The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Susan looked over the garden fence. A lovely spring day when you could almost believe it was summer already—if there had been leaves on the trees. There, in her neighbour’s garden, sat Mr Canning reading a newspaper in a deckchair upon the flags of his patio, a pot of tea with cup and saucer to hand.

“What does he look like?” said her mother behind her. “Being well dressed is one thing but in your own back garden. You wouldn’t find your dad like that…but he’s not a poof!”

“I think he looks rather nice in an old-fashioned sort of way, Mum.”

Certainly, the old man was dressed as if to go out, perhaps to a cricket match. Linen blazer, straw hat, white shirt with open neck and gaily coloured cravat within, neatly pressed light brown trousers and ‘Hush Puppy’ brown suede shoes.

“Well, certainly he’s a generous old man. I’ll give him that. He was wondering if you needed any pocket money. He said, if you like that is, you could pop around and do things for him and he would pay you.”

“What sort of things?”

The sharpness of her tone surprised her mother. “Oh dear, Susan, you do fly off the handle and jump to such wrong conclusions. I’m not sending you round as a little tart.” She laughed, “dear me, what would dad think if I sent you there as if on ‘the game.’ Really, Susan!”

“I didn’t mean that, Mum, not at all.” But her mother had certainly jumped to that conclusion and wouldn’t let it go. She seemed to find the idea so funny.

“Buy you a little French maid’s outfit so your stocking tops showed when you bent over with your feather duster!” Her mother was so amused. “Yes Susan, that is sort of what Mr Canning was suggesting. Would you like to do some cleaning and polishing for him? Dusting, hoovering, polishing his brass and silverware—that sort of thing. He’ll pay you.”

And so Susan found herself at Mr Canning’s once more, dressed not in her school clothes but jeans, blouse, trainers and with a scarf tied around her hair. Most certainly not a French maid’s outfit. The house, though, looked immaculate, hardly in need of cleaning at all. It seemed almost embarrassing to take his money given it was rather obvious it would be for unnecessary work, but she set to, nonetheless, dusting and then vacuuming the carpets.

It was nice to sit after all that work and simply polish silver. Her mother had been careful to teach her well and she knew what to do with the Goddard’s silver polish. For a moment she had expected to find a bottle of ‘Ed McCaffrey’s’ silver polish under the sink. She was a little puzzled why that name should come into her mind. Certainly, she had been using that bottle of lotion hidden in her bedroom only the night before, but why should she think of it now when cleaning? Sexual thought and Mr Canning’s house hardly came together.

Mr Canning came into the kitchen and suggested a cup of tea. He made it whilst Susan finished her polishing. She snapped off the rubber gloves and stood, undoing the apron she had put on to protect her clothes, watching him boiling the water. Mr Canning carried the tea into the living room. Sarah sat opposite, a coffee table between them.

There upon the table a colourful brochure advertising Ed McCaffrey products; the same stylised logo which so reminded Susan of an ejaculating penis prominent together with a picture of a pretty girl wrapped demurely in a fluffy, white towel and a speech bubble from her, ‘Just do it.’ What a co-incidence. She had just been thinking of ‘Ed McCaffrey.’ Susan picked it up and opened it. Did ‘they’ do silver polish?

Susan flicked the pages feeling a little funny. It was a catalogue of rather unusual products. She was a little surprised at Mr Canning for having it in his house. She recognised one or two. There was that lotion hidden away in her bedroom for one. She frowned, she could not remember buying it or how it had got there. It could hardly be her mother’s. She blinked, her mind feeling a little fuzzy. Her hands turned the pages and she looked down at a picture of a round blue tin. It seemed the closest to silver polish—‘Ed McCaffrey’s Knob Polish—it does exactly what it says on the tin.’

“What’s ‘knob polish,” Mr Canning? What does it say on the tin?”

“I don’t know, Susan, I’ve not bought any. Doesn’t the catalogue say?”

“Perhaps it’s for polishing brass. Like the knobs on your big brass bed.”

“I wouldn’t think so. I’ll buy a tin and we shall see.”

