Blogger & the Football Team (feat. Conceptfan) Part 5
Written by Totally Kyle :: [Thursday, 09 December 2021 14:54] Last updated by :: [Thursday, 09 December 2021 16:56]
Blogger and the Football Team, Day 5
The bold text was written by Conceptfan. The regular text was written by me. This was completely improvised.
He starts to let out a series of involuntary gasps as his mind is filled, and then over-filled with lust. I can see as his face contorts that his cognitive functioning is starting to break down. He stares, wild-eyed, at my hand as it caresses the silky magnificence of my breast, the oh-so-desirable flesh undulating in the most erotic of ways under the amazing strength of my flawlessly-manicured fingers.
At that moment, I'm certain he would sacrifice everything to be able to touch me with his own hands the way I was with mine. I can smell the desperation now leaking from his skin. I pinch my engorged, arrogantly proud nipple with about twice as much force as I would need to turn a small lump of steel into plasma, and find myself moaning in genuine arousal, a sound which drives my current toy to the point of insanity.
"Mmmmm," I breathe, looking down at my helpless captive and failing to resist the temptation to add to his inner turmoil, "my tits feel so good!"
He makes a strange wobbly sound, almost an admission that he is losing control. He's actually trembling now. His erection is pulsating.
After a few more seconds of playing with my perfect tits, I see the last tiny scrap of intelligence disappear from his eyes. He basically turns into a glass-eyed zombie, making nothing but groans and grunts as he actually starts to push against the hand around his throat to reach me, because his overwhelmed brain apparently forgot that my hand couldn't be moved with a crane, let alone a man!
I'm starting to enjoy myself more and more. It's always nice to be touched by the only person on the planet that I can actually feel. I'm really getting into this now. Meanwhile, the man is really starting to resemble a zombie, now. He's actually frothing at the mouth! I can practically imagine him repeatedly moaning "breeeeaaasts... breeeeaaasts..." as if his brain had no function left aside from trying to use me for his carnal desires. So, not much smarter than an average man, really. Too bad he isn't worthy of reaching his one and only goal in life. He should have been stronger. Oh well!
As I continue to express my deep and sensual love for myself with my hand on my chest whilst my other hand holds him back by his throat as if he were a starving caged beast fighting to reach food, I decide to give him one final tease. I remove my fingers from his neck and give him the split-second his feeble male brain needs to realise I'm no longer restricting him. Of course, as soon as that happens, he starts to reach for my left breast with his right hand.
He's probably making a grab for me as fast as he can, but it's slower than slow motion to me. I have plenty of time, long before his opening palm reaches my feminine glory, to curl my fingers around the top of his arm, just below the shoulder and give a little squeeze. There's the familiar satisfying CCCRUNCH sound, and the even more familiar sound of a man screaming in agony. When I let go, there is a band of darkest blue blotches encircling his upper arm marking the places where I'd gripped him. The arm hangs limp by his side as he continues to yell in pain and frustration and desire.
He can't lift his right arm at all now, thanks to the rearrangement of his bones and ligaments I so effortlessly caused. Naturally, even though the hurting must be unbearable already, he just cannot resist the allure of my body. Trembling, blinking away tears, he begins to raise his left hand, once again his fingers opening up in anticipation of grasping one of my superhuman mounds. And, once again, I beat him to it, using just my thumb and forefinger to break everything in his upper arm before he had a chance to touch me. I giggle in response to his latest yells, and then again when I see both his arms hanging uselessly by his side.
Now I have two hands to squeeze myself. Thousands of times harder than I squeezed his arms to jelly, I now play with my breasts, my nipples reaching their peak, millions of times harder than diamond as I seductively rub a fingertip over each one in turn. "I thought you wanted to touch them," I tease, licking my gorgeous lips.
If there's one recreational activity that's almost as enjoyable as having sex with men who don't want it, it's denying sex to men who do want it. It wasn't long after I broke the man's second arm that his body tenses up, his face contorts, and his seed explodes out of his below average dick and onto the ground. I watch in real time as tears of sadness start to mix with the tears of pain already streaming down his face. He is truly heartbroken that he wasn't able to cum inside of me. And while I certainly don't blame him, especially after all the teasing I did, it didn't make the outcome any less amusing.
