by Jade West
Fingers first, stretching my pussy and pressing against the cock in my ass. A thumb at my clit, and I was groaning, begging.
“Fill me up, please, fill me up. Fuck yes, fuck me right up...”
Another rustle and tear of paper and another fat dick pressing at my slit. It hurt as he forced entry, but I didn’t fucking care. Two strangers sandwiched me, pressed me tight between them; they smelled of sex and sweat, grunting and groaning and pumping me hard.
“Dirty bitch, that’s right. Fucking take it.”
“I’m taking it,” I gasped as the dick in my ass shoved so deep.
“You want this, don’t you baby? Stretched around two fat fucking dicks. You feel so fucking good, don’t you?”
“Yes!” I cried as he slammed me again.
Hands on my shoulders now, holding me, pressing me down on the two cocks inside me.
“Fuck them, dirty bitch. Fuck those hungry cocks.”
Oh, how I fucked them. I wriggled, I writhed, I fucked those hungry cocks.
“Open wide baby, another nice cock for your throat. All your holes, darling, that’s it, that’s right.”
I sucked and I bucked and I let them use me. My dirty pirates were real, brought to life, slapping and pounding and grabbing without mercy. Fuck, it felt so fucking naughty. Seedy and gross and really fucking dirty.
They pulled out, raised my legs until they could check their progress.
“Beautiful fucking gape on those holes, baby.”
Now I was exposed, a prize cow at the market, and it felt so dirty bad good as the juices trickled from me.
“Fucking hell, yeah, that’s one sorry, gorgeous mess.”
I felt strangely proud. Sore and proud.
“Come here, Jase, you don’t wanna miss this.”
Jason.
My heart hammered at his name.
Strangers held me open, brought a vibrator to my clit while I jerked and moaned.
Strangers lubed me up and forced toys inside me, holding my clit hostage with the sweet fucking torment of the vibrator.
I knew Jason’s touch the moment it was on me, familiar fingers at my nipples. He pulled me into his lap, my head against his belly as he held my knees high for the other men. I felt so good there, in his arms. Safe and warm and filthier than I’ve ever been, gaping and exposed to the horny pirates.
“Are you ok, my dirty girl?”
“Hell yes,” I gasped.
“You want more?”
“Use me,” I said. “Please. All of me. Fucking use me.”
Dicks and mouths and big fat toys, in me, on me, all fucking over me. I squirmed until I was a panting mess, clit sore to the touch as they brought me off over and over again with that fucking vibrator clamped on tight.
Jason held my mouth wide for two hot dribbles of cum. I swallowed it down like a good girl, hungry for more.
“You ready to stretch that pussy wide, dirty girl?” he whispered. “I want to see you take two cocks in that sweet little cunt.”
I nodded, beyond coherent speech.
He shunted me forward and onto a waiting cock. I slid onto it with ease, nice and deep, folding forward to take the second intrusion. It was Jason’s cock pressing against me, I knew it a mile off. Knew the growl he made as he pushed his way in. I wondered how it felt for him, his dick mashed tight against another dick, balls to balls as they shared my battered hole.
I smiled through the pain, until there was only the sweet ache of pleasure, the gentle slurp of two dicks working me, the horniest sound I’d ever heard. My clit pulsed as they slid back and forth. Sweet Jesus this was something else.
Jason bit my shoulder, hard enough to sting, then grunted in my ear. “I want you to come for me like this, Gemma. Can you come for me?”
I focused on the spot inside, the hot swell of pressure grinding tight. “Harder, Jason, harder and I’ll come for you. Fuck me!”
“Good girl.”
God, how they fucking pounded me… and I took it, concentrating on the ache, the flutter of desire growing inside. They changed angle and Jason built up rhythm … I could feel his cock riding over the other cock inside me… it did the fucking job.
“Fuck, Jason, I’m coming! I’m fucking coming! Pound my dirty pussy, Jason, please, fuck me up… fuck me! Fuck me!”
He came when I did, bellowing out expletives as he shot his load inside me. The stranger underneath wasn’t far behind, lifting his hips from the mattress and groaning from his throat.
