I’m in a huge Victorian house with several other people. Somehow we all know that Mira is inside the house, either hiding or lying in wait to ambush us. Some of the people are afraid of her — they think she might shoot them or attack with a knife if found. I’m not afraid of any physical harm, but I have the sense that chaos will always rein as long as Mira is hidden away, lurking. Also, I keep wondering whether I’ll end up fucking her if I find her.

We decide to split up and search every room, every closet and even every cabinet, any place she might be hiding. After searching through all the rooms on the ground level, I see a small opening just above the floor of the living room. It’s just big enough to crawl through, and I have a strong feeling that Mira is in there, in whatever space the opening leads to. I have to crawl through it on my belly, and I discover a large shaft space of some kind towering above me, seemingly forever, to the top of the house. I shine a flashlight up there, probing every wooden crossbeam to see if Mira might be crouching, or otherwise trying to hide.

The towering shaft is roughly square in shape, although two opposing walls have immense smooth curves dipping in and out, eventually converging at the top of the structure. They look familiar somehow, and I shine the light on one curving form, trying to identify what it is. I feel my blood run cold as the towering wall shifts slightly. I suddenly know what it is, and why it looks so familiar. The two curving walls are Mira’s legs, giant in scale, stretching up at least several dozen stories. And between them, high up above and glistening as the light of my torch probes it… Her wet pussy, large enough that it could swallow me whole.

Those first months in a new city were a whirlwind of activity, and the birth of new rhythms. Coral and I moved into our new house on April Fools Day — which we took as a positive sign, because what other choice did we have? We had a party just as soon as we weren’t living out of boxes, so I could meet more of her friends and she could get to know some of the people I worked with at the hospital. After so many months of screwing inappropriate hypnotized lovers in the shadows, it felt wonderful to have a relationship with a public face, and to have so many people happy for our happiness

At work, my research was finally getting on track after weeks of meetings and planning sessions. Perhaps a third of my job during that early time involved the crafting of measurable goals for the program, while the rest focused on oversight and discussions — meaning fights — with closed-minded insurance providers. I missed the one-on-one nature of my earlier practice, partly because I thrive on the intimacy of probing into others’ minds, and partly because I’m not an administrator by nature. I summoned the required patience, though, and after gathering an excellent team to help me jump through hoop after bureaucratic hoop, we finally gained the needed legal and funding authority to proceed with patient trials.

There would be two parallel thrusts to the research at the beginning or “First Leg” stages, one using the immersion technique with mid-stage cancer patients in the hospital, and the second working with hospice care specialists on an outpatient basis. I was especially intrigued by the outpatient possibilities, believing that a home setting would allow subjects to relax into the immersion state more easily. I insisted on the inclusion of an acupuncturist on our team as well, as I’d been curious for some time whether my techniques might be more potent in combination with various non-Western healing and relaxation techniques. Only time and statistical analysis would confirm the efficacy of our efforts under various conditions, but we were all very hopeful. With luck, we might even be pioneers.

My degree of focus on the research brought to light how professionally distracted I had been while having a secret life of fucking Mira and Rosita. I received an e-mail from Rosita roughly every three weeks, when she had a new photo shoot or video to bring to my dick’s attention. I sometimes fantasized about dropping in on her out of the blue for an uncomplicated immersion quickie, but the videos — and just knowing that I could make my fantasies come true if I chose to— were enough.

On the Mira front — zippo. No e-mails, no phone calls or letters, no signs at all that she even remembered me. I wasn’t stupid — she remembered, because I’d made damn sure when screwing with her mind that she would always remember. The “only Michael’s cock” commands from my dreams were not shadowy inventions from a dark corner of my psyche, but the actual commands I had imparted into Mira when I’d had the chance. She had to be a mess, probably dreaming her own scorching dreams where her impeccable thighs and my tongue or hands or dick became reacquainted in the night. Did she turn to Taylor in bed as I turned to Coral, hoping the ghosts would fly out of her symbolic house with enough orgasms?