I could have easily made him cum a second time, which can sometimes be even more enjoyable than the first because of how much pain it puts them through, but I didn't feel like playing with this man anymore. I was also getting a little bit bored of plain old basketball, so I decided to spice things up a bit by trying to mix two different sports together. I walk around towards the back of the man, giving an exaggerated swing of my amazing hips as I move and enjoying his depressed reaction to not being able to play with them. I plant my slim hand against his massive back, sinking my digits deeply enough into his disgusting fat to get a good purchase and then lift him up into the air over my head like a balloon. And he doesn't even resist due to his broken arms hanging limply to each side of him as I carry him around a bit, not that it would have made a difference anyway.
"You know," I start up a little conversation. "I remember hearing that one of the greatest baseball players of all times' claim to fame was that he could not only hit any pitch that's thrown at him, but he could accurately predict where the ball was going to land. Let's see if I measure up to him, shall we?" The man's only response is a pained groan, probably trying to beg me to stop. But I've already started scanning the nearby woods to look for a nice, thick tree to use as a bat.
I stroll at a leisurely pace towards the woods, carrying the huge lump of a man as if he was a stick of candyfloss. Finding an ideal young tree, no more than twelve feet high with only a few branches, I curl the fingers of my free hand around it. The trunk is thin, compared to the maturer trees around, and when I grip it, my hand encircles more than half of its circumference. A quick tug of my wrist causes the earth beneath us to explode as I easily pull its impressive network of roots free of the soil.
I guess the young tree in my left hand probably weighs as much as the young man in my right, but they're both as good as weightless to me. Raising and lowering first the man, then the tree in turn, I introduce them formally to each other: "Ball, meet Bat."
"No...! Please...!" the man resorts to begging, as most men do when they realize that they can't physically oppose me.
"Aha! So the zombie can still speak!" I say enthusiastically, at which point the man continues to beg and plead for me not to use him as a baseball. But I'm not even listening, because I already made my decision and I never let a lesser being like a man change my mind. I give him a few test throws up and down first, even though I don't need to do any warmups because my aim and my strength control is always perfect. But it was amusing to hear his screams of desperation get louder each time he is tossed up into the air with a tiny flick of my wrist. But once that gets old, I stop the warmups.
"Here comes the pitch...!" I pretend that I'm a sportscaster, ignoring the man's even more loud shrieks of panic as I throw him up into the air one more time. He continues to scream like a baby as he falls back down in front of me, right at the perfect spot. I swing my little bat that no man could ever have a tiny fraction of the strength to swing, let alone acquire, and hit the man right in the center of his ugly weight, halfway down his back. My aim is, unsurprisingly, perfect. The impact knocks the wind out of his lungs, putting an immediate stop to his screams as he is launched through the air with a satisfying THWACK. I watch as he flies through the sky, then slowly gets pulled back down towards earth, and neatly into the hole in the top of the bus. Babe Ruth has nothing on me!!
I'm not sure if I want to play another round of baseball with the last would-be escapee, but I decide to hold onto my bat anyway, just in case. Now, all that's left is that one man who fled the scene very early into my little night of fun.
Unhurriedly, I float from my feet into the air, the huge "bat" an unnoticed weight in my hand. Once I'm high enough, I can survey the surrounding area like an eagle scanning for prey. There's something quite fitting about looking down on the world from such a unique, lofty position when I'm already indulging on a mini-power-trip. From up there, I can look down on the world, knowing that everything I can see is my potential play-thing. Naturally, I take my time.
I should have realised that a professional athlete would have found reserves of stamina beyond the average human. The guy who'd ran from the bus had obviously run and kept running as if his life depended on it. He might have been right about that, I chuckled. He had covered nearly ten miles, clearly following the highway back the way the bus had first travelled from. I caught sight of him, exhausted, his hands on his knees, panting for air by the side of the road.
Obviously, he was still scared. Because although I could see with my amazing eyes, even from that distance, that he has utterly spent, he started to jog again, his feet dragging like a heavyweight boxer in the twelfth round of a gruelling fight. He looked like he would collapse to the dirt at any moment. Smiling, I set off at a relaxed pace, flying over his head in seconds before turning in the air, all the while unnoticed by him as he huffed and puffed along below. I put my hands on my hips and descended, like the goddess I am, into his path.
