I scan the room. The evidence is everywhere. In fact, there’s so much I don’t even know where the hell to begin.
Let’s face it—the aftermath of an orgy is always like this.
A silk robe in deep purple lies draped over an old wooden chair. I snap on a pair of heavy-duty latex gloves as I approach it, letting the tinny ‘ping’ bounce off the bare walls and right back into my eardrums. I touch my fingers to the material and run them carefully along the seam. Even while wearing these gloves, the feeling of pure softness it oozes doesn’t escape me.
But then I question myself; am I merely imagining how it feels; is it some simulation beaming bogus, yet strangely tactile information to my brain?
Under the chair, there’s a bra in the same shade of purple as the robe. I check the label—a 38DD, from Marks & Spencers. Classy, but…middle-aged? The lace trimming looks so gaudy but still manages to give off an air of luxury. It amuses me how the design adorns the edges of the cups like some vintage lampshade that’s been imposingly stuffed into an ultra-contemporary room.
A sheet of crackling blue lightning bolts blinds me, and I experience what I can only describe as a moment of utter confusion, something I’ve never felt before. I’m thrust into an entirely new head space. The switch occurs as if by the mere power of touch. But just as quickly as it starts, it grinds to a halt; the clouds stop moving and slowly, the fog begins to lift.
I see it. The bodies, they’re everywhere. No, this isn’t a crime scene, it’s a scene of the deepest pleasure and passion. These naked bodies are alive and raw. Their blood pumping, chests heaving, fingers entwined, backs arched, buttocks raised. Poised, ready and waiting for the next purposeful slip of the groin. As if on cue, one member of the orgy launches themselves inside their partner. The lustful reaction follows soon after; a shrill yelp emerging from the depths of her used-up voice box. They moan together, running their hands over the plump flesh, clawing at it.
Still, there’s a certain tenderness in that strength. It’s mesmerising. Truly.
And then I’m back.
Staring at the purple lingerie again, the harsh floorboards beneath the chair create a strong visual contrast and I struggle to adjust to it.
Then, I notice a stain on the rug splat right beside the chair. I squint as I kneel to observe it more closely. I touch my latex-clad index finger to the substance, bring it to my nose and give it a sniff. Sperm, just as I expected. In other words, evidence. I feel around in the pocket of my lab coat and locate one of the cotton swabs I know is still there from last night’s examination. I unscrew it from the tube and dab the cotton onto it, allowing the viscous deposit to soak all the way through. Why am I taking a sample when I already know it’s sperm?
Well, it’s all for research, of course. Because I want to understand precisely how this orgy functioned. At the end of the day, that’s my job as ‘Cum Scene Investigator’.
Unexpectedly, I feel myself being pulled into the delusion again. The blue bolts of lightening strike and I return to last night’s scene, standing there on the sidelines like some voyeuristic ghost.
I watch as their backs arch, their hands caress. I listen as the sounds of heavy panting fill the room, swirling vibrations coming together in a display of teamwork. One of the orgy members, a man who looks to be in his mid-thirties, stands on the sofa, his cock pointing proudly ahead. Someone is beneath him, eyes wide and lustful— a woman with magnificent breasts and a long, hard, slender cock. Her long dark hair falls over her chest as she strokes herself, keeping sight of the man towering over her like a giant. A look of complete euphoria passes over his face, and he sucks in his bottom lip as he gazes at her and lets out a series of stifled breaths.
I follow his line of sight. It seems he’s not looking at her cock, or her breasts. He’s staring her in the eyes, as if staring directly into her soul. Even from an outsider’s perspective, it’s an intense glare, but one filled with such definite purpose. His hands glide effortlessly over his shaft, the foreskin half covering the tip with each fresh action. The wet sounds of pre-cum combine with the subtle moans of satisfaction they’re making. Then, it happens. Another member of the orgy takes their hand, which is covered with a long black rubber glove and plenty of lube, and sidles up to the man, perching themselves on the armrest.
They take their time giving his buttocks a firm massage and coating his anus with lube. A minute or so passes and the new participant continues by inserting three slippery fingers straight into his tight asshole. He jolts and his expression clearly shifts. Most likely, they’ve hit his prostate already. This seems to have given him even more gusto, and he jerks himself off with a stronger resolve than before. Judging by the smirk on the person behind’s face, they seem aware of the effect they’re having and fuck his ass hard with their fingers as he simultaneously bucks and pumps with extra vigour. He calls out, wincing as the woman beneath him sits up and starts to fondle his balls, still getting herself off. As she witnesses the man’s cock twitching, she reaches her limit too and they both manage to splatter one another with their deposits, some of which lands beside the chair.
