Clothes Maketh The Man — Part 15.
By: Fiona Dobson
Tags: Crossdressing, Sexuality, LGBTQ, Erotica, Suspense

Clothes Maketh The Man — Part 15

I watched helplessly, on my knees, as the men surrounded me. Looking up from my kneeling position I could see them watching, unzipping their trousers, and then, blocking my vision the sight of one cock after another. Faced with an enormous penis, it is almost impossible to focus on a man’s face. All I could do was stare at the dick before me, and to the left of me, and to the right.

There were so many.

My arms were firmly held behind me. I could feel unseen hands restraining me, but my eyes were fixed on what I could see before me. I was mesmerized, and could not have pulled away, even if I had wanted to.

If you’ve ever looked at a photo of a woman in such a position you’ll see that she almost invariably has her mouth open. I found my mouth open, slack jawed and wanting to be invaded. I swear my mouth was actually watering at the thought. I struggle at the recollection, realising now that I had become quite conditioned and that any thought of resistance was far from my mind.

Instead of fear or outrage, I was filled with a much more intense emotion. It was almost closer to hunger than anything else, but whatever label one might choose to place on it, I found it overwhelming and irresistible. I was aware of the overwhelming urge to reach out and touch, my mouth falling open in anticipation. I tried to fight it for a moment, but it was no use.

I was horror struck as I realised that rather than someone taking my head, holding it and forcing my mouth open, here I was eager to take the first of those hard pulsating dicks into my mouth. As I strained forward and my mouth closed hungrily around that first hard member, I remember hearing the voices of the men crowded around me.

They were indistinct, and I could never put a face to an individual comment, but they were there and I was the person their comments referred to. If I’d heard such comments of someone else, I probably would have been disgusted. Yet, of me? I welcomed them.

“Look at her,” said one. “She can’t wait for it.”

Another chimed in, “She needs it bad.”

Still another, “Wait till she get’s one in her mouth and one in her ass. That’s the only thing that will ever satisfy her in future.”

As I sucked an enormous swollen penis, I watched out of the corner of my eye as a man beside him stood ready. I watched as he worked his hand over his dick and moved it closer to my face. I could feel the first ‘bridegroom’ nearing completion, his breathing hard. I so wanted to swallow that when he spurted hot wet and salty in my mouth, I gulped it down.

No sooner had he withdrawn than I felt another pressing into my mouth, which willingly opened and gagged in glorious anticipation. I remember feeling such liberation. I was high with excitement, adrenaline and desire.

There were others lining up now. To this day I cannot begin to know how many were there that night, but as one completed, another quickly replaced it. I swallowed the first few loads, but soon I began to feel bloated, yet still there were more. Part of me wanted to run, but a bigger more insistent part of me said, ‘more. I need more.’

And so it continued. My face was soon covered in the spent seamen of a dozen men, more perhaps. And still they kept coming and coming. And still I languished in the hot saltiness of the moment. If only it could last longer.

Yet another spurt cascaded over my face, and I felt the veil of cum grow more complete. I turned to see Sylvia watching intently, a glass of wine in her elegant hand. She was laughing. Beside her stood her husband, watching my debasement. As yet another man pushed himself into my mouth, my lack of resistance was now taken for granted. I no longer even struggled against the hands that held me.

My humiliation was complete.

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