Night of drunken Fun
The night started at a crowded bar,. I was out with my girls, dressed to kill in a glossy black skirt that clung to my thighs like a second skin, the fabric shimmering under the strobe lights, and a sheer white top that teased the outline of my curves. A few cocktails in—maybe three, maybe four—I was riding that sweet, hazy wave of tipsiness, my body warm and loose as I danced. The girls vanished into the crowd at some point, leaving me alone, swaying at the bar, when two guys zeroed in on me.
They were rough around the edges, the kind of men who don’t bother with small talk. The one in the blazer his eyes dark and hungry as they looked over me. The other, more casual, his hands already itching to touch. They didn’t even bother with names—just leaned in close, their breath hot against my ear as they suggested we leave. My head was spinning, the alcohol blurring the edges of my judgment, and I let them lead me out, one with his arm snaked possessively around my waist, the other guiding me with a firm hand on my lower back, his fingers grazing the curve of my ass.
We ended up at a seedy hotel a few streets away, a real dump I was too far gone to care.. The door barely clicked shut before they were on me. The guy in the blazer shoved me against the wall, the rough plaster scraping my shoulders as he yanked my skirt up, the tight fabric bunching around my hips. My thong was ripped aside, the cool air hitting my exposed skin for a split second before he thrust into me, hard and deep, his fingers digging into my hips so fiercely I knew I’d have bruises tomorrow. I gasped, my nails clawing at the wall as he fucked me with a brutal rhythm, his grunts mixing with the wet slap of our bodies.
The other guy watched, his eyes glinting with lust as he palmed himself through his jeans. Then they switched—Blazer stepped back, panting, and Smirk took his place, spinning me around so my hands braced against the wall. He grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back as he slammed into me, his thrusts even rougher, the angle hitting spots that made my knees buckle. My moans echoed in the cramped room, raw and desperate, as he growled filthy things in my ear—how good I felt, how they were going to ruin me.
They weren’t done. They dragged me to the bed, the springs creaking as they positioned me on all fours, my skirt still bunched around my waist, my top hanging loose. Blazer knelt in front of me, unzipping his pants to free himself, his cock hard and glistening as he gripped my hair and shoved himself into my mouth. I gagged at first, the taste of him salty and overwhelming, but he didn’t let up, fucking my throat with the same relentless pace as Smirk took me from behind, his hands slapping my ass hard enough to sting. They spit-roasted me like that, their movements synchronized, one filling my mouth while the other pounded into me, the bed shaking beneath us. Every few minutes they’d switch, Smirk’s rough hands replacing Blazer’s in my hair, Blazer’s thrusts deeper and harder from behind, their groans growing louder as they used me.
Finally, they pulled me off the bed and onto my knees on the carpet. My chest heaved, my body slick with sweat, my lips swollen and wet as I looked up at them. They stood over me, stroking themselves, their breaths ragged. “Open your mouth,” Smirk growled, and I did, my tongue out as they both came at once, their hot, thick release splattering across my face, dripping down my chin, some landing on my tongue. I swallowed what I could, the taste salty and sharp, as they zipped up, exchanged a look, and walked out without a word.
I sat there for a moment, my thighs trembling, my face stick. I wiped myself off with a scratchy towel from the bathroom, pulled my skirt down, and slipped out into the night, the cool air a shock.
After the raw intensity of the hotel room, I slipped back into the night, my body still humming with the aftermath. My phone buzzed in my bag, cutting through the haze of my thoughts. It was a text from my girls: “We’re the Club, two minutes away—where’d you go?! Come dance!” The adrenaline from earlier mixed with the l buzz of the alcohol, and I didn’t hesitate. I smoothed my skirt, and headed toward the club, my heels clicking against the pavement.
The club was a chaotic swirl of flashing lights and pounding bass when I arrived. I spotted my girls near the dance floor, their laughter cutting through the music as they waved me over. They didn’t ask where I’d been—they were too drunk, too caught up in the moment—and I wasn’t about to tell them. We threw ourselves into the music, bodies pressed close in the crowd, my skirt riding up as I moved, my sheer top sticking to my sweat-slick skin. The beat pulsed through me, each thump syncing with the heat still simmering between my thighs. I danced with abandon, grinding against strangers, my hands in the air, losing myself in the rhythm until the early hours of the morning.
By the time I stumbled out of the club, it was past 3 a.m., and I was a mess—drunk, dishevelled, and aching with a new kind of need. The cab ride home was a blur, as I squirmed in the backseat, my thoughts drifting to my husband waiting at home. I was still in my club outfit, the shiny black skirt now wrinkled, my top clinging to me, my makeup smudged but my body buzzing with horny energy.
I fumbled with my keys at the door, the sound echoing through our quiet house, and made my way to the bedroom, not even trying to be subtle. I pushed the door open with a clumsy clatter, the noise jolting my husband awake. He groaned, squinting at me in the dim light, his voice thick with sleep. “Babe? What time is it?” But I didn’t answer—I was already climbing onto the bed, my heels still on, my skirt hiked up as I straddled his legs.
I yanked the covers down, my hands greedy as I reached for his cock. He was half-hard already, stirring under my touch, and I didn’t waste a second. I leaned down, taking him into my mouth in one swift motion, my lips stretching around him as I deep-throated him messily. I gagged hard, the sound wet and obscene in the quiet room, my throat constricting as I pushed myself down further, spit dripping down his shaft. He groaned, his hands fisting the sheets, his hips jerking up instinctively as I worked him, my tongue swirling around the head every time I pulled back for air.
