Orgy

South orgy stage

The wood was cold beneath my heels, a chill that rose through the thin soles and penetrated my bones. Backstage, in the darkness, I felt the weight of Karim's gaze on the back of my neck, even before I saw him. The black lace of her smock bit into my skin, the metal nipples tugged with every breath, and the plug inside me was a constant reminder of what was about to happen.

“Listen to me carefully.”

His voice came from behind me, calm, low, so close I felt the heat of his breath on my neck. I hadn't turned around. I wasn't allowed to.

"Tonight, you're the show. You're the merchandise, you're the toy, you're the prize. For the customers. You're here to be used, and to make it seem like the most natural thing in the world."

I nodded. The collar was tight, the gold tag tapping against my collarbone with every heartbeat.

"Six men," Karim continued. "Six cocks. They fuck your ass, they fuck your mouth, they fuck you however they want. You count. You count every time, out loud, so everyone can hear. So they know it's them. Do you understand?"

"Yes, master."

And when they tell you to open up, you open up. When they tell you to bend over, you bend over. When they tell you to be thankful, be thankful. There's no such thing as a no. There's no such thing as a maybe. There's only yes. Your yes. Always.

I felt his hand on my shoulder, a light, almost gentle touch, guiding me to the edge of the stage. The spotlight was on, a beam of warm, dusty light cutting through the darkness of the room. Beyond the light, the buzz of the crowd. I couldn't see their faces, but I could hear them: dozens of breathing, glances, hands moving in the shadows.

“Come,” Karim said, tugging at his collar.

They go on stage and Karim takes the microphone. He announces that there will be a live show. This is the latest little whore the sissy school has sent us. And she will be at the disposal of six guys I recruited from the audience. Everything is permitted, nothing is forbidden. Naturally, you can film everything with your cell phones. It's a great advertisement for the club.

Have fun everyone including the slut who can't wait to get banged by six men.

I took a step. My heel sank into the wood with a sharp click. Another step. The cold rose, the lace clung, the cork pressed. Every step was a promise. Every step was a surrender.

The spotlight hit me full-on, blinding me. For a second, I saw nothing, only white. Then the light stabilized, and I realized where I was: in the center of the lacquered wooden square, the exact spot where Karim had wanted me.

I get down on all fours naked in a club full of horny black men.

The wood was hard under her knees, smooth, cold. Her apron rose, revealing her thighs, her nipple protruding. The golden bells hanging from her nipples tinkled with the movement, a fragile sound in the sweat- and leather-laden air.

The crowd murmured. A low, animalistic sound, growing louder.

Karim remained behind the scenes, but I felt his gaze on me, a weight I couldn't ignore. He had told me the rules. I understood them. I would follow them.

"There it is," said a voice. Deep, masculine, with an accent I didn't recognize. "The new toy."

A man entered the circle of light. He was tall, his dark skin gleaming in the spotlight, and his smile barely reached his eyes. He wore a black shirt, unbuttoned at the chest, and a pair of dress pants. He stopped in front of me, a step away, and looked me up and down.

“Look at this thing,” he said. “Look how it shakes.”

"He's new," said another, entering the circle. "You can tell by his collar. He doesn't have a name yet."

"It will have a name," said the first. "After we've used it."

The other four stood around me, a semicircle of bodies that smelled of sweat and desire. They were all black, all tall, all with their eyes fixed on me. The spotlight shone from behind them, casting their shadows on the black wood.

The first man smiled at me. Then he turned to the others and said, "Then let's begin."

Their hands came together. One on the back of my neck, pushing me forward. One on my hip, squeezing me. One on my thigh, moving up to the hem of my apron. The first man unbuttoned his pants, and I felt my heart race as the crowd held its breath.

The hand on the back of my neck pressed harder, and my face sank into the first man's belt. I felt the cold buckle against my cheek, the smell of leather, the heat rising from beneath the fabric of his trousers. His fingers threaded through my hair, squeezing, guiding with a firmness that left no room for doubt.

