Ing of the Hill

I want the whole swim team. I want the financial bros. I want a circle of trans women.

(Is this a fantasy? Then they're all lean: their bodies crafted through hours in the pool (or the treadmill), no beards (sorry), and little itty-bitty weiners (although I'm not one to kick a cock out of bed). Plus, plus plus plus, a nice pillow for my knees.)

No time for accuracy: none of the sweet, caressing time of a single blowjob, where I'm in control of time and atmosphere. Where I can take long, luscious licks up his or her shaft, coax desperate moans out of moments stretched across an entire night. Swallow them whole while fingering their asshole slowly. Play my fingers like spiders' legs around their balls. The delicacy of one. The craftsmanship of soft-filtered light and a long night of playful coddling.

Here, a free-for-all. Frenetic. No pacing. No atmosphere: I'm juggling to keep them all stiff, all these needy cocks, trying to conduct this orchestra of instruments around me to a final upheaval of spit and cum all over my face. They can stand in a line stroking themselves in preparation, or they can crowd around me, all pointing their dicks at my open mouth. I don't care, so long as I have a crowd. I'll take one in each hand, rolling my strokes around their shafts while letting a third grab my head and fuck my mouth. I'll blindly let go of one of the dicks and offer an open hand, because like magic, without even looking, a new dick, a new shape, a new size, will fill it quickly. I need do nothing but stroke and suck and lick and cajole them. Someone presses their cock across my forehead, rubbing his frenulum there, so I stop swiping my tongue on the underside of the dick in my mouth, I come up for air, I angle my head, and the one from my forehead now enters me.

I don't want it to stop. I stroke in bursts of rhythm to keep them from peaking. I suck for mere moments before yawning for another.

Now: what does this group want me to be? Pouty?

Are you gonna fuck my mouth? Are you gonna put that big dick inside me?

Forceful?

Stick that cock in my mouth. Choke me with that fucking rod.

Submissive?

Ohhh, yes, daddy, Make me your little faggot.

Moany? Desperate? Silent? Any of it. All of it.

And look at them. Look at their faces: they have the illusion of power. Anxious to impress me with their hard rods. This one clamps the base of his dick, wiggles it up and down before I take him in. This one pulls his up and offers his balls first, as if I'm gonna be impressed by his manscaping job, but I stuff a finger into his asshole and he drops his cock across my face in a gasp, and he's lost his machismo. This one is slapping my cheeks with his stick, a wet

pwop pwop pwop

while I

ohhh

to give him the impression I'm impressed before I slide my lips over him and his pretense is melted away. Their selfishness is how I take them: my own cock is dripping, aching for touch, any one of them could simply

point

at my dick and I'd cum all over this pillow, but their instinct is to get themselves off, to play a kind of king of the hill where they vie for my favor, where they think I'll single out their cock from all the others.

But no. Once one of them gets too showy, once one of them begins to smirk like he has me...

Switch.

I don't want you.

You

want

me

.

My hair is sweaty. I work this new one to a fever pitch. I laugh: someone tries to stuff their dick in my mouth alongside another.

Fine, honey.

Someone asks me if I like sucking their dick.

Mmm, yeees, baby.

Someone else tells me to look them in the eye while their cock slides across my tongue.

Sure thing, lover.

Their desperate, stupid faces, made dumb by my mouth and hands.

They think they're defiling

me

. Controlling

me

. But then:

Pop.

Yes, yesss, all over my face, baby.

(Tongue out.)

Pop. Pop pop.

Don't miss. Right here, baby.

(I slather it across my cheek with his dick.)

Pop.

Gimme that hot load.

(I collect it in my mouth, let it drool down my chin, down my chest.)

A little dribble, a giant load, one shot fires like a cannon, one drips out of the tip.

And now they are sheepish, lost, on the other side of it, they watch as I lick all of them clean, as I lick their deflating manhoods, they shrink away, they pull on clothes, they nervously laugh, they leave, they go on, but I am here, smiling, content, draped in the robes of power, smeared across my face.