It happened one night at a friend’s house on a girly night with Lorraine and Sally. Takeaway pizza, couple of bottle of wine and a side order of good gossip about, anything and everything, including of course sex and wherever else that lead us, which depended upon how much plonk we’d consumed.
Later that evening Lorraine took a call on her mobile and she said her boyfriend and his mate wanted to come round and asked for our approval, being it was supposed to be just us. Nevertheless we agreed thinking, why not, go with the flow and half an hour later there they were complete with peace-offerings, I suppose for crashing our night: beer, crisps, some strange dark chocolate squidgy cake things, which I’m not sure even they knew what they were and their no doubt sparkling company.
By now I was tipsy though I always ensure not to get drunk as then I’m usually just ill, being of poor constitution. I lay up on the sofa next to Lorraine and stretched my legs across, the other three strewn around the living room on chairs and the floor. I dozed.
It was one of those strange states when you’re asleep but also aware to some degree what’s going on around you, like the chatter infiltrated as did the general ambience, knowing always where I actually was despite the strange collection of images sleep usually brings to me. As I lay there I felt, or imagined as I wasn’t sure at this point which, a hand moving up and down my legs, which were bare being I wore a skirt and no tights or leggings. It felt nice even though not really sure if it was real of part of a dream, more of a blurring of senses. As it happened it was just Lorraine absent-mindedly running her fingers up and down and over my knee; comforting, I thought.
Conversation filtered into my somnambulistic state like secret whispers skirting a hush. I felt someone was looking at me, in that way that you do sometimes unnerving though this wasn’t, more just curious. I peered through my dozing lids, imperceptible to others to see all four huddled around me now: still voices swam around the room, each one’s tone sometimes merging, sometimes diverging from the others becoming almost mantra-like though not continuous but definitely gentle, if not a little furtive. Actual words evaded me as though either they were meant too or were simply there to as accessories.
Occasionally her hand would squeeze my thigh and then I heard Sally’s voice, distinct as it is seductive, something I’ve long envied of her was her voice which contained a huskiness which guys clearly liked. Emma’s out of it, we could do anything to her and she’d never notice.
It didn’t quite sink into my consciousness, didn’t fully register, and in some ways I only remember it in retrospect. This was followed by Lorraine’s voice, let’s see shall we. But again it seemed almost dreamlike and I was so comfortable that I didn’t want to move.
Lorraine’s hands were now it felt moving along my legs much more purposefully, I felt. It did feel nice; she always had a gentle touch and a way with her hands. Her touch became caressing, intimate, intoxicating almost as I lay eye closed, mind lost in the in between of waking and sleeping. My skin though started to come alive, encouraged by the motion and the sounds of their voices like an incidental soundtrack that you’re can hear but are not meant to really listen too. The sweeps of her fingers were gradually getting higher along my leg now catching the hem of my blue denim pleated hi-waist skirt that sat an inch or two above my knees. Strangely I was finding this not just soothing and restful but increasingly although subtly arousing. Again I peeked, barely opening the slits of my eyes, seeing her attentions on my legs, my pale-skinned legs.
I felt the best course of action was simply to enjoy it having already forgotten what was said in quiet tones earlier between them, though my skin was now feeling more alive than the rest of me. I also became aware the skirt hem being edged up, barely, but still.
God! Look at you two! you’re really enjoying this aren’t you! Lorraine chuckled in a whisper at the two guys I was guessing who were now transfixed on my legs. I knew as I’d noticed when I again ventured a sleepy peek. This seemed to enthuse her to more deliberately move her palms up and down my legs making sure to cover every single inch from ankle to skirt, and higher, and higher it felt until more of my thighs began to appear for their greedy eyes.
She was clearly enjoying this, as were they I guessed as they didn’t move but stayed close and I think getting closer like hungry wolves.
It started to feel like strange game where I played possum, kind of pretending I wasn’t really there to see what they were doing to my body. In a way I wasn’t as my sleepy state generated an almost out-of-body experience where with my mind’s eye I imagined myself into an onlooker and what they’d be seeing right now.
Want to see more boys?
That is exactly what she said, very clearly and very seductively. Then Sally’s voice, show them.
At this point I felt my skirt raising like as though all by itself except it was being ably aided by Lorraine’s deft handling. I was being clearly handled: woman-handled. She edged it high enough for me to know they now had a good view of my upper thighs, a part of my body, like so many others, I find particularly sensual and for me sensitive to the any kind of touch. I also knew by now at the very least they saw the edge and colour of my light blue knickers. Yet still I didn’t feel the urger to move, to wake myself up from this benign torpor even though I as very aware what she and Sally were doing, they were teasing them but using me to do it, getting them hot and bothered.
I was sure this would be it, the extent to her playfulness, but seemed not as my skirt was pushed higher until the delicate pink-ribboned waistband was visible to all of their leers and smiles. I began to feel a little embarrassed, being that what usually is private, my underwear, was no on display, though perhaps it was no different from the times I stripped in front of my window for anyone passing or looking to see from the outside, though I never knew if anyone did or not, still, how was this any different? Well, they were here, in the same room, all within actual touching and one in particular, Lorraine, actually making intimate contact.
Leaving my skirt mostly pull up in a kind of tidy disarray I heard her whisper something to Sally but what I wasn’t sure. Then I felt a button on my blouse come undone as if by magic, but not. It was Sally’s fingers now joining in as I still lay there on the sofa half across Lorraine with Sally at my head. One button, then another came undone from my floral charcoal chiffon blouse: another then another came unfastened. I mentally tried to remember how many there were, then another and another. There can’t be many left, how many? Then another, I’d lost count then before I knew it they were all undone as my blouse was already teased from the waist of my skirt. Sally eased away one side of it and showed the boys my bra, my light blue matching balconette etched in lace, which no doubt further interested them if at all they cared about lingerie and not just what lay beneath.
Open your eyes!… I said to myself. But I didn’t, now almost caught in the moment, or moments as they carried me away further into what this evening has in store.
Sally then decided one side wasn’t enough and pulled the rest away exposing my tummy and bra and chest to all and sundry. I felt my breathing deepening as anyone’s would in the circumstances. I felt strangely like I was being scripted, controlled, worked by unseen hands, and in a way I was, except the hands were plainly seen and I knew whose they were. I was beginning to feel decidedly undressed, and I was at least half so.
Lorraine edged my skirt higher and made sure the boys clearly got a good look at my underwear in its full glory and still she kept massaging my legs which did feel nice but not in a relaxing way now, in an invigorating and exciting and nerve-wracking way for me.
I admit I’ve always enjoyed being undressed, stripped even, by someone else, or imagining it. It’s nice and also incredibly sensual, but like this with other eyes, some of whom I barely knew felt different, and I wasn’t sure in what way, good or bad. I suspected the former.
Lorraine’s movement now easily brushed over my knickers with each move while Sally run her hand across my tummy making sure to catch the underside of my br and small boobs each time. I felt my spine aching to stretch, arch, in response, all my nerve-endings firing like an army of tingles on the attack. Dare I open my eyes now? Would they go any further? Earlier I was sure they wouldn’t; now I’m not sure certain. It seems they well and clearly have their mischief heads on and anything can happen when they get like this. I should know.
I now lay there in partial undress. How do I keep finding myself in these situations? It’s as though I’m a born victim and yet I know I’m wilful and bossy at times and my own person, and yet here I am, again letting others use me (or enjoy me) like a toy.
(continued in “into temptation (part 2)” …… )