Audacity (Seraph)

Gabe leads me to what I assume is the centre of the room and then abandons me with a kiss.

‘Blindfolded woman in the buff,’ Benedict murmurs from behind me, taking my shoulders. ‘God, I love it when the reinvention is better than the original.’ He spins me gently before walking me forward for a few steps. ‘Music.’

Instantly, the orgasm vocals stop and the distinctive beat of Billie Eilish’s Bad Guy comes on. I smile, because this song absolutely nails both the kinds of men I like and the kind of woman I am.

It would definitely make Gabe’s mama sad if she knew the kind of woman her son was fucking.

In any case, the beat gets right under my skin as I stand here naked and unseeing in front of this circle of gorgeous, aroused men. I’m about to be used, passed around them like the most mesmerising prize, but if they don’t understand that every single part of this scene is for me then the joke’s on them.

I land in front of one guy, my hands feeling for his shoulders, my thighs brushing his knees. He’s removed his jacket, and his shoulders are broad under the lustrous cotton of his shirt.

‘He fucks you until the music stops,’ Benedict tells me over the music, and with that the guy grabs me with two hands on my waist, pulling me towards him. I go, widening my stance so I can straddle him, looping my arms around his neck for balance and dipping my head to his neck as he swipes the tip of his latex-clad dick through my wetness. He’s a big guy. Gus, maybe? I don’t know, and I don’t care, because the not knowing whose dick I’m allowing inside my body is the hottest part of this.

That, and the certitude that Gabe and the others are watching right now, dicks out and ready, waiting for their turn with me.

He still has one hand on my waist, his fingers digging in hard, guiding me downwards. I lower myself onto his thick cock, gasping at the instant, glorious fullness of it, at how dirty it feels to be impaling myself on this stranger for our mutual pleasure. How shameless.

‘Fucking hell.’ His voice is a grunt. ‘Jesus fuck, you’re sexy.’

Behind me, Benedict grabs my ponytail and twists it around his fist. ‘Ride him.’

I do, focusing on nothing but the tension on my hair and the burn in my quads and the rough drag of this guy against my inner walls as I move. The friction is excellent, the feel of his powerful body thrusting up into me fantastic. I can definitely come like this. I just need⁠—

The song cuts out abruptly, and Benedict tugs at my ponytail. ‘Up.’

Fuck.

‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,’ my fuck buddy pants out as I ease off him.

The guy sitting next to him has me bend over the chair as soon as a new song starts up so he can take me from behind while Benedict holds the chair steady to prevent us both from crashing forward. It feels so utterly filthy to be ploughed into like this, my hands white-knuckling the chair back and my tits bouncing freely as the others look on.

This guy may not have the girth of the last one, but he’s fucking me like he’s paid for the privilege and he’s intent on getting every drop of value from this coupling. Or maybe he just wants to shoot his load before the music cuts out and avoid his friend’s fate. Either way, his hard drives are hitting the spot, and I teeter on this knife-edge of arousal they’ve had me on until I’m shuddering and gasping and pleading with him, with whoever’s controlling the music to just, please, let me have this.

They do, and the orgasm rips through me like a fire in an oxygen chamber, consuming everything in its path. I press my blindfolded forehead into my knuckles as I ride out the climax, the man behind me fucking me roughly through it until he goes impossibly taut before jerking his own orgasm into the condom. When he’s done, he slides out of me, leaving me bent over and panting. I’m vaguely aware that his buddy who got short-changed before him is jacking himself off noisily next to us.

The song stops.

‘Well, we all enjoyed that little spectacle,’ Benedict tells me, sounding a little less in control as he helps me upright. ‘How are you feeling? You want a break? A drink?’

I shake my head. ‘No. I’m fine.’ My second orgasm has me blanketed in an aura of calm and warmth and wellbeing. I have no intention of quitting now.

There’s also no way I’m taking a break until I’ve found myself on Gabe’s lap.

