It took so much time and effort to stretch my pussy around your fist that even after you’ve made me come on it twice — screaming and shaking, clit rubbed raw, walls fluttering and clenching around the unyielding shape of your hand — you’re still not done with me.
I cry when you pull out of my cunt, tremble and sob as your fingers play with the rim of my gaping hole, pinching and stretching and fucking in so easily. You’re gonna keep me open, you tell me, and you shove a beer can into my cunt.
It hurts, but it’s also cool against my overheated flesh. I can feel the beer inside it sloshing around against the thin aluminum sides.
You pull up my briefs to keep it in place and help me stand. It’s painful, and I can’t walk without waddling around. It’s embarrassing enough with just you there. When your friends start to show up, I can barely meet their eyes.
You don’t need me to meet their eyes. You turn me around, bend me over whatever’s closest — the kitchen table, the arm of the sofa — pull down my pants and show them the can. They laugh, tapping the top of it, fucking it in and out of me in short, shallow thrusts. My cheeks burn. Tears well in my eyes.
When all of your friends have arrived, you take me out to the back patio, strip me down, and lay me out on the rough concrete. They tower over me, leering and laughing, drinks in their hands that I should have made but I couldn’t because my hands were so shaky and I could stand up straight enough to reach the liquor cabinet.
You’re here. Down on your knees with me. You push the beer can back inside me when my pussy tried to force it out. You laugh at me, too, but there’s pride in your eyes when you do. Then you start fucking me.
The beer sloshes inside the can as you shove it in me, pull it out, and shove it in again. It hurts. It feels so good. My body doesn’t know what to do with it.
Your friends are still talking and laughing. Somebody has a phone aimed at me, filming. Another crouches down and works my clit.
Tears spill over. You fuck me harder. Faster. I’m so wet, so needy. You fuck me with this huge thing and I can’t help but love it. Love you for hurting me so exquisitely.
When I feel my orgasm getting close, I ask, beg you to let me come. You smile, tip my hips up, and say, “yes.”
The new angle hurts more, feels strange, but doesn’t stop the pleasure.
When I come, you stop fucking me and I’m confused for a moment at what your hands are doing, until I hear hiss-pop of the can opening. Until I feel the explosion of it, beer and foam spilling over me, over you, over the ground. It’s like I’m squirting, like I’m ejaculating. It covers me. Spattering my chest, dripping from my thighs, pooling on my belly. I understand, now, why you brought us outside.
It smells like beer. Everything smells like beer. You lick some of it off me. You pull the can out and I scream and you pour the rest of the beer all over me, face and body and cunt.
You’re covered in it, too. My come.
You leave me there, lying in the puddle of it, your friends taking pictures and videos. The one whose fingers were on my clit has the same fingers in their mouth, tasting me.
My cunt feels so empty now. After being so full for so long, it gapes open like it was made to be stretched wide and needs something hard to clench around. Like it’s ruined. It will never be the same again.
I expected the hose, but not this gentle stream of it. The water is soothing as you clean me, your hands soft against my skin. You warn me before aiming the flow over my face.
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