Six guys in t-shirts or shirts. Naked from the waist down. Me in a soft cotton top. No bra, no knickers, no trousers, no socks. We are the opposite of topless. And we’re perfectly dressed to play a game.
I can picture exactly the six guys in my mind – who they are, their faces. I don’t know why I’m telling you this – it’s irrelevant to your view of the fantasy. But it’s not irrelevant to the fantasy itself. They’re all men I know, whose dicks I’d feel pretty confident picking out of a line-up.
And that’s exactly what I’m going to do here – more or less.
Did you ever play the parlour game ‘Squeak, piggy, squeak‘? If you didn’t, the title will sound like a weird sex game even before I’ve hacked it into a weird sex game, but I promise in it’s original form it’s just the kind of old-fashioned fun people had before there was telly. The idea is that you blindfold someone, give them a cushion to hold and stand them in the middle of a circle of chairs. They turn around a few times so they don’t know which direction they’re facing, while everyone switches chairs to mix it up. Then the blindfolded person walks towards someone in the circle, places the pillow onto their lap, and sits down. The person they sit on squeaks like a pig, and they have to guess who it is. I KNOW. Honestly, just writing it down makes me realise how bizarre this game is.
The bottomless parlour game: how to play
Six men, naked from the waist down. Me: likewise. A blindfold. Some chairs. No cushion.
This isn’t specifically about fucking – though we’ll get there by the end of this post, I’m sure. If I wanted to arrange some kind of blindfolded fuck-game, where I had to guess whose dick this was by having them slide it, pre-lubed, inside me, then naturally I’d pick a different position – one with less blindfolded fumbling.
I’d have the guys lined up against the wall – still naked from the waist down but with their backs braced against something. I’d have them behind a curtain with their cocks sticking straight out, so I could slide backwards into them, giving a satisfying grunt when I pushed back deep enough to squash their naked arse against the wall.
So like I say – not specifically about fucking: it’s more about wriggling. Sitting down on someone and squashing my arse back against their rock-solid dick. Moving around, leaning back, shuffling from side to side until I can feel it pulsing against my buttocks.
It’s about the six guys. Each, in this fantasy, selected because I know their cock well, and reckon there’s enough difference between each that I could distinguish them, but a subtle enough difference that it’d present a challenge.
It’s about the deliciousness being naked from the waist down. For purely practical, dick-squishing reasons.
It’s about the prettiness and the satisfaction of that round patch of flesh: buttocks neatly framing my cunt squashing just through the gap.
It’s about the delight when that patch of my flesh squashes up against the top of a guy’s thighs, and meets his skin and hair and dick.
Most of my fantasies begin and end rough, but this one starts with giggles and fun. An experiment. A game. A test. I’m blindfolded and spun around in the centre, before each of them takes a chair and sits with his hands behind his back, waiting for me to park my naked bottom on his lap. They look at each other with sparkling, knowing eyes. Maybe one or two twitching semi-erect as I stumble around the circle to pick the first one to sit on.
When I’ve chosen him, I wriggle. And he makes no sound. He bites his lip, maybe, to keep from letting slip one of those tell-tale noises: mmm or ah or the one that belies his desperation to grab with his hands: unnngh. By the time I stand up, he’s hard, and so are others.
I make my way to the next, and sit down gently, first further forward on his lap, then slowly sliding backwards so the crack of my arse neatly cups his cock as I move. When I wriggle, I can feel it nestled there – snug and tight and ready to slide into me if I move in just the right way.
And onto the next.
And the next.
By the time I get to the fifth I’m almost ready to start making guesses. I don’t know how well I’d actually do in this game: how many I could guess. That’s part of the fun, of course. But more of the fun is in the idea that as I make my way round each of them is struggling to hold back: gripping the back of their chair to avoid using their hands – hands being easily as identifiable as dicks. They’re individual not just in their physicality – long, slim fingers versus thick ones, for instance – but in how they’re used. I know this guy is more likely to reach for my hips and grip them firmly. That guy would snake his hand underneath my cunt and run it over the wet folds before I sat down on him. This other one would oh-so-gently run his hands over the skin of my stomach and slide up to cup my tits. But they’re holding back on hands and noises, to make it harder for me.
So I wriggle, and I think, and I move from one to the next and back again. Cunt slick with the desire to go one further – to reach back with a hand and grip an erection and slide it neat and tight inside me. Then sit down slowly, burying it right up to the hilt. Listening carefully to see if he makes a sound. Tensing my muscles to feel which way he moves.
I said most of my fantasies start and end rough (and some are dark all the way through), and although this one starts with a dirty parlour game: a playful rip-off of something much more innocent, it ends with roughness just the same.
At a certain point, when I’ve guessed and been either congratulated or corrected, the power switches from me to them. My turn is over, and it’s theirs. Still blindfolded, still naked from the waist down, I’m now handed from guy to guy as they take their turn doing whatever they’d pictured while their hands were held still behind their back. Pinching my nipples. Pushing rough fingers into my dripping cunt. Pulling me over their knee and giving sharp smacks with their palm – not on my arse, but on that patch in the middle, where the stinging smack puts jolts of pain through my cunt.
One holds me like that, over his knee, while the others fuck me: taking it in turns to grip my hips and shove themselves deep. Still as silent as they can be, they make eye contact and hand gestures to determine who goes next. And they imagine that maybe I won’t know. That I can’t guess who is who.
Thinking they’re anonymous in their collective silence, each guy fucks me differently to the way he’s fucked me before. Each wondering if I’ll know them from the shape and feel of their dick or their hands gripping tight against my skin. Each guy hoping he’ll be the one to trick me.
And by the end they all do: by the time they’re taking turns to squirt spunk over and into me, I’ve no idea which is which. When the circle was calm and I was in control, I remember exactly who was who. But they’ve taken the lead now and I’m disoriented, delirious. Too busy enjoying to bother playing the game.
I’ll only know them again when they make a sound.
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