I Locked Nine Men Away for Ninety Days for One Night
I had everything planned down to the last detail. It would be a Thursday afternoon and this time it would be different: this time I wanted to feel my ass cheeks slam against each of their pelvises, that skin-on-skin impact, that heat that adds so much to a good fuck. No barriers. No hurry. Just flesh and trust.
For years I’d been haunted by the fear of infections, of something even worse. It gets harder and harder to find healthy people, and although the memories of each party always ended up being good, I never liked that stinging when I pissed after riding half a dozen strangers. Whoever reads this might think they’d never get into something like that, but you have to be in it to understand: a room smelling of sex, everyone with everyone, not a minute’s rest. There comes a point where trust makes you stop asking yourself whether that cock coming toward your mouth is wearing a condom or whether it was in another body seconds earlier.
This time would be different. I’d been clean for three months, keeping track of my lab results, everything perfect. I spoke to Tomás, a fuck buddy I saw from time to time, and explained the plan. The rules were easy to write and hard to follow: nine men, medium or large cocks, one set of tests on the first day and another every fifteen days until day ninety. They would never see my face. Only Tomás would know who I was.
And the trickiest part of all: ninety days caged.
Yes, caged. I don’t trust men one bit, and if the chance comes up for them to stick it in another hole, they will. What good are ninety days of monitoring if on day eighty-nine one of them hammers it into whoever? None. So I bought nine silicone cages, the kind that hug the balls from behind and enclose the shaft, leaving barely the opening to piss. Each one had its own key and numbered seal: if anyone tried to tamper with it, they were out of the game. I chose flexible, comfortable ones, with enough room to get shower water in and keep the area clean. This wasn’t about making them suffer, but about protecting all of us.
Ninety days without their skin brushing against anyone else’s skin. But ninety days without coming would have been torture, and I’m not cruel. So we agreed on the opposite of what would happen on the final day: the weekly unloads.
Every Sunday we met at my flat. I had a set of curtains that divided the entryway from the living room and the bedrooms, and with Tomás’s help — the only one who came in, went out, and saw my face — we sat the other eight on chairs, blindfolded, with their hands tied behind their backs. They weren’t fully imprisoned: they could move their legs, stand up if they wanted, but they weren’t to take off the blindfold during the session.
One by one I removed their cages and caressed their balls until the cock stood hard and throbbing. With a silicone sleeve and a little lube I jerked them off until they blew everything. After seven days of chastity, with their heads filled with my ass every minute, they lasted barely one or two minutes before cumming. I barely got tired. In fact, I loved that session because I had absolute control. In the morning I’d send them a short video of me fingering myself or using a dildo, showing them the wet strings of discharge, nothing else. They came in like wild bulls and never missed a single Sunday. After each orgasm I sealed them back up, often with a struggle because they still hadn’t gone down, and that was that until the next week.
Think about it, you reading this: cage for seven days and the best handjob of your life every Sunday, with a final prize waiting. Or the other way around, nine males you chose, in your house, to play for a while.
When the unloads were over, I stayed alone with Tomás. Still splashed with semen, I rolled around with him all over the apartment, fucking in every position possible. He got used to seeing me covered, to the smell of sex they left behind, even to the taste. If he had to suck my tits, he did, whether they were covered in cum or not. He ended up with dry balls — he could go again, unlike them — but even that didn’t get him out of his cage.
***
The seventh Sunday I felt like breaking my personal record. It wasn’t very high: five blowjobs in a row, the record I’d made once on vacation, alone, in a seaside village called Puerto Sereno. I was in my fertile days, hot as a cat in heat. I met three guys on a hidden beach, spent the afternoon with them, got drunk, and took them back to my apartment.
After fucking in turns and through every hole, I sat them on the sofa and started swallowing cock like there was no tomorrow. I’d take one into my mouth until I was out of breath while using my hands to jerk off the other two. After ten minutes they started warning me and, as they did, I’d lunge at whichever cock it was so it would spray load after load down my throat. I’d close my lips at the base, press my mouth to their balls, and suck upward, squeezing out the last drop with my tongue.
The second one was already dripping before I finished with the first. Once he was dry I went for the third, who took a little longer, but he came too, deep in the back of my throat when I brushed his ass with the tip of my finger. When I thought I was done, I saw that the first one was still hard. I crawled over on my knees — already aching — and swallowed him again. He took a couple more minutes, but he shot almost as hard as before. I repeated it with the second: that was the fifth load. I’d drunk a whole glass of milk; their balls were huge and swollen. The third couldn’t come anymore, so I rubbed coconut oil on my ass and offered it to him. He pumped deep until he emptied himself inside me, leaving me nicely stretched and satisfied.
***
As I was saying, on the eleventh Sunday, one week from the final day, I felt like repeating the sofa thing. I lined them up and knelt between them, sucking one after another, but this time the rewards came much faster. Chastity was doing its work: with their reserves through the roof, they came in my mouth in a couple of minutes, barely giving me time to swallow. I kept going with the next one until I’d finished the whole group, Tomás included. One of them begged me to hold on and keep going; he came again in three or four seconds, like he was multi-orgasmic. A little dizzy, I locked those pleasure chisels away again until the big moment.
