Deserting the Friend Zone

It's different this time.

Maybe there's some kind of rare planetary alignment. Maybe it's because there was a break in the streak of one hundred-degree days, and everyone has come out to let loose. Or maybe it's because we had some good times flirting here a few years ago, before we put each other in the friend zone.

Or thought we did, anyway.

We're at a table on the patio, having our second drinks, catching up and confiding as we always do. I dressed formally for some reason, in a button up shirt and a tie, which I've loosened in the desert heat. You're dressed up as well, in a red dress that's very tight and very short, designed to get attention from every man—and, knowing you, most women as well.

We're leaning in a bit more, holding eye contact a little longer, and at one point you're stirring your drink and blurt out, "I don't know if I'm allowed to say this, but"—you set down your straw and lift your gaze without lifting your head—"you look really sexy tonight."

My heart stops because all evening I've been staring at your legs and the way your high heels give you a wiggle in your hips when you walk. I try for a chaste laugh.

"Oh, you can say that. You can say that as much as you want."

You smile and straighten up in your seat, taking the straw between a finger and thumb again, and say "Well, good! Because you look really sexy tonight."

Now my heart is speeding up, and after taking a breath with more difficulty than I would have needed just ten seconds before, I say, "You look really sexy too."

You smile explosively.

"Really?"

Another deep breath.

"Oh, yeah. That dress is great," I say. "Really beautiful."

The tip of the straw is in your mouth, the bead of sangria that was on it has probably slid down the back of your tongue, and you're looking off in the direction of the DJ booth inside. Then you look back at me, throw down the straw, and stand up. There's a flash in your eyes as you adjust your skirt with your fingertips and stand up.

"We should dance."

We walk in quickly, and when we find a place on the floor, every reservation we've ever had, every distance that has ever been between us, dissolves as we move right against each other. You twist around against me, your ass bumps my thigh and you keep it there. Our drinks spill a little bit onto each other's hands, and there's heat rising off of us that goes straight to my head and makes me reach out, pull you close, and after one instant of fear is overcome when you don't resist, I say "I want you so much right now."

You turn around, eyes shut, put your arms over my shoulders, and I'm thinking maybe you didn't hear me over the music, but you open up your neck just a bit more, and I put my lips there, kissing you, smelling your sweat and perfume, and you say, "Let's go."

We turn toward the bar and I slap your bottom, the way you've told me you like, and after closing out as quickly as we can, we're through the doors, into the narrow, underlit streets, walking toward your car. I'm not sure whether I should be holding your hand or putting my arm over your shoulder, but your bottom is jiggling like it wants to bounce out of your dress, and I feel like I need to touch you, so I take your waist and say "Stop, stop" and when you do, I smell your sweat and perfume again, and I reach around, grabbing that beautiful ass I've wanted for so long, squeezing it into my hands as you press your breasts into me and I shove my hard-on against you, hoping you'll feel it and want me all the more. We kiss over and over, like we're making up for the times when it could have happened but didn't, pushing so hard it's like we're trying to make the other fall over, and when I pause just enough to growl, we move on, turning the corner and crossing the street in a long diagonal that is the most direct route to the car.

My hand is turning circles on your bottom, I'm pulling up the hem of your short skirt, seeking flesh and finding enough to know that either your panties are very small or you left them off altogether, your pumps are grinding desert grit into the asphalt with every step, and you've found your keys by the time we reach the car. But at the moment when we ought to walk to separate sides of it, we're up against each other again and I'm pushing you against the hatchback, lifting up your skirt and salivating at the sight of a skimpy lilac thong that forms a cup between your thighs, and you whisper something I can't hear as you widen your stance and grind against me.

I look quickly to each side, see headlights down the block, and twist us around to the passenger side where we're partly hidden by your car and the truck beside it. The sound of the engine gets louder, passes by, and as it fades away the only sound is your hands starting to run along the button and zipper on my pinstripes. I get it—all at once, I get it: you're remembering something I told you once, when we exchanged sexual fantasies during a phone conversation when we were both a little tipsy, and I said that I wanted to get a blowjob on a street where anyone could walk by. You've opened the zipper, you're reaching in, and I'm saying anything my mouth wants to say as I feel the warmth of your hands as you slide your back down the side of your car, squat in front of me, and put your lips around my cock just as it touches the night air.

