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Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32
We were into some crazy shit at the house. One night I lay in bed beside one of the housemates’ girlfriends, her breasts popping from her bikini, her pussy shaved absolutely bare, telling me her boyfriend had just told her to go and fuck me. I poured beer into her arse and had her squirt it into my mouth. She begged me, on her knees to shoot my come onto her tongue, then she went visiting the others for more.
Some days we surfed, ate cake and magic mushrooms. Surfing on ‘shrooms is fucking crazy, hurling blankets of transient colours slide past your eyes, while the wave becomes a friend and lifts you on its shoulders like the big brother of mother nature.
Once again the fucking bathtub had overflown. I climbed down the stairs and heard Sean’s naked body splashing around. Looking over the ledge I saw two foot of water covering the entire downstairs. My old friend Anxiety assaulted me once more. “Shit man, you’ve flooded the fucking house again.”
Sean grinned up at me, hair twisted over half his face. “Sorry man.” He shook it off, a glimmer of regret in his eyes. He was my best friend, and sure, the house was a shit design. Fuck knows why my rich, fucked up parents ever gave it to me. Cunts.
Last night, or was it the night before people swarmed in from the club across the street, fuming with alcohol, crashing through the flimsy doors and grabbing anything they could find. I tried to stop them in my inebriated state, but I was wasting my time. Vases, plates, pictures on the fucking wall. They all went, crushed into the vortex of expended objects, so often discarded from my life.
I lived with a general group of seven or so. The girls, some involved with my friends, others not, were all models and drug sluts, but generally nice girls. Big tits and asses, usually strapped tightly in bright fucking bikinis. Fuck, the house was almost in the fucking ocean, and the guys here were all pro surfers and biscuit munchers. They were paid to fuckin’ surf.
One day I was on the couch, one blonde across my lap, another of the girlfriends. “Do you remember last night, or the one before, when we gave you the double penetration.” (All of us fucked each other, and all the girls looked after me. I knew it was because I was the spoilt rich kid, with the mini mansion and the drugs and the money, but I didn’t give a fuck. I loved the sluttish attention.) I squeezed her bikini clad arse, running my index fingertip beneath the elastic over her brown tan globes.
“Not really, Jack.” She answered looking around and smiling. The brunette, (Shelley?) grinned over at us from the other couch. God I was sick of the bathtub flooding over. kuşadası escort “Did I like it. Is my arse okay? Will you look at it for me?”
I pulled the bikini aside and spread her cheeks apart. The tiny pink hole was perfectly clean, unblemished, sucking in to a tiny opening. I pulled harder, making the ring muscle accentuate. She squealed appreciatively, lifting herself higher as I bent down and pushed my tongue against her hole.
Two of my friends walked across the room. I was engrossed in her arse, how easily it widened, allowing me to taste the funkiness of her tunnel. I dared not go any deeper though, and released the elastic. It snapped back, stuck up her fragrant crease.
I remembered my coke hard cock stuck like a shiv up her arse while Sean or Jake fucked her pussy from below. The base of my cock was glistening with slime, and I could feel the other cock stretching her inner membrane.
We all lay entangled on the floor, two girls rubbing my feet while a couple of the boys wrestled, sending beers tinkling across the table spraying white foam, cocaine painted on their flared nostrils, breasts bouncing past, red lips, the tangle of pubic hair and more drugs. The fucking bathroom was flooded again.
My girlfriend Patrice had been anxiously neglected for many moons. When she arrived I wanted to introduce her, but I could never remember any of the other girls’ names. The boys didn’t matter. She knew most of them.
But we stood by the closet of the third white wooded floor, she beside me, nervous, hurt, embarrassed; as I stood swaying, saying, “This is Patrice,” to the blonde one I’d fucked up the arse, and waited for her to introduce herself.
The next night the club across the road exploded with thieves, all of them charging through the glass doors, muscles flexing, grabbing a vase or a plate, laughing like fucking maniacs in board shorts and running out the door again.
I lay thrusting into Patrice, juices spilling onto the blonde wooden floors. One of the girls beside us was against the kitchen bench with a dark girl’s mouth sucking her cunt. I could see the saliva running down her chin as she slurped, her fingers sliding in and out, her eyes locked on mine.
Patrice cried as people walked past us, stealing things. Sean threw his bodyboard in the corner, smirked toward me and cracked open a beer. He was starting to fuck me off with his ‘give-a-shit’ attitude. The waves pounded outside.
“What the fucks going on?” I asked one of the girls later as I sat on the toilet floor while she went, tears welling in my eyes. She smiled down at me, a little French girl kuşadası escort bayan with her panties bunched up around her knees, and gently stroked my head. Her piss dribbled into the water slowly and I caught the slight aroma of her urine. She stood up and tore off some paper. I pulled her closer and licked away the drips for her, putting my vodka martini aside. I liked to feel a bit James Bondy sometimes. I released her labia with a wet smacking sound and enjoyed her flavours for a moment longer before searing them away with alcohol. She had nothing to say, she just wanted to piss.
