Driving Home Sunday Morning

She flipped the visor down, blocking the rising sun from blinding her. There was little chance of an accident; there were almost no cars on the road this time on Sunday morning, but the rising summer sun in a cloudless sky shone directly into her windshield. Knowing that this stretch was pretty straight and almost all directly eastbound, she scrambled a hand through the center console for a pair of sunglasses, but came up empty. She'd have to live with the glare for the remaining forty minutes of her drive home, and was grateful that she wasn't hung over this time.

Yes, this time. This time she hadn't had a lot to drink. This time she hadn't overindulged, so her head wasn't splitting open now, and she didn't need to vomit. If she was stopped she would sail through a sobriety test. This time she had stayed sober.

But this time she couldn't blame the liquor; she had to live with her decision. This time she had gone out, not gotten hammered blind drunk, and didn't have to piece the fragments of memory together. No, this time, she remembered everything. This time she was straight and sober; had gone with the intent, and willingly.

She had tried to resist. Hell, it had been nearly two months since the last drunken debacle. She had held out, avoided the booze; found other things to occupy her mind, keeping her thoughts busy. But the memories had wormed in, the desire had crept back, and the last few weeks had been a constant visceral resistance to the temptation. She didn't want to want it. But want it she did, and eventually her desires wore her down, and she had gone.

She brushed her loose hair back behind her ear, feeling the crust lumping them together. She rubbed her face, feeling the residue that had dried there. The last time she had gotten sick on the way home and had been forced to pull off the highway until she vomited, spewing liquor and bile and semen as her stomach emptied. She'd been sick for two days, unable to eat, and that had helped her hold off for so long, swearing to herself, never again, never again. Same as every other time, but this time she'd held out longer. But still she had gone back for more.

She was grateful for the empty road. She remembered once coming home much later, the road filled with cars, people and families going to work or shopping or outings, and remembered the feeling of all of them seeing her in her car, driving home, and KNOWING that they knew what she had done, how twisted she was, how evil and demented and perverted she had been the night before. She'd felt them judging her as she judged herself, sensing the raw flesh between her legs still leaking the fluids deposited inside, sensing her sore anal passage, and knowing the abuse that had made it that way. Could they smell her, too? She inhaled, taking a full whiff of the scent of dried cum from all over her. No, it was better that she was on the road alone. Bad enough that she judged herself; she didn't need to withstand the glare of others, from people who wouldn't understand.

She had lost count last night. It had started out with three; she had made no bones about her desires, unencumbered by the heavy drinking that usually allowed her to do what she wanted. She had been sober and decisive, and made her selections from the men available, selecting a group of three young men. Who knew that they had so many friends? Too many, she thought now, it had been too much, but this was after; and looking back. It was always excessive when she looked back on it. But at the time she relished every new face, every new hard cock, everyone that got hard again. Every new penetration had been a welcomed delight, every hot load a victory claimed and owned, every orgasm a new high.

She shied away from lecturing herself; plenty of time for self-recrimination in the days ahead, when she would swear off these gang adventures yet again, vowing she would never go back. Not now. Now she would bask in her surrender, and revel in the drying cum in her hair and face, and the slick feeling between her breasts, and the awful wonderful sticky wetness oozing from her used holes. She would drive home, clear-headed this time, feeling her aching ass throbbing under her, her raw pussy chafing under her skirt, her swollen nipples still sensitive. She would feel the stickiness over her body, the crusted blobs drying in her hair, the taste lingering in her mouth and scent of cum that wouldn't leave her nostrils. She would be aware of it all, remember it all this time.

So many, one after the other, then over and over. Begging them, sucking them clean, then hard again. Crying out for more; begging for more, even as all her holes were filled. Taking two in her pussy at once. There had been other women there as well, and some of them had used her too, using her mouth as a receptacle for their juices. One had even pissed on her. It was a new low, but for now, a new high. She was sated, and calm, and relieved of the pressure. She was sober and happy, and she remembered them all, unlike every other time before.

Later she would tell herself, never again.

Until the next time.