The lights were low, but he could see the figures moving around in the shadows. He strained, pulling at the ropes around his wrists. From nowhere, a hand slid around the wooden post and covered his eyes and he felt the hot burn of more rope as it wound around his thighs, binding him to the post. A cloud of perfume surrounded him, a sweet mix of cinnamon and flowers. His nostrils flared and he turned his head, but the hand stayed over his eyes, shutting out his sight.
There were more of them than she’d said. Three, maybe four – he could hear their breathing. He could almost taste the sweet musky scent from their bodies, even over her perfume.
Rock hard, his cock jolted, but no one touched him. He heard them moving together, skin on skin – kisses, sighs. His mouth opened and he let out a moan, but her only reply was the sharp twist of a pointed fingernail on his nipple.
Again, the perfume swam around him, until his head could no longer place where they were, what they were doing – and finally, warm, wet lips closed around his cock.