Appearing For One Night Only

Questions I have about performance begin to dissipate. I concentrate on the attention from these two latex sheathed wraiths and I begin to react. My cock, which until now had been hanging limp, starts to thicken. It's in a state, not even semi-erect but engorged. It hangs half-way down my thigh but as it fills with blood it starts to lift away from my body. That seems to create a wave comments from out beyond the front of the stage.

"Is that thing real?" was one that I heard over the music.

I had almost forgotten my barely-seen audience. How strange to be the direct and unveiled object of attention from so many women.

Now, one of Janes, the fuller-figured of the two, moves behind me and presses her heavy breasts against my back. She smells vaguely of lavender. She wraps one arm around my waist and pulls herself tightly against me. I concentrate on the sensation of her lips on my shoulder blade.

Meanwhile, the other Jane takes the slender leash that is attached to my collar and wraps it -- one loop around the base of my penis and then another at the top of balls. It's tight enough to cinch me firmly but not so tight that it hurts – not yet, anyway. Then she hands the end of the leash to the Jane who is behind me. She threads it between my muscular cheeks, up against my spine and finally, attaches the end to a ring on my collar. Every time I move, the leash tugs on my cock and rubs between my cheeks.

My cock is now standing straight out in front of my body – still not fully erect but red and heavily veined. The more athletic Jane kneels in front of me and pantomimes fellatio. I try to find her mouth but she bobs her head out of the way.

That produces titters of laughter from the audience. Her tongue flicks towards the underside of my big head yet never quite makes contact. But even without real contact, my cock spasms and jumps.

The Jane behind me tugs on the leash. As she pulls on it, my cock, getting longer, begins to dance up and down. The Jane kneeling in front of me re-positions herself so that my cock lands on her face with a light smacking sound. This seems to inspire the girl behind me and the tugging gets firmer and faster. But instead of moving away the kneeling Jane seems to relish that contact. My cock lands heavily against her face over and over again. I hear her moan slightly.

Soon however, my cock has become so hard that it no longer moves. Instead, it just stands there, fully erect.

"It's almost as big as my arm," says a voice from the audience. As if to validate the point, the kneeling Jane bends her elbow and places the crook of against my balls while laying her arm along the underside of my cock.

"God, it almost reaches her bloody wrist," I hear from off to the side of the stage. "Call me a taxi," says another woman, followed by a roomful of laughter.

Although I can't see it, the kneeling Jane places a single finger on the tip's opening and begins to smear thick pre-cum over the head. It glistens in the red light that illuminate the stage.

Now what had been pantomimed becomes real. In front of me, a warm mouth engulfing the head though not much more. From behind, one hand wraps itself around my shaft, stroking me. Finally the touch I have been aching for!

I feel another hand exploring between my cheeks. A slender finger – dry at first, but returning a moment later moist and slippery, seeks out my anus. Pushing the chain aside, she slips it inside but just barely – giving me time to get used to the sensation. I involuntarily clamp down on her and she responds by wiggling it a bit.

I stop moving and soon it is joined by a second finger. Tight but not painful, the intrepid full-figure Jane presses them in more deeply – first to one knuckle, then a second and then it can go in no further. I am aroused but also slightly humiliated that my ass is getting fingered in front a group of women.

By now I can see that the stage is a small semi-circle with chairs and tables arrayed around it. Still, most of the audience is clustered near the center. Using a skewed logic, I tell myself that no one can see the fingers in my ass – it's our own shared intimacy, like a whisper between two actors on stage.

But soon enough, even that illusion is erased as the Janes move me so that I am now facing the side of the stage. Out of my peripheral vision, I see that the curtains that once lined the stage have been pushed aside to reveal large mirrors. I'm fully visible from all angles. It is odd to see the blurry shape of someone who could be me. I am disconnected from the image while totally attuned to the sensations that the image is experiencing.

I moan involuntarily as she starts to move her fingers in and out of me. I react by pressing my hips forward and the kneeling Jane gags as I fill her throat with my shaft. Still, she hasn't come anywhere near to taking all of me in her mouth. That only happened once.

A slender girl named Kim who claimed that her mother had had some sort of vitamin deficiency while she was pregnant with her. The vitamin deficiency had left her without a gag reflex. I don't know about the vitamin deficiency but I can vouch for the absence of gag reflex. Later, over coffee, she told me her husband was even bigger than I was. So big that normal sex was out of the question. It bruised her ovaries so badly that her gynecologist ordered her to stop. "It's either anal or oral – though not in that order," she said with a laugh.

As the kneeling Jane adjusted to me – by now we've all reached some sort of rhythmic understanding, I hear an "oh my god" from the audience in a light girlish voice. I can't tell if she's attracted or repulsed.

Soon, the stiffness of my cock and the chained armature make this impossible to continue. Though fully up on her knees, my kneeling Jane can no longer pull my cock down to reach her mouth. It's too stiff and engorged.

And then, suddenly, everything stops. The chain is unthreaded, fingers are removed and the throbbing music is replaced by something more sedate – something more appropriate for conversation.