Susan drank her tea and accepted another cup, a refill. The fragrant liquid poured out of the spout of the china teapot, out of a curving spout. She stared and then rubbed her eyes. It was as if the china spout had all of a sudden changed in front of her eyes, instead of a simple white porcelain spout with blue flowers like the body of the teapot, and indeed the matching cups, saucers, milk jug and sugar bowl, it had changed. It had become thicker and had very much taken on the appearance of a man’s erect penis, admittedly with an unusual double bend to it—and blue flowers. The tea was coming out of a swollen knob end and the feet of the teapot had become, at the front, like a pair of man’s balls.

“Your teapot’s become a cock, Mr Canning.” She looked up at him aghast.

“No, it hasn’t, Susan, what an idea! Are you feeling all right?” He put the teapot down and placed his hand on her knee. It was meant as a reassuring gesture. She could see that. But if he was not gay it could easily have seemed rather different. He patted the knee. The teapot spout did not seem like a cock anymore.

“More milk, Susan?”

She looked up at Mr Canning, he was leaning towards her, his eyes full of concern, his kindly eyes, his kindly brown eyes. “Oh, I… yes please.” Her mouth fell open. The milk jug in his hand had become another cock like the teapot, a firm one with its knob pointed towards her china teacup. “Oh, oh, oh!” she said as the cock not so much poured white ‘milk’ into her tea as spurted, the ‘milk’ splashing into the hot liquid.

She blinked and all was normal. The tea in her cup swirling a little from the milk that had been poured. The dainty milk jug with its blue flowers being carefully replaced by Mr Canning upon the table.

“I was… I was having a hallucination.” Had something been put in her tea? Susan had heard of mind-altering drugs. Was she on a ‘trip.’ It hardly seemed at all likely in nice, old, Mr Canning’s house.

“Oh dear. Really? What sort of hallucination?”

“I couldn’t… I couldn’t say… couldn’t possibly say. I…” she swayed and the room swam. She was feeling hot now.

“There, there, just you lie down, you’ll feel better in a moment. She felt Mr Canning’s hand on her forehead and then his hand loosening her blouse, letting a little air into her hot body. Really it was her jeans she needed loosening. She felt suddenly hot in them, she wished she had worn a skirt.

Relief! She felt a hand at the brass button of her jeans, perhaps that needed polishing with Ed McCaffrey’s polish, and then a tugging at the brass zip. Open jeans would be better—cooler. More relief! Mr Canning was lifting the waist band of her knickers up and down, wafting cool air over her plump pubic mound. A denuded mound. She would not want all that hair there now, a cosy thatch for winter, not a hot spring day. She was conscious of the heat, particularly between her legs. Hot, yes, and wet. Had that been the result of all thought of penises, the teapot and the milk jug? But she was wet. She hoped Mr Canning’s wafting of her knickers, cooling as it was, did not blow her feminine scent towards him. He would not like that. He did not like women. Would not take pleasure in the scent of a young sexually aroused girl.

“I’m so hot.” She felt Mr Canning’s fingers now fully undoing her blouse. She could not, simply could not, open her eyes to see what he was doing, all she could do was feel the increasing coolness as he gradually removed all her clothes. Blouse, training brassiere, trainers, jeans—tugged with some difficulty down her legs but so cooling as the damp skin was exposed, socks and then, lastly, her knickers. Such a relief not to have cotton between and heating her sex. She opened her thighs, such a relief!

Her thought back upon the milk jug, the pretty milk jug with its blue flowers and white spout, cool milk being poured, cool milk not at all like hot semen, splashing down upon her open sex, cooling her. Her sex splashed and creamy with milk.

She could not help it, her legs were opening and closing spasmodically, it was cooling but now there was a desperate need coming to her to have something in her hot vagina. Penis or penis shaped object—it did not matter, something to stop the involuntary opening and closing of her thighs and the consequent opening and closing of her vaginal opening. Susan was barely conscious of where she was. She frowned; was she not having tea at Mr Canning’s? A sound; was that a doorbell? The voices.

“Is young Susan ready, Mr Canning?”

“Very ready, I think you’ll find.”

“Excellent. I have been looking forward all afternoon. May I?”

“Of course.”

“Ah, that’s better. Good to be out in the open.”

“Unrestrained. So good.”

Blearily Susan opened her eyes and stared in disbelief. She was either hallucinating or dreaming. Yet her lids felt so heavy and once more her eyes closed. It had indeed been Mr Lovell at the door; Mr Canning’s especial ‘friend,’ but now they were both standing there stark naked and with their penises erected like, like… the teapot spout or the milk jug. Surely they were not going to engage sexually whilst she was there? Mr Canning even had the teapot in his hand, the penis like spout returned. Was he about to pour tea for Mr Lovell?

