, between her thighs.

‘Yeah… What the fuck…’ Natalie replied. She was licking out the two other plugs that had been left on the bed.

Ha hnt horr, they heard.

It was Maisie. She spat out the bejewelled plug and cried out ‘I want more! I need another pussy on my cock! Please!’

‘I don’t think you were allowed to speak, love!’ Emilia said.

‘No, she was not!’

The three women turned towards the voice that had come out of Room 68.

Sophie was outside the door. She had changed her clothes to garter belt, stockings and stilettos. Her pale skin was shining in the semi darkness, her pierced nipple glittering.
She stepped inside the bedroom and, standing proud and lewd, tilted her hips so everyone could get a good look at her strap-on.

[Viri]

More nice work. I thought I had left you a comment yesterday but seemingly forgot, sorry about that.

Love the way you describe little details in these stories, you really have some great skill with words.