To be blindfolded and touched

You have been invited to a party at fine house on a hill overlooking a green forest. You arrive and knock on the door. It opens to your touch. No one is there. There is not a sound from inside to house, just the leaves of a nearby tree clattering together in the wind. You step inside and obey the sign that asks you to remove your shoes, allowing the lush, red carpet to cushion your feet. There is a small table made of a rich mahogany and on it is a small note card with instructions written in calligraphy:
    
    “Go up the stairs to the room at the end of the hall.
    Enter the room and close the door behind you.
    Remove your clothing.
    Put on the blindfold.
    Lie on the bed.
    Wait.”

This is not what you were expecting this evening, but you always do what you are told. You enjoy following directions. You remove your clothing, fold each piece neatly and put them on a small, pinewood shelf next to the door, then don the black satin blindfold that is waiting for you and lie on your back, spread out on the red, satin sheet on the bed, vulnerable, waiting. Is it a long time or a short time you are waiting? You here footsteps in the hallway, the definitive steps of high heels, several of them. The door clicks open. You are trembling and do not know if you are aroused or afraid. The footsteps come closer. They seem to surround you. All is silent except for the sound of breath, your own, which is quick and nervous, and from around you, softer, slower. Someone comes toward you. You feel her hot breath on your chest, your belly, below. Fingers, soft as a feather, begin to stroke you. There are suddenly another set of hands on your feet, legs. These hands grab your flesh firmly, pinching, pressing, pulling. Pain or pleasure? It all blurs together. And then there are hands, a tongue, touching you there, the sensitive part below your belly. An intense sensation on your nipples, teeth biting hard, and the mouth down below, and something enters you slowly, fills you. A frenzy of sensation as this six hands, three mouths, stroke, slap bit and scratch you, as a finger, then two, then three, fill you up. You try to hold it in for as long as you can, but eventually, you must release. A finger wipes  a bit of it off your stomach and touches your lips, forces your mouth open. You taste yourself, salty and viscous. And the hands leave you. You hear the door clicks open, the high heels clicking on the floor, all three sets off them. And the door clicks shut, and you are alone again. Removing the blindfold, you see a towel has been left for you. You take it, step into the white, tile shower, bathe under the hot water, relishing in your experience. You dress and leave, relaxed, feeling new, fresh, alive.

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Wrote by a wonderful lady, named Storm.
She is at the moment not working as a sexworker