Thick cock slapped against her lax, sweat-soaked face. Kat knelt on the gritty concrete, pebbles and bits of glass biting at her knees as she slipped the angry head of his shaft between her lips, teasing the underside with her warm wet tongue, giving the stranger hovering above her a scorching blast of doe-y eye contact as she sucked him.
Another cock nestled against her cheek, quivering, leaking pre-cum, leaving a glistening trail of it along her jawline.
Fuck. She was on fire. Her nipples pressed against the thin material of her blouse, so sensitive she gasped with each movement. The insistent smell of sex leaked from her pussy. She pulled the cock out of her mouth, stroking it. “Call me a slut,” she moaned. “Tell me I’m a slut for cock.”
The second cock slapped against her cheek. The faceless voice above it growled, “You look so slutty, a cock in your mouth and a cock slapping in your face.”
She moaned in reaction, arching her back.
The other man joined in. “Choke on it. Suck that cock like a good girl.”
His words inflamed her. She dived at his cock, took him deep into her throat, gagging on the length of him. The sight of it was so hot the second man fisted his member and began to jerk off on her face. She knew what a filthy fantasy she was, playing the role: a hot slut hungry for cock. She was the one in control; they were helpless at the sight of her.
She allowed them to use her mouth like a wet hole to be fucked. They took turns, grabbing her pony tail like it was a rein, thrusting their greedy cocks into her throat, gagging her even as she opened wide to take it all. Mascara ran down her cheeks. Her lipstick smeared bright red across her lips.
She took one of the men--they had no individual identity to her--deeper in her throat as she fondled his balls with her hand. He cried out, thrusting forward. “Take it all, suck my cock, oh, fuck, I’m gonna cum, make me cum, swallow my cum.”
She slid his cock out of her mouth then, and took him in her tiny palm as she teased the tip of him with her tongue, locking her eyes on his, taking full control. She licked at his cockhead with birdlike darts of her tongue as the man’s legs trembled. She knew he was close; she could taste it. She massaged the cock in her hand until his length began to jerk and throb, then expertly took him again in her mouth as he began to spurt load after load into her open throat.
When he finished, she turned to the other cock and opened her mouth, offering her cum-lined lips and tongue to him, a gift. Of course he could not resist the sight. His hot cum slashed across her lips in a diagonal, rope upon slippery rope.
She waited several intoxicating moments before licking it from her lips, demure and ladylike, eyelids downcast. A single drop of pearly white clung to her jaw before succumbing to gravity and dropping onto her dress, soaking into the material, inches away from her hardened nipple poking through the thin white cloth.
She stole a glance at the strained face in the window two floors above the alley. She saw the flick of his cigarette lighter and the glow of the cherry on the end of the cigarette. It was a trick they used, so she could tell which window he watched from.
Only the hollows of his face showed in the swirl of smoke and harsh shadows of the dark room where he stood. She couldn’t see his eyes but she knew he watched. He always watched.
The nameless men around her tucked their limp, wet cocks into their pants silently, unsure of what should be said, what was allowed. Eventually they walked off awkwardly, one at a time, deeper into the alley, toward the far corner, where city traffic brayed, and were forgotten.
Only after she was alone did she fully meet the eyes of the man who watched her from the window. She slid two fingers into her torn panties, teasing her pussy lips, performing for him. He smiled a tight smile and beckoned her forward with a single curled finger. She resisted, a brat now, sliding her fingers between her pussy lips and then suddenly inside her. She gasped, closed her eyes, and began fucking her wet pussy furiously with both fingers, her mouth open, cum staining her chin and lips and tongue.
She came in the shadow of the streetlight, alone, just for him.
#
Jake collected her before she had a chance to get lost or hurt, wrapping his sweater around her shoulders. Her head hung down as she balanced on the cusp of consciousness, nodding. He extended a hand, she looked up to him and took it, and he lifted her from the grit and filth of the concrete floor of the alley. He put his arm around her and led her out into the crass neon of the Los Angeles night. He shielded her from the prying looks of strangers as he led her to the door of the grungy, sparsely furnished downtown apartment they’d rented for exactly this purpose.
Her trust in him was so total she closed her eyes as he led her, trusting him to guide her to someplace safe and protected. She opened them only long enough to navigate the doorway of the room and the short distance to the cheap futon they’d put in the corner, dropping pieces of clothes along the way, finally collapsing onto the bed nearly naked. She closed her eyes again and waited on the verge of sleep for him to join her in bed. When he did, she stretched like a cat and curled her body around him, falling instantly into sleep. He stroked her head as she tunneled deeper into dreams, purring like a kitten.
