I was bored. It always started like that.

I usually had some sensibility. But only in the same way a lion is sensible around prey when its trainer is near- well behaved enough to earn its food. That burning monster of need was kept controlled by a version of me with higher morals, for the most part. I hesitate to call myself an addict; some people just have a very big appetite. But I kept it mostly sated with the occasional hookup, or attempted to. Sometimes it just needed too badly- I needed too badly.

Tonight was one of those nights, I thought, gazing detached at the scene in front of me. It was New Years Eve, and the party I was standing outside of was deafeningly alive already. You couldn’t walk more than ten feet without touching glitter or spilled alcohol. Part of me loved it. But that other part of me cried in the back of my mind that I needed a different type of thrill.

It would have to wait. A chill on the breeze shocked me from the depths of thought back into my shoes. My friends huddled in a large circle, shivering in the cold as we waited in the long line to get in. Two different groups meshed together in coming; my three best girlfriends were all dressed to the nines, like me, and looked stunning even trembling at the night’s bite. A guy friend of mine, one of the only other stoners I could find at the school, was going in with a friend of his and ours and splitting off to meet more friends inside. Pressed together, we gossiped about people we hoped not to see. I couldn’t keep my mind in the conversation, though. I’d taken tequila shots and smoked a shared joint before coming here, but I was definitely still too sober. As we finally got past the makeshift security of frat pledges, I swore to myself that I wouldn’t be conscious by midnight.

After two beatboxes and twenty minutes of shouting over the music with people outside, I needed to dance. I grabbed my friend by the arm.

“Do you want to head inside? I love this song!” I had to scream into her ear for her to hear me.

She nodded excitedly, and we tapped our other friends and gestured to follow through the crowd. Inside was about thirty degrees warmer, and for a moment each flash of the pulsing lights blinded me. But it didn’t matter; I was tipsy. And toeing the line of drunk, thanks to Mr and Mrs 11% ABV. Nursing a third box in one hand, we danced. As friends and as a party, a sea of people and a feeling like a world of freedom.

And yet. The little voice in the back of my head kept snapping me out of the party’s trance. My eyes lingered too long on every semi-attractive man with exposed arms and full lips, and I knew it. On the outside I maintained ‘normalcy’— laughing, shouting song lyrics, and ignoring eyes I saw undressing me, but inside I felt like a dog in heat. I needed to do something.

I appraised the crowd nearest me. Always looming were boys who would never say a word, spending the whole party trying in vain to work up the will to act. They loved when you talked to them. I turned to one and gave him a sly look. Holding out my hand for his, I placed it on my shoulder and turned around with a snap that made my hair flip dramatically. Legs locked, I slowly bent at the hips in front of him and circled my hips with the music a few times teasingly. He was slack-jawed, and I was able to draw words from him. After a few lines of stumbled speech, though, I quickly decided my efforts would be best spent elsewhere.

I leaned to my friend's ear and told her I was stepping outside for a minute. She made sure I had my phone, asked if I needed anything, and assured me they wouldn’t leave without me. Then she wished me luck, and I was on my own against the crowd. I weaved my way back outside and found an empty bench to sit at.

I shivered and chastised myself for not planning for the weather better. A jacket would be impractical, but leggings would have made for a much more comfortable evening than my short sleeveless dress. The dark navy fabric made my eyes pop, but did little against the cold. Not to mention the breeze against my inner thighs with every gust; my inner exhibitionist convinced me not to bother with shorts. I tried to mentally block out the cold; I was slowly processing the alcohol I drank, and I knew before long it would feel relieving anyways. I took a slow breath, and let the feeling wash over me. Slowly my body heat was increasing, flushing my cheeks in a way I could only compare to one thing right then. God, I was horny.

The bench creaked as another partygoer settled next to me. The smell of skunk hit my nose before I turned my head, and I could recognize my friend before my eyes met him. I burst into a drunkish-tipsy smile. “Hey, how’s your night going?” I asked, only slightly slurred.

He chuckled. “Pretty good, but I’m out of gas. I expected to be drunker at this party, so I didn’t bring or smoke enough.”

My lips curled to a more mischievous grin. “Well, I might have something for that.” I reached behind each ear, and proudly whipped out the joints I’d brought. His eager grin betrayed his scolding tone as he quickly grabbed my hands.

“You wanna share with the whole party? Keep those away!”