“Open your mouth,” he said. It wasn’t a request.

I opened it. His tongue slipped out on its own, habituated, docile. I felt the fabric of his pants move, the zipper unzipping, and then the weight of his cock emerging, hot and hard, slapping against my lower lip. He was already fully erect, his skin taut and shiny under the spotlight, his glans dripping.

"Look at it," said the first man. "Look at it carefully. This is what's going to fill your mouth tonight."

I looked at it. It was big, bigger than the ones I'd served in the cafeteria, the vein pulsing along the side, the tip dark and wet. I felt my mouth fill with saliva, a reflex I couldn't control, and behind me one of the hands on my hip squeezed tighter, almost as if to support me.

“Suck it,” he ordered.

I leaned forward and took him in my mouth. The taste was salty, warm, and my body reacted before my brain could even think: my tongue moving along the length, my lips closing around the glans, my throat opening to welcome him. His fingers in my hair guided the rhythm, slow at first, then deeper, until his cock touched the back of my throat and I felt my gag reflex rising, suppressed, ignored.

"Good," said the first man. "Good toy. Sucks like a whore."

The crowd laughed. A low, diffuse sound that seemed to come from everywhere. And behind me, one of the hands lifted the hem of my apron, completely exposing my ass, and I felt the cold air of the stage on my bare skin.

The chill of the stage bit my bare skin, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. The hand that had lifted my apron didn't put it back down, leaving it gathered at my waist, and the air of the room entered between my thighs, humid and heavy with smoke. The first man's cock was still in my mouth, hot and hard, and his grip on my hair was firm, immobile, as if he wanted to keep me there forever.

"Look at him," the first man said, turning to the others. "Look at him opening his throat. It looks like he's been doing this his whole life."

The hands of the other five were all over me. One on the back of my neck, pressing harder. One on my hip, sliding toward my bare ass, fingers slipping between my butt cheeks, finding the protruding plug. One on my thigh, moving up toward the cage, touching it lightly, almost curiously.

"He's stuck," a voice said behind me. "Look, he's stuck and he's still crying."

The crowd laughed again, and I felt heat rise to my cheeks, a blush I couldn't hide. The first man moved his hips, a slow, deep movement that made me feel his cock deep in my throat, and I let my throat open, my eyes fill with tears, saliva dripping from the corners of my mouth.

"Count," Karim said from backstage. His voice was calm, authoritative, and cut through the murmur of the crowd like a blade. "Count, toy."

"One." The word came out of my throat with my cock still inside me, a strangled, wet sound that the crowd caught and amplified. The first man moaned, a sound of approval that vibrated through his cock and onto my tongue, and his fingers tightened in my hair, both a reward and a promise.

"Good toy," he said, slowly withdrawing until only his glans remained between my lips. "Feel how your cock rewards you. Feel how it throbs. It wants your throat again."

He sucked it with a dirty sound, his tongue running along the throbbing vein, and he took a deep breath. His hand on the back of my neck pressed, and I sank in, his cock filling my mouth until it bottomed out, making me cry. Behind me, another man's fingers were working on the plug, twisting it, pulling it, feeling its resistance.

"Leave it," said a voice from behind. "Leave it where it is. We'll take that off later, when we fuck him."

"Yeah, but look at how he moves," replied another. "It's all for us. All this ass is ours."

The hand on my hip slid lower, to the crook of my thigh, and the fingers closed on my skin, lifting slightly. The apron was all gathered at my waist, my ass completely bare and exposed. I felt a finger brush my perineum, lightly, almost like an examination, and the plug pressing from inside with every movement of his cock in my mouth.

The first man grabbed my head with both hands and began to fuck my throat in earnest. There were no more caresses, no more rhythm: there was only his cock thrusting in and out, hard and fast, while I remained on my knees with my mouth wide open, my throat opening with each thrust, my breath coming in a sob. The crowd murmured in excitement, and I felt the heat of their gaze like a weight on my skin.

