"A bedroom in a museum? I've seen stranger things. Oh, great I wonder
if that's a two way mirror. People can look in but I can't look out?
Oh, that'd be just great if I was giving somebody a free porn show.
Just to be on the safe side," Dean said as he pulled a decorative
drape down from the canopy bed and hung it over the mirror.
He climbed down from the chair and turned around to see that the door
was still closed, but that the bedroom was now filled with the naked
male statues from out in the gallery.
"Oh, this can't be good," Dean said trembling.
He suddenly felt really cold. He reached out and steadied
himself by placing his hand on one of the statues.
"Ooooh, man no. I'm rock hard again. Oh, I gotta get to the bed."
He grabbed another statue and stumbled stiff legged and weak kneed
toward the bed through the obstacle course of statues. "Damn, I swear
these things are moving. But thass impo-sssible," he drawled as he
slowly staggered forward.
He felt a cold hand on his shoulder. Then another on his hip. He
looked down and saw marble, wax, stone and bronze hands pawing at him.
They weren't moving, but they were groping his body, and they hadn't
been there before. He felt his shirt rip open. A solid metal fist
clenched his torn shirt. He blinked. His pants were around his ankles.
He felt an icy cold finger slip in the back of his waistband and press
against his butt crack. There was a swift movement, or maybe it was a
breeze.
His boxers were ripped from his body. His cock and balls swung freely.
"Sam?" he called out.
"No," said a nearby male voice.
"Not Sam," said another male voice on the other side of the room.
"We want you, Dean," said another.
"Blow your load and join us," whispered a young male voice in his ear.
A terracotta hand was suddenly wrapped around Dean's
manhood.
"How the hell? Oh, talk about your Kung Fu grip!" moaned
Dean.
"Pose him carefully, he's got a good face."
"People don't care about his face."
"Sure they do. We want them to touch him. He'll want them to touch
him."
"Don't be afraid, Dean, we love you. We'll put you
on a pedestal. Your touch gave us life. You'll live forever soon."
"Oh, crap. That sounds like the line vampires feed their victims
before turning them."
"We're not blood suckers, Dean."
"You want to cum. You need to cum. We'll help you, Dean."
There must a dozen hands on Dean's naked body groping him. They're all
immobile, but somehow or other they got their grip on him. The hands
feel warmer now. They feel good. Dean feels secure, he feels loved, he
feels like he's about to cum. Everything seemed to be slowing down.
Even his breathing and heartbeats seemed weaker. His skin seemed much
more sensitive. He found all these nude male statues around him
somehow terribly erotic.
An intense musky, male odor filled the room. "Sam's never going to
believe this..." Dean moaned, "I can't believe I'm going to let myself
be gang raped by a bunch of gay statues? God help me, I'm going to let
them do it. It feels too good to try to stop them. Oh, yeah."
"It's not rape if you let it happen."
"It's not rape if it's your own hand on your joystick."
"You'll make a beautiful statue, Dean."