More like a woman.
And just as the thought breached his mind and sent a surge of blood to his already painful dick, hands were under his T-shirt, sliding warm and searching over the scars on his back, over the hair-dusted ridges of his belly.
“Off, off, off,” a few of them chanted, pulling the cotton up over his head. He allowed this, allowed the giggling exploration of his back and chest after, the coos when they reached his scars, the oohs when they traced his muscles.
“With me,” he told Tamsin, taking her hand and putting it to Nina’s other breast, so that the two of them mirrored each other. A large bronze hand and a small white one, both flat against Nina’s barely-there chest, both kneading and massaging and pressing. Nina moaned, her head lolling to the side, and Tamsin looked fascinated by the contrast and symmetry.
“With me,” he repeated, and then bent to Nina’s neck. Tamsin bent to the other side, and together they bit and licked until Nina was moaning against them. He guided Tamsin’s hand down to where the naked ballerina was wet and waiting, and together he and Tamsin explored Nina’s most secret place, rubbing her until she whimpered.
“You’re hogging him,” Ellie complained from somewhere beside him, and there was a resounding chorus of agreement. Before he could object—or indeed, even really understand what was happening—he was pushed and herded towards the large bed in the center of the room, herded with hands and shoulders and sighs. And then pushed so that he fell onto his back, an amused smile tugging at his mouth. It was like being attacked by a cluster of butterflies.
But he kept Tamsin close to him, so that she lay next to him on the bed, nestled against his side. He wanted this and he wanted her, and he didn’t know how else to show her that he’d meant what he’d said. There wasn’t a fucking Emily Post book about what to do in this situation.
The dancers came over them like a cloud. He found himself kissing a pretty black woman named Daneice, pulling her on top of him so that Tamsin could embrace her just as easily. The three of them shared a searing kiss, messy and breathy and wet, while hands started tugging at his belt. He hadn’t felt someone else’s hands on his belt since before his divorce, and for a minute he had to stop everything and just feel it. The novelty of being wanted as much he wanted in return. The now-unfamiliar feeling of different fingers fumbling on the buckle, yanking the leather through the loops. The slide of different skin under the waistband of his boxers. The grip of a different hand around his erection.
He groaned into Daneice’s neck as an eager hand stroked him.
“You’re so big,” a ballerina cooed.
“So big,” another echoed.
“I want to use him first!”
“I’ll be next!”
“Oh fuck,” he mumbled, feeling something wet and hot close over the hard tip of his cock. A mouth. A warm mouth with a fluttering tongue and soft lips. There were more giggles as he tried to lift his hips and push more of his shaft into that willing warmth, and then he felt other mouths. Pulling his jeans all the way off and kissing his thighs, working their way around his hips, nuzzling at the seams between his groin and his legs. More dancers came up on the bed, crowding around him and Tamsin and Daneice, their hands and lips everywhere.
He tugged at Tamsin’s leotard, wanting it off, and she obeyed, even as she was just as busy kissing and squeezing and rubbing as he was. The mouth on his cock took him deeper and deeper, working him hard, until it was replaced by another mouth, and then another, and another.
Somehow, he worked his way up higher on the bed, making enough room for all thirteen of them to be arranged comfortably, if intimately, because there was no flesh not touching other flesh; the entire bed was a lacework of long, lithe limbs and smooth skin and silken pointe shoes. That pink silk was the only stitch of clothing any of them now wore, shocks of cool ribbons against all that hot skin.
There were too many kisses, too many hands, too many needy mouths and rubbing thighs to keep track of who was where and doing what, but Cal kept track of Tamsin beside him the whole time. With me, he’d said and he’d meant it.
With me, he said as Nanami rolled a condom down his dick. With me, as Mary Grace swung a leg over his torso and sank down his sheathed cock. With me, as he guided a pretty head between Tamsin’s legs to make her feel good, as Devorah straddled his face and he held her hips as he sucked on her clit. With me, as they all fucked each other in a tangle of fingers and tongues. With me, with me, with me.
“We want you to ruin our shoes too,” Lael said into Cal’s ear. She was currently rubbing the swollen bud of Ling’s clit as Ling rode him. He was getting close to the edge—Ling was the fourth ballerina to fuck him until she came—and Cal felt like he had no self-control left. His entire body was stretched tight, his toes digging into the sheets and his thighs so tense they ached. His cock almost hurting with the need to release.
Next to him, Tamsin had already come twice, once from riding his face, another time from Louisa’s clever fingers. “Oh yes,” she said, “you have to. Just like you did for me.”
“Happy to,” Cal said. “Might take more than one time though.”
“I think we can make that happen,” Lael purred, and then Ling came with a series of wracking shudders, her little mouth parted in an O of surprise. Cal gritted his teeth and endured the feeling with as much restraint as he could manage, but once she was finished, he gently lifted her away.
“Gonna come,” he grunted, and with the same kind of grace and quickness they had on the stage, they arranged themselves in a little row on the bed. He managed to get to his knees and rip off the condom before it happened, and with a sharp wave of release, he emptied himself over several pairs of ballet slippers. With grunt after grunt as he stroked the semen out of his cock. He came so hard he could feel it in the soles of his feet and at the top of his scalp. And when he was finished, still-hard cock in hand, he saw that he’d only stained about half the shoes.
Which meant…
“More,” Tamsin said firmly, pushing him back down on the bed and rolling another condom down his length after a few strokes to keep him at full mast. “You’ve still got more shoes to ruin.”
And so he let the girl he’d started to care for guide pussy after pussy down on his cock, his face, his fingers. He fucked every girl in that room, more than once, he fucked them hard and soft, fast and slow, until the night grew old and blue at the edges, until they were all too sated and tired to do anything other than hum and snuggle and yawn.
And Cal ruined every single slipper they wore.
Epilogue
Cal