My hands are pressed against my side.

"Don't move."

From somewhere a mask is produced and placed over my eyes. I'm now plunged into a deeper state of blindness. Not completely without vision but what had been blurs turns into mere smudges. A ring is tightly snapped around the base of my penis. Where did these items come from? Neither of my stoic attendants has a pocket. The ring is tight and forces the blood in my cock against veins that throb and pulse.

"We're going to lead you down," says the Jane with the accent.

"Here's a step, my love."

At this point, the girls lead me by the arms out into the audience. Now conversation has resumed and the club members have gathered in small groups. I'm introduced to each club member. Well, not exactly introduced. No one says my name. Nor is a hand proffered in greeting.

Because it's dark off the stage, I only have the vaguest sense of who I am meeting. Some of the women barely acknowledge me and decline to give their names while others toyingly caress me. A few, the ones who seem most interested, press themselves against me. A few kiss me and others stroke my cock.

Other members make little comments as they do this. Things like, "Oh, I think he likes you Vicki," or, "Danielle, you bitch, give someone else a chance."

Of course, I hear many comments about my size. Comments like, "No way that's going anywhere near me," and "did anyone bring a tape measure?" followed by someone else shouting "how about a yard stick."

Lots of giggling and laughter. If anything, all of the comments and contact have made my cock even harder. And because of the ring around the base of my cock, it aches.Though I'm being treated like an object, the entire experience is utterly arousing.

After I have been led through the club and "introduced" to everyone who wanted to meet me, I am taken back up to the stage. In my absence, a bench of some sort has been placed in the middle of the stage. It's actually higher than a normal bench, a bit wider, too and, as I would learn later, comfortably padded.

Now back up on the stage, my mask is removed. One of the Janes tells me that I now get to pick one of the members to join me on the stage. It is the one -- and only aspect of this evening that I have control over. Other than the obvious, which is that I am here voluntarily.

Once again, the women beyond the lights are blurs of cocktail dresses and well-coiffed hairstyles but little else. I try to remember whom I liked the most?

Was it the one who playfully nipped my ear lobe – I think that was AnaLee? Or was it the one who wrapped her big soft breasts around my cock much to the amusement of some of the other club members. I tried to guess if they were natural or fakes. That was Sarah.

And there was one woman who was quiet but also very direct. Even without the benefit of sight I got a sense that she was confident and very sexual but wrapped in a discreet sophisticated package. And there was something else. It was her perfume. It was a little spicy with a hint of warm jasmine behind it.

"Beth," I say to my attendant, "I want Beth."

Her name is announced and there was a small around of applause with shouts of "Go for it, girl."

I sense I've been joined on the stage by someone else. I hope it is Beth though I really have no way of knowing. As she comes up on stage, she is handed something. It is one of the same eye masks that my two Janes also wear. I hear the quick swoosh of a zipper being undone, falling fabric, a snap being released. And from someone in the audience, "I'd die to have tits like that."

Beth lies down on the bench and lets her feet fall to the floor. She spreads her legs and my attendants push me down to my knees. She guides my head towards her; I can feel the heat of her pussy right in front of my face. I breathe deeply and again, I can smell that perfume but this time it is mixed with a different scent; more full, deep and so feminine.

I'd wondered how this part of the evening – of the entertainment was going to work. Would there some sort of foreplay? Kissing? I'd asked Amelia if that permitted.

"God, it's not like going to a prostitute," she exclaimed.

I let my tongue find her and she moves -- first away then closer. Then much closer. Soon the room is quiet and only sound heard is Beth's moaning. As I use my mouth on her pussy, my hands roam over her body. A taut stomach and, though she is laying flat on her back, nice breasts and tight nipples the size of pencil erases. I play with them, rolling them between my fingers and, as I do, Beth's back arches.

She draws her knees up and back to give me better access. One of the Janes gently pushes my head tighter against Beth's vulva while the other has taken hold of her hands and pulled her arms overhead.

From out in the audience, I start to hear other soft moans as dresses are re-arranged, silk pushed aside. These are more discreet that the sounds that Beth is making but they are there all the same.

And then it is me who is lying on the bench. Warm lips circling the tip of my cock, then the head and then nothing. Cool air on my moist shaft. Then warm and warmth sliding down. First tentatively, then with that same directness I sensed when we met. Then further down even more before a pause, maybe a deep breath and deeper still. And soon there was a rhythm. Hands and mouth grasping me, up and down, smoothly and deeply and then a pause and something else. Another mouth perhaps. Tongues. More than one. It was hard to tell.

Now I'm standing and I feel Beth being placed face down on the bench in front of me. One of the Jane's spreads her cheeks and the other grasps the base of my cock and puts me inside of her. I press in and feel her stiffen.

"Oh!" Pleasure or pain, I wonder? I get my answer when she whispers, "Slower."

So I wait... and wait some more. Still stiff and anxious I feel Beth press her hips back towards me. It's a small movement, almost imperceptible. Then she exhales slowly but deliberately, and my cock glides deeper inside her.