Susan’s mind wandered. Fragments of consciousness or dream came to her. Was she really being lifted up by two naked men? She could feel skin against her.

“So good, so tight, so wet.”

What was tight, what was wet and what was that? Susan reached with her hand. It did not feel like her hairbrush handle as she pulled it back and forth within her. Had she awoken in her bed? So good to have something inside her, filling her. What was that brushing her lips. It felt like Jose’s cock had felt. Her mouth opened. Mmmm! How good to suck a cock.

What, what? She scrabbled with her hands, her arms reaching out but all she could feel were cushions. Where was she? She felt helpless. Her legs were tightly held and she was bent over something, something firm against her stomach. It felt like she had been draped over the back of an armchair or sofa. Her legs were well splayed and she could feel—something, yes a cock—going in and out of her. A lovely feeling. It was making her feel better.

“My turn.”

Oh no! The hard penis removed just as she was close. Then, relief! It was back, or was it a different one? It hardly mattered. It was hard and moving. Splish, splash, splish, splash in her hot, wet needy hole. Oh yes! Susan was coming, coming big time. Rarely better. Another—yes, a cock now in her mouth as well or was it the milk jug’s spout? She needed milk. She sucked.

Her mind felt like mush. There was something wrong. Yes, that was it. “Wrong place, wrong hole…” she whispered.

Susan awoke, came back to consciousness sitting in Mr Canning’s bath. Not a stitch on, of course—well, she was in the bath. Mr Canning and Mr Lovell both there looking down with concern at her.

“I think you got a little too hot, Susan. Perhaps all that work in the heat and not enough to drink, though you were drinking your tea well enough before you fainted. We thought a cool bath would help.”

Such concern on their faces.

“We’ll leave you to have a wash. Your clothes are there.”

Neatly folded and placed on the bathroom chair, her jeans, blouse, brassiere and even her white knickers. Her trainers below. Susan automatically reached for the soap. It was wet to the touch already and, actually, her body looked very freshly washed. In her mind strange recollections of her… dream. It had seemed so real but could not be. Raising her hips, she pushed a finger into herself and looked at it, but there was nothing upon it. No creamy semen. In her dream she could distinctly remember… no, she would not have done that. Not for Jose, not for anybody. Her finger moved to her bottom hole and rubbed. It did though feel a little sensitive as if… but no. Mr Canning and Mr Lovell were such dear old boys—and, importantly, what did her mother say? Bent as a nine bob note. No, there was just no way she could have been wandering around on the carpet mewing like a cat, drinking from a saucer of milk with a sort of tail pushed into her bottom, being shagged by a couple of ageing ‘tomcats.’ Yet, yet, she had a very clear recollection of penises spurting within her whilst on all fours. But there was nothing there.

Despite her ‘funny turn,’ and her mother had been most concerned, Susan continued to clean for Mr Canning every Thursday after school. Mr Canning had been insistent, quite amusingly concerned, it seemed to her, that she did not overdo her work, did not get too hot. Had even sent her home to change from jeans into a light cotton skirt. Mrs Settle was effusive in her praise for Mr Canning’s concern—‘what a nice, kind man he is!’

Mrs Settle saw Susan off to Mr Canning’s with an injunction, “Make sure you do everything Mr Canning tells you, dear.”

What a surprise to find on the coffee table when Mr Canning suggested tea, a blue tin of the very Joe McCaffrey product she had been looking at in the catalogue the week before: ‘Ed McCaffrey’s Knob Polish—it does exactly what it says on the tin.’

She turned it over and got a bit of a shock. ‘Knob polish—make your, or your man’s knob really shine.’ Surely it did not really mean…

‘Direction for Use:

Apply polish with a cloth or polish applicator. Allow to dry. Buff to a gloss. For an extra high shine, apply another light coat of polish, sprinkle with water and buff with a soft cloth.’

No, it could not mean that. Susan looked up as Mr Canning walked in with the tea tray, her face a picture. “Mr Canning—the tin, the tin of knob polish—it says it’s for penises unless I’m reading it wrongly. Surely it can’t be.”