I popped off with a gasp, a string of saliva connecting my lips to his cock as I wrapped my hand around him, stroking him fast and sloppy. “I had the wildest night,” I panted, my voice hoarse, my eyes locked on his as I wanked him. “I lost the girls for a bit… ended up with two guys at this cheap hotel.” His eyes widened, but I kept going, the words spilling out as I pumped him harder. “They fucked me so rough, babe—one after the other, then both at once. They spit-roasted me, kept switching, and then came all over my face.” I gagged myself on him again, taking him deep until my eyes watered, the memory of the night fuelling my need. I pulled off again, my hand still working him, my breath hot against his skin. “Then I found the girls, danced my ass off at the club but I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”
He groaned louder, his cock twitching in my hand, and I knew he was close. I didn’t stop—my messy, drunken hunger driving me as I alternated between sucking him and telling him every filthy detail, my own arousal soaking through my thong as I brought him to the edge.
I could feel my husband’s cock throbbing in my hand as I spilled every filthy detail of my night, my voice slurring with drunken lust. His groans were getting louder, his hips twitching beneath me, and I knew he was on the edge—but I wasn’t done with him yet. My own need was clawing at me, my thong soaked through, my body screaming for release after the night I’d had. I let go of his cock for a moment, my hands fumbling as I hitched my glossy black skirt up higher, the fabric bunching around my waist like it had in that hotel room. I didn’t even bother taking my thong off—I just yanked it to the side, my Hold up stockings still in place.
I sank down onto his cock in one swift motion, a loud moan ripping from my throat as he filled me, stretching me in that perfect, familiar way. My hands braced against his chest, nails digging into his skin as I started to ride him, hard and fast, my hips rolling with desperate rhythm. The bed creaked beneath us, the headboard thudding against the wall as I fucked him, my skirt flapping against my thighs, my sheer top clinging to my sweat-drenched skin. “Fuck, you feel so good,” I gasped, my voice raw, my head thrown back as I chased my release. The memory of the two guys from earlier flashed through my mind—their rough hands, their relentless thrusts—and it pushed me closer, my walls clenching around him as I slammed down harder.
It didn’t take long. The pressure built fast, and then I was cumming—hard. I screamed his name, my orgasm tearing through me, my body shaking as I ground down on him, my thighs trembling, my juices soaking his cock. The sound of my climax echoed through the room, loud and unapologetic, my voice cracking as I rode out the waves, my nails leaving red marks on his chest.
I collapsed forward for a moment, panting against his neck, my body still twitching with aftershocks. But I wasn’t done—I wanted to finish him the way I’d started, messy and raw. I climbed off him, my legs shaky as I slid down between his thighs, his cock glistening with my arousal. I didn’t hesitate, wrapping my lips around him again, tasting myself on him as I took him deep into my throat. My mouth stretched wide, my jaw aching as I forced him down, my throat convulsing around his length. I gagged hard, the sound a wet, choking gurgle that filled the room, my eyes watering as I pushed myself further, my nose brushing against his pelvis. Drool spilled from the corners of my mouth, thick and messy, dripping down my chin in long, glistening strands that pooled on his thighs, mixing with the sweat and slick already coating him.
I pulled back for a second, gasping for air, a thick rope of saliva still connecting my lips to his cock as I coughed, my chest heaving. My hands gripped his thighs, nails digging in as I dove back in, my throat burning as I took him even deeper, choking myself on him again. The gagging was louder this time, a desperate, wet retch that made my whole body shudder, spit bubbling at the edges of my lips as I bobbed my head, my tongue pressed flat against the underside of his shaft. I was a mess—drool dripping down my neck, my makeup smeared, tears streaming from my eyes as I worked him, my gags mixing with the obscene slurping sounds of my mouth fucking him with reckless abandon.
“Fuck, babe—I’m gonna cum,” he groaned, his voice strained, his hands fisting my hair as he bucked into my mouth, forcing himself even deeper. I moaned around him, the vibration sending him over the edge. He came with a guttural grunt, his cock pulsing as he shot down my throat, the hot, salty flood overwhelming me. I tried to swallow, but there was too much, and I choked again, my throat spasming as some of it spilled out, mixing with the drool already coating my chin. I pulled back just as the last spurts hit, his cum splattering across my face, warm and sticky, landing on my cheeks, my lips, dripping down to my jaw. I stayed there for a moment, gasping, my lips swollen, my face a dripping mess of spit and cum as I looked up at him, his chest heaving, his eyes dark with satisfaction.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, a lazy, drunken grin spreading across my face as I collapsed beside him, my skirt still bunched up, my body spent. The room was quiet now, the early morning light creeping through the curtains.
The next day , I woke up sprawled across the bed, still in my crumpled black skirt and sheer white top, the fabric sticking to my skin with dried sweat. My head pounded with a vicious hangover, each throb a reminder of the night’s excess, and as I blinked against the harsh sunlight streaming through the curtains, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror—my face a wreck, streaked with smeared makeup, mascara running down my cheeks in black rivers, and crusted patches of cum still clinging to my chin and jaw, a messy testament to the wild, unfiltered chaos of the night before.