"Count," Karim ordered again, his voice cutting through the noise. "Count every thrust."

"One," I gasped as his cock pulled out, "two" as it pushed back in, my voice cracking, saliva dripping from my chin. "Three." The first man smiled, satisfied, and slowed, letting himself catch his breath for a second.

"Listen to how he obeys," she said to the others, pointing with her chin. "Listen to how he matters. He doesn't care about anything, does he? He doesn't care who he is, what his name is. All he cares about is opening his mouth and saying the numbers."

"He doesn't care about dick," another said, and the crowd laughed. "He only cares about the dick that's filling his throat."

"Suck," the first man said, pulling himself up by his hair until our eyes met. "Suck like it's the last thing you do."

Karim's voice cut through the crowd's din like a whip.

«Fermi.»

The first man's cock slipped out of my mouth with a wet sound, and I remained there, on my knees, saliva dripping from my chin and gasping for air. His hand in my hair was still there, but no longer pressing. He was waiting.

Karim stepped onto the stage. I didn't see him arrive—I felt first the weight of his footsteps on the wood, then his shadow stretching toward me through the circle of light. Once he was inside the spotlight, the crowd fell silent.

He was wearing a black shirt, the sleeves rolled up, and he held a glass of whiskey he hadn't touched. He stopped next to the first man and looked me up and down, with that expression that was never approval, never judgment. Only evaluation.

“Did you suck it well?” he asked, without looking at the first man.

“Like a whore,” he replied.

"Good." Karim crouched down in front of me, at eye level. His gaze was dark, unblinking, and for a second I felt only that: the weight of his eyes, the heat of his breath on my face. "Did you count?"

“Yes,” I whispered.

"How much?"

"I don't know. I've lost count."

"Then start again." He stood up, and his voice filled the room again. "Six men. Six cocks. One for the mouth, one for the ass, and the other four waiting their turn." He paused, letting the words sink in. "I want them all to take it. I want them all to feel it. And I want him to count every thrust, every cock, every drop that enters his throat."

The crowd erupted. A low, animalistic roar that made the wood vibrate beneath my knees. Karim turned to face the audience, his arms outstretched, his voice drowning out the noise.

"And not just them." He smiled, and that smile didn't reach his eyes. "Anyone who wants a piece of this white ass, come along. Tonight, everyone's toy."

The first man pulled me up by my hair, forcing me to look at him. "Did you hear that?" he said. "Tonight, you belong to everyone."

"Yes," I replied. My voice cracked, but the words were clear. "They belong to everyone."

“Then open your mouth.”

I opened it. And as his cock filled my throat again, I felt the hands of the other five men closing in on me, lifting me up, twisting me, bending me forward until my ass was in the air, the plug still protruding, the bells jingling against the wood.

“Take it off,” Karim ordered.

A hand grabbed the cork and pulled it. I felt resistance, then the yielding, the sudden emptiness that left me open and throbbing, the cold air of the room rushing into me. The cork fell to the stage with a dull thud, and someone picked it up, displaying it to the crowd like a trophy.

"Look," said a voice. "Look how it stays open. As if waiting."

“Wait,” said another. “Wait the fuck up.”

The second man positioned himself behind me. I felt his weight, the heat of his body on my back, his hands gripping my hips as he lifted me slightly, adjusting himself. Then I felt the tip of his cock against my hole, wet, warm, pressing but not entering.

“Look at me,” he said. “Look at me as I enter you.”

I turned, as far as I could, and saw him: his dark skin glistening with sweat, his eyes fixed on mine, his smile not cruel, just determined. Then he pushed.

He entered all at once. I felt the stretch, the burning that quickly turned to fullness, his cock filling me to the hilt, and my mouth dropped open in a moan that the first man's cock muffled. The crowd roared.

"Count," Karim said, his voice calm through the noise. "Count, toy."