Twelve hours later she awoke, a blank slate, to the scent of coffee. He sat on the edge of the bed and handed her a cup.
Outside the window, the world was bright sunny normalcy. Shoppers and office workers hustled by, eyes on the sidewalk ahead. It was a different world out there now.
“How long did I sleep?”
“Half the day. You slept well. You had a bit of a nightmare, in the middle of the night.” He kissed her forehead.
“Did I enjoy myself?” she asked. “Last night?”
He smiled. “You did.”
“And did you enjoy yourself?”
“I did. And we’ll enjoy it together again, tonight.”
“It’s a date.” She felt a small restlessness in her pussy, like the tingle of a bell.
He read the paper with his coffee while she slowly roused herself from sleep. She examined herself in the mirror. Her mouth was sore, her neck slightly bruised, her nipples raw and sore, but by the time she’d finished with her shower she felt fully refreshed. Little trace of the night before showed in the mirror as she brushed her hair and applied minimal makeup.
A look of scorching heat passed between them as she exited the bathroom.
They went out for breakfast, taking their time, spinning small talk, people-watching, enjoying the lazy day. Their date later that night sat between them, unspoken yet the center of most of their attention. They teased each other over the course of the day, with small gestures, gentle touches, sexy words.
They returned not to the apartment they woke up in, but their home, familiar photos and furniture, comforting and welcoming, full of light, as different from the earlier room as the previous night and the current day. He did some work from home, remotely, in his office on the second floor. She tended the garden, fed the cats, read awhile.
They met again early in the evening, paths recrossing in the kitchen, as they improvised a quick and easy dinner. Conversation during preparation was subdued and flirty, and as they took their places at the table the flirtation slowly morphed into something bigger, more urgent.
He did the dishes. She showered again, her entire body humming as the water sluiced down her naked skin. When she exited the shower, he was already in bed. She joined him there, naked.
It was time.
#
His cock was already hard as he started to talk.
“We sat together at the bar, you and I. You looked so hot. That dress is so sexy. Your lips were so red and full. I could see your nipples hardening through your dress as you thought about the coming evening. Every man in the bar wanted you. Quite a few women too probably.”
His cock pulsed, involuntarily. “You gave me a sweet little smile and took an Ambien about 9 p.m. That smile, my love. So potent. I wanted to fuck you right then and there. As we waited for it to hit, I left you alone at the bar and took a seat at a nearby table. Soon you had someone sitting down next to you, buying you a drink.”
“I remember a little of that. Before the veil slipped over me. He was sexy.”
“You certainly seemed to think so last night.”
The skin above her chest flushed. Her nipples hardened suddenly. She remembered the guy sitting next to her, ordering her a martini, looking not so surreptitiously down her blouse as they talked.
“Another man sat down at your other side. I couldn’t hear what any of you were saying. But you looked so fucking hot. Just radiating sex. Waves of it coming off you, effortlessly. The whole damn bar wanted to fuck you.”
She knew it was true. It was not a persona she tried on often. Its novelty is what made it so potent. She reached out, lightly brushing his balls with her fingertips as her spoke. His cock jumped at her touch. She felt her pussy twitch in perfect synchronization with his cock.
“You touched both of them, a lot. Teasing touches on their arms at first, a schoolgirl-with-a-crush sort of tease. As the liquor flowed your hands began to find their way down to their legs, their thighs, and their hands began to find you.”
At the ragged edge of her memory, right before the black hole carved out by the Ambien, she felt their hands on her, sitting at the bar in public, as her nipples grew noticeably hard, spurring both men onward, along with the liquor. Their cocks grew hard in concert with her nipples. Hands groped drunkenly at her tits as she laughed and flirted and trailed her fingertips along their thighs.
The last thing she remembered was one of the men leaning into her ear and whispering, “I need to fuck you right now.” He took her hand and led her to the back of the bar.
Her husband continued. “One of them whispered something and took you to the bathroom. The men’s room of course. I listened by the door but didn’t go in. I’m pretty sure he fucked you in the stall, because you came out with your skirt hiked up and all twisted, your tits hanging out. The other guy waited at the bar.”
She fondled her nipple with her free hand, the other moving up to stroke his cock. “It turns me on to have my tits hanging out in public.”