I felt raw when they withdrew. Hollow and throbbing. I daren’t have touched my pussy, too scared to find it a gaping hole of nothing.
I relaxed on the mattress, adrenaline high and floaty, tracing my fingers over Jason’s chest.
“That was incredible,” I panted. “Fucking incredible.”
His fingers on my sore clit made me squeal before it began to feel good again.
“It’s not over yet, dirty girl,” he growled, as strange hands came for me. “We haven’t even started on your ass.”
Oh fuck.
***
Chapter Nineteen
Gemma
The tension thrummed as the Land Rover rumbled along the dirt track. I braced myself for the bumps, gritting my teeth against the sensation; the rawness, the aching, squelchy, swollen fucking openness. Yet it still felt so good. So dirty.
Two cocks in my pussy felt intense. Crazy intense.
Two cocks in my ass felt crazy, full stop.
I daren’t think of the mess down there, daren’t think of how sore I’d be in the morning.
That didn’t matter right now. All that mattered was the glow of release, the endorphin high, the beautiful dark place where fantasies run wild.
My breath was shallow, ragged. Knees lolling apart as I perched on the seat.
Jason didn’t speak a word. I could feel him, as tense as I was. The air was heavy, like the pressure before a thunderstorm.
He’d watched me take two big dicks in my ass, screaming his name as they forced their way inside. He’d been quiet since then, brooding.
“Talk to me,” I whispered. “Are you angry?”
“Angry? No.”
“Have I done something wrong?”
“No.”
I gasped as we hit a dip in the track. “Talk to me, Jason. This silence is making me feel really uncomfortable.”
A hand on my leg, hot against my bare skin. I’d pulled my jumper over my head, but wimped out of the leggings. There was nothing between his fingers and my battered pussy, just thigh.
“Don’t be uncomfortable, dirty girl.”
I could feel the distance between us. A gulf of silence in the air. I should’ve known this would be it. Fantasy finished, there was nowhere else to go, not really. He was backing away, thanks for the fun times, see you around.
That’s what I’d wanted, too. We’d say goodbye as strangers, memory intact, that’s what I’d counted on. The only real option for a relationship like this, eventually. So, why did it hurt so bad?
“I guess this is it.” I tried to smile. “Fantasy fulfilled. It was a wild ride, Jason.”
“Is that what you want?”
Pride bloomed in my chest, stupid pride. “It’s what we both knew would happen. It’s fine, all good. Crazy memories, hey?”
“You want this to be a crazy memory?”
“Isn’t that what you want?”
“Jesus, Gemma.”
I gripped the seat for dear life as he veered the car to the left, we bumped and bounced about the place until we drew to a stop. I heard him click the handbrake into place, felt the cold air as his door opened. Shit, don’t leave me here.
I heard his footsteps around the back, then the thunk of the door handle at my side. His hands on me, unclipping the seatbelt before hauling me outside. I squealed as he pinned me against the car, wind in my face and mud squelching under my heels.
And then he kissed me. Hard. Harder than fucking hard. So hard he took my breath, tongue hunting
mine around my mouth, his lips fierce and hot against mine. I gasped against his mouth, hands springing up to tangle in his hair. It was damp in the morning drizzle, curling at the tips. He hitched my jumper, warm palms against my cool skin, and I ached for him, worse than any fucking ache those fat cocks had left behind. This was different, like a gaping black fucking hole in my heart.
I went for the blindfold but once again he stopped me, slamming my wrists above my head and stilling my body with his.
“Not today,” he said. “Last day, Gemma. Next time we see each other the blindfold is off. God fucking knows what will happen then, I guess we’ll just have to suck it and see. But not now, not today.”
“Ok, Jason,” I breathed. “Just fucking fuck me.”
“Are you serious?”
“Fuck me!” I screeched. “You promised you’d fuck me where they’d been, promised it would be the best one of all.”
“You’re battered fucking raw, Gemma.”
“You want me to beg you?”
“You’re a crazy girl, so fucking crazy.” I heard him drop to his knees in the mud, splattering my feet before he pulled me down with him. It caked my legs, my ass, too, squelching underneath us as he wrenched me into position. He spread my legs, his breath hot on my sore, cold pussy.
