I am Mahia, 20 years old from Bangladesh and I become a crazy little whore every once in a while.

This one is such a night.

Drunk and wasted, Sathil pushed me against the walls of the stranger’s washroom, his hands caressing my little curves while drinking me in with his tongue. I could feel his member against my pelvis, more than ready to push into my wet vagina. 

The lust and inebriation had thrown us in a daze, such that we didn’t mind our surroundings in the washroom anymore.

The loud music played on and thumped against the back of my skull, as he kissed and sucked on my neck and the wetness of his saliva tugged at whatever senses remained after drowning myself in cheap beer. Before we knew it, we were gasping for breath and our bodies were intertwined; my crotch looking for solace by grinding against his bulge.

And somewhere in the battle for some more air in our passionate ride, I heard him whisper, ‘I love you’. And that managed to tick even my numb brain off.

I broke my tongue free of his and my hands started struggling with his confused hands. The tussle distorting his face in sudden confusion, only for him to slowly realize that he had brought love into a picture that I wanted to be painted purely with the colors of unadulterated adultery.

He resented the disappointment that it brought into me, but there was nothing left to say as I’d already started walking away and out of the washroom to the party. I still didn’t know whose party I was in, but I didn’t really care. 

I’d followed Sathil into this mess of sweaty bodies, trying to hump and grind their way into pleasure to the groove of intoxicating music, for some recklessness. But ‘love’ was a road too reckless even for me that night.

So I wriggled my way in the crowd and decided to enter a room whose door was crowded and overflowing with men howling in amusement. After making my way through the bottleneck crowd, I realized that there were only a handful of people inside the room. 

It took me a while to realize what was happening in the half-empty room that was being watched by at least three times the number of people from the door.

It looked like an episode of a gang-bang first, but I realized that the music in the room was oriental and the girl in the centre of the room was too busy taking turns in choking over the penises of five men around her. I assumed that this was a bukkake arrangement, and I decided in my drunken rage that the girl wasn’t doing a job good enough for a crowd so amused.

If cum eating was what they wanted, I decided that I could give them a better show. So I started stripping carelessly and drunkenly, and almost tripped over my own pants as I could hear men whistling to my now naked body. The men turned away from the girl in surprise and confusion, only to hear me say, “Go away, girl. Let me do this.”

She didn’t like how I waved my hand at her to throw her out of the spotlight, so she scowled and let out a small whine with a dick still in her mouth. But I didn’t care; I was mad and wanted distraction from the recent strike of unwanted love from a sincere man I had been playing around with. 

I was mad at myself for being so incapable of love, so this was my way of defeating the idea of love and giving it a symbolic ‘fuck you’ by choking on strangers’ penises.

There’s nothing twisted about the idea to me, especially when I’m tripping over air in drunkenness. So I grabbed hold of one of the penises being rubbed by its owners hands and waiting to be sucked by an inviting mouth and took it in my mouth. Before I knew it, there were three more naked men waiting around me to be played with, and I couldn’t care any less about the girl I’d stolen all the attention from.

I took a break from sucking the dick to spit on my hands and grabbed hold of two other dicks, and went back to choking on the first dick. The choking made my eyes tear up and I must have tugged a little too hard on the other two dicks with my hands in a reflex.

I could feel the men wince in pain. I pulled the dick out of my mouth and mouthed a small, cute ‘sorry’ to one of the hurt men. Or at least, I tried to be cute.

I tried not to worry too much about what my face looked like now – wasted and choking on multiple dicks. But I tried being cute while mouthing my apology anyway and took his dick in my mouth, and my hands started looking for another pair of dicks.

My drunken brain was starting to take mental notes of how I had to take turns and please all the men in the queue. Now that I look back in sobriety, I realize I’m quite mentally competent even in drunkenness. 

It was a bit tiring- occupying both my hands with handjobs and choking on one.

It was proving to be worth something as they began tightening up towards their climaxes, and one by one, cumshots started pouring in my direction. One even made sure to pull my mouth open to make sure that I’d be eating the cum. They started spacing away, breathing heavily and one even collapsing on a bean bag.

I wiped some of the cum off my mouth and turned to look at the crowd.

