Today I’m in a exhausted and happy post-Eroticon haze. Today’s post is dedicated to the fabulous people who I sat in a pub in London with after Eroticon in said exhausted-yet-happy post-Eroticon haze. There is a slight possibility that I left a tiny bit earlier than I needed to for my train because we were talking about ridiculously hot things and I started imagining them all fucking me.
I really am the least subtle person ever.
Thank you to Girl on the Net for helping me turn this smut into aural filth as part of her audio porn project:
Listen as audio
One minute we’re sitting at the table. There are glasses of wine and tall glasses of chilled drinks filed with ice on the table. The talk is mildly erotic, but I feel like it is affecting me more than the others. I shift in my seat, wondering if they know what their words are doing to me. I excuse myself to the bathroom, and when I’m sitting on the toilet I lean down and sniff my wet knickers. My cunt smells wonderful.
I compose myself, splashing water on my face, before I re-join them. When I get back to the table, something has changed. There is an excited electricity among my companions, and several of them are trying to conceal smirks. I roll my eyes, wondering what joke or innuendo I missed out on. There is a beat of silence as they exchange excited grins.
It’s him who turns to me – of course it is – with the look that makes me want to hold his gaze and look away blushing simultaneously.
“We know what you want, you filthy slut, and we’re going to give it to you.”
My mind barely has time to process these knicker-soaking words before the girl next to me has grabbed my shoulder and spun me to face her. It’s a kiss I’ve been imagining for days, and it is everything I hoped it would be. Soft and sweet to start with, then turning more forcefully, and she bites my lower lip as she pulls away.
I’m breathless, but again I’m not allowed to recover before I’m being grabbed from behind. They’ve moved the glasses off the table and I’m pushed forward before I can struggle. There are hands on my hips and on my back; my tits are squished into the wood and I turn my head to the side to breathe. I wiggle, but they pin me down firmly. The girl who kissed me carefully removes my glasses – which is good, because I don’t want them to get broken, but somehow makes me feel even more exposed and vulnerable.
Someone lifts my skirt, but I don’t have time to tense before the first hand comes down on my arse. There are hard spanks falling on both cheeks, but even as I give a little moan of pain I can feel the wetness beginning to drip down my legs. Even through my fishnets, the strikes hurt like hell in the most wonderful way. Then there come lighter slaps on the inside of my thighs, and I’m ordered to spread my legs. I obey, and hear the sound of my tights being ripped. My knickers are pushed aside, and a slim finger is thrust inside me.
“She’s so wet.”
“Can I taste?” The finger my cunt is pulled away, and I give a sigh that is swallowed by a squeal as my pussy receives as firm spank instead. I feel the weight in the hands that started on my shoulders (only one hand is now pressing down between my shoulder blades, while the other has slipped underneath me to grope my right boob) shift, as whoever is holding me leans forward. I try to look up and see one woman suck my juices off another’s finger, but she’s still holding me down firmly.
I can feel a firm, satisfying erection pressing into my hip and I bite my lip. There are two fingers in my cunt now, and my top has been pushed up to allow someone to drag their nails down my back and sides, making me shiver. With two people spanking me, I cannot find a pattern and with every hit I’m letting out a strangled moan that’s half-pleasure, half-pain. His words cut through the overwhelming sensations:
“Now she’s had her beating, is our little slut going to be good while we all fuck her?”
I nod eagerly, desperate to be fucked. They move faster than I expect them to, and I find myself being flipped over. I’m halfway through a fucking hell when my legs are pushed up and apart, and the tip of a silicone cock presses against my cunt. Hands pin me down. Comments are made about how helpless I look. She begins to fuck me, and I close my eyes to absorb everything happening to me.
I can feel the throb of my red bottom against the wooden table. I hear the snip of scissors and my eyes spring open. I try to raise my head and see what’s happening, but there someone pushing my head to the side and kissing along my jaw-bone and down my neck. I feel my shirt being cut away fabric pushed aside, exposing more flesh to be bitten and sucked and slapped and kissed and squeezed and groped.
Someone pinches my nipples between long nails and beings to twist them. I gasp, and reach out a hand to resist but it’s snatched and pulled to the side. Even with my head turned away, I can tell that my hand is being drawn under a skirt and towards a vulva. I think I can guess whose, but when she guides my fingers into her wet heat I stop caring.
Trying to finger a girl while your cunt is mercilessly fucked is enough of a challenge in itself, and then he appears in front of me. My head is close enough to the edge of the table that I know what his intention is even before he begins to unbutton his jeans. As the girl who wasn’t wearing a bra – and who had been trying to bend over and show off as much of her tits as possible to the people who are now fucking me throughout the evening – I can’t really comment on his lack of underwear, but I still smile.
Until he’s telling me to open my mouth so he can fuck my slutty hole.
Image sourced through Pixabay.
Quinn Rhodes (he/him) is a queer, trans, disabled sex writer with vaginismus. He’s a slut and a sex nerd who writes about his adventures in trying to fuck without fucking up. Quinn can usually be found wearing stomp-on-the-patriarchy boots while falling in love every time he fucks.