Masturbation

Bastian already had the cell phone in his hand again before anyone could say “Stop.” The lens was pointed at Silke. He was filming as if he’d been waiting for this all evening.

Silke was sitting naked on the chair. Her panties were hanging off one ankle. Between her slightly spread legs, her pussy lay exposed: smooth, swollen, glistening with wetness. Her inner labia were dark pink and curved slightly outward. A thin, clear thread stretched from her slit to the seat. The scent was warm and distinct—sweet and tart, feminine, the smell of hours of secret wetness.

She was so ashamed that her cheeks burned.

And that was exactly what made her even wetter.

Three cocks stood erect in the room. Leon was breathing shallowly, his hands clenched tightly on the armrests of his chair, because the rule forbade him from touching himself. Tim sat still, his thick shaft throbbing, his gaze fixed on Silke’s fingers. Bastian was filming. The camera barely shook. He zoomed in.

Silke slid her right hand between her legs. Her fingertips first touched her clit—small, hard, far too sensitive. A shudder ran through her stomach. She bit her lip to keep from making a sound and slowly traced circles. The wetness made every sound muffled and quiet. *Slurp.* Small. Embarrassing. Impossible to ignore.

She thought of her blackmailer—or her savior? Of the photos. Of the phrase *keep going until the end.* She thought of Jonas, who knew nothing. And she thought about the fact that she wasn’t just doing this because someone was making her. Her body had said yes long ago. The shame was just the fuel now.

Two fingers slid deeper. Her labia parted. She was so wet that they slid inside her without resistance—hot, tight, pulsing. As they withdrew, her fingers glistened. A drop clung to her knuckle and fell onto the chair.

Bastian whispered, “Spread your legs wider.”

Silke obeyed. She hooked her heels around the outside of the chair legs. Now the camera saw everything: the open, wet slit, the fingers slowly disappearing into her and coming back out, the hard clit above it, which she rubbed with her thumb. Her tits rose with every breath. The light pink nipples had become stiff and dark with arousal.

“Ahh…”

The sound was small and broken. She hated it. She wanted to hear it again.

She fingered herself faster. The wet sounds grew louder. *Smack. Slurp.* Her hips began to meet her fingers. The chair creaked. Tim swallowed audibly. Leon groaned through clenched teeth; his cock twitched untouched in the air, a clear drop hanging from the tip.

Silke closed her eyes briefly. Behind her eyelids, it was worse: three pairs of eyes, a camera, her own moans in Jonas’s living room. She opened them again because looking away was cowardly—and because a part of her wanted to be seen.

She spread herself open with her left hand. Her index and middle fingers pulled her lips apart. The camera got a direct view of the entrance: pink, wet, slightly open; the fingers of her right hand pushed deep inside. Silke felt her walls close around them, warm and greedy. Her clit throbbed beneath her thumb.

Shame rose in her throat.

Desire ran deeper.

“I’m so wet,” she whispered, not sure for whom. For the camera. For the blackmailer. For herself.

Bastian dropped to his knees. The angle became brazen: from below between her legs, her tits in the background, her face half in the frame, her mouth open. Silke sensed what he was seeing and filming—a woman with spread thighs, fingering her pussy in front of three stiff cocks.

She rubbed harder. The circles grew small and intense. The orgasm didn’t build up politely. It came like a wave of shame and pressure and the knowledge that she wouldn’t stop now. Her legs trembled. The wet sound grew faster. Her voice cracked.

“Fuck… I… ahh—“

She came with her mouth open. Her pussy visibly twitched around her fingers, contracting, releasing, contracting again. A gush of wetness suddenly made the sound louder. Her nipples twitched along with it. Her back arched. For two seconds, there was no game left, no book, no rules—just the convulsing, wet climax in front of the rolling camera.

She remained seated, her fingers still inside her, breathing in gasps. Between her labia, it glistened more intensely than before. A drop trickled toward the chair.

Bastian didn’t zoom out.

Silke slowly pulled her fingers out. They glistened all the way up to her rings. Without thinking, she brought them to her mouth and licked them clean—salty, warm, tasting like herself. Then she looked into the lens.

“I’m free, and now I’m setting you free,” she said hoarsely.

