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ExplicitNovelsAudio novels of human relationships and fantasies. Author: Steamy Stories
Daily episodes of explicit romance, from the creators of Steamy Stories Podcast Language: en-us Genres: Health & Fitness, Personal Journals, Sexuality, Society & Culture Contact email: Get it Feed URL: Get it iTunes ID: Get it |
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Lauren picked you up at eight.
Monday, 23 March, 2026
theresponsivemale:Lauren picked you up at eight.“Nectar tonight, sweetie. Wear your ring. Bring your card.”You were excited. Stamp two. At one stamp per visit, the Wishing Well was nine visits away. And it was easy. All you had to do was sit in the chair, wait for Lauren, clean the room after. You knew the drill.She drove. The same building appeared. The same tasteful lobby. The same woman at the desk who said “Welcome back, Ms. Lauren” without checking any list.“We’re here for the games room tonight,” Lauren said.The receptionist smiled. “Of course. Riley is expecting you. Down the hall, second left.”You looked at Lauren. “Games room?”“Change of plans, sweetie.” She took your arm. Led you down the corridor. Past the rooms where you’d sat in the chair. Past the sounds you’d learned not to listen to. Past the cleaning station where you’d earned your first stamp.“I thought we were doing the usual—”“Not tonight.” She stopped at a door. Black. Unmarked. “Tonight I volunteered you.”“Volunteered me for what?”She opened the door.The games room was larger than you expected. A high-ceilinged space with soft lighting, a small gallery with chairs and a bar, and in the center of the room — a bench.Not a massage bench. Not the padded table from the spa. Something industrial. Black frame. Padded surface. Stirrups at one end, arm restraints along the sides, and at the head — a molded seat that looked like it was designed to fit over someone’s face. Like a helmet with a cushioned visor.The whole thing was angled so that whoever lay on it would be flat on their back, legs spread, arms pinned, face covered.A woman stood beside it. Tall. Dark hair pulled back. Black dress. Professional the way everyone at Nectar was professional — warm smile, calm hands, a clipboard.“You must be Lauren’s boy.” She extended her hand. Not to you. To Lauren. “I’m Riley. We spoke on the phone.”They’d spoken on the phone. This had been planned.“Let’s get him set up,” Riley said. “The room opens in twenty minutes.”Lauren squeezed your arm. “Strip, sweetie.”“What?”“Everything off. They need you on the bench.”You looked at the bench. At the stirrups. At the face cover. At Riley, who was already adjusting the arm restraints with the efficiency of someone who’d done this a hundred times.“Lauren, I don't—”“Sweetie.” That voice. The one that ended conversations. “Strip.”You stripped. Jeans. T-shirt. Blush pink panties. Everything folded on a chair by the wall. Naked. Smooth. Ringed. Your cock already hardening because your cock had stopped asking your permission months ago.“On the bench, please.” Riley patted the padded surface. “On your back. Feet in the stirrups.”You lay down. The padding was cool against your bare skin. Your feet went into the stirrups — cold metal, adjustable, spreading your legs wide. Riley fastened the ankle straps. Snug. Then the arm restraints — your wrists locked flat against the sides of the bench, palms down.You could still see. The ceiling. The lights. Lauren standing beside you, looking down with that smile.“One more thing.” Riley lifted the face cover — the molded seat — and positioned it over your head. It settled into place like a visor closing. Darkness. Your eyes were covered but your mouth and nose were exposed. You could breathe. You could hear. You could feel everything. But you couldn’t see.“Can you see anything?” Riley asked.“No.”“Perfect.”Then something pressed against your lips. Round. Rubber. Firm.“Open, sweetie.” Lauren’s voice. Close.You opened. The ball gag slid between your teeth. Lauren fastened the strap behind your head. Snug. Your jaw held slightly open. You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t call out. Couldn’t say anyone’s name.“That’s for the riders’ comfort,” Lauren said. She stroked your cheek. “They don’t want to hear you begging.”You lay there. Blind. Gagged. Strapped to a bench with your cock pointing at the ceiling and your legs spread in stirrups.