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”“It’s new to make out with an audience,” I countered.She grinned. “Got me there. No, look, it’s fine, just, hand me that water bottle over there.”“Why?”“My mouth is gonna taste terrible, and you don’t want that,” she whispered, smiling. I smiled back. Always so considerate. “Hello? Can I be part of the conversation too?” Taylor asked, annoyed, as I handed Morgan the water. She took a drink, swished it around her mouth for a bit, then swallowed, winking at me. She turned back to Taylor. “Sorry, you wanted to continue talking about you doing shit with my boyfriend?”Taylor lowered an eyebrow. “Aww, are you jealous?” she asked in a mock baby voice with faux concern.“Are you?” Morgan asked her then turned around and attacked my mouth with passion. It was clear that in her drunken state she was sacrificing technique for eagerness, so as the sober one, I had to pick up the slack and make up for it, even in my state of slight shock. I kissed her back, my eyes remaining open in the sheer. It was made of black leather and had a small tag with writing on it. It was difficult to read it in the mirror, but I think that it read; MH 6673. I thought about what that could be, but then I started to think how I had gotten there in the first place. I couldn't remember anything. I couldn't even remember my own name. I started to panic and quickly recited the alphabet and said "she sells sea shells on the sea shore." a few times. At least I could remember how to talk and read and write.I rinsed my face in the sink and sat on the sofa. I looked over at the steel table and saw that they were definitely restraints in each corner and attached to the roof by a length of chain. I stood up and inspected the cupboard. I pulled the handle, but it was locked so I sat back down on the couch. I sat there for a what felt like a few hours, but I couldn't be sure because there wasn't a clock. Then there was a green light in one of the corners of the room, and a woman appeared. I was.
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Jon undid his belt and a couple of buttons at the top of his jeans and continued to rub his cock through the material. “How can you sit there like that, my dick is killing me!” Jon said. “I know what you mean,” I murmured. “Fuck this,” Jon said. He undid the last few buttons on his fly and pushed his hand into his jeans. Although he didn’t have much movement, he was moving his hands slowly up and down as my own cock continued to strain. I put my beer down and undid my trousers and there we sat, two guys slowly masturbating our cocks beneath denim. For the next few minutes, it became a competition as to who could move their trousers further down their legs the slowest, until finally after about fifteen minutes, our cocks were exposed and we openly masturbated while watching porn together. Jon’s left hand rested over my thigh and again, without making any eye contact, I did the same. As we stared deliberately intently at the screen in front of us, we played the same dance we’d.

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