I chuckled. Maybe I was more drunk than tipsy. “Is your car here?” He knew the real offer, and his eyes lit up like the Christmas lights that still dotted the roof.

“It’s in the far corner, behind some bushes.” Of course it was, he always parked in the best spot for hotboxing.

I stood up and tugged my dress down. “Lead the way?”

He smirked and jumped to his feet, grabbed my wrist, and without another word we were cutting through the party with much more vigor than earlier. We were on a mission. Quickly we burst through to the edge of the party and were out. The shiver of being away from the people was dulled by the promise of a warm, cannabis-smoke-filled car. Gleefully we half-jogged, teeth chattering, across the parking lot.

We ducked into the car, and as the doors closed the rush of the party was muffled to background noise.

I sparked the joint and took a long pull. “How’s the party been?” I asked in a drunk attempt at conversation.

He took a longer pull, and let out a long breath to fill the air with the smoke. “Uneventful,” he said, sounding as bored as I was at it.

“They always are a little... flat.”

“Uneventful?” he repeated, this time with a chuckle and a sarcastic question mark. “Nothing ever happens at them. People just dance, get drunk, and go home with people they’ll ghost in a week.”

I nodded. “There’s no...” I paused dramatically, blowing a cloud of smoke. “...soul. Where’re the drunk riots?”

“Exactly!” He took a draw like he was inhaling before a long speech. “None of the people here have that. They’re not living like they’ll die tomorrow. And I just can’t get why.” He turned to me. As our eyes locked, I unintentionally took a mental snapshot of his piercingly dark yet warm gaze. “What would you do if you were going to die tomorrow?”

I chortled, not wanting to say the real answer. “Oh, ya know. Cry.”

He laughed. “That’s a little depressing. You know what I mean though, what would you do if you found out right now?”

“That I had 24 hours to live?”

“That everyone had 24 hours.”

“Well...” I thought for a second, dramatic pause unplanned this time. “Honestly, I’d probably go find some guy at this party to take me home. Or crazy drugs or something.” My voice trailed off as the words left my mouth. They sounded so much louder out loud. The alcohol flush hid my embarrassment. He hadn’t looked away, and the words ate me alive as they hung in the air.

He took a few small puffs of the joint, and the smoke made a little trail upward like cotton balls. Exhaling clouds with his words, he replied, a little quiet, “I could help with that.” He did break his gaze then, looking forward with a weighted stare. To which statement, the implication hung in the air, suspended like the smoke.

But the drunk buzz made me chuckle and gave me a wave of brazenness. “To what part?” He knew I didn’t miss the answer. But now I was asking him to say it.

“To both.” Again, he looked away, and his voice dropped lower. He cleared his throat and added a quiet, “If you’d like.”

“And how would you want to help?” My voice held something like curiosity. Asking questions just to unfurl the scene more. The lack of sobriety filtered out subtlety.

I could’ve imagined it, but for a second it looked like his eyes flashed to a darker, almost-black brown as they locked onto mine. He responded with a question of his own. “In the backseat?” He stared searchingly into my eyes and put the joint out on his door, only half-finished. The last trail of smoke slowly dissipated.

And so the scene was unfurled. There was no other implication to be made. Still keeping eye contact I slowly slipped out of the passenger side, and into the rear seat on my side as he did the same on his. The cloth of the seat bench felt like it spanned for miles. We moved to each other at the same time.

In one motion, we were kissing. His lips were eager and soft as he sucked on and gently bit my bottom lip. His tongue swirled past his lips to collide with mine in an intense battle spurred by the inhibition of drugs and drinks. His kisses traveled from my mouth to my neck, and I let out a suppressed sigh. Already he was learning my buttons.

My fingers twirled in his hair as I deepened the kiss. From the back of my neck, he turned one of his hands to grab my long locks in a smooth motion. He lightly clenched it, giving a cautiously gentle tug, and pulled it out of the way to continue his work on my neck. Already the skin was bright red in spots, and I knew within a few hours they would fade to purple.

His other hand slid down my chest and softly pulled my dress neckline down. With delicate movements he slipped his hand under the fabric and palmed my breasts, kneading them as I moaned. His fingers quickly sought out my nipples, pinching and tweaking them lightly, and I moaned louder as I melted at his touch. I kissed him hard to stifle any sounds that were too embarrassing, tangling his hair in my fingers to pull him closer.