“Now,” Lauren said, and her voice shifted — louder, addressing Riley, maybe addressing you, maybe addressing the room that was about to fill. “Let me explain how this works.”She rested her hand on your stomach. Her fingers tracing idle circles while she talked.“You’re the bull tonight. Three riders. Each one gets ten seconds of warmup — hands only — to get you hard. Then she mounts. She can ride however she likes. Pommel style — sitting on your chest, your cock between her thighs like a saddle horn. Thigh job. Mouth. Or if she wants, she can take you inside her.”Your cock throbbed. You tried to speak. The gag turned it into a muffled sound that nobody acknowledged.“Each rider gets forty-one seconds. Your number. All you have to do is not cum.” She patted your stomach. “Three riders. Under a minute each. Simple.”Simple. Your cock was already leaking and nobody had touched it yet.“The gallery bets on the over-under. Your number goes on the board. If you last all three riders without cumming, you earn three stamps. If you don't—” She paused. “Well. We’ll get to that.”You heard Riley writing on a board. The squeak of a marker. You couldn’t see it but you knew what it said. 00:41. Your specification. Posted for the room.Then Lauren leaned close. Her lips against your ear. Her breath warm.“Oh — sweetie. I meant to tell you. Sarah’s here tonight. I invited her.”Your whole body went rigid.“She’s never been to Nectar before. She’s very excited.” Lauren’s fingers traced down your stomach. Stopped just above your cock. “She might want to ride. Who knows? It’s her first time. Girls try things at Nectar they wouldn’t try anywhere else.”The gag held your scream.“Don’t worry. She won’t know it’s you.” Lauren patted your cheek. “That’s what the seat is for.”You heard the door open. Voices. Laughter. Glasses clinking. The gallery filling. Women settling into chairs, ordering drinks, studying the board.“Ladies,” Riley’s voice carried across the room. “Tonight’s bull is a blush pink beta. Four point three inches. Forty-one second specification. Three riders. Bets are open.”The murmur of the crowd. The scratch of pencils on betting slips.You lay there. Blind. Gagged. Naked. Your cock pointing at a ceiling you couldn’t see while a room full of women decided how fast you’d break.Rider One.You felt her before you heard her. The bench shifting as she climbed up. Weight settling on either side of your hips. The warmth of her thighs near your skin.Then hands. The ten-second warmup. Her fingers wrapping around your cock — already hard, already leaking, but the rules were the rules. She stroked. Firm. Quick. Clinical. Getting you to full attention. The crowd murmured approval.“Time,” Riley called.The hands released. Weight shifted. Then — thighs. Her thighs clamping around your cock. Not inside her. Pommel style. Your shaft pressed between the warm, soft pressure of her inner thighs, her weight rocking forward and back. Grinding you against her skin.The clock started.You couldn’t see the numbers but you could hear Riley counting. “Ten. Twenty. Thirty.”The thigh pressure was steady. Rhythmic. You clenched your jaw around the gag. Focused on nothing. Tried to be empty. Tried to be furniture.“Forty. Forty-one.”A bell. The crowd cheered. Rider one dismounted. You’d held.Your cock was slick with precum. Your balls aching. But you’d held.Rider Two.Different weight. Different warmth. She climbed the bench with more confidence. The warmup hands were softer — almost teasing. Long strokes from base to tip. A thumb circling the head. Your hips jerked against the restraints.“Time.”She chose mouth.You felt her breath first. Warm. Close. Then her lips. Then the wet heat of her mouth sliding down your shaft and you almost broke right there — the first mouth on your cock, the first time anyone had ever taken you in their mouth, and you were blind and gagged and couldn’t even moan properly.She worked you with a slow, deliberate rhythm. Deep. Pulling back. Her tongue doing something on the underside that sent electricity up your spine.“Ten. Twenty.”You bit down on the gag. Hard. Your wrists pulling against the restraints. Your feet flexing in the stirrups.