You're moving back and forth, and I can't believe it, I can't believe we're finally doing this, after years of wanting you to suck me off, it's the fantasy I told you about, and it's you, happening here between two cars, not even two blocks from the restaurant, on a starry, 85 degree night, and it feels so good, as good as I always fantasized it would be when I secretly stroked myself while you told me over the phone about going down on other guys, and as you make me grow thicker and harder, I start moving in and out of you, testing how much of me you can take. I flip my tie over my shoulder, hold up my shirt with one hand and grab a fistful of your hair with the other.

That's when I hear them: the footsteps and baritone laughter of two men, walking toward us on the other side of the truck. They must have been walking the length of the block, but we had been too caught up to hear them, and now it's too late to hide. You pull your mouth off of me, shift your squat, and I think you're going to stand up while there's still a moment to spare, but you go right back on me, sucking me down, and I feel the back of my legs covered in sweat as the men pass the front of the truck. I want to move back, pull you up, pretend we've just been standing there talking, but it's too late, and what you're doing feels so incredible, you're so damn good at sucking cock, that I just steady my stance, one hand palming the back of your head as if I could hold us still and unseen until they passed. But you keep moving your head as if nothing was wrong, working my prick with your mouth, twisting its slippery length around and around, and one man looks right at us as they move past.

I am about to sigh with relief when I hear one say, "Wait, man, wait" with a laugh. Their footsteps stop. I'm flinching, still trying to step back and stop everything, but just then you push your mouth all the way down, sliding me all the way into your throat, chin to my balls, holding still, then pulling off of it to gasp and go back down for more. The men have walked back to the space where they can see between the cars, barely looking out from behind yours.

"Holy fuck," says one, and for a split second everything stops except for my heart, which is doing double-time now that they're standing there, two men I've never seen before, watching me get head, and I don't know if you're hearing what they say or if you even know they're there.

Now it's your turn: you've told me your fantasy about having two men at once. But what about three? You stop sliding your mouth partway down my cock, turn your head to the right very slightly and cast a sidelong glance that barely brings them into sight. You pull your lips backwards, over and off of the crown of my cock, and when you look up at me, I say to you, but loud enough for them, "They're watching us, baby."

You don't stop.

"What do you want to do?" I say.

You drop one hand between your opened legs, push it up inside your dress and into your panties. Then you whisper, "Tell them to get over here."

I groan a bit loudly for effect as I look at the men. They're holding still; one puts a hand between his legs and starts to tug.

"Come on," I say. "She wants you, she wants both of you."

I gesture them forward, and you've swallowed me all the way down to my balls again, which makes me throw back my head and moan without even meaning to, and when I look back down, both of them are walking toward us, working their shorts open, and then you're surrounded on three sides by cock-mine hard in your mouth, and two men stroking theirs, anticipating you taking them in your hand, making them slick and throbbing with your tongue barely a minute after they walked by us on the sidewalk. One last suck on mine and you slowly pull off, leaving a thick line of spit that connects us until you turn your head to the left and grab that guy's half-hard cock, then quickly to the right and grab his as well.

"Oh my God," you say, and gaze up at us. You bite your bottom lip, then break into a gaping smile and look to the guy on your left. His skin is a beautiful light brown, like an old sepia photograph, but when he yanks his shorts down partway, the partly-hard cock that bounces out is darker, more like copper, and you take him first, pumping your head back and forth, making him breathe heavily as he looks down and rests his hand on you. You're jerking off his friend at the same time, keeping him hard and ready so that by the time you turn around there is a very long cock pointing straight at you. I've taken my own in my fist, and find it amazingly slick, covered in your warm saliva, and I barely need to touch it at all to stay hard, just light, slow strokes. You take the long one in your mouth, pull back to lick the underside and spit on it, then hold it almost still as you work the head.

