Birthday sex, five strangers, and no safe word left behind.
Planning the Party
I turned 33 and decided I didn’t want cake. I wanted cocks. Hands. Toys. Mouths. Control and surrender, shared like party favors.
So, I built a guest list.
Not randoms. Not swipe-rights. People I trusted or vouched for. People who knew the rules:
- Consent isn’t a checkbox. It’s a conversation.
- Use your words. All of them.
- Yes is sexy. So is “slow down.”
I had a Google Sheet. I had condoms in bulk. I had lube in three flavors.
The plan: Seven guests. No theme. Just pleasure.
Arrival
They trickled in after 8. Everyone wore black. Low music. No small talk about jobs. Just body language and lingering eye contact.
Cam brought a harness. Rae wore nothing but stockings and confidence. Josh asked permission before touching my arm. Instant turn-on.
Tara, a soft-spoken switch, walked in with Sam. Sam was trans, tall, and moved like water. They had eyes that didn’t look away and a voice that made me blush.
We had name tags. Not for names. For roles. Mine said: Use Me.
The Rules
Before anyone got naked, we circled up. Blankets. Snacks. Expectations.
I read the rules out loud.
No meant no.
Green meant more.
Yellow meant slow.
Red stopped everything.
Sam raised a hand. “Can we check in after impact?”
“Every time,” I said.
They smiled, like I passed a test I didn’t know I was taking.
Hands First
We started with a massage circle. But no one touched genitals or was about to fuck. Just backs, thighs, necks.
Touch without pressure. A warm-up round.
Cam blindfolded me. Josh licked my collarbone. Rae whispered filth in my ear but didn’t lay a finger on me. It made my skin ache.
Sam’s Scene
Later, Sam asked if they could tie Tara to the bed. Tara nodded.
Sam’s rope was red. Tight, but kind. They didn’t rush. Didn’t show off. Just checked in, every few moves.
I sat next to Tara, brushing her hair out of her face. She said she felt safe. Floaty. Gorgeous.
Then Sam used a vibrating smart sex toy he uses to perform on live xcams. Tara gasped, hips lifting. Her eyes rolled back, and she sobbed—not from pain. From release.
Sam kissed her forehead. “You’re perfect.”
No performative dom stuff. Just care and heat.
I watched, turned on by the patience more than the noise.
My Turn
They laid me out like a gift. Face up. Ankles apart. Wrists above my head.
A mouth sucked one nipple. Fingers slipped inside me. A hand slapped my thigh. Laughter behind me. Moans around me.
At one point, Cam said, “Do you even know who’s fucking you right now?”
I didn’t. I didn’t care. My body didn’t belong to me for those two hours. That was the gift.
Five hands. Three mouths. Two orgasms. One scream that left my throat raw.
Come Down
We didn’t rush out. No one dressed too fast. We passed blankets and snacks like survivors after a beautiful storm.
Sam wrapped me in a throw and rubbed my back. “Was it what you wanted?”
“It was more,” I said.
They kissed my temple. No agenda. Just softness.
Notes
- Trans bodies aren’t invitations for curiosity. They’re invitations for consent-based pleasure. Sam didn’t have to perform gender. They performed grace.
- Group sex needs communication. And snacks. Don’t skip the snacks.
- Being used with permission is the most freeing thing I’ve ever felt.