At night the house creaked, barely audible over the violent waves beside us. They sounded worse than usual, and I knew the boys would be having a good ride tomorrow. Patrice sighed in her sleep, sounding like she held on to some kind of deep sadness. I wondered what I sounded like, waiting for the Rohypnol to do its work as my mind jiggled a million miles an hour.
It was some time later I woke up to the barrel of a gun. A greasy guy with long hair was looking down on me, his eyes flicking over Patrice’s nudity.
“Where’s ya fuckin’ money cunt!”
I narrowed my eyes hoping he was just a bad acid hallucination. “Money?”
He pointed the gun at Patrice who jerked up, wide eyed.
“Stay put bitch. You know what I’m talking ‘bout. Your fuckin’ drug money.”
“Look, I’ve got a bit…” I stammered.
He ran the nozzle of the gun over Patrice’s blonde pubes while the wind screamed through the cracks in the walls. “Give it to me or I’ll fuck ya girlfriend with this fuckin’ gun, bitch.”
I slid slowly off the bed, glancing at my shrunken cock as it retreated even further, beyond what I could have thought possible. I saw him glance at it. “Probably be the best fuck she ever got. Little fuckin’ whore. Aren’t you,” He waggled his gun at her. “Fuckin’ slut. Hurry up cunt!”
I picked up my pants from the night before and fished out my wallet. Images of dancing in firelight at the beach trampled through my mind. I only had sixty bucks. I held it up to him as he roughly grabbed Patrice’s thigh. She was a milky statue, her eyes fixed on me, pleading.
“That it, is it.” He stood up and looked down on me, his neck thick knots of resentment. “For that I’ll take a piece of your little whore here. What you think about that?”
I sighed. He was bigger that me, and had a fucking gun. What could I do? “Do what you want.”
He laughed, rubbing his cock through his pants. “You don’t give a shit about any cunt, do ya?” He spat at me.
I looked inward, found nothing, and replied. “No.”
Patrice’s escort kuşadası eyes widened and her look of terror grew. “Fuck off!” She squealed and scuttled across the bed. He grabbed her ankle and yanked her back, still pointing the gun at me. I wanted to kill the fucker. How could he make me feel so fucking weak. I looked around for something to use.
“Sit in the fuckin’ corner cunt! You might learn something.” He barked at me, strands of stringy hair whipping. He switched the gun to his other hand and slapped Patrice hard across the face. “You don’t move. Little slut.” He unzipped and let out his large, angry cock, waggling it back and forth. “You ready for this, you fuckin’ cunt. Filthy little whore.” He turned back to me. “You better find some more fucking money. I didn’t come here for fifty bucks and a piece of ass.”
He slapped her again. “Roll over slut. Show me your fuckin’ asshole.” He gripped his cock and stroked it again, jerking it, then spat on it and rubbed the slag all over it. “I’m gonna fuck it raw.”
Sean burst into the room with a mallet. Before the guy even knew it he was cracked on the top of the head. I jumped up, shocked by the intrusion.
“What in the fuck are you doing!” I said, surprised by his appearance.
“Fuckin’ hell Sean. You might have killed him.” Patrice wriggled forward.
I put my fingers on his pulse. It was still kicking. “Fuck man. That cost me a lot of money you know. These fucking male prostitutes don’t come cheap.”
It was then the house rattled as a wave bashed against the side. “Whoa, that’s some fucking wave.” I said crawling to the window as the house shook. Sean and Patrice followed.
Waves ten meters high were coming in, ready to crash right through the house. Patrice screamed and Sean looked at me in shock. I gulped down acidic lumps of bile. “We’re all fucked!”
The next wave pounded against the house like a ten car pileup and it shuddered beneath us, knocking us all off our feet. The windows shattered and all I could see outside was a giant wall of black water. My martini was still okay, so I knocked it back and grabbed Patrice.
Wham! That was it, the walls cracked, Sean’s eyes widened and the house came apart around us. Sea water exploded in from all sides, tossing me, breaking me and hurling me. I wondered where the fucking Ark was now. I knew George Fuckin W. Bush would end up fucking over the world.
Then I was inside the wave, my nose and mouth full, my naked body sucked through the vortex with the crushed remnants of my house.
**********
Private hospital was nice though. Sexy nurses, morphine, cable. Ah, it’s okay, not so bad. They even allowed hookers in. They would suck your dick while your body sucked an I.V. Not bad. I missed Patrice though. And my fucking house.
**********
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Ben Esra telefonda seni boşaltmamı ister misin?
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