“Thirty.”She took you deeper. Her hand found your balls — smooth, ringed, tight — and squeezed gently. A sound escaped you. Muffled. Animal.“Forty. Forty-one.”The bell. Her mouth released you. The cool air hit your cock like a slap. The crowd cheered louder this time. Someone whistled.You lay there shaking. Your cock pulsing, desperate, right on the edge. Two riders down. One to go.You could do this. Forty-one seconds. One more rider. Don’t cum.Rider Three.You heard her before she mounted.“I don’t know, Lauren. I’ve never done anything like—”“It’s fun, Sarah. Just climb up. He can’t see you. And he can’t talk.”You could hear every word.“What do I—”“Whatever you want. Hands first. Ten seconds. Then climb on.”“Do I just—”“Just have fun, sweetie. That’s what Nectar is for.”The bench shifted. Sarah climbed up. You felt her knees settle on either side of your hips. Tentative. Nervous. Her weight barely pressing down.Then her hands. On your cock. Lighter than the others. Unsure. Exploratory. Like she was picking up something fragile. Her fingers traced the length of you. Found the ring. Paused.“Is that—”“It’s his ring. Don’t worry about it. Just stroke.”Sarah’s hand wrapped around your cock. Sarah from accounting. The woman who said good morning. The woman who counted you to orgasm. The woman who’d touched your blush pink panties on your desk and said “So soft.”Her hand was soft too.“Time,” Riley called.Sarah’s hand released. A pause. You could feel her deciding.“What should I—”“Whatever feels right,” Lauren said. Close. Too close. She was right beside the bench. Right beside Sarah. Coaching.Sarah shifted forward. You felt her thighs — bare, warm, she must have removed something — slide along your hips. Then she settled. Not pommel. Not mouth. She settled directly onto your cock.Your cock pressed against her. Not inside. Between her lips. The slick, hot, impossible closeness of her pressing down onto you and rocking forward and you felt everything — the heat, the wetness, the soft give of her body — and she wasn’t even trying to make you cum, she was just sitting there, figuring out how this worked, and your body was already—“Ten.”Sarah rocked again. An instinct. Her hips finding a rhythm that she probably didn’t even know she had. Your cock sliding between her folds, not inside, not quite, but close enough that the distinction stopped mattering.“Twenty.”“Lauren, this is—” Sarah’s voice. Breathless. Changed. “This is actually—”“I know, sweetie. Don’t stop.”Lauren’s voice. Right in your ear. A whisper that only you could hear.“She’s so wet, sweetie. You should see her face right now.”“Thirty.”Sarah’s rhythm found itself. Faster. Her weight pressing down harder. Your cock was pinned between her body and yours and every rock sent a pulse through you that started at the tip and ended somewhere behind your eyes.You bit the gag so hard your jaw cramped. Your wrists were white against the restraints. Your feet pushing against the stirrups. Don’t cum. Don’t cum. This is Sarah. This is your colleague. This is the woman who blew Lauren a kiss across the corridor and she is riding your cock in a room full of women and you cannot—Lauren again. Lips on your ear.“She’s going to join the server as a moderator. I’m giving her admin access. She’ll be able to see everything — your mugshots, your measurements, your number.”“Thirty-one.”You came.Violent. The kind of orgasm that starts in your feet and destroys everything on its way up. Your cock pulsing against Sarah’s body, cum spurting between you, hot and slick and impossible to hide. The bench shook. Your body arched against the restraints. A sound came out of you that the gag couldn’t contain — a groan, a sob, something broken.Sarah gasped. Froze. Felt the warmth spreading.“Oh my god. Did he just—”“He did,” Lauren said. “Thirty-one seconds. Ten under his number.”The bell didn’t ring. Riley noted the time. The crowd murmured — some cheers, some groans. Bets lost and won.Sarah climbed off. You could feel her absence. The cool air on your wet cock. The cum cooling on your stomach.“That was—” Sarah’s voice, still breathless. “Lauren, that was intense.”