If you’ve made it this far, thank you, and I hope I haven’t left you too anxious to know what the final Sunday was about.
I prepared the scene differently. I lay down level with a low table, in the gap of a doorway, with half my body on each side of a curtain. Like the magician’s trick of splitting the woman in two: my upper half inside the living room, my lower half in the hallway, resting on the edge of the table. On my back, I stared at the ceiling until Tomás let them in. They entered, the door shut, and before I had time to get ready, one of them lifted both my legs until my feet touched the curtain. I couldn’t see a thing. Just that fabric separating my pelvis from everything else, like in an operating room, and on the other side a newly released bull licking my ankles, my toes, the hollow behind my knee.
My cunt was already soaked, though not a hundredth of what it would be later. He shoved his tongue in until he ran out of breath, wanting to eat my juices now that everything was clean. A few seconds later he lined up and rammed it all the way in, without mercy. I let out a cry halfway between discomfort and pleasure, and gripped the table. After four or five thrusts he pulled out and I felt hot liquid sliding down my ass.
He’d come in seconds. Maybe chastity wasn’t such a good idea, I thought.
Second bull. He spat, slid in until his balls slammed against my wet ass cheeks. He held out a little longer, speeding up, until he let out a rough groan and I felt his cock harden against my walls. He came like mad: I counted ten or twelve spasms, six of them brutal.
Third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth. They all followed the same path. I was comfortable with each load: even though there were many in a row, they didn’t last long. The filthiest thrill went through me imagining how every cock that entered displaced the previous man’s cum and deposited its own, taking possession of my body. They possessed me and enjoyed me without rules. Ninety days storing it up for me, and now they were giving it to me. Only the ninth decided to pull out and come on my belly. I liked that too.
They went through the round again, letting me rest my legs between sets. They had turned me into their reservoir; really, it was I who turned them into this. The idea was mine. The peace of mind of not infecting each other with anything made us all enjoy it like never before. Tomás would come through the other door now and then to bring me water, to kiss me, to stroke my tits while the rest kept going. Grateful, I’d lick his balls and cock until it was ready to go back onstage. In the middle of it all I wanted to stop to piss, but they wouldn’t let me; I had to let my pee out while they were fucking me. Far from cooling off, they loved it and got even hotter.
With a pool of milk and discharge under the table, my back asked for a change of position. Some had already gone three times. They were rabbits. And I was a slut who still wanted more. Carefully they turned me over and put a cushion on the edge of the wood. I felt an enormous amount of liquid fall from my cunt to the floor: there wasn’t another drop of room left. Then, using the semen as lube, one of them opened my ass with his fingers until I was stretched a couple of centimeters and slowly worked his way in. His balls slapped against my soaked cunt, making the puddle slap with every hit. They lasted much longer than at the beginning and took turns without some of them finishing, I suppose from exhaustion. I counted at least nine more loads in my ass, which I liked just as much as, or even more than, the front.
I left myself at the mercy of those cocks and all I had to do was enjoy it. One of them started rubbing my clit during the anal — probably Tomás, who cared least about seeing me covered in semen — and I came twice, so hard I clenched my sphincter and expelled the cock inside me. Instantly he was pumping again and spilling.
Nearly two hours penetrated from both sides. The time flew by. Some twenty orgasms made me feel like the luckiest woman in the world. They had enjoyed themselves like crazy and started dressing and leaving. After a while only Tomás was left. He lifted the curtain and helped me sit up. Bathed in semen, I stood, but my legs were trembling and he had to help me to the sofa, where I collapsed, awake and exhausted. I felt dirty, maybe because I was leaving the sofa ruined with everything that was spilling out of me.
Tomás stroked my hair and tits until I came back to myself a little. When I did, I kissed him and drew him against my body. He started kissing my neck, my ears; a brutal shiver ran through me as his lips slowly moved down to my abdomen. My abdomen, where so many had come. He didn’t care. He stroked my nipples and pinched them just enough to graze pain so that afterward I’d confuse it with pleasure.
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. He kept going down over my pussy, soaked in everyone else’s cum, and kissed it with the same love he’d kissed my mouth. Without thinking, he caught my clit and started sucking and licking, sweeping away the excess milk, focusing on making me enjoy it. I arched because it was hypersensitive from all the fucking, and with a mix of discomfort and pleasure I guided his head with my hands, changing the rhythm, setting the direction. Little by little my cunt was cleaned up. All that was left was to let my orgasm go in that wonderful mouth.
I pressed his face against my thighs so he’d understand I wanted to come already, and he got the message. He picked up the pace, slipped two fingers in, and moved them a few times until I ended up screaming with pleasure, letting a jet gush into his mouth. He didn’t let a thing escape and kept licking me gently until I relaxed completely.
That’s how I fell asleep, spent, until the next morning. I woke up with no one in the apartment, but with all those traces confirming that nothing had been a dream.