“Fuck, Jason, fuck.”
He lapped at my clit, licked me where the others had taken me, pressing his tongue all the way inside. I gasped at the burn, but I didn’t stop him.
“Fuck, oh fuck.”
“My beautiful fucking dirty girl,” he mumbled. “Gaping wide and fucking raw for me.”
I gripped his head, held him tight, a crazy eruption of euphoria swallowing me up. “I can’t stop this,” I hissed. “I’ll never fucking stop. You’re in my fucking mind, Jason, all the time. All the fucking time.”
He scrabbled in the mud, coming to rest on top of me, his weight heavy while he struggled with his jeans. “You’ve put a fucking spell on me, dirty girl. You drive me fucking insane.”
“FUCK ME!” I screamed. “PLEASE FUCK ME!”
I bunched my fists at his back, groaning at the burn as he pushed his way inside.
“Take it,” he growled. “Take all of me. Every filthy fucking bit.”
“Oh shit, oh shit, oh fucking shit!”
He fucked me slow but deep, every thrust painful, every thrust bliss. I squirmed for him, moaned for him, caked in cold squelching mud and soaked from the drizzle and I didn’t fucking care. Not one fucking bit.
He shook as he came, his whole body tense, muscles strung tight as his hair dripped onto my face. I clamped him in sore thighs, holding him inside me, until he was long spent, collapsing into the mud at my side.
“Fuck,” he laughed. “Jesus fucking Christ, Gemma, that was fucking crazy.”
That about summed it up.
***
Gemma
Wide eyes stared as I trudged my way back indoors, jaws on the floor.
“Don’t ask,” I said, trying not to drip mud all over the carpet.
“What the...?” they said in unison.
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you, and if you did believe me you really wouldn’t want to know.”
Chelsea folded her arms. “That Jason freak?”
I couldn’t stop grinning. It turned to laughter, hysterical laugher, tears streaming down my face at the sheer heights of crazy the last twelve hours had scaled.
“I’m glad you think it’s funny,” Chelsea snapped. “Maybe some of us are actually worried about you.”
I tried to regain composure but I was way too wired, adrenaline, endorphins, lack of sleep. What a bloody jumble.
“I’ll get a shower,” I managed, finally.
“Make it a quick one,” Tessa said, scooting after me. “We’re going out, step one of Chelsea’s rehabilitation. Only down the road, to the Rifleman’s.”
I bloody hate the Rifleman’s. An old pub turned sports-dick hang-out, big screens and loud fucking assholes. “Please not there.”
Tessa put on her best be reasonable face. “It’s the furthest she’ll go.”
“To a sports bar? Like that will bloody help.”
“She won’t get a tube, won’t go out of the city. I’ve only just got her to agree to taking twenty-five paces down the street. Sports bar or not, that’s where we’re going. For Chelsea, ok?”
I rolled my eyes. “Fine. Give me half an hour.”
***
It turns out Chelsea needed a lot longer than I did, hardly a surprise. It was gone midday by the time we hit the pub, right in the middle of the weekend’s football recap. Bloody brilliant. Stupidly, I offered to go to the bar, ending up three fucking deep in drunken idiots. I stared blankly at the screen above, a massive flat screen thing in super HD that does nothing but slow the queue down. Why people fasten those things to 17th century beams is beyond me.
I cast a glance over my shoulder to find Tessa and Chelsea bagging a table. A small mercy, at least. I shrugged at them, gesturing to the queue, but they were already jabbering on about something or other. I was inching closer when the crowd in front erupted in a ridiculous chant, shoving me backwards without a fucking care.
Singers! Singers! Singers!
I was sick of the bloody Singers, holding them solely responsible for being in this cruddy queue in the first place. Well, the Singers and Chelsea’s own innate ability to be a bloody idiot.
Turns out they’d won 4-0 at Liverpool Wanderers away. Whoopy-fucking doo. The crowd erupted at every bloody goal highlight, and I lost my patience, using the opportunity to elbow my way through while they gawped up at the screen.
“Three vodka Coke’s,” I shouted, handing over a twenty. I hardly got much change, either, another bloody shitter about this place.