Andrew was finally starting to calm down and think rationally. "Okay," he thinks to himself. "There is a woman who wants to either rape or murder every single one of us. She claims to be strong enough to lift our bus, but I've only seen her lift two of our biggest linemen with one hand. Still, that was a frightening amount of strength. And she made it look easy, too. She also can apparently freeze a man's legs solid with her breath. But maybe that's all she can do. I haven't seen her do anything else yet."
But all rational thinking went out the window a moment later, when…
1. He is instantly distracted by how shocking gorgeous the naked woman is.
2. He sees that she can also fly, and…
3. She is holding a tree over her head like it's nothing, and the roots are still attached to it.
Did she pull that out of the ground?? That terrifying thought somehow took a backseat to the fact that she was able to catch him, despite him not seeing any sign of her pursuing him for the past several miles. In a single instant, Andrew realized that he did not have a solid grip on this situation at all. Also, his penis can't help but respond to the physical perfection in front of him, even as his thought process is, in a single instant, sent back to square one. He was terrified and had no idea what to do.
I'd almost forgotten about the tree I'm holding. I can see from the way this last man is flicking his gaze between it as I hold it overhead and my chest, that he's clearly impressed, so I give him a little show, gently squeezing the trunk in my hand until it creaks loudly and then the section in my grip implodes, turning into matchsticks as the tree is cut in half. Both ends crash noisily to the ground either side of me as sawdust and splinters spill out of my palm.
The gasp as I bisect the trunk in front of the awe-struck, exhausted runner amuses me. He's out of breath, so when he gasps, he needs a few seconds just to recover his breathing. I grin at him, glancing at the fallen bits of tree and theatrically brush the debris from my hand. "None of my toys seem to last," I pout, looking at him directly. Now, I can place both my hands on my hips. He's still panting, his face a mix of lust, fear and bewilderment.
It's ten miles back to the bus. I could pick him up and throw him, but the force I'd need to launch him fast enough would probably cause bits of him to fall off before he was properly airborne. Baseball practice is over, considering what I'd done to my improvised bat. I recall the men who had seen him run from the bus. Some of them were still alive, back in the vehicle. A few of them were even, more or less, conscious. It might be amusing to see their reactions when I return with the first escapee, their last remaining hope.
As I'm thinking that, he defiantly tries to pull himself up to his full height and takes a staggering step towards me. He reminds me of a jungle animal that has spent all night running away from a fire and now, exhausted, on the point of defeat, finds itself cornered by the flames and in a final, pointless display of its courage, turns to fight.
I don't even bother to let him try. Without moving my hands from my hips, or even so much as lifting a gorgeous toe or an irresistible eyebrow, I unthinkingly blow the tiniest puff of air, not even a sigh, more a half-sigh, at him. That's enough to knock him backwards onto his rear and then send him rolling away from me for ten more yards, heels over head, to finish sprawled on his back, groaning and gasping.
After mentally recovering from the sudden wall of warm wind that sent him rolling across the ground, Andrew's brain, once again fueled by adrenaline, started weighing its options.
He had to close his eyes, because every instance he had them open was an instance where he was rapidly losing the will to fight, paralyzed by her seemingly inhuman beauty. Okay, so she might have been strong enough to lift the bus after all! And she can fly! And she's fast enough to travel... about ten miles in... when was the last time I looked behind me? Let's say three minutes. Ten miles in three minutes. Not good odds. But maybe she can only use this power for a limited amount of time. Maybe she's at her limit! There's no way that she can be that strong AND be able to fly indefinitely! It's just not possible!
With his wounds from the bus accident starting to reopen from his latest tumble, he manages to stand up. It's a slow, laborious process to get his battered body to move again. But once he is finally standing on his own two feet, he opens his eyes. He stares directly at the woman and gets prepared to run the moment that he sees her move.
But when he opens his eyes, he once again sees a woman who shouldn't be capable of overpowering him. Even though he had seen her do a lot of crazy shit, he strengthens his resolve and decides not to run, taking another step towards the most beautiful woman on the planet.
"Y-you don't scare me." he manages to say as he steps towards her.
I have to laugh. This male's pride simply won't let him accept reality. He's exhausted, battered and totally befuddled by my beauty, yet he refuses to concede. Now he's claiming that he's not scared, when I can clearly hear his heart-rate and breathing reveal that he's terrified. I can even smell his fear as he lurches towards me, hoping for... what? I wonder. Does he think my batteries will suddenly discharge leaving me as weak as him?