I saw a lanky, awkward kid stroking his penis inside his pants, and it was more flattering than ridiculous. So I signaled at him with a finger and gestured at him to come towards me for a treat. It took him a while to realize that I was gesturing at him, but eventually, he chose to believe that I wanted to suck his dick.

I had to make him feel comfortable by pulling his pants down, only to be pleasantly surprised by a good size. I made sure to respect the traditions of bukkake, and turned at the crowd to scream, “I need more men, you know?”

More followed suit; they were more than excited. Some tripped over their belts in excitement while I took over the lanky kid’s dick and happily choked on it. Before I could realize, four more dicks surrounded my face and I realized that I had been tending to groups of four both the time.

I also realized one of the men in this group was an Arab because he cheerily shouted out “Yalla habibti.”

I laughed and tugged at his balls and he pulled my hair in response.

This was getting exciting.

Four more cumshots eventually followed and all the cum-eating was beginning to nauseate me. So much cum paired with so much alcohol and drugs could not be a good idea. But the men were happy, and I felt proud. By the time I could swallow all that come and wipe some off my tits, I realized there was another group of four getting ready to serve their cum on my face.

I took a deep breath and was beginning to give up on so much sucking and rubbing. But I turned around and caught a glimpse of Sathil standing at the door, almost in disbelief. I could sense disappointment in him, and a little rage too. A part of me wanted to defy that sense of belonging in him that he thought gave him the right to be disappointed in me for sucking others’ dicks.

So I tied my hair up in a bun and geared up, saying, “Alright. Let’s do another round. But this is the last one.” I didn’t bother informing them that I could be throwing up if I had to choke on any more penises.

I was too smart to scare them off. So I began taking more dicks in my mouth, one after the other – one in my mouth, two in my hands, and one being wanked to me.

I felt accomplished but that didn’t stop me from gagging frequently. I could feel the mess of alcohol and previously fed tacos in my tummy churning uncomfortably. But I went ahead anyway, eventually taking cumshots in my mouth and some even on my hair.

I licked the cum off my hair and tits and ate it away, pleasing the freshly served exasperated men.

I was beginning to gag a little now, and was too tired to pick myself up. But I managed to grab my clothes and make a grand exit out of the room, getting my ass spanked by a number of hands I couldn’t find faces for. 

A few scream out aloud from within the crowd, calling me a ‘glorious hoe’ and such.

I couldn’t care less. I needed to find a toilet to throw puke into; I knew I barely had ten seconds before emptying my guts over someone’s heels or shoes.

I ran into the washroom I had found myself previously making out with Sathil in and bent right away over the toilet to throw up. And it was a terrible mess. Throwing up had never been this painful, and I could feel my guts turning over in revolt. Even my drunken brain told me I should be taking better care of my body, but I had little time to console it; I was too busy vomiting.

I couldn’t even catch my breath, so it’s not hard to imagine that I had little chance to pull my hair back after it had broken loose of the bun in my war against my guts. But I felt gentle hands on my neck, pulling my hair back and massaging my back smoothly.

One hand even came forward and offered to hold one of my hands as I threw up, and I held it tight in support.

I eventually threw up all I could and gasped for air. My eyes were shut and teary and I hated myself and my recklessness. I slowly opened my eyes and wiped the tears off. I finally got the chance to look at the hands that were consoling me, and found familiar chocolate brown skin holding me from the back.

I saw Sathil staring back at me from his vantage point and I turned around and saw his face gently screening me in caution, care and even sincerity.

All of a sudden, I felt guilt strike me harder than any pang of nausea, and I knew that even the hangover that would follow later wouldn’t be as bad as what I was feeling now. I cupped his face in my hand without realizing it, and in being gentle to him, I felt warmth seeping into me.

“Thank you. For this… I feel so reckless, and tired…”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m sorry… about what I said before… I know you don’t want any of this…”

“Yeah… no… don’t be sorry. It’s okay.”

An awkward silence followed, where I tried not to meet his eyes because they reminded me of a sincerity that only irrevocable and irrational love could offer- a kind of love I was too cynical to believe in. But I didn’t even care about getting up or cleaning up; his gentle hold was too warm and lovely.

I ended up resting my tired head on his chest, and he slowly whispered, “I’m sorry, but I do love you.”

“I know. Don’t be sorry. It’s not so bad after all.”