Poor Mira. Despite that dream of her legs being a part of my psyche's structure, I believed I had a chance to be free of her some day. I just couldn’t see how she could ever banish her lust for my cock, not with the immersion handiwork alive inside. I'd be willing to bet that my dick was even huger in her dreams, probably big enough to stretch wide the gigantic pussy I'd dreamed her having.

As Coral’s semester ended and our wedding trip approached, I had to admit that life was good. The early indications of the immersion technique’s effectiveness for the alleviation of pain were extremely promising, to the point that we added a third thrust to the program, of testing the technique on sports injuries. The rationale, as I presented it, was that athletes were likely to have built rather flexible connections between the mind and the body to begin with. From the hospital administration’s perspective, sports medicine was a potential gold mine. Approval came swiftly this time, almost like magic.

Some significant friendships were beginning to form between some of my colleagues and me at the hospital as well. I had a dedicated champion in Dr. David Chui, the acupuncturist I had brought onto the team. My personal assistant, Bill Littlefield, was just as solid as Carlotta had been in my private practice, anticipating my needs and chipping away at obstacles before I even knew they were there. Excellent working relationships were arising with the other members of my research team, as well as the registered nurses who assisted with in the outpatient work. It was all so different than my former practice, which had been mostly solitary work.

I knew I’d be seeing one old friend soon enough, too. I called Grace two weeks before we were to meet in Vegas, and she popped some disorienting news onto me. She insisted on bringing Lucinda with her to the ceremony, for one. I balked at first, not crazy about having a woman at my wedding whom I’d secretly fucked. I couldn’t argue my case, though, and Lucinda was leaning hard on Grace because she couldn’t stand going several days without making love to her. I knew whose fault that was, so I had no recourse but to add Lucinda’s name to our extremely short list of invited guests.

The next bit of news was the big one. Mira and Taylor had separated. This Grace knew from Lucinda. Mira still danced with the company and taught her classes, but she had gone through some sort of “nervous breakdown”, after which she moved out of her old house at the beginning of May. A formal divorce was expected soon.

Knowing that Mira was now a free agent made my flesh crawl. Though it was a total guess, I imagined her careening from one lover to another, fruitlessly trying to extinguish the fires I’d created in her mind and loins. Grace believed I had done her a huge favor in being an instrument to get her out of a loveless marriage, but then Grace didn’t know the full extent of my interventions. I agreed that Mira had obviously never loved Taylor, and their marriage must have been a shell of a relationship for a long time. They had gotten out before having a child, which was smart. Mostly what I felt, though, was this odd sort of sympathy for Taylor. Thanks to me, his wife’s mind had been massaged away from him, any chance of a happy life between them sabotaged. Worse for him, I knew that a man did not get over a woman like Mira Cassidy (now Mira Hall, I realized, remembering her maiden name) without a few psychic scars. It was hard enough for me, and I had Coral at my side. Even then, with all the happiness in my life, I constantly revisited how hot it could be with Mira in my troubled dreams.

And if anything, the dreams about Mira were intensifying as the wedding approached. The details were so incredibly vivid, of the smooth flesh over those muscled thighs, and her smell, and the sweet taste of her pussy, with waves of immersion heat blasting at my face, and later my cock. Sometimes, as before, I awakened and made love to Coral. Sometimes I got out of bed and visited the website with Rosita’s videos, and jacked off to them. And sometimes, though not often, I considered confessing to Coral how my dick felt as though it would always wish to probe the hypnotized pussy of the woman of my wet-dreams.

It kind of sucked, heading towards my wedding with so much relationship baggage floating around in a sea of past misdeeds and lies. But those were the cards I had dealt us before we’d even met. It’s tragic, but there are no do-overs in life. There is nothing but more going forward, hopefully without making the same number of mistakes as before.

A week before the wedding, I overheard two unwanted words at the hospital: Bachelor party. Worse, nobody came out and said anything, meaning it must be a secret ordeal. One might think that I would love titty-bars after hypnotizing a huge-breasted lap dancer, but one would be wrong. Getting sloppy drunk and pretend-humping in a public space are not on my list of fun activities, and never have been. Besides, the nature of bachelor parties is essentially tribal, giving the marrying-one a final chance to release his inner sexual beast before locking it away forever. Nobody knew it, but I’d had so much secret sex in the shadows that a public ritual about letting my wild and permissive side express itself was laughable. If my colleagues could see the size of my inner sexual demon, they’d all run for their lives. Or get out the pitchforks.