I guess he doesn't know that my fabulous powers are inexhaustible, at least until the sun goes supernova.... In fact it's very much him, and only him whose "batteries" are on the point of failing. Maybe, on some level, he knows it. He grunts, as if trying to summon all the energy remaining in his puny big body, and lowers his head, letting rip with a primeval battle-scream as he charges at me, like a bull with no thought, just fury.
Andrew hobbles towards her, but he slowly starts to gain speed. With one final defiant scream, he finally manages to close the distance. "Maybe I'll fuck her body after I knock her out," he tells himself as he once again feels his resolve waver as he gets a better and better look at her naked perfection. "Lord knows she would fucking deserve it, anyway." But he manages to shake that fantasy out of his head long enough to commit to attacking her. Once he is in range, he lets out one final grunt of effort as he throws the hardest punch of his entire life, directly at her face.
It feels like her face is made out of steel underneath her skin. His knuckles split open as numerous bones in his hand break instantly on impact. It was just as painful as punching a brick wall. "AAAUUGGH!!" he screams in utter shock at the white-hot pain searing through his hand and up his arm. His vision briefly turns black. He loses balance and falls backwards onto his rear. His entire world is now a terrible, blurry mess of confusion and pain. Lots of pain.
If I had a penny for every set of knuckles that had been shattered in a wasted attempt at hurting me or slowing me down by a nanosecond, well... wait... that doesn't quite work... I mean I must've enjoyed the sound of bones cracking from a punch followed immediately by a man screaming in agony, oh, at least twelve thousand times. But I've got gold bars at home [a bribe from a billionaire. He offered them in desperation in exchange for me not killing him. The funny thing is, I did kill him anyway. How I laughed!....] Anyway, he's not the first man to ruin his hand by attempting to hit me, nor the hundredth, nor the thousandth. What's more remarkable, in my opinion, is the way that it never, ever, gets tired. It's as funny and as thrilling to see as it was the first time.
I get the impression that this idiot will keep breaking bits of himself on my invulnerable body until he passes out or dies. Either way, he won't leave the tiniest scratch anywhere on my perfection. He's on the ground again now, half-conscious, looking from the ruins of his fist to the magnificent body that caused them.
I saunter over to him, and bend at the waist, eliciting the usual gasp of lust as I offer him one of the seven sexiest sights in the world. The other six, as you probably have guessed, are different views of me. I think he's too pained to try and scoot away, or perhaps he's too in love. Certainly his heart is thumping even harder now that I'm close to him, looming overhead with my breasts pendant. I take him by the ankle, so that when I stand up straight and raise my arm, his entire body is left dangling upside down from my petite hand, his head swinging slightly a few inches above the ground. Naturally, in such a supremely dominant situation, I place my spare hand on my hip.
When she grabbed his leg tightly but not too painfully, he instinctively thrashed that leg around in an attempt to free himself. But between the comical lack of success at making her vice-like fingers move a single hair and the intimate view of her flawless lower body that he was looking at while hanging up-side down, he very quickly abandoned his struggles as stared at the magnificent, powerful form in front of him. Being a young football player with a six-figure salary and a body that's in peak physical condition, he never had trouble getting women in the past, so he only chased the prettiest ones. He thought he had seen everything. But this woman makes every gorgeous woman he slept with seem hideous by comparison. And when she picked him up like he weighed nothing and placed her free hand on her wide hip like that... a fire was lit in his loins that he hadn't felt in a long time. Even though he was filled with pain and terror mere moments ago, the more this woman paraded her body around him, the less the pain in his hand started to hurt, and the less scared he became, too. All he could think of is the kind of things that he'd like to do to her. Or perhaps, the things that he'd like her to do to him. At that point, it didn't matter. She was utterly mesmerizing.
I took to the air, letting my prize dangle in the breeze at the end of my hand as I flew, listening to him alternating between shock and fear as he caught glimpses of the rocky ground far enough below to make a fall fatal and lust and awe as he caught glimpses of my smooth, warm, physically perfect body above him.
I kept my speed down to, oh, maybe two hundred miles an hour, as I made my way, as the crow files [but so much sexy and faster] back to the bus. I swooped over the hole in the roof and just opened my fingers mid-flight, dropping the last of the men onto some of the first of the men before coming to land, immaculately, on my feet , on the ground, beside what used to be the doors of the vehicle before I'd turned them into a permanent opening with the easiest tug of my bare hands.