Mr Canning took the tin from her and reached into his top pocket of his jacket for his glasses and read. He looked thoughtful, “It does seem you are right, my dear. I sent off for the tin like you asked last week. I suppose we had better find some knobs for you to polish, but first drink your tea.”

Susan sat with her knees together and bare showing out from under her cotton skirt. She looked suspiciously at the teapot. She had a vague recollection that something had not been quite right about it the week before; the milk jug sat there looking so pretty in its blue and white; her thoughts darting from milk jug back to the round blue tin. Mr Canning had suggested he would find some polishing for her to do. He could not really have meant what he seemed to say.

“More tea?”

The china cup, pretty as it was with its blue flowers did not hold that much tea, not like the mug she used back at home. Susan drank her second cup. It was not hot but like the week before Susan felt a little light-headed, a little ‘woozy,’ as her mother would put it. Perhaps it had been all that bending down on her hands and knees as she had washed the kitchen floor. She put down her teacup and picked up the tin of knob polish and unscrewed the lid, the shiny, buff yellow, wax had a warm vanilla scent. Surely that could not really be used to polish gentlemen’s knobs.

A ring at the doorbell but it was not Mr Lovell. Susan’s jaw dropped when Mr Canning led in not Mr Lovell but her boyfriend Jose.

“Err, hallo Susan.”

How had Mr Lovell known him? Why was he there? How was he there? But there was little time for questioning and, even so, Jose did not readily answer. It seemed almost as if he was in a bit of a trance. Little time to say anything because, almost immediately, the doorbell rang again. This time it was her friend Michael as well.

“Err, hallo Susan.”

Again, how? Why was he there? How was he there? And why did he speak so slowly? The doorbell went a third time. It was Joe Maddison. Big Joe.

“Err, hallo Susan.”

Susan was shocked; in the room with her not just Mr Canning but Jose, her friend Michael and Joe Maddison. All three of them, the boys in her school she most fancied. Why were they there, how were they there?

“I asked these young men to come around for you to try out your tin of polish, Susan. They have agreed to let you polish their knobs.”

Huh?

The three boys looked uncomfortable, glancing at each other. They had heard Mr Canning’s words. Perhaps they had not expected the others to be there. Perhaps they had expected to be alone with Susan; but, she thought, how had Mr Canning known to ask them; how had Mr Canning known?

“Well lads?” The doorbell went yet again, and Mr Canning hurried to answer leaving Susan with her friends. She started to talk to them again as if the whole thing was normal, but they seemed rather tongue tied, distant even with their eyes rather strangely focused upon her. It made her uncomfortable; the more so that they seemed to be undressing, their ties were already off.

It came to her that she was about to see the three young men naked. Of course, she had seen Jose and, now she came to think of it, had she not seen Joe naked when he had been shaved? Yes, she could remember holding his penis. At least she thought she could. But she was about to see Michael as well. About to have three ‘dishy’—another of her mother’s words—young men naked before her. Dreadfully, her thoughts, or rather her body, betrayed her, she could feel a creeping wetness in her knickers. The thought of naked young men and… and their penises to be polished.

Mr Canning returned with, unsurprisingly, Mr Lovell. Susan felt so outnumbered. Five to one, male to female. But as underpants were lowered, she felt the nudity of three somewhat evened the numbers. So funny to see her friends there, hands trying to cover their penises. Their embarrassment evident. Was it more about being naked together—but surely they had been many times like that in school changing rooms—than about her seeing them? Especially Jose, she had seen him naked—been naked with him—quite a lot of times. And then it came to her: it was not their nudity as such, or being embarrassed at revealing their ‘willies’—as her mother would say—it was something else, something very much to do with those ‘willies.’ She could see, poking over or around their covering hands, the sight of rounded, bulbous penis ends. Perhaps not wanting to, perhaps very much not wanting to but unable to help themselves, the boys were having erections in front of each other.

“Hands away, lads. Show Susan your knobs. She has some polishing to do.”

