Group, Public,
I had to pick up a new, altered evening dress for a big night out. My bestie was receiving an award at the businesswoman of the year dinner. As I was currently man-free, I was happy to partner with her as I might get lucky with a wealthy guy. The truth was, I was well overdue for a full male workout and internal service of my body. It was six months since my ex had moved on. Geez, my pussy might revirginise; if it didn't get some action soon.
When I had problems finding parking around dead retail lunchtime on Tuesday, I knew something unusual was happening: at the Eastside Mall. Then the in-your-face, life-size posters gave me a reality check: lunchtime Tuesday.
Today, on the central podium under the huge skylight, there would be the new sensation teenage heartthrob; a reality machine TV generated pop star, Felix Devine, would appear, sing a few songs, and head off to their next equally super crushed engagement.
Screw it; getting through the growing mass of frantically excited teeny-bopper fanatics already waiting in the central mall area for the one o'clock appearance was hard enough. I sensibly skirted the edges and got to the alteration shop.
I was held up waiting as they looked out the back for my dress.
"Um, is this it? I think it reads Francis Jones," the new disorganised but sweet casual assistant finally said, showing me the nearly illegible docket.
I nodded; it was my dress.
The vivacious but plump young woman gave my self-esteem a polish as she said: "Wow, it's a gorgeous little black number; very sexy, and I'd love to be your petite size."
I smiled.
Yeah, I was a trim package for thirty-five; not a MILF or a cougar yet in my own mind. Still, screw all those guys out there; that couldn't see it. But tonight, I could get lucky.
I felt good leaving the store and sauntered with my chest-defining flouncy white blouse: a steal even at one hundred and fifty dollars. It was sexy me. It was a light, silky cotton gauze, perfect for high summer. Three-quarter-length sleeves let me showcase my elegant, long, ring-less fingers.
My high-waisted short, soft red mini skirt set off my super flat shapely tummy and was a bold statement to guys: I'm seeking, are you looking.
No one appeared to be looking.
It was warm and humid, and I was flaunting my stocking-free, sleek, shaved legs. I was swinging the bag with my evening dress as I returned to the central mall.
I was feeling good about myself. My new white heels were killers, but at five foot two, I needed the height. I let my dark, wavy, soft curls bounce around my shoulders.
Perhaps I was a haughty eye candy tease, brimming with mixed messages, wanting my knight in shining armour.
Oh, I had to stop being so picky.
However, the frickin central mall was now a body press of uncontrollable teenage hormones as some announcer indicated Felix's imminent arrival.
Go around the edge again; I decided on that again, but the mall's central area was overcrowded, body to body and filling too fast. The thick, impenetrable mass of clamour and energy was back from the stage.
I could see plenty of yellow hired security vests, but they were seriously herding a sea of excited young bodies. Someone had utterly underestimated the blonde heartthrob Devine's luring power.
I got stuck in a recess, a niche, along the back wall.
Damn teenage infatuations.
I waved to get the attention of the nearest crowd control guys.
I was hemmed in.
No way out.
The audience got horribly screechy screamy as their boy was jostled through the crowd by his own security for his introduction, and I swear the youthful prick; lip synced his insipid opening teenage heartache number: the volume up; in my opinion, way too loud.
The only other adults apart from me not interested in the mayhem were the several security officers making their way to me. They all had the size and the skill to carve through a squish of teenage bodies without mistreating them.
Gentle giants, I thought.
The first of the guys arrived and created some breathing space for me in my hemmed-in niche.
Though the prick was looking at me like I was candy.
However, I was thinking of knights in shining armour as three more burly guys arrived. I should have been thinking of one of those end-of-year football trips where the players go feral, and the tabloids run salacious headlines and censored pictures.
It was getting claustrophobic in the mall centre. I realised I was flustered not by my delay or the press but by the strapping, sturdy testosterone overload now building around me. My body was excited by macho, red-blooded maleness. Male close excess.
Virile, robust, big guys: like the front row of a league team. All big boys and only one cheerleader; me…Stop daydreaming, girl, I told myself.
One of the yellow-vested guys with short-cropped hair said: "Lady, you look like you could do with a relaxing grope?"
I was now tightly hemmed in alright: not by a crowd, but by seven hefty, well-built guys.
Solid manpower.
I said: "I beg your pardon."
It was very noisy, but I was processing the prick and thinking, but not very fast.
"Oh, you heard me alright; lady; all this boy toy action has got your pussy wet; for real men; admit it."
You are either in or out of the moment. I should have been offended by his straightforward, blatant sexist advance. It was crude and deserved a cutting retort or censure. However, I could feel the press of male hardness all around me, and I was in.
The cropped guy was pressed right up against me. I was corralled in by the other vests, an enclosure of broad-shouldered muscle.
The savvy guy looked me straight in the eyes: "You want it here and now; with us, say yes, say yes or flip us the bird and we're off; go get crushed in another less pleasant way; or nod, lady, just nod, then we are all yours."