We kissed until I was beyond breathless, and as I gasped for air he moved back. “Are you sure you want this? And you’re sober enough to know you do?”

I nodded. “I want this so much more than I can say with words right now. Please, touch me.”

Again, that illusion was like his eyes flashed. He sprang to kiss me again, pushing into the kiss to drive me backward until I was laying across the seats. In a moment his mouth was on my neck again, a hand plunged down my neckline, and another hand tracing over my dress heading lower. My breath caught in my throat as he drew a thin line down my stomach, past my navel, down past the hem of my dress to curve around and move slowly up my thigh under my skirt. His feather-light fingers found the lace of my black thong, exploring down the front and prodding a finger over the fabric-covered apex of my thighs. I knew my panties were already soaked, and I could feel his lips curl up against mine as he felt how wet I was. With a curl of his finger, he pressed the sodden fabric against my aching center. He chuckled as I sharply gasped and my breathing spiked, wavering with pleasure and need.

“Oh, you really do want this,” he chuckled darkly as he watched me squirm. “Don’t you?” He cooed, mockingly tender, as he ground his index finger against my sopping wetness. I nodded desperately. “You want this sooo...” he hooked his finger around the stretch of fabric covering my pussy, and pulled it to the side, tracing my exposed lips slowly before lining his fingers up with my opening. “...fucking bad.” As he finished, he sank his two fingers all the way inside me. I moaned loudly, then slapped a hand over my mouth. He slapped my hand away and leaned down to kiss me. “I can help you be quiet, see?” He kissed me again, fiercely, as he drew his fingers out almost all the way, then drove them in again hard.

My moan was swallowed by his mouth against mine. “And you’ll have to be quiet. There are people around.” He looked out the window, and I followed his gaze to see a group of people standing around a car maybe thirty feet away. When he was sure my eyes had found them, he began pumping his fingers in and out of my pussy feverishly. He captured my cry of pleasure with another kiss. Muffled whimpers, the wet sounds of my juices, and the rapid clap of his hand against my thighs filled the car. Beneath it, I could hear chatter and laughing of a not-so-distant conversation.

All too quickly, a feeling started building in my gut. In a daze, I tried to remind my hands how to move on their own again, and caught his hand as his fingers slammed again inside me. I held him there by the wrist, grasping through the mental fog of arousal to get the words out. A look like controlled anger flashed over him.

“I’m so close,” I said shakily. “If you keep it up, you’re gonna already make me—“

He clasped my restricting hand with his other hand, and firmly pulled it to the side. He slowly drew his fingers from my dripping pussy, and held them up for me to see. The shine glistened in the dim light, and strings of moistness trailed between his digits. “You see that?”

I nodded. He held the shining fingers up to my mouth, and I wrapped my lips around them slowly. “You taste that?”

I nodded again, and he pushed both fingers deep into my throat. “That’s something I did, and something I’m proud of. And if you come right now, I promise it will not be the only time you do.” He withdrew his fingers from my mouth and pushed my legs up and apart by the knees. “Now, since you thought you could just stop me like that...”

He pushed his two fingers in as deep as he could, withdrew them, and then lined up a third. Slowly he pushed inside. The O of my lips dropped to a wide gasp as he stretched me.

My pussy quivered, begging to cum. Before I could get used to the feeling, he was drawing back and pistoning his fingers in and out of me again, sending shocks of pleasure up my spine. My hips jerked upwards and my back arched as I neared that edge again, and my moans turned to tiny gasps of “Oh fuck, oh god, oh yes” panted over and over. As he watched my reactions he licked his lips hungrily, then brought his opposite hands thumb to his tongue.

Delicately, he used his thumb to softly trace my clit as he continued the onslaught with his fingers. While he pumped his fingers in me he started to flick his thumbprint over my clit, gently back and forth. The light touch was enough; my hips spasmed and my hands clenched as I felt the wave about to crash down.

And then he stopped. Quickly he pulled his fingers from me, and the wave froze. My eyes flew open and landed on him with a smoldering glare.

“I changed my mind.” He smiled coyly, like he found my anger funny. “It feels so good with my fingers, I just have to really feel it.” His voice dropped to a more concerned tone. “If that’s okay with you.”

My heart raced at the thought of his implication. “Yes, I’m very okay with that. Do you have anything for it?”