Guy Number Three turns me around so I’m facing outwards, my legs stretched open and my feet planted on the outside of his. He undoes my bindings so I can fit more tightly against him and rubs my wrists. When I sit on his cock, it burns my swollen flesh in the best way. He has me do the work of raising and lowering myself as he plays with my tits, plucking at my nipples as if he can make music from them.

Crisp cotton and hard muscle brush my back, his breath is hot on my neck, and the fabric of his open zip abrades my clit every time he bottoms out in me. God, this is good. This is really good. I love how he’s holding me open for the rest of the room to enjoy, and the way he’s working my tits is giving me so much extra stimulus.

I’ve always been greedy when it comes to sex, and my body is screaming more, more, more. It doesn’t know when to stop.

It’s incapable of walking away from something like this.

I hear a squirt of what sounds like lube, and then: ‘Get me off,’ Benedict orders, materialising somewhere in front of me again and taking my hand. He wraps it around his dick, which is huge and hard and bare and lubed-up, the heat pulsing off it.

Poor Benedict. Such a sexy, accomplished MC and so patient. He deserves to get off, too. I slide my index finger through the mess of precum and lube at the tip and then work his length with smooth, assured pumps, all the while maintaining my rhythm of bouncing on this other guy’s cock. Benedict groans and slides two fingers inside my mouth. I suck hard, using my tongue as much as I can. I bet he wishes I was sucking his dick right now, but I can’t bend that far in this position.

Instead, I focus my energy on making him feel good with my hands as I soak up the sensory assault on my nipples and my pussy. I have a sudden and unexpected flashback to that time in Anton’s office, when he had me blindfolded while he watched the soon-to-be love of his life, Gen, get spit-roasted by his two mates.

Then, I was a bystander, a convenient prop on the outskirts, there to suck him off because he couldn’t have the woman he wanted. It was hot as fuck, don’t get me wrong, but now I’m the main attraction, the principal plaything, being worked and fucked and filled up and fondled, and it’s so perfect I might die. I’m not sure how much more stimulation my body can take, but my mind will never, ever tire of this dynamic.

Impossibly, the heat begins to build again, and I moan around Benedict’s fingers, my tongue flexing against them.

‘Fuck,’ he groans. ‘Fuck.’ He swells even further in my hand, and then he’s covering my hand with his free one, aiming his dick slightly lower before letting rip. His cum hits me right between my tits in hot ropes, and Jesus Christ, the feeling of one guy shooting his load all over my skin as another guy ruts into me is everything. It’s everything.

I move harder, ignoring the screams from my quads and hamstrings as I grind down on this faceless guy whose dick I’m using. I suck harder on Benedict’s fingers. The guy fucking me uses my pearl necklace, smearing it across my tits, making my nipples slippery under his touch. Then he’s abandoning them altogether so he can grip my waist hard and work me up and down, just the way he needs it.

‘Don’t come, Athena,’ Benedict warns, pulling his fingers out of my mouth as the guy beneath me moves faster and faster, thrusting as though he’ll die if he doesn’t come right this second. ‘If you start to come, I’ll pull you off him. Understand?’

I nod, half hearing him, the friction in my core growing fiercer. I barely know which way is up or where I am. As soon as the man has finished shuddering into his condom and biting down on my shoulder so hard I almost come there and then, Benedict is barking at him to hold onto the condom and hauling me off. He takes something—the linen napkin from the wine bucket, maybe—and wipes my chest and stomach down as best he can. His movements feel pragmatic, but they’re gentle, too.

‘Right, gorgeous,’ he says, holding me by the shoulders and turning me around. ‘Last one. You’re doing great—you’re a fucking rockstar.’

It’s Gabe. It has to be.

I feel for the last man of the evening, one hand going to his shoulder and the other to his jaw, and as soon as I feel his beard, I know. It’s him. I straddle him, and he pulls me down with his hands on my hips so I’m balancing on his firm thighs, his sheathed dick trapped between us.

‘It’s you.’ I whisper the words as I stroke his beard.

I can hear his smile. ‘It’s me, sweetheart.’