She was open mouthed—perhaps that was half the trouble for the boys, her open mouth gave them ideas—as the young men’s hands were lowered. It was a sight, a sight that certainly made her panties even wetter. Her three friends naked and gloriously erect. Young naked men with hard cocks. She had expected Joe’s to be the biggest but not so. The three boys were clearly blushing but, equally, were sizing the others up—comparing penis size and unfortunately Jose, her boyfriend, came third, not small, she thought, but an inch shorter than Joe and he, in turn, was an inch short of Michael’s. So interesting, so fascinating, so pleasing to the eye—the female eye. That thought made her turn and look at Mr Canning and Mr Lovell. They were looking at the boys as she would have expected. Of course, they were. Lovely young boys naked for them to see. She rather expected them to suggest the boys should turn and bend over—yeah, she could imagine her mother saying something about that—the two old ‘queers’ anxious to fondle young male bums.

“Well, Susan, aren’t you going to do some polishing?” Mr Canning had some cloths in his hand and the blue tin. In a daze she took them. Was this quite what she had come around to Mr Canning’s house to do? Certainly, polishing but…

“What are the directions, Susan?”

“Direction for Use,” she read out loud, “Apply polish with a cloth or polish applicator. Allow to dry. Buff to a gloss. For an extra high shine, apply another light coat of polish, sprinkle with water and buff with a soft cloth.”

Susan knelt, her bare knees on the carpet, three firm cocks rising up in front of her. It was not the sort of cleaning and polishing she had expected to do. She pushed one of the cloths along the smooth polish taking up a little. She looked up and the boys looked down at her, their classmate, down level with their turgid cocks.

Who to start with? Whose to polish first? She started with her boyfriend. His familiar penis, the pale pink helmet with the dark red band at its base atop the wrinkled pole. She touched it with the cloth and began applying the polish, it showing wetly upon the membrane. A groan from Jose. She glanced up as she began to rub it around Jose’s helmet ensuring the polish went all over and around it. The warmth of Jose’s penis made the vanilla scent stronger as the polish warmed. It was heady; not quite making her head swim but certainly her a little light-headed. Her panties were quite wet now beneath her skirt.

She swallowed. The polish was applied to Jose. Now for the next boy. Joe was next in line. He of the big, black sausage with the light brown knob. She remembered now holding it for Joe to be shaved. And he was still hairless. No tight black curls just smooth skin and his wrinkled, black as anything, ball sack without hair; just hanging there and so male. A gorgeous upright penis but the light brown knob was only just peeking out. She could see—and remember—Joe’s much more generous foreskin compared to Jose.

“Susan, you’ll need to…”

She knew. She knew. “Yes, Mr Canning.” A gentle tugging and down came the foreskin—sort of like a pair of panties. Like she felt hers needed to! Another dip in the polish tin and Susan was applying, smearing the polish generously over the smooth light brown glans.

“Not too much polish, Susan, a little goes a long way.”

Shiny with the polish, its vanilla scent rising into her nostrils, the light brown knob was all covered. One more to do. Michael’s penis. The biggest one. It truly was an inch longer than Joe Maddison’s. Remarkable. Indeed Susan wondered if she was to straighten it, pull its curve straight, it might be longer still. It stood in front of her face rising up from a profusion of blond curls and hair. Susan could barely make out his balls within all that hair, indeed she reached and felt just to see they were there. They were, tight against his body, all tucked up and nestled in a woolly nest. His penis curved firmly upwards so his mushroom shaped knob—so much flatter than the other boys—pointed directly at the ceiling. It was mauve running to purple at its thick edge. Different again from the other boys. His foreskin strongly retracted. Susan applied the polish, all at once thinking of a gear stick on a car, like the one she was learning to drive.

Three knobs all now with polish. What was next? Susan looked again at the instructions, ‘Allow to dry. Buff to a gloss.’ Was the polish dry? She touched Jose’s knob with her fingertip, running it down the smooth head from its little ‘pee hole’—or was that ‘cum hole’—to his flared coronal ridge. It felt dry but very smooth—smooth with polish. She reached for the cloth. It seemed to Susan that you did not buff by merely wiping, it needed a regular and vigorous stroking movement. Holding the cloth taut between her two hands she rubbed the stretched cloth back and forth across the knob—the rear, to the sides, to the front; easing it around the helmet shape. It was, after all, rounded not faceted.

Groaning from Jose as his so sensitive organ was firmly stroked with the cloth. Wide eyes from the other lads as they knew what was coming to them. And it was. Rigorous cloth work to Joe’s knob until it really shone.

“Please, Susan, no more… do be careful.”

