Marco's Filthy Confessions: Live Sex Show 2

The lights found him before the crowd did. White and merciless, they poured from the rig and turned the black stage into a box of heat, and in the middle of it Marco stood naked with his feet set wide, twenty-eight years old and already hard, his cock flushed dark and lifting toward the house as if it knew where the eyes were. This was his second night. He had asked to be brought back. The theater was packed wall to wall with consenting adults, every ticket checked at the door so that nobody under nineteen was anywhere in the building, every seat filled by someone who had come to watch a man be taken apart in public, and the sound of them moved over him in a living wave.

Fiona stepped out of the wing in black leather that creaked at the hip. She was thirty-two, the dominatrix who owned the show, and she circled him once without a word, letting the front rows drink in the line of his body, the shine of sweat already starting at his collarbones. Her heels struck the boards. Her smile was small and vicious and pleased, the look of a woman who knew exactly what she had been given. Danielle followed, twenty-nine, the assistant, robe open down the front so the crowd could see the soft weight of her breasts and the gleam between her thighs as she took her place at Marco's other side. She was barefoot. She looked hungry.

"You know the rules," Fiona said, and her voice carried clean to the back. "Hands, and nothing more, until you confess. They want the dirtiest thoughts you have. The ones you stroke yourself to when you think nobody can hear. You give them to this room out loud, or we do not go further. You agreed. You asked to be made to say it."

"I did," Marco said. His voice was already rough. "I want it. I want them to hear every filthy thing."

Danielle's fingers closed around the base of his cock, warm and firm, not stroking, just holding him so the whole house could see the way he jumped and thickened in her grip. Fiona's palm slid beneath his balls and cupped them, a slow possessive squeeze that pulled a sound out of his chest. They teased him like that, unhurried and mean. Danielle's thumb dragged once along the underside and stopped. Fiona smeared the bead of precum at his slit and held her shining finger toward the front row until someone whistled. His cock throbbed, aching for a stroke the rules would not yet allow, and the denial sat on him hotter than the lights.

"Say it," Fiona murmured. "Open your mouth. Tell them what you are before either of us moves again."

He drew a breath that shook all the way down. The stage smelled like heat and leather and the sweet musk rising off his own skin. Both women went still. Hundreds of adult eyes waited. Marco swallowed, cock pulsing in Danielle's unmoving hand, and understood that the show would not touch him deeper until the worst of him was spoken into the dark.

"I think about this when I come," he said, and the room leaned forward as one. "I think about standing just like this, cock out, a whole crowd seeing how wet I get from being looked at. I don't want to hide it. I want you to watch it drip down my shaft. I want you to know I get hard for strangers. I get hard for the sound of you."

Fiona's hand finally moved. A slow stroke from root to tip, tight enough to make his stomach jump, then back down, and his hips chased her before he could stop them. Danielle's free hand found his nipple and pinched, rolling the tight bud between finger and thumb until it stung sweet and bright. Pleasure and bite at once. Both women watched his face while the house roared its approval, a cheer that hit him like another hand.

"More," Fiona said, stroking him with that same cruel patience. "That was the easy confession. Give them something that makes your face burn."

The next words came out shaky, dragged up by the pull of her fist. "I fantasize about being used in front of all of you. Bent over this stage. Mouth full. Ass full. I want to be the show's slut, the thing you pass around while everybody sees how desperate I am for it. I think about Danielle sitting on my face until I can't get a clean breath, her pussy smeared over my mouth, and I think about Fiona fucking me open with a cock so thick I whimper. I want you to hear me whimper. I want you to take that sound home and use it."

A shout went up from the dark. Someone called him a filthy boy, loud enough to carry, and the chant started under it, low and ugly and thrilled. Danielle pinched harder. His cock jumped in Fiona's grip, a fat clear strand swinging from the tip and catching the light. Fiona stroked him twice more, brought him right up against the edge where his balls drew and his breath broke, then stopped at the head and squeezed until the orgasm had nowhere to go. He made a wounded noise. His thighs shook.

"Keep talking," Danielle said, sweet and merciless, twisting his nipple. "Or she stops, and you stand here leaking while they laugh."