None of which meant I would be able to get out of the horrid event. Coral and I had a Friday morning flight to Vegas, so I assumed I would be “surprised” on Wednesday night, giving me a day to recover. When Bill Littlefield called in sick on Wednesday, I knew my suspicions were confirmed. Only nothing happened. The idiots wouldn’t make me stay up all night drinking and hooting on Thursday, would they?

They would. I asked Coral if she knew anything, and though she didn’t conform or deny my suspicions, she strongly advised that I be packed before I left for work on Thursday. I heeded her warning, although again, nothing happened at work that day. I received well wishes on the wedding from all the staff and they held a little gathering at lunch with a small cake and a few presents, but that was it.

I went home and showered after work, and had a lovely dinner with Coral. The doorbell rang at eight-thirty, and she said six words to me before going to answer it: “I can’t stop this. Be good.”

David Chui sat behind the wheel of a Jeep Cherokee as I was more or less kidnapped from my home by people I’d thought were my friends. The mood was more subdued than I would have expected, my companions almost silent, even tense. I sat in the middle of the back seat, presumably so I could not jump out at a stoplight to make my escape. We didn’t hit many lights, though, because we merged onto the interstate to drive away from the city, out past the far suburbs. This was not titty-bar land. What were we going to do, take a midnight river rafting trip together?

As we pulled into a housing development, winding past manicured lawns and eventually pulling into the driveway of a large brick split-level home, I got the feeling that my companions were nearly as much in the dark as I was. They escorted me inside, where I learned that I was being welcomed into Bill Littlefield’s home.

We hung out on his deck as other male members of the hospital staff filtered in, until we comprised a group of fifteen, most of whom I knew pretty well by now. I was plied with every conceivable kind of drink, and decided early on that I should pick one poison — vodka tonic — and stick with it, otherwise I’d be throwing up on the airplane the next day. We talked work a little bit, but mostly stories about how we had each lost our virginity. It was meaningless stuff but I went through the motions, laughing at jokes while wondering what the hell this was supposed to be, and how long I had to stay there.

I noticed that Bill kept checking his watch. He got a phone call at ten-thirty that created a stir. “Entertainment arrives in half an hour,” he announced. “Let’s all go downstairs and get ready.” And to me: “Just wait until you get an eyeful of the entertainment.”

“Downstairs” meant a long rec room with a state of art flat screen TV and sound system. More importantly, the back end of the room had been outfitted with a gleaming floor to ceiling dancing pole, which gave me an indication of the nature of the night’s entertainment. My new friends couldn’t know that I’d gotten more than my share of fluid-sharing pole dances from a hypnotized Rosita, making anything they’d concocted seem tame by comparison. They could bring in an army of pole dancers, and it wouldn’t compare to the hypno-tit dancing Rosita had shoved in my face, and around my cock. It was a nice thought, though, trying to bring the titty-bar to me. At least I wouldn’t reek of cigarettes when I returned home.

“Had it installed just for this event,” Bill said, sliding a palm along the pole’s midsection. “I expect it’s going to get one hell of a workout, too, so it’s solid as a rock.” He indicated the plates bolting the pole to the ceiling and the hardwood floor. “It’s here to stay, too. Maybe I’ll get lucky someday, who knows?”

“You expect to date a pole dancer?”

“You know how it goes: Build it and they will come.”

Whatever. I was placed in a conspicuously sturdy wooden chair in front of the TV screen after that, where I had to endure a horrible porn movie that might have been about a pool boy and a gardener fucking a movie starlet all day long. All sorts of activities were taking place behind me, involving white nylon sheeting and the installation of lighting of some kind. It was all so well meaning, the way they were working together to make this unique for me. I wondered how long I had to wait before it would be proper to ask to be driven home. Two dance sets, I decided. Everybody knew that Coral would be waiting for me, and that I had an early flight the next morning.

Bill got another call, which created a bigger stir. “The entertainment is here,” he informed us. “Blindfold him.”