With a cheerful, casual air I boarded the bus to gasps of terror and groans of pain from those still capable of making sounds. "Well, I think that's everybody," I said, pretending to take a headcount amongst the writhing and the unconscious and the dead.
My smile grows bigger by the second as I gaze at the buffet of sex toys before me, as well as the overweight and unattractive toys that I can probably amuse myself with in other ways. And I can also feel the air shift to a tone that's completely devoid of hope when I arrive, signalling that this batch's training period was finally over. It's sometimes amusing to have to teach men to be subservient to a higher being like myself, but it can also be a drag sometimes, especially when they prove to be incredibly idiotic and stubborn, like most men are. But now, they all finally learned that they can't overpower me, can't hurt me, and can't escape from me. The only lesson left to teach all of them is that they can't resist me sexually, either. As I look down at all of the truly defeated men, eyes all filled with the deepest levels of despair, I can't help but rub my fingers between my legs for a brief moment in anticipation of what's to come. This many strong (well, relatively speaking) men should be enough to give me two or maybe even three orgasms by the time they're all too unconscious/dead to continue. In fact, I'm in such a good mood that I even ask them "Who wants to go first...?" as I stroke my breast with my free hand, which should guarantee at least one volunteer.
Despite everything. The sense of hopelessness that filled the bus, the injuries and even death all around, the pain, the fear... despite it all, not one but two seemed to volunteer. In fact, so intently were they both staring at me and the actions of my hands, so keen were they to replace my fingers at that moment with various parts of themselves, that they didn't even notice each other as they simultaneously climbed to their feet and stepped out into the aisle of the bus.
Comically, they clashed into each other, both knocking the other down in their eagerness to reach me. As they began the process of recovering their feet, a third one joined from further back, wedging himself between the first two as they made it back to the corridor just as he tried to hurry past them, leaving all three of them temporarily stuck, shoulder-to-shoulder in the narrow aisle. It was like a scene from a silent film, the men literally falling over themselves to get to me. It seems I'm going to have to take complete control over everything, even their movements. They're just too useless to do it themselves.
"You two," I ordered, using both hands to point at the two on the outside of the trio, "Stay!"
"You," I continued, pointing at the middle one. "Approach!"
They obeyed, immediately. It's amazing what a few deaths and torture sessions can achieve...
The one in the centre of the group eagerly took a step towards me. I met him with my palm in the centre of his chest. He shuddered at the mere touch of my skin. I used my little finger to give him the gentlest of prods which caused him to instantly fall backwards between his two, standing colleagues.
I took two half steps, carefully straddling the prone body. Raising one foot I just stroked the length of his shaft with extreme gentleness using a single toe. The organ instantly grew to its maximum in response, so I placed my foot back down beside him and began to bend my knees, lowering my torso towards him. As I descended, I looked up at the two men, attentively awaiting my next instruction. They seemed a little... disappointed that neither of them was the one I was descending over. I had other plans for them, but I spared them the details, settling instead for a monosyllabic command: "Kneel!" Again there's no hesitation, as they take their newly assigned positions, on their knees either side of the prone man's shoulders, looking up at me as I slowly drop down over the centre man's erection.
Of course, as I'm lowering my body, I'm bringing it, and more precisely, my chest closer and closer to the ever more awestruck faces of the two kneeling men. When I feel the touch of the tip of the middle one's throbbing glans against my superhuman labia, the kneelers' eyes are level with my engorged, mighty nipples. Instead of instructing them to please me, I just put a palm behind each one's head and, carefully so as not to crush their skulls like eggs, pull them both towards my big, heavy, firm tits. I doubt they even want to resist, but I wouldn't notice if they tried.
Now I can feel the feather-light touches of two rough masculine faces on my areola, I begin the process of relaxing my vaginal muscles so that I can slide myself down over the middle one and take in the whole of his length. Right away, I can sense the contractions in his penis that threaten imminent orgasm. I'm nowhere near ready for that yet, so I squeeze him expertly inside me, holding his ejaculation down until it suits me. Then I start to lift myself, dragging my sex the whole way up his member until just before letting it free, before plunging back down over him, making him cry out in pleasure and pain.
