The grand finale

The cheers are still bouncing off the walls when I decide I'm not done being the center of attention. My eyes find the muscular guy first — the one still holding my plug like a trophy, grinning like he's won something. I smile back, slow and deliberate, and then I move.

I close the distance between us in two steps, my naked body pressing against his front for just a second before I drop to my knees. My fingers find the waistband of his boxers and yank them down before he can react. They catch on his thighs, and his cock springs free — thick, hard, bobbing in front of my face, so close it grazes my hair.

The room erupts. Someone shouts, someone laughs, someone slaps the armrest of the couch. The muscular guy's eyes go wide, his hands flying to his hips out of instinct, but he doesn't pull them back up. He just looks down at me, that lazy grin cracking wide.

"Well, damn," he says, voice rough. "Didn't know the show came with a grand finale."

I tilt my head up at him, letting my lips hover just inches from the head of his cock, my breath warm against the flushed skin. I don't touch it. Not yet. I let the anticipation stretch, feeling the heat of his body, the musk of him, the weight of every eye in the room on us.

"You called me a slut," I say, my voice low and breathy. "Sluts know how to share the spotlight. Figured I'd give you boys something to look at too." I glance over my shoulder at the others, my naked back arching as I hold the position before looking back at him.

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