Extremes

Chapter 2

I Never Complain About A Gangbang

The lights are low in the theatre, just those tiny lights at the end of each row. They illuminate feet, but not faces. In this place no one really wants to be seen. It thrives on shadows and what's done in the dark. Only when the celluloid images on the screen in front suddenly brighten, showing some milk white ass or thighs rendered on the theatre wall, do the patrons risk being noticed.

I walk in swishing my ass, knowing that there are a dozen eyes peering out of the darkness through the dingy haze of cigarette smoke, waiting expectantly for a little more light to flicker on the screen so they can see a woman in the flesh. I'm a rare commodity in this theater of men. And the sleazier I look the better for the show.

The third row, right in the center. It's my favorite place. There I beg to be seen, beg to be approached and I know I will be. A woman alone in the theater, I'm sure I'll have company as soon as the guys figure out that I don't have a date still getting popcorn in the lobby. (Actually they don't serve popcorn in this movie house—strictly s****l thrills)

I'm always amazed how polite they are when they approach, and the one this day is no different. Black, a mellow chocolate, his white teeth flash when he smiles. His braided dredlocks make me think he's from the Caribbean, and an accent I'm not too familiar with suggests the same.

We watch the movie even though our attention is focused on each other. I like him, I decide. It really doesn't take but a few seconds to discover the s****l attraction. Apparently he likes me too, either that or he's too horny to care. Men can't be choosy in a theatre, just bold. We watch the naked bodies on the screen while our temperatures rise. He begins to fidget and so do I. I can feel my p***y getting itchy, the thought of his crotch against mine keeps my hips moving softly against the seat. Then, by some mutual agreement, I rise for him, turn towards his eyes and throbbing groin, and begin to dance. He stares at my hips, then glances towards my eyes. The “come-ons” clear so I let my body lead.

There're just two buttons on my sweater. One undone, the heavy mounds descend a little further, the cleavage appears more noticeable. And with his eyes staring at my chest, my n*****s go hard with excitement. I can see he wants the other button, but I tease him for awhile. I know he likes the show, as he's forgotten about the girls on the screen taking c**k in their mouths.

The tease goes on until I let the second button free. Then so goes the sweater. I let it drop to the floor without a second thought. What he sees are nearly naked breasts since my push-up remains, the half-cup kind that raises the flesh but covers nothing. My skin jiggles above it making me look much more generously endowed than I really am. There are no complaints from my admirer.

He likes the dance. And I can see what more he wants when he glances down at my crotch still hidden by a skirt that just barely keeps it from view. I like it that way. I'm still not sure how much I'll bare for his eyes and for those others that have made quite a crowd around me. Sometimes I dance strictly naked. But not today, I think. I like to keep them wanting more. And yet, I'm only vaguely aware of the other men with c***s in hand, those that jack-off while they lick their lips wishing they were in the seat where my black admirer sits.

I'm tempted to rub myself, but then I have other thoughts. The thought of his body and mine connecting, flesh to flesh.

Communicating my message with simple body language and the look in my eyes, I see his legs close enough so that I can straddle him on either side with mine, then climb on his lap to dance against his crotch. He dances back when he feels my p***y rub against his pants. With his hand he feels up under the skirt finding that I'm wearing no panties. I'm glad the seats are wide, that I can scootch down in so that my nakedness connects with the c**k underneath his jeans. While my groin throbs against him, my breasts dangle in his face. n*****s meet his mouth and he takes them to suck. I lean back a little, expanding my chest, letting the other men get a good view while they remain hands-off on the sidelines. The black man's hands are at my back supporting me, until they drop down to fondle my ass. When he pushes the skirt away, he holds each cheek in a hand and squeezes gently. I'm humping him hard and he's humping back.

“Turn around,” he whispers and I catch his message. Climbing off his lap, I wait as he takes out his c**k. I see the size and cringe happily, realizing how full I'll feel to have this one driven up my cunt. Descending to it, I feel the head enter where it's wet. A little dance at the top, I listen to him groan, then I sit right down so the full thick prick is way deep inside. We bounce together as his hands reach around to grab my breasts and hang on while he thrusts hard. I'm groaning, leaning back exposing more of me, taunting the boys in the theatre with what they can't have.