For a moment Susan was puzzled. She was being careful. Had she not polished well? And then it came to her that Joe was worried about ejaculating. It was what boys did. She moved quickly onto Michael, leaving Joe standing with his penis so upright and his knob so shiny.

What a staff! Susan was not yet very experienced, but Michael’s did seem a little exceptional. And what a funny flattened head—or was it unusual? Were the other two boys the more unusual. She did not know. Perhaps Mr Canning and Mr Lovell might know. They were probably much more experienced than she!

Susan applied the polish, rubbing it all over the mauve and purple head. It was not glossy at all, quite matt—but that would change. Upright certainly but it seemed to have more ‘give’ than the other two boys and moved around easily. She found the moving cloth caused it to wobble back and forth. She had to hold the shaft in one hand and try and buff with the cloth held in the other hand until she buffed it to a hard shine.

A second polishing, I think, is required.”

“They are already nice and shiny, Mr Canning.

“But the tin says…”

And it did. Susan read, ‘For an extra high shine, apply another light coat of polish, sprinkle with water and buff with a soft cloth.’

“I think you’ll want them shining like boots and belts on a parade ground.”

The idea! Susan’s mother would probably make some rather embarrassing comment about Mr Canning thinking of tall soldier boys on the parade ground, standing stiffly to attention; but Susan dripping away in her knickers found the idea of polishing all that men’s equipment strangely exciting. She wiped the cloth again over the smooth yellow, vanilla scented polish, and turned back to Jose. With the cloth she again applied the polish. Jose’s knob was already so shiny as she wiped the second thin coat onto it.

“I wonder, Susan,” said Mr Canning, “if you might not take off your blouse and perhaps your skirt. You wouldn’t want to get polish on them, or…”

Or what? Susan was momentarily puzzled, her mind so full of her task. She looked at the three cocks standing right in front of her face, their knobs shining and catching the light. They were all very swollen. Were they perhaps uncomfortable like that. ‘Oh,’ she thought. ‘oh!’ Indeed yes—Mr Canning’s warning was about what might happen if she was not careful in her polishing. Penises might spurt their stuff.

Carefully Susan removed blouse and skirt. A rather brave thing to do in a room of five men, three naked and erect. Young men, certainly, could get ideas. But she did not want to get semen all over her clothes. And, actually, she did not really want semen on her lovely white brassiere and panty set. Susan unclipped her training brassiere revealing her small breasts. Then down came her white knickers revealing her soft rounded bottom and hairless, shaven slit. She glanced at the three erections. They were no less firm. From Michael’s, a drop of clear liquid appeared and then ran down that funny little strip of skin that split his knob into two. She hoped it would not spoil the polish.

Naked, she carried on applying the second coat of polish. Returning to Jose’s cock she touched the knob with her finger to see if the polish was sufficiently dry and then began to rub with her cloth, seeking an extra high shine.

“Spit and polish, Susan, spit and polish.”

Oh, yes! She was meant to sprinkle with water. Susan dribbled onto Jose’s penis. Her spit did look rather like semen. She had certainly seen that come out of Jose’s penis. She rubbed seeking that extra shine with her cloth; polishing away at Jose’s taut rounded knob.

Wow! She could almost see her face reflected in the shiny bulb. On to Joe’s knob, his big light brown knob. Rather than spit on it, which had resulted in too much liquid, Susan thought she would lick, apply her saliva carefully and sparingly all around the knob. It was a little embarrassing doing that with everyone watching—and were they watching! The polish now with a thin layer of wetness upon it was then buffed by Susan’s cloth, pulled back and forth between her hands. What a wonderful shine that produced. The coffee coloured knob positively glowed in the light. Beautiful!

No need to lick, dribble or even suck upon Michael’s penis. It was self-lubricating—ideal for the polisher!

Three beautifully shiny knobs, perfectly polished. All standing if not in a row, certainly well matched in their mirror like finish. She turned to Mr Canning and Mr Lovell; would they want their own knobs polished? They were not being presented.

‘Presented’—the word reminded her of the parade ground and were the three young men not like soldiers on parade with their ‘weapons’ thrust forward and gleaming. Her tongue went over her lips as she thought of soldiers not just presenting arms but firing a volley. She felt a strong desire to open her thighs wide, show the young men just how wet her sex was, let them see the moisture she could feel running a little down the inside of her thighs. Let her be the target. The thought of their strong, and so shiny, knobs pushing into her hole—her knob hole, her penis hole, her fuck hole. It was so much what she wanted. And wouldn’t they just slide in, so smooth and polished!

