Holes

My foot on her cunt, I say:

“Tell them.”

She is on the floor stripped bare, legs wide open and propped on bent elbows to give her leverage as she grinds up and against my sole.  Her slit is sopping.

“Your holes,” she manages.

I press down with my foot and she groans aloud, back arching. Our watchers stir and I know she can sense their presence but won’t look over.

“And?” I demand.

Her eyes are locked onto mine, heavy-lidded, and her lower lip is captured beneath clenched teeth. She doesn’t want to answer and instead quickens the tempo of her hips, increasing the friction of her cunt against me, as if by cumming she can short-circuit all of this, avoid what is about to happen. Silly girl. She hasn’t had an orgasm in a long time and won’t be having one now. At least not this way.

“Say it.”

It takes long moments, the room filling with the scent of her sweat and her cunt as she grinds while they watch.  Glistening diamond dew drops gather at the corners of her eyes and her lower lip begins to tremble and I know her brief struggle is almost over. I fight the urge to call it off and take her in my arms. It’s not time for that yet.

“They’re your holes,” she says softly, as if by whispering she won't really have said it. “Fill them as you please.”

“Again. Louder.”

She throws her head back, digging in her heels as her hips piston forward. She would cum now on command if I allowed.

“They’re your holes,” she practically shouts, “fill them as you please.”

Our watchers are standing now, moving forward. 

“Look at me,” I say.

She raises her head to meet my gaze and hangs it forward so she can’t see them gathering around us. Tears are streaming down her face and dripping onto her chest and hard-tipped brown breasts. 

“Say it again.”

“Your holes,” she sobs, “fill them as you please.”

She turns her head, trying to look away.

“Look at them,” I say.

There are three of them and now their cocks are out, stroked to their full length and girth.  She stares, not seeing faces, just the waiting cocks and she knows what they are for.

“Your holes,” she says to me, pleading now.  “Fill them as you please.”