"I want to be degraded," Marco gasped. "Call me a hole in front of them. I practice at home so I'll be ready for this. I finger my own ass thinking about a room full of people watching me gape around a strap, watching my cock slap my stomach while I get fucked. I get so hard I can't think straight. I come on my sheets moaning about being watched, and it is never enough, so I came back. I came back so you could edge me until I shake and make me say, where everyone can hear, what a needy exhibitionist slut I am."

The crowd was louder, demanding, the chant picking up his name and then something filthier. Fiona's strokes stayed slow, a measured rhythm that carried him to the brink and abandoned him there again, and again, until precum ran in a steady thread toward the boards and his knees threatened to buckle. Danielle's nails scraped his chest. His cock was flushed a deep red, veins standing, balls tight and aching, and every humiliating sentence made him throb harder in that fist.

"Please," he said, voice cracking. "I'm shaking. I need to be fucked. Fuck me in front of them. I want them to see me take it. I want them to see me beg like the slut I just confessed I am."

Fiona smiled, stroked him once more, and let go. His cock bobbed, abandoned and shining, angry with need. "On your knees," she said, clear for the back row. "Then on all fours. Center stage. You asked. They heard every dirty thought. Now you get used where they can see."

Marco dropped. The boards were warm under his knees, then under his palms as he crawled to the painted mark at center stage and settled on all fours, back arched, cock hanging heavy and dripping between his thighs. The crowd's noise swelled, hungry and close. Fiona stepped behind him, and he heard the leather harness cinch, the thick strap-on cock, black and heavy and obscene, slapping once against her thigh before she slicked it. Danielle shed the robe entirely. Naked, she stood over his shoulders, one hand in his hair, and looked down at his open mouth.

"You want this," she said, and waited.

"Yes," Marco said, wrecked and clear. "I want your pussy on my mouth. I want her cock in my ass. Do it where they can see."

The house cheered.

Danielle straddled his face without ceremony. Her thighs closed around his ears, warm and strong, and she lowered her pussy onto his mouth, already slick, the taste of her sharp and sweet and overwhelming. "Eat," she said, and ground down. Marco obeyed. His tongue pushed up into her, licking broad and messy, then tighter, finding her clit and sucking while the crowd made a raw sound at the sight of his face buried, his nose pressed to her, his jaw working. She rode his mouth in short greedy rocks, smearing herself over his chin, and every time he groaned into her she laughed, breathless, and took more.

Behind him Fiona set the head of the strap-on against his hole. "Breathe," she said, and pushed. The stretch burned gorgeous. He opened for her because he had practiced, because he wanted it, because the whole house was watching the thick cock disappear into him inch by inch. She didn't rush the first stroke. She sank in until her hips met his ass, held there so they could all see him full, and his cock jerked, dripping onto the stage.

Then she fucked him. Hard. The strap-on dragged out and drove back in, a deep punishing rhythm that shoved his face up into Danielle's pussy with every thrust. He moaned into her, filthy and loud, and the sound rolled out over the seats.

"Talk," Fiona ordered, fucking him through it, one hand fisted in his hair under Danielle's thigh so his mouth stayed put. "They paid to hear the slutty thoughts. Don't you dare go quiet."

He had to turn his face just enough to speak, chin shining, voice broken between strokes. "I love this," he gasped. "I love being your public fuckhole. I think about strangers seeing my ass swallow cock. I think about coming untouched while a room full of people watches me get pegged like I was made for it. Harder. Please, harder, let them see how I take it."

Fiona gave it to him. The strap-on was thick enough to make his vision spark, each thrust knocking a fresh confession loose. "I want them to see my cock bouncing," he panted into Danielle's cunt. "I want them to know I get off on being degraded on a stage. Use me. Make me eat her while you ruin my hole. I want to be the dirtiest thing in this building."

Danielle ground down, smothering the next sentence, and he licked like he was starving, tongue fucking into her, then flattening over her clit while she swore and held his head. The audience was roaring, voyeuristic and unashamed, clapping in time with Fiona's thrusts, shouting for him to take it deeper. He did. He pushed back onto the strap-on, greedy, hole clenching, cock swinging, a mess of need in the center of the light.

"Another," Danielle demanded, rocking harder on his tongue, her pussy dripping down his chin onto the stage. "Tell them the nastiest one. The one you were saving."