Then he’s wrapping his arms around me, his fingers finding the rosary beads of my spine like they always do, and the only way I can describe it is as a revelation, a homecoming, the like of which I’ve never felt. There is nothing else for it but to kiss him, and I’m suddenly glad that none of the other guys have kissed me since he did on that table.

I may be half comatose from orgasms, but the feel of his beard under my fingers and of his lips against mine and of his captive dick twitching angrily against my lower stomach is so perfectly, utterly right, in a way that none of the other men were.

Fucking strangers may be hot, but coming home to a person whose entire body feels as though it was made for yours is prophetic. As our tongues dance, I raise myself up, reaching between us and fondling his sac before positioning him at my entrance so I can slide down. I can tell by the taut pressure of his balls and his insane hardness that he’s close to blowing.

Of course he is.

My poor Gabe engineered this whole scene for me, the assistant he pays through the nose for the privilege of having my body on retainer for his pleasure, and he’s had to sit here and watch as man after man gets all the fun.

This is the part where I make it up to him. This is when I show him how grateful and blown away I am.

We rock together, our lips fused. I like to think I have decent stamina, but my legs are tiring after their workout and my orgasms, and I think he can tell. Holding me around the waist, he shunts forward on his chair so he has more leverage. He slides both hands under my bottom to help me move on top of him, and I do.

I’m in a semi-dreamlike state as he fucks me, a little like how I was after our Prima Nocta role play, but I’m conscious that he’s growing more agitated, more desperate for release. He thrusts up, and I employ every ounce of strength left to fire my leg muscles. It’s not just an altruistic move on my part: that need is still there, deep inside me, and every time he bottoms out in me he hits my cervix and it rejoices in turn.

He releases my mouth. ‘She’s tired. Help me out, mate.’

Mate is Benedict, I assume, who takes a firm hold of my waist with two large hands and begins to move me up and down. Not only does his gallant assistance relieve my burning muscles, but the very experience of being manhandled in this way, of being bounced up and down on Gabe’s dick as if I’m some kind of passive doll has arousal coursing through my body once more. It seems every single variant of this dynamic, in this room, turns me on.

I fasten my weary arms around his neck and hang the hell on as my body processes this deluge of pleasure, bracing myself for a third, cataclysmic orgasm. When it hits, it’s with brute force, turning every limb to molasses and my brain to cotton wool. I’m vaguely aware of Gabe coming inside me with fevered thrusts and strangled words of praise, of Benedict stepping away, and of the tears that come suddenly, thickly, flowing from my eyes and seeping into the starched collar of the shirt against which I have my face pressed.

‘Hey,’ he croons, banding one arm tightly around me and stroking the crown of my head with the other. ‘Hey. It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you. You did so unbelievably well. You blow me away.’

‘She really did,’ someone who’s not Benedict says. ‘You, Athena, are an incredible woman. And you’re a lucky bastard, Sullivan.’

I don’t want to acknowledge anyone else. I burrow my face more closely into the crook of Gabe’s neck and wrap my arms around him, blocking out the rest of the room. I’m done here—these men blew my nervous system apart in the best possible way, and I’m so grateful, but I have nothing left to give any of them.

‘Pass me my jacket, will you?’ Gabe murmurs in a low voice. A moment later, one of them drapes his suit jacket over my shoulders, restoring my modesty and providing some kind of physical cocoon in which I can come down. I’m glad of my blindfold. I’m glad to be in the darkness, Gabe still pulsing inside my body.

‘We’ll see ourselves out,’ Benedict says, also in a hushed voice, as if he and the others can sense that the time for jollity has passed and that quiet is now needed.

‘Thank you, guys,’ I mumble against Gabe’s neck, adoring the tender way he’s holding me. I’m nowhere near ready to leave my cocoon.

There’s the rustle of clothing being fixed and a couple of champagne flutes being drained and set back down before someone unlocks the door.

‘No,’ one of them says as he passes behind me. ‘Thank you.’