The form as set as a sonnet or haiku, therein lying its attraction. The camera in fixed position at the narrow end of a small cubicle containing a stool or lavatory. Sitting on the stool, a woman with a black eyemask. In the side wall at face height, a hole the size of a saucer. Protruding through the hole, an erect penis. The woman’s job, to play and suck until ejaculation.
The woman removing the penis from her mouth, giving it a final working with her hand, tilting her face backward, receiving a pulsing spray of white liquid. A post-climax pause. The penis withdrawing back through the hole. The woman wiping her face and chest with a tissue. Waiting. A new penis appearing through the hole. Her fingers reaching up for it, stroking it into hardness, licking its tip, taking it into her mouth.
At the side, a door opening and a second woman entering, tapping the first on the shoulder. The first stopping, removing the eyemask, smiling at the second in recognition, swapping places. The first one leaving. The second one sitting, putting on an eyemask, taking the penis in her hand, getting comfortable, taking it into her mouth.
This playing itself out to me, and in the previous three months to one point two million other online viewers, over seventeen minutes. A highly specialized eroticism, he having no idea who she is, nor she him. Stranger or acquaintance or spouse, no way of knowing.
The second penis reaching its climax, revealed by a telltale freeze in the woman’s body as she takes it deep in her mouth. A pause, the penis withdrawing, she gulping, swallowing, smiling. A wait, perhaps ten seconds, a third penis arriving, and the masque repeating.