I take a step backwards and stash the captured semen sample into the pocket of my lab coat. Then, I click my pen open and make a brief note in the pad I brought with me—’prostate masseuse and ball fondler results in splatter by chair.’ I hook my pen onto the lapel of the coat.
“Alright. Done. What’s next?”
I don’t intend to say this aloud, but it just sort of…slips out. I often talk to myself during an investigation. I’ve been known to go into lengthy ‘discussions’. When I’m working with others which is admittedly rare in this business, I usually get some strange looks. But what can I say? Voicing my thoughts helps me visualise things better.
Scanning the room for further hints, I find my gaze stopping on an object creating a bulge beneath a purple satin wrap. It matches the lingerie set by the chair. Was it worn by the same person? I observe the placement of the garments. Someone probably slipped out of their knickers and bra to entertain another of the orgy participants who was sitting on the chair, and in the heat of the moment threw the satin wrap over into the corner of the room.
Wait a minute. Something’s off.
I walk over to the wrap, crouch down and peel it back to reveal a large black ribbed dildo that resembles a horse cock. I pick it up with two fingers by the base, making sure I don’t disturb any evidence that might still be clinging to it, and bring it closer to my face. I give it a real good whiff—whenever in doubt, smell stuff. That usually helps. The smell of cum is overpowering. It’s making me woozy, like I’ve just inhaled a boatload of anaesthetic.
But I can’t possibly fall asleep on the job. Not when I’ve got to get to the bottom of what actually happened at this orgy last night. After all, if I don’t produce a full report by Monday noon, I’m going to get put in my place by Steve in Operations. And I don’t want that to happen. I know what he’s like—a total stickler for deadlines. One false move and I’m off the unit for good.
I let out a frustrated sigh and try to shake some sense back into myself. Right now, I need to stay focused and remain objective. I can’t let my own fantasies cloud my judgement when it comes to investigating cum scenes. I’m not here on a leisure trip. I know that.
As I hold the horse cock dildo, I feel a sharp chill course through me. The air quickly grows still but I hear whispers coming at me from all angles.
What’s going on? This is all too realistic to be a vision. It’s like I’m reliving parts of this orgy, even though I wasn’t actually-
A shrill, high-pitched sound attacks my eardrums and the lightening hits for a third time. I cower in pain, covering my ears in the hope that it’ll just disappear. Of course, it doesn’t. It gets worse. I scream out, but end up giving myself a bad migraine instead.
Then, it all becomes clear.
The feel of his hands on my shoulders, the way she’s kissing the small of my back, and…what’s this? There’s somebody, I can’t tell who, lying beneath me—exactly like I saw earlier with the butt fun sofa guy—licking my cunt. Electric pulses run through me. I lurch forward as if on autopilot and take his cock in my mouth. That throbbing meaty goodness fills me up. I wrap my tongue around it, savouring every inch, tracing the mass of bulging veins. It’s a decent size, but not too big that I’m going to gag. He’s thrusting back and forth and she’s stimulating my clit gently with her teeth. Meanwhile, someone has attached some nipple clamps to me. The tight sensation is glorious. I’m being pleasured from every angle by these beautiful people. I-I was there…
Last night, I was there.
I open my eyes, snapping back to the present. Beads of sweat cling to my brow and I find myself struggling to catch my breath. That was certainly intense. I become aware of how awfully wet it is between my legs. I look down; my underwear is drenched. Just the mere thought, the reminder of the orgy experience is so powerful—even when it’s only coming back to me in short, vivid bursts— is something that I long to feel again and again. I set the horse dildo down onto the satin wrap.
Still crouching, I hitch up my skirt and slip my underwear over my ass and thighs. I leave them stretched around my calves as I bring my fingers to the rim of my dripping cunt and push them to my engorged clit, stimulating it in small circular movements. A mild heat throbs desperately inside me. I thrust my gloved fingers inside, feeling those tight walls envelop them. The warmth only spreads further. I probe fiercely yet intently, knowing I should curve my fingers in a certain way to reach that special spot.
Just…a few…more-
“Ah!”
Eureka.
A stream of translucent cum spews out, pooling onto the floor beneath me. I remove my sticky hands and fumble for one of the zip-lock bags in my lab coat pocket. I use my teeth to pull the two sides of the bag apart and drip the remnants of the juices into it, as much as I can salvage at least. I wipe my sticky hands on the collar of the lab coat and re-position my underwear, soaking though it is. I exhale.
“Right. I got what I came for. Time to take this evidence for a more…rigorous analysis.”
Lustful Lines 