“Do they slide easily, Susan?”

“Their foreskins, Mr Canning?”

“Yes Susan, their foreskins.”

Susan reached, without thinking choosing the most generous foreskin, the black one, pulling the wrinkled skin up and over the so shiny light brown knob covering it completely until the skin was taut. Just so good to see how it moulded the knob beneath, its shape revealed but hidden. Such an exciting shape—a sexual shape indeed! Susan drew the skin down again showing all and then up and then down. A glance up at Joe. His eyes were closed, and a great big grin had spread across his face. He was very clearly enjoying her stroking. Too much and she would see the ‘eye’ open and then she would be covered in his stuff. In her hair, on her face, dripping down onto her breasts—tempting!

It was sliding just so easily.

Jose was not smiling. Had he, as her boyfriend, expected to be chosen first? Her hand reached and she drew up his foreskin, but it did not cover the shiny knob. He was not so well endowed as Joe, neither in penis size nor foreskin. His smile came, nonetheless, as she stroked, his foreskin sliding just so easily on his highly polished knob. Jose was soon biting his lip. As with Joe Susan was careful not to overdo the stimulation. Her attention turned to Michael. Not so easy to slide his foreskin despite the polish. It did not climb easily over the spreading coronal ridge of his ‘mushroom.’ She really had to force it and it seemed to clasp the knob very tightly. She pulled it back down and decided not to try again. What a thing though—what a dong—what a ‘bell end.’ Only it was not bell shaped unlike the other two boys; it was almost blunt ended. Not ideal for pushing into a young girl’s sex even if she was very wet. Her mind swam. Yes, yes, that was what she wanted. She wanted that but the others would have to take her first and prepare her for Michael. Would they be happy to do that? Would Mr Canning let her? She remembered what her mother had said, “Make sure you do everything Mr Canning tells you, dear.”

“Mr Canning, could the boys fuck me, please.”

“Are you sure, Susan? Do you want that? They are big boys though you have polished them very well. They do have very shiny knobs—and you say they slide very easily. Are you ready for that? Come, let me feel.”

Dutifully Susan walked over to Mr Canning with her legs somewhat apart. He felt her sex, his fingers even pushing up into her.

“You do seem ready; what do you think, Mr Lovell?”

Perhaps wise to seek a second opinion. Mr Lovell was even more thorough in his inspection. He nodded his agreement. Susan was delighted.

“You may engage in coitus, Susan,” said Mr Canning, “indeed you must engage. We insist.”

Susan knew she must let Jose go first. He would be disappointed, upset even, if she did not choose him. Such a feeling of power over the young men; their eyes so upon her and their penises so firm as she walked backwards towards an armchair. Slowly she lowered herself onto it and then raised first one and then the other leg up and over the arms exposing her sex to the young men.

“Jose,” she said.

Her boyfriend took a step forward, his erection so very there, his knob so very shiny.

“Please fuck me,” she said.

The shiny knob did not stay exposed in the room for very much longer. Despite the audience of four other men, Jose moved quickly. He had, after all, done that with Susan before. He was on top of Susan and in her, sliding home in one easy and fluid movement. No fumbling, no missing the mark. Jose was up to the hilt and pushing hard at her straightaway. It caught Susan by surprise, the sudden fullness, the contact, the regular pushing at her so pleasurable. The relief! The animal pleasure of being fucked; and fucked hard. It did not take Jose long to come, regrettably quickly probably both for him and Susan. His then increasing limpness within her meant only one thing—he had to yield his place. Susan had to insist, “I’m sorry, Jose, but…”

He looked rather crestfallen as he pulled out, his penis no longer looking the ‘business.’ The same could not be said for the other two young men.

“Joe—could you?”

He could! Thoughts of his Jennifer seemingly not getting in the way at all. Joe Maddison stepped up to the crease, ready to bat. A pulling back upon his foreskin and his highly polished light brown knob shone for all to see for a moment before it disappeared inside Susan, leaving just the steadily pumping black shaft on view; a fine contrast with Susan’s pale skin. They went well together. If Jose and she split up, Susan would be more than happy to go out with Joe, sleep with Joe—though perhaps not if he was still going out with Jennifer. Three in a bed sex? Perhaps not! Though the way she was feeling… and did Joe Maddison’s big cock not feel good!