I balanced the drinks in my hands, sighing in relief as I made my way back towards Chelsea and Tessa.
Only then I stopped fucking dead.
Jason’s voice, in the fucking pub. I’d know it a mile away, ten miles away, ten million bloody miles away. My heart leapt, mouth dry. I looked for the man that could be him, scouting the place while Tessa and Chelsea stared over.
“It was always going to be a tough match, Wanderers at home at this stage in the season, but we played well, came out fighting. Guess the result speaks for itself.”
My eyes shot up to the screen, ears trained on the speakers.
No. Fucking. Way.
The presenter’s voice. “There’s rumours that you won’t be hanging up the boots next season, do you think you’ve got another Premier League battle in you?”
I stared at the man on screen as the reporter put a microphone in his face. He smiled, tossing his hair back. Wet hair, curling at the bottom. Brooding eyes sparkled at the question.
“Never say never,” he laughed. Jason’s laugh. “It’s been a strange season, anything can happen.”
The reporter shook his hand, and the subtitles switched back from the latest scores.
Jason Redfern, Kensington Captain.
The world turned way too quickly. Heartbeat in my temples, my breath stuck in my chest. I stumbled backwards, losing the drinks in the process, they tumbled to the floor in a spray of glass and ice cubes. A hundred eyes on me. Tessa and Chelsea’s amongst them.
“Gemma?!” They grabbed me by the arms, yanked me clear of the crowd. “What the hell’s the matter?”
Gemma? Gemma? Gemma talk to us. Are you ok?
Tessa was shaking me, hands tight on my shoulders.
My tongue felt like rubber, words tumbling and blathering without consciousness.
“It’s him, oh my God, it’s him!”
“It’s who? Where?”
“My Jason,” I gasped. “On the TV.”
Chelsea flicked her hair. “You mean my Jason? Jason Redfern.”
“It’s him,” I said, brain spinning. “Holy shit!”
It took a long moment for the situation to dawn on Chelsea, she laughed at first. I watched her e
xpression change as she turned it over. “You mean that Jason is the guy you’ve been seeing? The crazy fucking weirdo who makes you wear a blindfold?”
“It’s him,” I said. “His voice, his hair, his laugh. Oh God, oh my fucking God.”
“But that’s crazy,” Chelsea laughed. “Jason Redfern wouldn’t be calling chatline, he wouldn’t be interested in someone like...” She slammed her mouth shut.
I finished the sentence for her. “Someone like me? Someone fat?”
“You said those words, not me!”
“You meant them, though.”
Her eyes turned piggy. “It doesn’t make sense, Gemma. He was after me at Kings...” I felt the colour drain from my face. Hers did too. “...but he wasn’t, was he? He was after you...”
“Oh God, I don’t know.” I grabbed my hair in fists, brain lurching around my skull.
“...But he can’t want you. You’re not even blonde, you have no fashion sense.”
“Maybe he doesn’t want that,” Tessa shrugged. “Clearly he doesn’t, not if he’s running around after Gem all over the place. Is it him, Gem? Seriously?”
I nodded, dumbstruck.
Chelsea’s hands turned into scrunched up little claws, her lips thin and miserable. “How come you get a fucking footballer, hey? I’m the one who actually wants a footballer, you don’t give a shit. What makes you so fucking special, Gemma Taylor?”
“I have no fucking idea,” I groaned. “I don’t want a footballer, don’t want to be special. I have no idea what the hell he’d see in me.”
“Gemma’s funny,” Tessa smiled. “And she’s smart, and nice, and a little bit crazy.”
Chelsea practically spat her words across the table. “Gemma is fat and ginger. How could Jason Redfern ever be with someone like that? The media would tear him to fucking pieces. He’d be a laughing stock, a fucking laughing stock.”
“Thanks,” I said, flatly. “Thanks a fucking bunch, Chelsea.”
“Just being honest,” she snapped. “Nothing compared to what the papers would do.”
My heart dropped at the realisation of the inevitable. She was right. Vile, but right. Someone like him could never be with someone like me, they’d never let him hear the end of it.