"I'm so fucking wet," you say. You stand up sharply, curl your thumbs up the sides of your skirt, and roll your thong down your thighs. "These are ruined," you say with a breathy laugh. When you get them to your ankles, you step out of them and cast them just outside of the triangle we've formed around you. Then you're back down in a squat, and all three of us move closer, right up against you, and it barely takes anything for you to turn your head and pivot in your heels to take a different, spit-polished dick in your mouth every 30 seconds.

You're back on me, and I'm starting to push more, forcing it into your mouth, hard and deep, and when I gaze over the panties that I know are sopping wet with your cunt juice, my cock throbs so hard that you hum a laugh with your mouth full. I play with your hair, petting you, and saying to the men, "This girl loves dick so much..."

They aren't saying anything, they can't seem to make any noise at all except for throaty sounds that go from whimper to grunt, and after a few rounds of sucking us all, the men take my cue and begin to thrust against you, tentatively and then more aggressively, shoving their dicks in and holding them there, and when I spank you twice with mine, they do the same on their turn, hard, punishing slaps that make you close your eyes and flinch.

Over and over you take us, me and the two men, squeezing us with your throat, almost swallowing even the long one, who is so big that you cannot quite touch your lips to his clenched balls. Your cheeks are moving in and out as you take us, hungrily, adoringly, each time as if it's the very first moment that you're tasting a man you've always wanted. Every time you move from one of us to the next you gasp and a draw out a syrupy ribbon that bridges the back of your throat to a hard prick, and our slapping leaves you with a spit-drenched face and chin. You go around, one after the other, finishing each of our turns by tightly holding the suction on your last headnod, and make a popping noise as you move off. We're all talking over each other now, each of us whispering for more, asking for it to be our turn again, and you keep the pace, not at all sated.

"Tell us what you are, girl," I say. "Tell us what you are."

You're busy with the copper cock but you stop enough to say, "I'm a fucking little cumslut... I'm a fucking little cumslut that loves hot dick...Fuck my face..."

It becomes a blur for me as you turn side to side. I haven't been paying attention to anything else and don't know if anyone is around and don't know what I would do if they were, because the men and I can only do one thing right now, which is to feed you, the hungry real-life fantasy in front of us, keeping your mouth and hands full because you just keep going, sheathing our pricks with the spit that you use then to jerk us off, over and over and over. You're inhaling my balls into my mouth, you pull off, lower yourself in the middle of us, look back and forth at us and whisper through clenched teeth, "Hit me with them. All at once."

We move in, cockslapping you, while you look up at the stars and then shut your eyes as we move our cocks back and forth on your face, spreading your spit around and touching each other with our thick, throbbing heads. Copper reaches down, grabs your hair, and turns you around to face his friend.

"Here you go, you little cumslut," he says. "Suck on this dick."

He grasps your dirty blonde hair into a tail and pushes you partway down on Long's cock, then uses the tail to pull and push and pull you back and forth, harder, farther, and longer every time, closer to his ballbag, and you're resisting but he's not letting you up at all, and the underside of your mouth balloons out as you go down all the way before more back and forth, back and forth, Copper pulling you by the hair, and you gag every time but when Long pinches your nose closed you fold your arms behind your back and let him do it, completely giving yourself up to them, these men you don't even know, while I watch them take you like you're theirs.

You've gulped down Long five, six, seven times now, every one banging the opening of your throat until you're barely able to breathe, and he exhales a muted "Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck" and throws his head back before starting to thrust quickly in and out of you. Copper and I are jerking off, faster, faster, faster, watching to see what you'll do.

Both of your hands shoot up to his dick, you throw your head back, mouth agape, and it only takes an instant before a long, thick spurt shoots over your head, onto Copper's arm, then another onto your forehead, then one that slides down the bridge of your nose, then two on your cheek, and Copper and I are saying, "Take it, take it all over...take it like a bad little cumslut..."

