There are a few clues that you have an audience, though you don’t know exactly who it comprises, or how many. You’re on a stage, for one thing. You hear the rustle of clothing in chairs — not yours, because you aren’t wearing any. A hot spotlight floods your belly, breasts, and thighs with light, and with your head tipped back on the bench, your face is hidden but you see the magnified image of your bare pussy projected behind you.
A hand caresses your stomach, leaving goosebumps in its wake, and circles your breasts, capturing a stiff nipple between its fingers. You dare not lift your head to identify its owner; whoever it is is skilled and your amplified gasps and groans fill the room. Your skin has never been so sensitive, you think. When it finally approaches your pussy, your hips are lifting to meet it, and your thighs are damp with moisture.
Even though your lips are already swollen and spread of their own accord, the fingers of your partner (you can’t quite tell from what’s visible on the screen — are the hands male? Female?) pull them further apart for the camera, and coax the hood of your clit back to display the sensitive tip in full view. Your pulse of pleasure is unmistakable.
For the first time, your ears fill with the rhythmic sound of wet stroking, hands and lips on cocks and cunts deep in the darkness before you. Tentatively, you lift your own hands to squeeze your breasts. You only have a moment’s satisfaction before they are swatted away and your nipples are left to strain skyward for attention.
Your frustration doesn’t last long. Two, then three fingers plunge into your soaked center, stretching you wide and searching for the swollen knob that will undo you. It isn’t hard to find; your moan is desperate and keening when the fingers find their target, and your hips lift, gyrating rhythmically before a hand presses you firmly down against the bench. You watch helplessly as a finger begins to stroke and manipulate your clit, and the other hand, bathed in your juices, pumps its fingers mercilessly in and out.
The rising pleasure hits you like a runaway train — it’s climbing far too fast; your consciousness is filled with nothing but moans and wet and clit and cunt. The thought that the sounds and sight of your pussy in orgasm would be magnified for your watchers takes hold of your mind, and you are rising, rising beyond your control —
Riding the edge for a moment, you explode in screaming, quivering convulsions, misting your thighs with your pleasure and squeezing the fingers again and again. They haven’t for a moment stopped moving, fucking you through your orgasm, coaxing every shuddering aftershock from your limp body.
Your mind is still swimming with pleasure as darkness takes you, limp and sated. The floodlight still beats down on you, and the faint cries of your watchers as they climax seem far away as you slip into blissful sleep.