He reached out and took her other breast in hand, fondly her gently, feeling her skin heart up under his touch. He tweaked her nipple hard. She made a low guttural sound and snarked.
“It turns me on to see you turned on. You are such a hot slut. I love to watch you tease. I love to watch your face as talk to men, knowing how hard you are making them. I love to watch you grab a stranger’s cock.”
“I do it for you,” she said.
She snarled again as he pinched her nipple, harder now. “I know you do it for me. After you got back from the bathroom there were no more rules. You had this just-fucked look on your face that make me rock hard. The two strangers took turns grabbing at your tits, biting at your mouth and neck. Your hands were in both their laps. In full view of everyone. Every man in that bar thought of you as they fucked their wives last night.”
“And what will you think of?” she asked as she reached out to the base of his cock and began to stroke him. “What will you think of when you fuck your wife? Will you think of me too?” A drop of pre-cum rolled lazily from the top of his cock and dripped slowly down his shaft. She wiped it up with the pad of her thumb and rubbed it into the tip of his cock. He moaned, his entire body shuddering. “Will you think of that little slut at the bar who was so hungry for cock?”
She rolled over on the bed and straddled him. He licked and sucked at her nipples as slid her wet slit against his hard shaft, taking the head of his cock directly between her pussy lips before tilting her hips to avoid any penetration.
The tease, always the tease. He tried to enter her, she kept pulling her wet entrance away, refusing him. “Not yet, stud. Tell me more. You haven’t finished your story.”
His breath was ragged, his voice hoarse, his hips rocking forward. “I think you were all about to get kicked out of there. For, like, pretty much fucking right there on the bar. I walked up to the three of you—you barely even noticed me, you were so horny—and whispered to one of them where they could take you. He was so desperate to fuck you he didn’t even question me. You got off your stool and took them both by the hand and led them outside to the alleyway we’d agreed upon, the one next to our little fuck-pad. I left the bar and hurried to the apartment. I pulled out my cock just as you knelt down in front of both of them. You laughed as they let their cocks loose. Pure lust in your eyes. Your mouth hung open, ready to be used. God, you are so fucking hot.”
She let him enter then, and in one fevered thrust he was inside her, pumping furiously.
#
Kat’s best friend Jen had given her the idea. She always had some new kink up her sleeve, some clandestine story to tell. Kat was angry at Jake for openly checking out the ass of some young girl at a party. She told Jen all about it. Unlike Jen, she felt jealous and inadequate when she compared herself to other women. She wanted to be wilder, more unpredictable, sexually dangerous. She wanted to be more like Jen, with her signature black choker, her exotic perfumes, her perfectly toned body.
Jen told her about Ambien.
Jen’s doctor had prescribed it to for sleep. She took it the first night, creatively interpreting the “Do not take with alcohol” to mean “Pair with a nice glass of wine or two,” and shortly after finishing her first glass fell into a black hole of memory. A twelve-hour period where she remembered nothing.
Her boyfriend remembered it all. He awoke the next morning with an unfamiliar smile on his face. He fucked her hard that morning, telling her about all the things she allowed him to do—all the things she begged him to do—the night before. He restrained her wrists and tied her to the headboard, straddling her neck as he fucked her mouth, moved down her body to fuck her tits, and then finally drove himself deep into her pussy and flooding it with hot cum.
“People sleepwalk on Ambien,” said Jen. “They drive their cars, make entire meals. They fuck too. It’s a thing. Like, a documented thing. Ambien sex. No inhibitions. It’s great.”
Kat wondered how great it could be if she couldn’t remember any of it. Jen told her she noticed the bruises on her wrists and neck and tits as she dressed the next morning. She touched and fondled her bruises through her clothes during work, and came home so hot and wet she nearly tackled her boyfriend as he came through the door, fucking him on the floor before heading into the bedroom. Something about not remembering being fucked, but finding evidence of it all over her body in the form of hand-shaped bruises and bitemarks on her ass, drove her libido into overdrive.
Kat wanted to be able to abandon herself the way Jen had.
The first night she didn’t tell Jake. She took the Ambien in the bathroom with the door locked. After she took it she stared into the bathroom mirror. Did she feel sexier? Did she look sexier? What did she want? What was she willing to do?
Who was she?
Her head started to feel a little light, as if it were a balloon attached to her body by an increasingly long stretch of string. She took off her bra, watching herself intently in the mirror, the flush of the skin of her chest, her now painfully erect nipples. She unbuttoned a button on her blouse, then a second, then a third.