She pulls away from me, pauses for a moment and then pushes back. Then again, but with more energy. And then again and again. Still, I am taking care not to go too deep, instead letting her determine the pace and my depth.

I want to meet her thrusts -- to bury my cock deep inside of her, but I know that this isn't possible. Some men – okay, make that many men; wish that their cock was bigger. But they rarely stop to consider that when you get past a certain size, you can't fuck as freely. Yes, women's vaginas are elastic but only up to a certain point. So, instead, I am letting Beth guide me into what she can take. While her pussy is wet it is so tight it is almost making my cock sore.

Now she has paused and I hear her say, "It's okay now."

I push into her pussy – maybe not all the way but deep. She moans but doesn't sound uncomfortable. So I do it again. This time, I push inside further and a moan is replaced by an aspirated, "yes." Again, I thrust, filling her deeply and again and again until there is no more of me left.

Now it is me who is lying on my back. The bench is warm and comfortably padded. As I'd suspected, there is a mirror suspended over the stage. It is angled so that people in the audience have the best view.

Beth straddles me while one of the Janes holds the base of my cock so that it is pointing straight up. She lowers herself slowly onto the head and I enter just inside of her. Placing both hands on my chest, she leans forward to support herself. Moving further forward, she lets her lips brush mine for the briefest of moments. It is the most chase kiss I've ever received from someone that I am fucking. I tell her – whisper it, actually, because our faces are so close that, "You feel good."

Because she is so close I can see her smile but she says, "Don't talk, okay." But at the same time she says it, she drops her hips on top of me and I slide deep inside her.

As if channeling what Beth is feeling, I hear someone from the audience say, "Oh, God." Beth, responds with an "Oh, God" of her own and someone else cracks wise that she doubted if God would approve of what was going on here so we'd best leave him out of it. This cracks up everyone, me included.

Beth pushes herself up again and presses her hands against my chest. She begins to rock forward and back and I see one of the Janes behind her cupping her breasts. Soon, the levity of the moment is replaced by something more animal, more primitive. I use my feet on the floor to gain leverage – to steady myself against Beth's rocking hips.

The sounds of pleasure that she has been making begins to change. Over and over again she says, "fuck me" with an intensity that I hadn't expected. Direct soon becomes guttural and then almost crude. The pitch of her voice changes and soon enough, the sensation -- good to start with become almost too much to bear.

It doesn't take more than a few more seconds before I feel her climax begin. Just as her own climax is ending mine begins. The cock ring is quickly unsnapped and discarded. Beth quickly wiggles off of me and the two Janes take hold of me. One is vigorously pumping my cock with both hands while the other squeezes my balls.

I explode.

The only sounds I now hear are my own loud moans. Rich, thick ribbons of cum erupt and fly up, some landing on my chest, others on one of the Janes and, from the sounds of someone who lets out a surprised shriek, maybe someone out in the audience, too.

I have barely uttered my last moan before the light on the stage changes to a ghostly pale blue. One of the Janes quickly leads Beth away and, still panting, I am lead back to that small room off the side of stage.

I had a moment of wondering if there was going to be applause at the end. After all, what had just happened was a performance of sorts. The audience had definitely added to the experience. It brought everything into focus, somehow magnifying every move, every thrust. Sometimes being naked is just that - naked. But being naked in front of a room full of dressed women made it something all together different. As if I had worn a cloak of sexuality and carnal intent.

My Jane, the fleshier of the two, gives me a small kiss and tells me, "You were great." She whispers, "I'm not supposed to tell you but it's Erin – my name is Erin." With that she pushes me into the dressing room and asks if I can see well enough to manage on my own?

"Just barely," I answer.

"Okay then," and she hands me my jeans before leaving the room. She tells that someone will come get me in just a few minutes to see me out. Just before leaving she takes hold of my hand and thrusts it between her legs.

"You made me wet."

From beyond the dressing room, I once again hear music and voices, though more subdued than earlier in the evening.

Minutes later, the small woman who first met me, opens the door and leads me to the waiting cab. Just as I am getting into the cab, she hands me an envelope.

"Take care with that," she says to me before closing the cab's door. And to the cab's driver she says, "From whence he came."

It's only later, after I have had a shower and opened a bottle of Bass Ale from the hotel's mini bar that I think to count the money. I have a towel wrapped around my waist and I fish the envelope out of the front pocket of my jeans. Five thousand pounds in crisp 100 pound notes. That will buy a stay in a nice villa somewhere. Goa, maybe. I've heard that's supposed to be fun.

As I fold my jeans before hanging them in the closet, a card falls out of the pocket and onto the floor. It's a card for a club somewhere in London. It's not an address or place that I remember visiting. Could it be the club where I was tonight? On the back of the card is, not surprisingly, a phone number. Which, though still a bit blurry, I not surprisingly, dial.

After two rings a voice that is just a little bit familiar answers. I struggle to place accent. Australia? South Africa? New Zealand?

"I was hoping you would call."