The second man began to move. Slow at first, deep, each thrust making me feel every inch of his cock, every vein, every pulse. And in my mouth, the first man followed the same rhythm, as if their bodies were synchronized, as if they knew exactly how to fill me.

“One,” I said, the word choked by the cock in my throat. “Two.”

“Harder,” Karim ordered. “I want to feel you.”

“Three,” I gasped as the first man pulled his cock from my mouth. “Four.” The second man pushed harder, and my voice cracked. “Five.”

The hands of the other four men were all over me. One on the back of my neck, holding me still. One on my hip, squeezing me. One on my cage, touching it curiously. One on my thigh, lifting it, opening me wider, offering me more.

"Look how he takes it," Karim said, addressing the crowd. "Look how he opens up. He doesn't cry, he doesn't ask. He matters. He obeys. It's exactly what he was trained to do."

The crowd murmured, and I felt their desire like a physical weight, as if every glance were a hand on my body. The second man accelerated, his thrusts harder, deeper, and I counted—six, seven, eight—my voice breaking, my breath coming in sobs, tears streaming down my cheeks.

“Don’t stop,” Karim said. “Never stop.”

The first man returned to my mouth, and I sank, my throat opening to welcome him, the taste of his cock mingling with my tears. The second man behind me was a steady rhythm, both a punishment and a promise, and I was suspended between the two, a bridge of flesh stretched between two cocks that used me mercilessly.

“Nine,” I gurgled as the first man emerged again. “Ten.”

"Good," said the second man. "Good toy. Keep counting."

“Eleven.” His hand closed on my hip, leaving a bruise I wouldn’t see until the next day. “Twelve.”

And then I felt another presence on stage. A man from the audience had come up, drawn by Karim's words, and was unbuttoning his pants as he approached. He was older, with gray hair and a stocky build, and his cock was already hard when he stopped in front of me.

“Open your mouth,” he said.

The first man withdrew, and I opened my mouth. The newcomer slid inside, and I felt his weight, his taste, his smell—sweat and smoke and something older, more animalistic. He began to move, slow, almost lazy, while the second man continued to fuck me from behind, and I was suspended again, a toy between two cocks, my mouth full and my ass full, the world reduced to that double rhythm.

“Thirteen,” I said when the newcomer stepped back to let me breathe. “Fourteen.”

"Others," Karim said, his voice inviting. "Who wants a piece of this ass?"

Another man stepped onto the stage. Then another. Then another. Within minutes, the circle of light was filled with bodies, all black, all large, all with eyes fixed on me, all with cocks in hand. The second man retreated, and another took his place, entering me with a sharp thrust that made me moan.

“Fifteen,” I gasped. “Sixteen.”

"Speak louder," Karim said. "I want everyone to hear what a whore you are."

“Seventeen,” I shouted, my voice cracking but clear. “Eighteen.”

The new arrival in my mouth was more impatient, faster, and I felt his hand on the back of my neck, pushing me deeper, until his cock touched the back of my throat and I felt the gag reflex kick in, suppressed, ignored. Behind me, another man had joined, waiting his turn, and I felt his hands on my ass, spreading it, preparing it.

“Nineteen,” I said as his cock slipped out of my mouth. “Twenty.”

"That's not enough," Karim said. "I want more. I want them to take it both ways. I want them to fuck him together."

The crowd roared. The second man behind me didn't come out—he stopped, remaining inside, and I felt another body approaching from behind, another pair of hands on my hips, another cock pressing against my already full hole.

“Breathe,” said a voice. “Breathe and relax.”

I closed my eyes. I felt the pressure, the resistance, the burning—and then the giving in, the second cock entering alongside the first, the stretch tearing and filling me at the same time, the world shrinking to that point of contact, to that double filling I'd never felt before.

“Twenty-one,” I whispered, my voice lost somewhere between the two cocks that possessed me.

"Count," Karim ordered. "Count, toy."

“Twenty-two,” I said, louder. “Twenty-three.”