“What?” I asked, seconds before a number of hands pinned me to the chair, and everything went dark. I struggled reflexively, then gave up, knowing that I just had to go with things.

A minute or two went by before she must have entered. I heard the sound of heels — only one pair of heels, apparently — on the wood floor, and a soft “Holy shit!” from an unidentified male voice. Somebody liked the looks of the entertainment.

“This is your victim,” Bill said to the invisible somebody. “Give him a great show, or he’ll be a pain in the ass all summer.”

The heels came close to me. I smelled expensive perfume, and had the sensation of being inspected before the heels retreated. I could sense the change of energy in the room, having a female in our midst. Someone switched off the idiotic porn flick, and I heard an exchange of voices going over the order of dance tunes. The preparations were kicking into a different gear.

“Just a couple more minutes with the blindfold,” Bill encouraged me, his voice close. And then in a whisper: “You are one lucky fucker tonight. Our stripper thinks you’re cute.”

“Wonderful,” I replied, not knowing what else to say.

“One lucky fucker,” he repeated. “We had to search a long time to find somebody exciting enough for tonight.”

Found her on the internet, I concluded. Left to sit there unseeing, I tried to picture the scenes to come in my mind: Our stripper would start off dancing around the pole, probably wearing lingerie or even a costume of some kind, giving her several articles of clothing to take off. She would flirt with everybody but zero in on me. I might receive some special hip-gyrating dance over my crotch as I sat in my chair, and I’d be expected to get a hard-on, so everybody could joke and have a few laughs. Maybe she’d go as far as straddling me, giving me the sensation of pressing my erection against her pussy, but with her panties still on. And if I didn’t really like the girl, and she didn’t make me hard, I’d never hear the end of it, although secretly everybody would applaud that my tool hadn’t betrayed Coral. I’d be the butt of jokes even as the marriage would receive a silent drunken blessing, and Coral would be considered a lucky woman.

Or something like that. I’d never actually been to a stripper bachelor party in somebody’s home. And the impression I was getting was that no one else had, either. This was a ritual where the participants weren’t even certain of the rules.

“She’s ready,” Bill announced. “Everybody in a semi-circle, with Michael right here.”

The chair was turned one hundred and eighty degrees, and I could hear others arranging themselves. Somebody untied my blindfold and I was handed a fresh vodka tonic. I saw myself positioned in the center of an arc of men, facing a white screen of fabric, stretched tight from floor to ceiling just a few feet behind the dance pole. The fabric formed a clean white backdrop that nearly spanned the width of the room.

The lights went out. Music with a slow and steady drumbeat sounded, and it was loud. Anticipation hung heavy in the air. Bill Littlefield stood and spoke into a mike in the dark, like an mc.

“Gentlemen. Michael. We’ve been promised a very special show tonight, unlike anything any one of us has ever seen. You got a look at her — well, everyone but Michael — and you know what I mean when I say: If this girl looks that hot with her clothes on, then we’re all going to need to take some breaks tonight in the bathroom.

The rules tonight, as dictated by our entertainer, are these: She will decide the extent to which anyone can or cannot touch, and where. We will assist her as directed in giving our friend and colleague the bachelor experience of his life, no matter how bizarre the request may first appear. And most importantly, at no time shall we interfere in any way with her dancing or attending Michael-oriented activities. We are placing Michael in her hands tonight. Our role is to assist, and watch, and envy, and above all, we are here to get hard!”

Laughter, and David shouting: “Like getting hard will be hard! She’s the fucking bomb!”

More laughter, and excited hooting, before Bill continued. “And now, by way of introduction… I could tell you that our dancer’s measurements are 34D-23-35, but I'm only guessing from what I've seen. Besides, you’ve already seen that she far surpasses anything that numbers can describe. Gentlemen, measurements cannot contain her! Science cannot explain her! She is femininity in motion! She is a cock-expanding potion! And tonight, she is the teaser for this geezer, our colleague collecting Coral, might this night include some oral? I don’t know what she plans to do, but this I can promise to you: She is limber! She shivers my timber! The gods kneel before her! The galaxies adore her! She iiiiiis… the Magnificent Miss Marvelous!”