So good, in fact, that Susan felt herself reaching a very natural reaction, a gasping and shivering reaction which seemed to further excite Joe causing him to really ‘slam’ against her sex. Of course he was cumming. She could certainly feel that.

Bleary-eyed, Susan looked up. Jose did not seem terribly happy at what he was seeing but the same could not be said for Michael. He was grinning from ear to ear. And as for Mr Canning and Mr Lovell: they looked very content. It could not be the sight of her being fucked. Not for those gentlemen. They would take little pleasure in that, surely? Perhaps it was the sight of Joe Maddison’s tight and so dark bottom, muscles rippling as he pushed against her. Were they perhaps thinking of what they might like to do with—or rather in—that bottom? Naughtily, as if to tease the two old gentlemen, she let her fingertips slide over Joe Maddison’s buttocks, a little into his crack—all so strong and firm and smooth—and pull the two cheeks a little apart. She didn’t, though, think Jose or Michael would want to see that! It was naughty of her.

Another highly polished but now limp dick to be pulled from Susan. She, though, was keen for more. She felt nicely ‘warmed,’ well opened and ready for Michael’s rather blunt instrument. Susan looked at the other two boys. Joe was grinning, clearly pleased at what he had been doing, Jose looked even more uncomfortable; the more so as Michael moved into position between Susan’s thighs. She had not even asked him. Was he being presumptuous? Could she even stop him? What a big cock he had.

“You have done a very good job of polishing, Susan.”

It certainly looked it, as the big mushroom head, gleaming with Ed McCaffrey’s knob polish approached the junction of her thighs. Susan glanced again at Jose. She could not, though, help herself. The words came out unbidden, “Fuck me, Michael, with your big cock.”

Not such an easy entry but slick with her excitement and the earlier ‘excitement’ of her boyfriend and Joe Maddison, the mushroom head slipped in; Michael’s face a real picture of pleasure as he slid most of the way inwards. A frown as he found himself unable to fully embed.

“I’ve wanted. I’ve wanted to do… to…” Michael seemed unable to say the crude word, “make love to you.”

Not so much love as lust, as his firm flesh slipped forwards and backwards inside Susan, slick with her ‘juices’ and the ‘penis juice’ of the other boys. It was certainly firm and a good ‘fuck’—that was the word in Susan’s head—and she was relishing it; she was building to a second orgasm and she wanted that.

There was silence in the room, just the slap, slap, slap of Michael’s balls against her and the wet, sucking sounds of sexual intercourse. Susan looked around the room conscious of just how on display she was. She looked at the two mature gentlemen watching intently and nodding their heads; at Joe grinning away almost as much as Michael and then at Jose’s almost sullen face. His hand was holding his limp penis and gently moving his foreskin as if imagining Michael’s penis was his own.

Fireworks! It was indeed just that in Susan’s head and more than a squeak from her lips. What an orgasm—better than the first—as Michael rammed her with his big ‘rammer.’

“Show me,” she squeaked, “show me you cumming. Please!”

Probably like most men, Michael wanted to cum inside, but he obliged. Indeed, with something of the sound of a cork from a bottle—but only something—he pulled out and his so impressive penis let fly.

Is the sight of a man ejaculating impressive, is it something that grabs the girls, has it sometimes an athleticism to it? Certainly, Susan thought so.

The way Michael’s penis appeared there between her thighs, looking so big and strong from her vantage point; springing upwards out of her vagina—she most definitely felt and certainly heard it leave—the big mushroom knob suddenly there; immediately it appeared it launched a stream, a rope of semen up into the air, the springing perhaps giving an extra impetus to the flight; the rope curved up in the air and before it had landed on her chest and tummy a second volley was coming out and its flight reaching her face and hair. It was magnificent—to Susan—she opened her mouth to catch some as a third rope shot forth from the mushroom head.

Whether Jose was impressed, Susan did not know, certainly the two old men clapped. Susan, for her part was impressed, very impressed! Quite what Michael thought, she did not know. Did he relish his performance which she loved and found so athletic, or was he embarrassed at cumming so publicly and so prolifically in front of his friends?