The two men began to move, out of sync, alternating—one entering while the other exited, and I was a taut bridge between them, a double rhythm that left no room for anything else. In my mouth, the newcomer pushed deeper, and I felt his cock throbbing, swelling, and then the heat of his cum filling my throat, dripping down my chin.

“Swallow,” he ordered.

I swallowed. I felt his cock withdraw, and my mouth opened for the next one, already there, sliding in with a moan of pleasure. And behind me, the two men continued, one in, one out, one in, one out, and I counted—twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six—my voice breaking, tears streaking my makeup, the bells jingling with each thrust.

"Look," Karim said, his voice filled with pride. "Look at my toy. Look how he takes everything. How he asks for more."

"More," I repeated, the word coming out on its own, a reflex I couldn't control. "Please. More."

The crowd laughed, a low, animalistic sound, and another man took the stage. And then another. And another. And there I was, on my knees, my ass filled with two cocks and my mouth filled with a third, and I counted—twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine—as the world slowed to that rhythm, that filling, that pleasure I had never known and would never forget.

“Thirty,” I said, my voice a whisper. “Thirty-one.”

And then the first man came back from behind, replacing one of us, and I felt his cock filling me again, moving with a fury I hadn't seen before, and I let him, let him use me, fuck me, own me, while I counted—thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four—and the crowd roared and Karim watched and I was just a toy, a white ass, an open mouth, a number that went up and up and up.

"Thirty-five," I gasped, the voice that was no longer mine, reduced to a hoarse thread somewhere between a moan and a sob. The first man behind me was a tireless engine, his hands on my hips holding me still as he thrust, deeper and deeper, faster and faster, and I was merely the point where his pleasure discharged. "Thirty-six."

"Enough," said Karim.

His voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the roar of the crowd like a knife. The first man stopped dead, his cock still inside me, his breathing heavy against my back. Everyone stopped. The hands that had been touching me remained suspended. The circle of light seemed to narrow, and Karim was at the center, motionless, the glass of whiskey still untouched in his hand.

“Turn around,” he said.

I didn't understand. My mind was a jumble of numbers and pulses, of fullness and emptiness, of cocks going in and out. "Turn around," he repeated, more slowly. "I want to see your face."

The first man stepped out of me, and I fell forward, my hands on the wood, my knees shaking. I spun as best I could, my ass touching my heels, my makeup running, the bells jingling faintly. Karim was in front of me, a meter away, looking at me with those dark eyes that let nothing escape.

“You’re a disaster,” he said. “You’re perfect.”

The crowd laughed. Karim didn't. He crouched down again, level with my eyes, and his voice dropped to a whisper only I could hear. "You counted to thirty-six. Six men. Two in the ass, one in the throat, the rest waiting. And you didn't close your eyes once."

“I wasn’t ordered to,” I whispered.

"No." Her smile was thin, almost imperceptible. "You weren't ordered to. And that's why you're worth more than any other toy that's ever passed this stage."

He stood up, and his voice filled the room again. "Six men. I said it before, and I'll say it again. I want this white ass fucked by all six of you. I want her mouth filled. I want her to be a bridge between your cocks, a single body serving everyone." He paused, his gaze sweeping over the crowd. "And I want you to join in, too. Anyone who wants a turn, come on up. The toy is open all night."

The roar that followed was different from the ones before. It was lower, more hungry. I felt bodies moving, the wood vibrating under the feet of dozens of men approaching. And then hands grabbed me again, lifting, bending, positioning themselves like an object.

“Open your mouth,” said a voice I didn’t recognize.

I opened it. A cock slid in, thick and hot, and I let it, my throat opening with the now-trained reflex. Behind me, I felt the first man thrust back into me with a sharp thrust, and then another body behind him, another cock pressing against my already full hole.

“Breathe,” said a voice. “Breathe and relax.”

The stretch was easier this time. My body had learned. The second cock entered next to the first, and the pain was a flash that immediately faded, replaced by the fullness I now knew, that I was looking for. The cock in my mouth pushed deeper, and