Red and yellow lights synched to the music came on behind the screen, casting the shadow of a female form stretched profile in a rocking chair. To the driving rhythm of heavy bass, her feet arched, beginning to rock the chair. One leg bent, calf flexing to rock the chair more. Another leg stretched straight and high in the air, then stretched higher and tighter, and stretched more. The other leg followed, until our dancer was curled like the letter “U” in the chair, her legs actually stretching behind her torso. She was fucking fantastically flexible, that was for sure, and the shadows of her legs looked beyond exquisite, from thigh to toe.

In one trampoline-like motion that caught everyone by surprise, she flung herself high and away from the rocking chair, God knows how. We got to see her shape in profile for a moment, her nipples appearing to be erect. Then she faced us at a three-quarters angle, her hips making slow wide arcs, her arms raised high in the air. Several things were immediately apparent: The Magnificent Miss Marvelous had big hair, marvelously big hair. And her body… Holy crap, she was starting off totally naked, you could tell from the way her tits moved, and the well-defined shapes of her nipples when she moved closer to the screen, sharpening the edges of her shadow. Perhaps to make a point about her capabilities, she struck several extremely dramatic poses and held them, showing us not only her flexibility, but her strength. Christ, the way her body could bend it looked like she could do anything, absolutely anything, and the shadow contours screamed out almost impossibly perfected form. She reminded me of Mira, and I began to grow hard from watching the flat shape on the screen. Unless this projected version of a woman was distorted somehow, our night’s entertainment might have the most beautiful body I had ever seen, which was crazy.

For the next couple of minutes, we were treated to a shadowy striptease in reverse. Miss Marvelous stretched a G-string in her hands, and then teasingly slipped the garment up her legs with theatrical flare. Next came a bra, and the lifting of her breasts into it, all performed with aching slowness. The woman as a true performer — she knew exactly when to turn her body to maximize the information on the screen, her 2-D shapeliness driving my cock fucking nuts. The other men watched in breathless silence — I already had the sense that they were in shock. They couldn’t have known how accomplished the entertainment would be, and it had barely started. Somebody moaned loudly when Miss Marvelous raised her legs one at a time to slip on a pair of stockings, followed by extremely high heels. This woman, from all indications, had the most toned body and best damn legs I had ever seen, hands down. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been this hard.

“Where on earth did you find her?” I asked over the music, not certain that anyone could concentrate even if they heard me.

“I told you how lucky you are!” Bill shouted back without turning his head from the leg show. “We couldn’t have come up with anything like her if we tried, and we were trying plenty. She actually found us! It was a fucking miracle!”

I had about two breaths where my heart felt too big for my chest, and then the dancer moved to the edge of the screen, extending a three-dimensional leg high beyond its borders. Holy gushing fuck, I did know that leg! That leg and its ideal twin had wrapped themselves behind my back so many times while fucking my brains out.

The room exploded into cheering and shouting as Mira — wearing a ridiculous yet sexy blonde wig — sauntered forward, her astounding body clad in a black leather bra, a miniscule black G-string and fishnet stockings. I think I literally jumped in the chair, the instinct to run kicking in at the same time that my cock surged completely forward. My thoughts sputtered, because I felt like screaming and coming all at once.

My cock went so rigid that I thought it might have its own coronary as she danced for us. Mira’s body embraced that pole the way the walls of her pussy could embrace my cock — she danced as though in a trance, pulling groans and gasps from the throats of the other men with her movements. I kept thinking I should run out the room, but my eyes felt completely glued to her body, and all that she could make it do.

I thought I’d known a master of the pole in Rosita, but now I got an education on the difference between a great-looking professional pole dancer, and a great looking professional dancer, working a pole. Rosita had essentially fucked the pole with every part of her body when dancing, but Mira’s command of her physique allowed her to do any fucking thing her mind could come up with. She had an enhanced sense of the artfulness of physical movement, and knew how to create lines with her torso and limbs that made her gestures explode out into the room. Her feet arched as only trained feet can, her arms and hands tracing shapes that echoed and complimented the more energetic gestures from her hips and legs.