To nod or not to nod, that was the question: Screw Hamlet and high school.
Ah, consent. Beautiful consent. Acquiescence, understanding; but just what the fuck was I giving the go-ahead to; I nodded and nodded again.
Hell, I went complicit. I groped at the cropped guy's cock in front of me and a random one in pants to the left of me.
Then, Yes, I was the plaything of several men at once. I was reduced to a sex object, wedged in a human scrum as I was mall mauled.
My objectification was beyond the sensational. My tits were being fondled. My pussy was being fingered under my skirt. My arsehole had a digit probing up it, and my panties yanked out of the way. My mouth was invaded by one, then another tongue. My hands were tugging up cock left and centre.
And three burly guys formed a wall of discreetness for their mates but frisky, awaiting their turn—my guard of concealing dishonour.
I was savaged in my happy, greedy holes by big boy strength and pure muscle. Manhandled. My private kitty was groped intensely by a generous three-finger fuck. My arsehole was not denied: happily slotting two firm fingers, making my butt squirm.
Male hardness wedging my body. Male hardness in my hands. God, I felt a whore; but only because there is no word to describe fairly a woman taking it all.
My arse was taking a true buffeting, but it was raunchy. It wasn't polite, only staggeringly good. I was gaped and loved it.
My pussy was leaking moisture in a near-liquid stream; boy, was I wet.
Male hands were clawing and pawing all over me. My tits were getting a generous rubbing and heaving; my nipples squeezed between fingertips.
My mouth was full of another guy's tongue.
Suddenly I was bent over, and a generous thick cock was drilling straight into my butt crack. My arsehole was near bursting; as near-instantly, another cock was blurring in and out of my mouth. I was in the middle of a scrummage of guys. They had me locked in; someone was grabbing handfuls of my thighs, another my titties and maybe two others, my bum cheeks.
I was being consensually molested; a contradiction in terms, but true. However, being groped roughly was a new, strangely addictive feeling. I was hooked. My body was an accepting blur of total compliance. I was a living fuck doll.
God, the bastards were all intent on conversion, scoring inside me; every one of them, the first row, the second row and those on the frickin wings.
The audience was still enjoying their poster boy of the moment, but I had a bevy of real men.
I heard the guy behind me jolt and groan and ease out of my arse, but his pecker was replaced by another one. It slotted in so quickly, and my arsehole was just as happy to have more cock. I realised my body; any body is never immediately satisfied once the pleasure really rolls.
Felix was belting out another song on stage.
The crowd was screaming.
The cropped-headed guy groaned as he filled my mouth with jizz. I had no option but to swallow. Which was fortuitous as another hard dong was rammed straight into my unprepared mouth. But my lips adapted so frickin quickly. I was trash, and that surprised me more than the pleasure in my arse from a second prick. Well, that was amazingly good, too.
My sodden-gawped arse was churned with a double dose of cum. My mouth filled again with a huge wad of creamy, actually quite tasty semen.
Hell, there is only so much a girl can take, or is there.
My mind may have put a cap on sexual capacity; my body, in contrast, was in blissful hedonistic freefall, voracious for men.
The next guy behind me thrust straight into my liquidious, avaricious, needy snatch. God did it feel good. My arse was sated; dribbling cum. My pussy was now being pumped to its depths. The bastard in front of me was titty fucking his dick between my squeezed tits over the top of my bra cup. The dirty, dirty sod, but he gave me his warm splashing load straight into the well-formed O of my mouth.
Christ didn't these dudes carry condoms for casual, opportunistic sex. Luckily, I was on the pill as my hot box was generously creamed; the bastard not even thinking of withdrawing.
My oh my; there was still one really big, I mean big erect cock, and I saw it sidle behind me and felt it squelch and expand in the slops of my already fully primed coochie. It was a sweet, sweet fuck. So easy was his motion; so frickin slick was my cum expanded hole. The cropped-haired prick was fingering my clitty as his mate jerked off inside my obviously replete cock draining honey pot.
There is sex, and there is dirty, adventurous sex. I fully understood the difference.
Well, thank you, god, for those wives somewhere who still put handkerchiefs in their guy's work pockets because that helped me clean up.
The hunky team formed a charming line with folded arms to give me some privacy as I tidied up.
Fuck knows why; they had seen, tasted and explored every part of me.
I was tingly and nearly unsteady.
My body was near exhausted because it had been worked to its limits, but boy, oh boy, had it delivered to the max.
The cropped-haired guy gave me a couple of sticks of gum as I straightened myself up.
My mouth worked the minty taste, sharpening me up and refreshing my gob; however, my mind chewed over the preceding eventful minutes.
Devine was waving to his fans and being ushered out by his entourage. The teeny fans dispersed, and my sex crew drifted away, not even looking back at me.
I picked up my dress bag and swaggered out of the slowly emptying mall.
I felt sensational.