Bastian kept filming. Leon was breathing shallowly, his hands clenched convulsively on the armrests because the rule forbade him from touching himself. Tim sat still, his thick cock stiff and curved slightly upward, the head already wet. Bastian’s own cock twitched untouched in the air, while the camera remained steady.

Silke slid off the chair onto her knees.

The carpet scratched against her bare skin. She was still wet between her legs; she felt the cool draft on her swollen labia. Shame burned in her face. The lust ran deeper. It crept toward Leon first.

His cock was longer than it was thick, the skin taut, veins clearly visible, the tip glistening. Silke took him in her right hand. He was hot. Pulsing. As her fingers closed around him, Leon groaned through clenched teeth and bit his lip, as if he weren’t allowed to make a sound.

She jerked him off slowly. Firmly. From the base to the head, her thumb over the wet tip. Pre-cum coated the shaft. The sound was soft and wet. Leon trembled. Her hands stayed where they needed to be. Silke looked up as she worked him and saw the sweat beading on his forehead.

“You can’t,” she whispered. “Only me.”

She jerked him off faster. His cock slid in her fist, hot and hard. Leon gasped. A drop ran down her fingers. She wouldn’t let him come—not yet. She let go as he began to twitch and crawled on.

Bastian.

He was filming with one hand, the other clenched on the chair. His cock was thicker, shorter, the glans broad and flushed. Silke took him in her left hand, then with both. She needed more pressure. She twisted her hand as she stroked upward, pulling back the foreskin, rubbing the sensitive rim beneath the glans. Bastian moaned openly. The camera dipped briefly, capturing her bare tits, her hand around his cock, the wet sheen.

“Don’t stop,” she said.

He obeyed. The lens stayed focused on the spot where her fingers were milking him. Silke felt her own juices sticky on the inside of her thighs. She was still horny. Even hornier knowing she had three men in her grasp who weren’t allowed to move.

She let go of Bastian just before he came. He cursed hoarsely.

Then Tim.

Tim’s cock was the thickest. Heavy in her hand. The veins stood out, the head already dark and wet. Silke needed both hands to grip him properly. She jerked him off with long, firm strokes. The shaft glistened with what he’d already lost. Tim looked at her, not at her hand. His gaze was calm and hungry at the same time.

“Harder,” was all he said.

She did it harder. Her fist slid faster. The wet sound filled the room. Tim’s stomach tensed. Silke felt the throbbing in her own pussy, as if she herself were on the verge of coming again, just from watching and touching.

She switched.

One hand on Tim, one on Leon. Then Bastian again. She knelt between them, naked, her tits bouncing as she turned, her wet pussy warm and open. Three cocks, taking turns, all on the verge of coming, none allowed to finish themselves off. The air smelled of sweat, of her wetness, of precum.

“Extra,” she gasped, glancing briefly at the camera. “The heroine takes the cum. She gets stronger.”

She leaned over Leon.

She took his cock into her mouth only briefly—hot, salty, the head pressing against her palate. She sucked hard once, her cheeks hollowed, then let it out again, her hand moving on, until Leon came with a broken moan. The first spurts hit her tongue. She closed her lips and swallowed. Warm. Bitter-salty. Thick. The rest ran over her fingers as she milked the cock dry.

Bastian was next.

She took him deeper. Not for long. Just long enough for the thick glans to brush her throat and for him to moan as if he were about to break. Two or three movements with her mouth, her hand at the base, then he came. Hot. A lot. Silke swallowed, coughed once, swallowed the rest. A white drop remained at the corner of her mouth. Bastian filmed it. Close up.

Last was Tim.

She needed both hands and her mouth. The thick shaft spread her lips apart. She sucked, jerked him off, let her tongue circle under the head. Tim didn’t put a hand in her hair—he stuck to the rule. Just his gaze. Silke felt him get hard just before the end, even thicker, then he came deep onto her tongue. Thick, hot spurts. She swallowed it all. Deliberately. Slowly. So the camera could see it.

When she sat back, her lips glistened. It was dripping between her legs again. Three spent cocks in front of her. Three men out of breath.

Silke wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and looked into the lens.

“Swallowed,” she said hoarsely. “All three.”

The heroine had grown stronger.