Long pulls your hands off of him and slides his dick into your mouth to demand you suck out every drop as his final groan eases and turns to a pant. You turn to Copper, lick your lips, and suck the cum off of his arm. Then you throw your mouth down on him so he's fucking his friend's sticky cum, pushing it around in your mouth and down your throat. You're slobbering all over the place, not caring, just letting it gush out, and it coats his balls until they can't hold any more spit and a long strand of it descends and falls to the ground.

He holds still and his breathing speeds up and in a half-growl, half-whisper you say, "All over my face, all over my fucking face like a whore," and when you stick out your tongue he milks one, two, three, large pearls of cum onto your brow and cheek before shooting a burst down the back of your outstretched tongue and pulling you onto him for the final, slowing pulses of his drained, sienna cock.

Long is still catching his breath, leaning against your car. Copper lets you slide off and his cock wags back and forth as he laughs a "Goddamn!"

I'm laughing too, smiling at what you've done, at how your appetite has destroyed these men to the point that they'd lie down and fall asleep right there if they could.

I don't know what happens to them. They button their pants and leave, but I don't hear it and don't see it because you're sucking me again. As you bounce your head up and down on me, your heels rise slightly off the ground, then click back, tapping the sandy, brick surface in time with every backward slide of your wet lips.

"Oh fuuuuuuck," you say with your mouth full.

Then, flipping all the way off of me, you lick me, bottom to top, a wide, spit-thick trail, and gurgle from the back of your throat, "Oh my God, I need to get fucked, I need to have my pussy fucked really hard."

I pull you up by the back of your hair so you're looking at me, your face is glazed with strangers' cum, your mascara is dripping like wet paint, and when I grab your throat and give your cheek one, two, three hard slaps, the men's sticky cream wets my fingers and jumps off your face. I give you a hard kiss, taste the men's cum, tighten my grip around your throat as my tongue presses yours, then push you backward and start grinning because I know exactly what I'm going to do, and when your ass is pressed against your car. I kneel down quickly, snatch your thong from the ground, and use it to wipe off the cum that's still on your face before I push it against your lips and stuff it into your mouth.

I turn you around, slide your skirt up over your ass to your waist and I grab your inner thigh and lift it up so your calf runs along the hood of the car, and then I quickly slip my hand up your thigh and touch your pussy, touch it for the first time since all this started, for the first time ever, the pussy I have dreamed about for years, and I find that the feel of its rounded outer lips is as smooth as your inner thigh, as if there were no difference between them, as bare and soft as can be, and I want to be inside you with everything I have, my cock, face, and fingers all at once, and I push you up a bit farther, use both hands to spread you wide open so I can look at your baby-smooth fuckhole, and I see you are flushed with pink, that your lips are parted from touching yourself, and that you have dripped a ring of cum around your own slit.

You gasp when I touch you with the tips of three fingers, and then again when they glide in, and after giving you several hard thrusts, I slowly draw them out, spread your pussy juice up and down my prick, and then push it inside of you. You're so slippery and warm that I sink in to my balls right away, but then I pull out and slip back in as slowly as I can, as if I wanted to make sure every bit of my cock got coated in your cunt and had time to savor it. You're making short, quick sobs every time one of these slow passes of my cock through your pussy hits you all the way in, the cries ascending and plunging like a siren, banging each yelp out through the panties that taste of your own pussy and the men's cum, and then I'm spanking you as I slide one finger in your ass, and your arms are clenched straight across the hood.

But I can't keep taking it slow, my cock wants more and more of you and I start to pump harder and faster, harder and faster, with my tight balls knocking your fat cunt over and over. Then I feel that tickling clench inside me, the exuberant losing of balance, and I hurriedly pull out, bringing my prick out so that it flips back and forth, streaked lengthwise with the shiny glare of a streetlight.

"I'm coming," I whisper.

You turn, fall into a squat, tear the panties out, and close your lips around me just in time to catch my first shot of cum. I'm shuddering, feeling wave after wave of cum rush through me, but I never stop moving, never stop pushing back and forth, never stop fucking your pretty, hungry, slutty mouth.