This morning I woke up in the desert outside of Las Vegas after blacking out in the back of my car. As I looked around I could see a house next to me, Las Vegas off in the distance and my naked body looking only a little too worse for the ware compared to how my asshole felt. WTF!?!?
I started to remember things. I remembered taking a group of guys, in town for a bachelor party, out to a secret whorehouse they somehow knew about. It started to come back to me that they’d talked me into coming in to check it out. I barely recalled them handing me a ******* and it all got very murky from there.
I could smell the funk of sex and debauchery rich in the air of my van and across my body. Some smells and whiffs were a bit unpleasant to say the least.
My mind started to recall some of the whores in the house and how they were so ******* up they wouldn't shut up, giggling and ******* on cock, talking about how they could feel cum leaking down their thighs, and then bursting into fits of laughter. I started to laugh there in my car as well as I could feel the familiar discomfort of crusted cum on my legs and ass.
"Fuck. What did I do?"
My phone rang, not for the first time that morning it seemed. I finally got the will to reach out to it. 2% battery left. 9:39 AM. Two missed calls from sons and one from my mom. Fuck!
Stretching my arms out, then my bare legs, I tried to ******* the stiffness out of my body. Why do I do this as often as I do? I need to pull my ******* life together and start being responsible. Being a slut takes such a toll on my body.
Eventually, I woke up enough, plugged in my phone, and called my mom back. The conversation was thankfully brief and I made an excuse about my phone being dead and yes I was being careful here in Las Vegas with the boys. I also called back my boys and explained too about my phone dying and having to work late and falling asleep at a girlfriend's house. The same old lies that I’m sure no one believed.
Good thing you can't get pregnant from anal, I mused. As I was talking to my mom who was worried about me, part of me wanted to say, "No Mommy - I promise I didn't spend the evening with a bunch of black guys I barely know, getting passed around like a rag doll and getting fucked in the ass."
Memories from the night before had started to circle in my head before I had even finished the call. Even now, I could still recall the taste, the scent of pussy, the sweet musk of multiple cocks and buttholes I had kissed, sucked, and licked. The feel of those big, awesome appendages both outside and inside of me.
As I recovered in the back seat of my Honda Odyssey, I stretched my arms and legs like a cat, rolling from my back to my side and then sitting up. forsing the full ache in my body and head to flare while willing myself to feel better.
Sitting there I spread my legs and touched myself to see if everything was intact. First my pussy, my fingers sliding down my thick labia. It felt a little sticky. How many loads are deep upside there? Then I touched a tip of my finger to the outer rim of my puckered sphincter. Ouch.
"Oh you poor thing... we took quite some action yesterday, didn't we?" I said out loud, bursting into fits of giggles as well as sighs of the reality of it all. 'The poor thing' certainly felt a little sore. But surprisingly not as much as I might have expected.
How did I get here? Not here in the desert but here in this stage of my life and still waking up cum crusted without a clue as to who’s cum it even was. Was I always a slut? Even when I had pretended to be a good girl, sitting in the church pew with my family back home in Nebraska growing up, on those innocent Sunday mornings.
Being objectified, being used. Sucking multiple dicks, doing anal. I hadn't just dipped my toe in becoming a total slut. Lately I’ve just jumped in the deep end, with no life jacket. I wasn't hungover from alcohol. I was hungover from sex.
"Oh my god... I can't believe I did that! To all of them!" I blushed, remembering each one of the boys from last night I had rim-jobbed. "And why do they call it 'tossing salad'?" If dick was an alcohol, I had enough for a hundred hangovers.
Was it going to be like this all the time with me?
Jerome. Julius. DeShawn.
"Anal slut," I repeated my new moniker, my fingers trained along the ridge of my sphincter. Saying the name focused my arousal. "I am... an anal slut."
I started to remember things. I remembered taking a group of guys, in town for a bachelor party, out to a secret whorehouse they somehow knew about. It started to come back to me that they’d talked me into coming in to check it out. I barely recalled them handing me a ******* and it all got very murky from there.
I could smell the funk of sex and debauchery rich in the air of my van and across my body. Some smells and whiffs were a bit unpleasant to say the least.
My mind started to recall some of the whores in the house and how they were so ******* up they wouldn't shut up, giggling and ******* on cock, talking about how they could feel cum leaking down their thighs, and then bursting into fits of laughter. I started to laugh there in my car as well as I could feel the familiar discomfort of crusted cum on my legs and ass.
"Fuck. What did I do?"
My phone rang, not for the first time that morning it seemed. I finally got the will to reach out to it. 2% battery left. 9:39 AM. Two missed calls from sons and one from my mom. Fuck!
Stretching my arms out, then my bare legs, I tried to ******* the stiffness out of my body. Why do I do this as often as I do? I need to pull my ******* life together and start being responsible. Being a slut takes such a toll on my body.
Eventually, I woke up enough, plugged in my phone, and called my mom back. The conversation was thankfully brief and I made an excuse about my phone being dead and yes I was being careful here in Las Vegas with the boys. I also called back my boys and explained too about my phone dying and having to work late and falling asleep at a girlfriend's house. The same old lies that I’m sure no one believed.
Good thing you can't get pregnant from anal, I mused. As I was talking to my mom who was worried about me, part of me wanted to say, "No Mommy - I promise I didn't spend the evening with a bunch of black guys I barely know, getting passed around like a rag doll and getting fucked in the ass."
Memories from the night before had started to circle in my head before I had even finished the call. Even now, I could still recall the taste, the scent of pussy, the sweet musk of multiple cocks and buttholes I had kissed, sucked, and licked. The feel of those big, awesome appendages both outside and inside of me.
As I recovered in the back seat of my Honda Odyssey, I stretched my arms and legs like a cat, rolling from my back to my side and then sitting up. forsing the full ache in my body and head to flare while willing myself to feel better.
Sitting there I spread my legs and touched myself to see if everything was intact. First my pussy, my fingers sliding down my thick labia. It felt a little sticky. How many loads are deep upside there? Then I touched a tip of my finger to the outer rim of my puckered sphincter. Ouch.
"Oh you poor thing... we took quite some action yesterday, didn't we?" I said out loud, bursting into fits of giggles as well as sighs of the reality of it all. 'The poor thing' certainly felt a little sore. But surprisingly not as much as I might have expected.
How did I get here? Not here in the desert but here in this stage of my life and still waking up cum crusted without a clue as to who’s cum it even was. Was I always a slut? Even when I had pretended to be a good girl, sitting in the church pew with my family back home in Nebraska growing up, on those innocent Sunday mornings.
Being objectified, being used. Sucking multiple dicks, doing anal. I hadn't just dipped my toe in becoming a total slut. Lately I’ve just jumped in the deep end, with no life jacket. I wasn't hungover from alcohol. I was hungover from sex.
"Oh my god... I can't believe I did that! To all of them!" I blushed, remembering each one of the boys from last night I had rim-jobbed. "And why do they call it 'tossing salad'?" If dick was an alcohol, I had enough for a hundred hangovers.
Was it going to be like this all the time with me?
Jerome. Julius. DeShawn.
"Anal slut," I repeated my new moniker, my fingers trained along the ridge of my sphincter. Saying the name focused my arousal. "I am... an anal slut."