He pulled a breath against her thigh and gave it up, voice raw. "I fantasize about being kept on this stage all night. About being passed from mouth to cock to strap while the crowd rates how well I take it. I want Fiona to fuck my ass until I can't close it, and Danielle to come on my tongue while every one of you watches me swallow. I think about walking offstage with my hole fucked open and my face wet and knowing every adult in those seats saw exactly what I am."

The confession hit the house like a match. They howled. Danielle's thighs trembled. Fiona slammed in and held, grinding the base of the strap against him, against herself, a filthy circle of her hips that made the harness creak and made Marco sob into the cunt on his mouth.

"Now we switch," Fiona said. "They want to see that cock work."

She pulled out slow, and the loss of her made him gasp, empty and clenching on nothing, his hole shining and used under the lights. The crowd made a filthy appreciative noise at the sight. Danielle lifted off his face. His mouth was wrecked, swollen, glazed with her. She turned, dropped to her hands and knees in front of him, and looked back over her shoulder, ass up, pussy flushed and open.

"Fuck me," she said. "Doggy. While she gets back in your ass. Let them watch you get filled at both ends."

Marco got up on his knees behind her and drove in. Danielle's pussy took him in one hot slick slide, tight and soaked from his mouth, and the sound she made cracked across the stage. He gripped her hips and fucked her doggy-style, deep, the way the crowd was screaming for, his cock shining every time he pulled back. Fiona knelt behind him, lined the strap-on up with his open hole, and pushed back in while he was buried in Danielle. The stretch hit twice as mean with his cock squeezed inside another body. He shouted. The house shouted with him.

They found a rhythm that was nothing but use. Fiona fucked his ass in long hard strokes. Each one punched him forward into Danielle, so he was fucking her and being fucked at the same time, a live chain of it under the lights, his body the filthy middle. He couldn't stop confessing. "Watch me," he moaned. "Watch me fuck her while she wrecks my ass. I'm your stage slut. I want you to see my cock disappear. I want you to see me take every inch. I want you all to see me come apart."

Danielle's arms shook. "Right there, don't you stop." She shoved back onto him, pussy clutching, and came loud, a raw cry the whole house heard, her cunt pulsing around his cock, wetness spilling down his balls while the audience applauded the sound of her. Fiona didn't let up. She ground the strap-on deep, hips snapping, the harness working against her clit with every thrust, and the sight of him split open while Danielle shook through it dragged her over. She came with a sharp, filthy moan, fucking him through it, the strap-on jerking inside his ass as she rode her own orgasm out against his body, loud enough that the front row answered her with cheers.

Marco held himself back by his teeth. Still hard. Still buried. Still shaking. Used at both ends, dripping, displayed, and not yet allowed to finish.

They eased out of him together, Danielle sliding off his cock, Fiona drawing the strap-on free with a wet sound that carried. Marco stayed on his hands and knees a second, hole fluttering, cock furious and dripping, both women already spent from the loud orgasms they had torn out of themselves on his cock and on the strap. Then Fiona hauled him upright by the hair, turned him to the house, and wrapped her fist around him.

"Count him down," she told the room. "He confessed. Now he comes for you."

The crowd roared it out. Ten. His hips jerked into her hand. Nine. She stroked him fast and mean. Eight. Seven. He babbled, still confessing, please, watch me, I'm your slut, while Danielle pinched his nipples. Six. Five. Four. His balls drew tight. Three. Two.

"One," the whole house bellowed, and Marco shattered.

He erupted across the stage floor in thick spectacular pulses, cum striping the boards and spattering his thighs, his cock jerking helplessly in Fiona's pumping fist while the audience applauded like he'd won something obscene. He shook through every spurt, moaning, emptied in public.

Then he dropped to his knees, spent and panting, cum cooling on the wood, hole still open from the strap. Fiona and Danielle stood over him and praised him without sweetness. "Honest little slut," Fiona said. "You gave them every dirty thought, then came like a fountain for the cheap seats." Danielle dragged two fingers through the mess and smeared it across his mouth. "Taste what the show made of you." The lights sank toward black. Marco stayed kneeling with his tongue out, licking their filth and his own cum off Danielle's fingers while his fucked-open hole clenched on nothing.