“Wasn’t it?” Lauren’s hand found your chest. Patted it twice. “He did his best.”They unstrapped you in stages. Ankles first. Then wrists. Then the face cover lifted and the light hit your eyes and you blinked up at the ceiling while Riley removed the gag.Your jaw ached. Your cock was soft and wet. Cum drying on your stomach. The room was emptying — women collecting their winnings, finishing drinks, drifting back to the main floor.Lauren stood beside the bench. You scanned the room. Riley was collecting betting slips. A few women lingered at the bar. No Sarah.“Where’s Sarah?”“Oh, she went to explore.” Lauren wiped a spot of cum off the bench. Casual. “Someone’s getting their wish tonight. She wanted to see how it works.”Your stomach turned. Sarah was somewhere in Nectar. Near the Wishing Well. On which side, you didn’t know.“Tough break, sweetie.” Lauren handed you a towel. “You almost made it.”“Lauren, that was Sarah—”“I know. She had fun.”“She doesn’t know it was—”“No. And she won’t. Unless you tell her.” Lauren’s eyes found yours. “You won’t tell her.”You shook your head.“Good.” She took the towel from you and set it down. “Now. You lost the bull.”“I know.”“And you know what that means.”You knew. You’d seen it on the board behind Riley’s head when the face cover came off. A small printed sign: Those who ride the bull earn a wish. Those who lose to the bull grant one.“Follow me.”The Wishing Well looked different from this side.Last time you’d been in the crowd, watching Peter push through the hole, watching his face change, watching him sob with relief when someone’s anonymous mouth found him. You’d wanted that. Wanted to earn your ten stamps and stand where Peter stood and make your wish.You hadn’t imagined kneeling on the other side.The room was small. Dim. Lauren led you to a woman waiting by a padded kneeling bench that faced the wall.“Nicky, this is my boy.” Lauren rested her hand on the back of your neck. “He lost the bull tonight.”Nicky was older than Riley. Calm eyes. Practical hands. She assessed you the way a nurse assesses a patient — quickly, without judgment.“First time on the service wall?”You nodded.“It’s simple, sweetie. You kneel. When a penis comes through, you service it. You earn three stamps.” She patted the bench. “Three because of how important this service is.”Lauren crouched beside you. Both hands on your face. Close. Her eyes holding yours.“I am so proud of you,” she said.Not the butterfly voice. Not the game voice. Something underneath all of that.“You were so brave on the bull. Three riders. You lasted longer than most first-timers. And now you’re going to do this for me, and I need you to know—” She kissed your forehead. “—I see you, sweetie. I see how hard you’re trying. And if you do this, there might be more than just stamps in it for you.”She let that sit.“More?”“We’ll talk about it after.” She stroked your hair once. Stood. “Now. Sarah and I are going to watch from the gallery.”Your throat tightened.“She won’t know it’s you. The lighting keeps your face in shadow.” Lauren straightened her dress. “But I’ll know. And you’ll know. And that’s what matters.”She turned to Nicky. “Take care of him.”“Always do,” Nicky said.Lauren squeezed your shoulder once. Then she was gone. Heels on marble. Fading.Nicky guided you onto the kneeling bench. The padding was firm. Comfortable, even. The hole in the wall was directly in front of your face — smooth-edged, lit softly from the other side. The same hole you’d watched Peter push through. The same darkness that had made him cry.“Whenever you’re ready, sweetie,” Nicky said from somewhere behind you. “It usually takes a minute.”You knelt there. Alone with the hole and the dim light and the faint sound of women’s voices from the gallery above. Lauren was up there. Sarah was up there. Watching. You couldn’t see them. Didn’t need to. They were there. That was enough.A shadow darkened the hole.He stepped forward — whoever he was — and pushed through. Slowly. The way Peter had. The way all of them probably did the first time. Uncertain. Vulnerable.Small. Smaller than yours, maybe. The head just clearing the wall. Smooth. Hard. Trembling slightly.You thought about Peter. The way his face had changed. The way he’d sobbed — not from pain, from relief. From months of stamps and service and listening through doors, and finally, finally, something touching him that wasn’t his own hand.Whoever was on the other side of this wall had earned this. Ten stamps. Ten visits. M