I raise myself once more, barely even noticing how the men either side of me are nearly lifted entirely off their knees as I keep their faces jammed into my breasts. I'm really enjoying the sensations they're creating, but I want more from them now, so I start to move their heads a little as I hold them against me, massaging my nipples with their stubble. Of course I bring those heads down with me as I lower onto the middle one's shaft again. And when I rise up. And when I start to pump rhythmically, pounding the middle one's pelvis with my superhuman rear, and grinding the other two's faces with my breasts. I can feel something wonderful starting to grow inside me.
With all three men finally conditioned to worship me like the lower beings they are, and with the pleasant sensation of two fragile faces tickling my breasts and one fragile penis tickling my nethers, I start to get more into it. I close my eyes as I press the two faces into my tits just a little bit more firmly and I start to ride the man underneath me just a little bit harder. Right away, I hear two sharp grunts of pain around my chest and a third man beneath me muttering "Fuck...!" in sudden pain. But I ignored it and focused on that incredible feeling inside of me that was growing stronger and stronger. I part my sexy lips and let out a little moan of approval, and then I keep going and going. A few tit-suffocating, ass-smashing seconds later, I open my eyes and discover that the men who are pleasuring my tits are bleeding profusely from their noses and the man underneath/inside of me has a mild fracture on his pelvis, but it's growing larger every time I drop my round ass back all the way down to the hilt of his dick. All three of them are suffering in complete silence. The one underneath me is actually biting his tongue so hard that it's actually bleeding quite a lot.
"Oh..." I slowly start to grin in realization. These men are suffering in complete silence, because they know that screaming is pointless and they probably don't want to upset me. At that moment, it really started to set in just how great tonight was turning out to be. I had three attractive young men, all in peak physical condition with pretty faces, succulent abs, dynamic biceps, toned legs, and all-round amazing bodies (but not as nice as mine) completely surrendering to me as I gleefully fuck the life out of them. "Fuck...!" I moan, louder this time. "Ohh, it's good to be a Goddess...!! OH!" I reach the point of no return, tensing my smooth body a little bit and riding the man underneath me just a little bit harder. Just a little bit... yes... yes... AH!!
I reach my first orgasm of the day. I vaguely hear three different cracks from the same familiar three parts of my body, but I easily tune it out as my vision turns blurry for a brief moment (though I could still read a postage stamp on the moon) and the bus briefly rocks back and forth from the force of my slender body rolling the 3-4 tons of metal around underneath my thighs as I experience my release.
It fades all too soon, but there are many more where that came from. I finally open my eyes again and take stock of the three slaves who were very graciously forced into pleasuring me with threats of death and dismemberment...
As I release my twin holds on the two who were on breast duty, there's a pleasing symmetry to the way blood is streaming from a flattened, broken nose on either side of me. Both of the men have blackened eyes as well. They look like they've entered a boxing ring with their hands tied behind their backs to face a kangaroo on steroids. All I did was hold them, so, so gently, against my lovely chest. Beneath me, the man on the ground is fading out fast. It's only when I slide off him and his juices slide out of me into a puddle on his belly that I see the scale of his own orgasm. I'd been too wrapped up in my own climax to care. As I rise from him, I see the familiar discolouration and deformations of a shattered pelvic bone. Even his now deflating organ appears to have been bruised deep purple.
I'm keen to keep my buzz going. Noticing that my breasts are dripping in blood, I turn to the two beaten-faced barely-conscious men either side of me and command them to lick me clean. I sense, as they eagerly set to work, that they are both also on the point of cumming, so I take a very gentle hold of the base of each man's pulsating erection using the thumb and forefinger of each hand. They wince, first in discomfort at the tightness of my grip and then as the contact makes them want to explode but they find they can't. I find myself having to repeat an order, as both men hesitated in their assigned jobs for a moment:
"I said, 'Lick!'"
That's enough to get them working again. I can feel the insistent throbbing under my fingertips increase as they worship my perfect breasts with their tongues. Raising one foot off the ground, I use my toes to flick the spent man lying down there, causing his unconscious body to rise almost as high as the damaged roof of the bus before it lands on an empty couple of seats near the back. Then I place my sole back down, but right at the edge of the aisle. I match that on the other side, so that my feet are nearly a yard apart, my legs wide open as I stand, still gripping the two lickers, who keep at work throughout.
"Who else is good with his tongue?" I ask the remaining conscious men.