My lover's hands begin to rove my flesh in front, one hand pulling away the short skirt to find my labia and my clit. Good fingers—deft and skillful fingers—pinch and squeeze me there so I buck harder yet. He knows the action makes my crotch jolt, so his c**k jolts in me. We're hitting a peak, a real frenzy of hot maneuvers. Nothing planned, nothing by design, just raw stuff, whatever comes to mind, whatever feels good that will takes us to the finish.

In sync, the climax comes when our sweat's dripping and his hands are crawling all over me, and I'm working myself into his c**k, taking every orgasmic feeling I can take. I hear him groan, something mellow and lush about his finish.

Once we complete the act, I lean forward and rest my head on the seat in front of me. The man in my cunt stays still, recuperating too. I'm not completely satisfied, I'm not sure he is either. It's raw what's in me. In this theatre, where the naked images of f*****g bodies keep parading on the screen in front of us, where there are thirsty men surrounding us, ogling the display —something to talk about with friends the next time they're drunk —”Hey you should have seen the broad and the big black guy at the old Savoy . . .”, I'm only half satisfied.

There's something more I haven't gotten yet. Something crazy, like really over the edge, far out f*****g to oblivion.

My black friend feels it too, feels how my pulsing cunt keeps his d**k hard. He's virile enough for two in a row, I'm thinking. And without another thought, we unclench and move out of center stage to the men's john. There's a bench there, padded no less. I saw it once before when I screwed my boy friend of the hour in the last stall. This time it'll be all public. Me with my back on the bench, my legs forced wide apart by this boy friend's hands. Yep. He's still hard enough to shove it inside, I notice as he moves down on me. We hump more, my body wanting the impact of his thick prick shoved so deep it hurts. He stays for a while, and when he finally pulls out, I'm not sure if he's come again. But that doesn't seem to matter to either one of us.

For me, his prick is replaced by another. I wonder if they're lining up outside the door, or if it's just the four that hover around me with their d***s in hand that plan to take me?

The next one, not as big, is easier for me to handle. Not that I really want that. I'm glad when the third man barely fits, when I'm feeling so full I struggle to open as wide as he desires me. He isn't a gentle lover at all. But pounds me so it hurts, and I start to cry theses big ecstatic tears. The fourth man's like a little piece of myself (on my more mellow days) descending to me, all velvety soft, like a cool balm soothing the fiery insides. I loose myself for awhile in him, until that d**k pulls out and I'm back with my dredlocked black man, riding his once again eager prick to the brink of another ecstasy for him and another c*m for me.

I've had hands on me, my breasts mauled, my body turned over like a b***h hound so that I can be pummeled doggy style. I've climax half a dozen times, and let the men's slippery juice get sticky on my thighs and ass. I've made a good show, in an exhibitionist's dreamland, exposing what's bad about me to a grateful crowd. I think it's been a good day's work. And no one around me disagrees.

I never complain about a gangbang. You get what you get when you dance in front of such hungry eyes. This one was better than the last, maybe not as good as the next will be. It's a crazy way to love myself, but it works. Like a mellow pup, I'll sleep well tonight, and take fond memories into tomorrow.

Will I be back tomorrow? Hell no. But I will return, just like I did today, when I'm insanely foolish, and absurdly horny, and in need of lots of c**k to scour out my cunt.

Heat

Heat,

burning passionate heat

consuming all that's not real,

scouring clean the dust filled echoes

of my hidden desires,

burning the purity of my true self

deeply into the tainted remnants of my soul

Heat

burning passionate heat

calling me to its pristine beauty,

leaving only that

which has withstood the cleansing fire

of its white hot kiln—

the master sculptor purifying the clay

before refiring the mold

that was me before time began

Heat

burning passionate heat

dry, pagan, sensual, alive,

makes me crawl in the sun's wild orgy

of continuous replenishing orgasm,

blinds me with the natural desires

of life bursting forth in plumes of living flame,

with heat

burning passionate heat.

KH