I kept hearing a chorus of “Holy shit!” and “Oh my God!” and “Fucking hell!” from the others, with good reason. And for me, her every gesture caused my mind to race back to all the times we had fucked. I hadn’t even realized the degree to which Mira’s physical grace had eased my ability to plant my dick into her from every angle. Right now, without even appearing to break a sweat, she was suspended upside down on the pole, holding her weight with her powerful thighs and feet, her back arched so that her upper body and dangling tits could do their own python dance.

Part of me really did think it best to run away. The rest of me realized that I had never exploited the full reach of Mira’s physical abilities during sex, which was the stuff of cock-tragedy. If I had wanted her to stand on her head to accept my hard dick, or hang from a shower curtain rod with her legs in a full airborne split, or contort herself into a cunt pretzel where I had to guess where to drive my cock into her… Mira could have done any of that. She could do any fucking thing with her body that my imagination could invent, and I wanted all of it.

Mira had not looked me in the eye even once during her mega-hardening pole dance, but I could feel how every ridiculously athletic pose was intended to stir new fire in my balls, the type of fire I had been trying to douse for months. She had my cock raging, and she essentially had me trapped. All of which became worse when she reached with her upside-down arms and picked up two long leather straps that must have been lying at the base of the pole, tossing them into the crowd.

“Tie his hands to the chair if you want this shaking in your face!” she directed, performing a wide split with her legs and shaking her pelvis, making it clear what “this” was. Before I could react, nearly the entire group raced to pin me to the chair. I felt the straps being lashed around my wrists, binding my arms to the wide armrests. When the mass of friends left me, I could only move each hand a matter of an inch or so.

Mira came back to earth at that, with a perfect somersault and landing, even with the heels. A wave of her hand indicated the time for a change in the music. Suddenly the room was filled with a deeply pulsing Calypso beat, driving music that one could easily imagine fucking to.

Some of the men sat in chairs; others on the floor. Mira sauntered up to each and every one, using her strong legs and abdomen to arch her pelvis, vibrating her thong-covered pussy no more than two inches from the noses of my male companions. She gave every man, except me, a good thirty seconds of navel and cunt teasing. Nobody knew what to do at first — they were all too shocked, or shy. She took her third victim’s hands in hers and placed them on her ribcage, encouraging him to feel up her tits through the leather bra. Catching on to the rules, the next man chose to grasp the tops of her legs and stroke them, massaging the smooth muscularity of what Grace believed to be the sexiest thighs in the entire world.

I watched, helpless, as my new friends briefly explored the physical perfection of the hottest woman I had ever fucked. Mira still did not look at me — she had no need to check to know exactly how hard I would be. As she had whispered the last time I’d seen her, I could not be in a room with her without getting hard. I was throbbing, almost painfully pulsing, and helpless to throw myself on her or run for my life.

“Michael’s turn!” everybody started to shout as Mira came to the end of her facial gyrations. The shouts became a drunken cock-shocked chant. I tried to catch Bill’s eye to implore… What? I didn’t even know.

Mira made a hip-wiggling trek back to the pole, and the music intensified, the beat much faster. She went with the music, her body shaking and twisting more energetically than before, the ballet and modern dance training giving way completely, into something closer to belly dancing. To shouts and otherwise imploring voices, she kicked off the heels and peeled away the stockings one at a time, showing off her legs at every conceivable angle. The G-string came next. She hooked her thumbs under the nothing of a covering, and pulled it side to side, flashing her beautiful pussy at us. When she shimmied it down her legs, she bent backwards at the waist until the fake hair brushed the floor. A vigorous shake of the head made the wig fly off, and she straightened, finally revealed in her more flattering natural color. In my peripheral vision I could see the effect on the others. Despite how horny she had made every single one of them, they were just now realizing the full extent of Mira’s beauty, and their mouths mostly hung open, stunned.

And finally, from the distance of the pole, Mira Hall met my eyes. She looked… possessed. Not quite all there, or far too much there. Like a hypnotized ex-lover on the pussy warpath, ready to fuck my cock with a vengeance.