Now or never.
She walked out of the bathroom and to her husband as he watched television on the couch downstairs.
They had the hottest, filthiest sex of their short marriage. Too bad she couldn’t remember a thing.
She told him the next night. Confessed. Told him about the girl at the party, and the jealousy, and Jen, and the Ambien. She explained she’d gotten a prescription from her own doctor.
It became their private plaything. She’d take a pill with a glass of wine on a Friday or Saturday night, and wait for the sexual fireworks to begin. They’d fuck long into the night, and Kat would awake with bruises and bites and an empty hole in place of her memories. They’d do their weekend thing, putter around on the lawn, go grocery shopping, maybe see a movie. All the while Saturday night was on her mind. She felt her body preparing for it, a small patient electricity in her pussy, a certain easy sensitivity in her breasts.
On Saturday night he’d tell her about Friday night. If Friday night was for him, Saturday night was for her. She’d listen to him tell her all about what she did, like she was a character in a movie, a character without her hang-ups and inhibitions, a character who was confident in her sexuality, and primal in her hungers.
It stayed a private plaything for several months. Just the two of them, in the safe cocoon of the bedroom, conjuring fantasy partners when necessary, but never opening their private fantasies to others.
Bringing in a woman was her idea. They started fucking even before she was through telling him she wanted to try it. She came hard, imagining her husband watching as she fucked a beautiful stranger’s pussy with her tongue.
He rented the downtown apartment for them within the week. Small and sparsely furnished, the apartment held a rickety kitchen table with two chairs and a yellowed mattress. A torn shade hung askew over the dirty window that overlooked the alley. The water from the kitchen tap ran brown for the first several seconds. A closet door opened from the far wall.
The woman they chose was a stranger. Her husband brought her to them. He said she was the roommate of an open-minded co-worker. The three of them met for drinks, got to know each other, set down some basic ground rules. Enthusiastic consent. No pictures or video. No extraneous communication. No emotions. No repeat partners.
It was so fucking hot.
Or rather, Kat’s husband told her it was hot. When she awoke, the woman was gone. Kat woke up free of the usual bruises and bites and handprints, though the smell of sex and perfume that came from the sheets was intoxicating, and told as much about their night as her husband’s narrative, when they relived it for themselves.
After that, there was no going back. No way to wrestle that particular cat back into the bag.
You can’t unring a bell.
#
The next weekend found them at a favorite restaurant, no alternate intentions in Kat’s mind other than a good meal. Jake pulled the Ambien out of his pocket just after they’d finished the appetizer. Then he pulled out a second one.
“A surprise,” he said. “Take two. Let’s see what happens.”
He flashed her the loving, sexy, predatory smile she could never say no to. She popped both pills in her mouth as he poured her another glass of wine. They touched and teased as Kat’s world tilted and went askew. She remembered a few details: her unshod foot in his crouch, massaging him into hardness; a hurried grope in the bathroom with two men, one who was probably her husband; and then a bonkers cab ride back to a club, where she was sandwiched between two men, eyes closed as hands glided over her body. She came twice in the cab, before they’d even reached their destination.
That, she’d remembered.
Kat floated on the cusp of consciousness, trying to keep all the pieces of the puzzle in her head at once. Her husband was nowhere to be seen. She vaguely remembered the two of them arriving together. She wasn’t sure exactly what kind of place this was. A speakeasy, a private club, someone’s personal bar? All she knew was that no outside sign pointed to the place, and no money changed hands.
The club was decorated in shades of red and black. Plush chairs and lounges circled around small tables. Lights were low, and the music was subdued. Kat saw no servers offering drink or food, but she felt eyes on her from all corners of the room, the weight and gravity of the male gaze apparent from the layout. Shadowed figures moved in the periphery of her vision.
Did her husband go back to the apartment?
She thought maybe he was there, waiting for her. As she tried to recollect his whereabouts, a young man stood behind her, rubbing her shoulders, a loser move that in Kat’s mind was used by impotent middle managers and next door neighbors trying unsuccessfully to get laid. She was uninterested. She knew how the game worked. She held all the cards. So, she ignored his touch and his words, soon he got discouraged and left. Other men took his place. There were always men to take the place of other men.
One of the men soon grew uneasy with the competition and left.
Two remained.
No. wait. One of them was a woman. She flung a thick head of red hair whenever she laughed. She laughed often.