He reached down to rustle his hand around the floor for a minute, and came up with a box of condoms. Quickly he undid his pants, peeled open the wrapper, and rolled it on himself. He shuffled forward, and his hips pressed against mine with my legs still between us. Hands on either side of my shoulders, he looked me in the eye from above me. “Are you very sure you’re okay with this? And not just drunk?”

I nodded vigorously. My eyes kept darting to his head between my legs.

“Say it. I want to be sure.”

I reached for his chin and pulled it to me to kiss him, long and sweet. “I want this. Please.” My pussy tingled with anticipation, still unsatisfied.

He rubbed his tip against my lips, and slowly pushed inside. His head felt so much thicker than his three fingers. As his dick slid into me I clasped my hand over my mouth to cover my moan. Inch by inch he pushed deeper, every movement feeling more amazing as he pushed further than his fingers could, and still further. My breath caught, transfixed like the rest of me, and I could only breathe the wisps of air my shaking breath would draw. I knew he could feel me trembling with need around him. God, I was already so close. He pushed even deeper; I felt him brush my cervix, then press to lightly nestle against it as he finally bottomed out with a quiet moan of his own.

I had never had anyone as big as him, and I could feel myself getting wetter and wetter around him. My juices made a schulking noise as he pulled out slowly, then slammed back inside me. His balls slapped against my asshole as he filled me to the hilt, and I cried out a loud moan I couldn’t contain. He clapped his hand over my mouth and repeated the motion, again and again. Every stroke filled me so completely, and every shift was like a hand on a violin playing a buildingly chaotic sonata of pleasure. My arms flew up to clasp him, and I came. Hard. A million fireworks exploded from every nerve as I clenched around his dick inside me, crying out under his hand and quivering from head to toe. My eyes rolled back as my hips jerked up to meet his hips as he paused his torrent to watch me, moving his hand from my mouth. Panting hard, he stared in awe as I convulsed and writhed around his cock.

When I finally caught my breath, he traced a thin king up my thighs and ran his thumb over my clit. Sharply my hips snapped upward again, uncontrolled, and I let out a moan as I impaled myself deeper, much to his delight as he moaned and smiled deviously. Back and forth he rubbed again, and again my body was sparked like a lighter to find that fullness. I was still reeling from my earth-shattering orgasm, but he was quickly preparing me for round two. Faster and faster he rubbed, and my moans grew more frequent and breathy as my flush intensified. I was slowly fucking myself on him with each rock upward of my hips, but I couldn’t get him more than halfway in me. He pinched my nipple with his other hand, gently at first and then harder as he increased his speed on my clit. I cried out again and was met with a “shhh” much too soft for someone teasing me so torturously. I tried to glare at him angrily, but couldn’t keep my composure and my angry glare crumbled to desperately pleading with my eyes.

“Ple-please,” I panted, breathless.

“Please what?” His devilish smirk was doing things to me I should have been more ashamed of.

“P-please… fuck m-me. I need to feel you inside me.” That seemed to strike something in him. His eyes twinkled darkly, and he grabbed me firmly by both hips, lifting me slightly off the seats, and slammed his hips into mine. He jackhammered my pussy roughly, pushing and pulling me slightly by my hips with each time he pumped in and out. My screams were uncontrollable; they filled the car as he fucked me without mercy. I had never been fucked this hard, and my body didn’t know how to process how good it felt. My hands flew to grasp my breasts, the fabric of the seats, my hair, anything to clench my fists around firmly as I was pounded intensely.

With barely any warning, I was sent over the edge, and moaned loud and long as I came again. His hips stuttered as my walls clenched around him, still balls deep in me. “Oh, fuck,” he said breathily, and then he was coming. His hips jolted to push deeper in me a few times, and he bottomed out with a loud moan of completion.

Slowly he pulled his still half-hard cock from my dripping pussy. When I sat up the world spun around me, and my fingertips still tingled from the ripples of pleasure. We looked at each other’s messy hair and clothes and laughed. He combed his fingers through my hair in an attempt to fix it, then grabbed me gently by the chin and tugged me forward to kiss him. Soft and sweet, and not at all with the urgent tone of the sex. I smirked up at him, our faces inches apart.

“What?” he chuckled, amusedly smiling back down.

“I was just thinking something silly”

He leaned over to tug up his pants and fasten his fly. “And what might that be?”

I laughed again, then leaned over to kiss him. “Just that this party ended up being eventful after all.”

He smiled. “I love when things come full circle.”