I could see the immersion commands shining in her eyes. The commands that ate at her being, and would continue eating, without stop:

Fucking Michael will fill you with unimaginable bliss. Fucking Michael is the most fulfilling feeling in the world. Whatever else happens in your life, you will need to feel that unimaginable bliss, and it can only come from fucking Michael, and pleasing him with your beautiful body.

You will always have a blissful orgasm when you fuck Michael. Michael’s tongue sets your nipples on fire. Michael’s hard cock sets your pussy ablaze.

Staring into Mira’s eyes was like staring into an abyss that needed to be filled with my cum. She looked possessed because was possessed. I had created it, all of it. She was my Frankenstein monster inhabiting the most fuckable body I had ever seen, or probably ever would see.

And I loved it. I still loved it, or was obsessed with it, or whatever.

Two high dynamic leaps brought her hypnotized self to a standing position between my legs. She surveyed me from head to tented crotch, like a predator surveying its meal, and I could feel her energy intensifying, expanding, as she drank in the conspicuous bulge in my pants.

“Michael’s face, Michael’s face!” the others began to chant. The well-meaning idiots wanted her to give me the treatment she’d given them, only now without the panties. But Mira had different plans. She climbed upon the chair, her feet planted on either armrest, and lowered her pelvis down, bringing her pussy right in front of my forehead. With a perfectly controlled clockwise motion, she traced a wet line around my face, down the temple, the cheekbone and jaw, then back up the other side. Out of focus, super close-up, I witnessed the entire region around Mira’s swollen pussy, and smelled her smell, and I could taste her on my tongue without even having the contact.

Her hands felt for my zipper at the completion of the circle, and I started to squirm in protest. Which brought her cunt hard against my nose.

“Don’t you dare try to resist this!” she said, firmly and loudly. “You do not get to escape tonight!”

The others hooted and cheered at this, the ignorant fuckers. To them this was all a cock-hardening party game, the better than prayed for hired help giving them a great show and giving me the night of my life. I thought about trying to call out for help, and perhaps Mira, knowing me so well, could tell.

“Here, somebody take this and gag him with it!” she ordered, pressing her pussy so hard against my face that I could barely breathe. I felt her body moving, and in seconds multiple hands appeared, lashing something through my mouth when she arched her torso back and away. It was the black leather bra, I realized, seeing her tits bared for the first time. The guys cheered wildly, getting their first look at Mira’s totally naked body while I got the forced silent treatment, unable to challenge her plans in any way.

Her pussy lowered to my crotch as before, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. My Gemini split couldn’t have been more apparent as I wanted to implore that she stop at the same time that I wanted her to free my cock from my pants to fuck me properly. Neither silent wish was granted, as Mira dry-humped my cock with teasing circular gyrations of her entire body. The guys were going wild as she began to moan, her voice guttural, her body beginning to quake uncontrollably even as she exerted incredible control over every muscle to continue her incredible squat-fuck-gyro-dance. Her head was thrown back, eyes closed, mouth twisting wide as she kept crying out.

They probably believed it was all for show, but Mira was faking nothing with her pre-orgasmic vocalizations. I could feel her pussy making the material around my cock wet, and I realized that she could make me come like this, without ever freeing me from my pants and underwear. Her gyrations kept getting faster, and her hands squeezed at her breasts, wobbling them and kneading them as she looked like she was about to lose it. Her cries went apeshit just before she cried out at full volume: “I NEED MICHAEL’S COCK! I NEED IT!”

I couldn’t understand how she could continue to gyrate as she came. It was like her body knew how to keep dance-fucking the living shit out of my cock as the rest of her went far away somewhere. The men were cheering and going generally crazy themselves as I muffle-groaned out my release, too, further wetting my underwear. I kept spurting and spurting, like I hadn’t been fucked for months. Mira eventually collapsed into me, making everything go dark, although her cries continued, and I could feel the middle of her body shuddering against my face.

It was like that for what felt like a very long time. Eventually she was pulled off of me, and helped into a sitting position at the foot of the chair. She looked destroyed, her hair going everywhere and her eyes lost, but she managed to whisper something into Bill’s ear, and he looked up at me, with a huge grin on his face.

“Let’s carry the chair behind the screen!” he shouted to the others. “The entertainment needs to take a short break, but the night has only begun for Michael!”