Shit. You’re sitting at the bar, exactly where you said you would be, wearing the blue floral top that would help him identify you. The first rum & Coke that you ordered to keep yourself busy while you waited for him has now been joined by several others; you, however, are still alone. You check your messages, again.
“David: “omw “
But that was at 9:37, over an hour ago. Your follow-up texts have gone unanswered, your calls go straight to voicemail. “Shit,” you say again. This attracts the attention of the man sitting a few stools down from you. He slides his drink in your direction, almost spilling it, as he stumbles closer to you. He’s a not unattractive person, middle aged, no wedding ring. You’re about to consider talking to him when the smell - whiskey and stale cigarette smoke and the foulest B.O. that you’ve ever smelled - stop the words dead in your throat, and you visibly recoil. No wonder he’s sitting alone.
As you turn to leave, someone grabs your arm “Katie! Oh my god! I was just thinking about you!” It’s a girl about your own age, in jeans and a hoodie from the local college. Green eyes framed by long brown hair look into yours with concern. Before you can tell her that you’re not Katie, she starts guiding you away from the bar. “I’ve seen that guy before, and he’s a total fucking creeper. It’s a good thing his stank acts like an early warning system. And you look like a girl who’s been stood up.”
“Yeah,” you say. “Dammit, I was looking forward to this. He was hot, and I was hoping to get laid.”
“Girl, I hear ya! Hey, can I give you a ride? My car’s right outside.” It’s a short walk home for you, but you weren’t planning on going home alone. And she seems friendly enough. “Sure,” you say, and follow her into the parking lot. You get into her little silver Hyundai and she pulls a box of Tic-Tacs from the console. “Breath mint?” she offers, “y’know, just in case we get pulled over, haha!” She pours 3 or 4 of the little pills into your palm, then appears to pop a few into her own mouth. The mint tastes a little strange, but it’s probably not meant to mix with rum and Coke.
She pulls into the street and asks, “so, where am I taking ya? I'm Steph, by the way.” You tell her your address, but she doesn’t seem to listen. “Got it,” she says, without changing direction. “Hey, I got one little stop to make before I drop you home, okay?” ‘Can’t you drop me off first,’ is what you want to say. “Okay,” is what comes out of your mouth, with too much effort. All those rum and Cokes seem to be ganging up on you now. “Thanks… I’m really… drunk.” “Don’t worry, babe! I’m taking care of you.”
You wake up slightly when you feel the car stop. The door is opened, and a large masculine figure helps you stand up. Then he easily picks up your slight frame, and carries you towards a small house. It’s not yours. You want to protest- you’re not supposed to be here! But your voice and limbs are not cooperating. You are carried through the door, then dumped on the dirty living room carpet. You register the smells first - weed and alcohol, the stale grease of empty pizza boxes and chicken buckets. Then you realize you’re not alone. You notice five or six guys standing around you before your vision goes completely blue- someone is pulling your top over your head; another pair of hands grabs your bra and yanks the clasp apart. You struggle, but your jeans are easily slid down your legs, dragging your cotton panties with them. The pink scrap of cloth is shoved into your mouth, and you realize with shame and excitement that your pussy is soaked. You can taste your arousal in the cotton.
Your vision is still obscured by your shirt, so you have no idea what the first man to take you looks like. Powerful hands are holding your legs apart, and you feel pressure at the entrance to your vagina. A grunt, and he forces himself into you. Your scream at the sudden pain is muffled by the panties in your mouth. The invading cock withdraws, then slams back into you. Again. Again. He finally grunts and floods you with his hot seed, then pulls out, and exclaims, “You got us a virgin! Great work, Stephy!”
A belt buckle jangles, and another cock is working its way inside you. This one feels even bigger than the first. You shake your head, and the shirt covering your face slips to the side. A colossal chest of chocolate brown skin fills your vision. You look down and you realize that even though his cock is filling you entirely, he still has another 2 or 3 inches to give you. A sudden jet of warm goo landing on your face and in your eye alerts you to a third man standing above you. As you turn your head to the side to let the cum drip out of it, you see Steph leaning against the wall, one hand clutching a wad of cash, the other one busily working inside the open crotch of her jeans. The massive cock spasms inside you, and fills you again with sperm. You pass out.
Daylight filters in through your bedroom windows, waking you. The throbbing pain of the hangover, and the pain in your vagina and asshole - they took that, too! - let you know that last night wasn’t just a dream. Ignoring the traces of blood and cum and your own juices staining the sheets, you reach for the glass of water on your bedside table. Instead, you pick up your phone. There are three crisp $100 bills folded neatly under it, and a new message from David:
“Thanks for a great time last night! Let’s do it again soon. ❤️ Steph”
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