It was the worst day of her life.
Heather had the hangover of the century. If the army of demolition tools playing renovations in her skull wasn't a dead giveaway, the fact that her throat was drier than the desert was probably a good clue. Oh, and who put lead on her eyelids? Much to her dismay, it seemed her college years were long gone and she could no longer handle her alcohol. Bummer. So what if she wasn't ready to admit she was 29 now? Scientific law states that any woman over 25 stays 25 forever, thankyouverymuch. That was common knowledge.
Cool air caressed her body, causing goosebumps to spread across her skin. For one fleeting moment, she wondered where the hell the damn comforter had disappeared to, but the pounding made it difficult for her to think. Her temples throbbed under the dull pain and she wasn't quite ready to open her eyes yet.
Maybe she should start drinking sodas instead of cocktails. Yeah, no, who was she kidding? 'Frisky Fridays' were all about getting trashed. Well, it was about unwinding, dancing AND getting trashed. Heather came up with the concept one day after another week of working at Hell Inc. She had given the company she worked for that nickname, given the long stressful days and sheer stupidity of most of her co-workers.
So, every Friday, she would go out with her best friend Stacy to blow off some steam. Usually, that also meant finding a willing partner to end the night with and getting some good stress relief in the bedroom. Well, most of the time. Heather didn't mind a good fuck in the back of a club if the guy was hot. She enjoyed working out several times a week and considered being pressed against a wall with her legs around a man's waist a good training.
Blurry pictures of last night danced in her foggy brain like the many colors of a kaleidoscope. Heather had bought a killer red dress, and she'd been excited to show off her legs with her favorite pair of stilettos. Stacy had met her at their regular club, which wasn't unusual since they didn't live in the same neighborhood. She had a fuzzy memory of flirting with the new bouncer. The guy had been sex on a stick. She wouldn't have minded ripping his clothes to see more of the tattoos he was hiding under his shirt. There also was the cute bartender who'd winked at her when she ordered her second Sex on the beach, but despite the club being packed, nobody had caught her eye.
And that was all she could remember of the evening. Heather frowned, not sure why she felt like she was missing out. She had no idea
how
or
when
she had gotten back to her apartment. Was she even home? Or had she followed some guy back to his apartment? She usually knew to be more careful, since you never knew who you were going to run into after all. She wasn't sure what happened, and that uncertainty didn't suit well with her.
Heather was slowly becoming aware of her body as her thoughts focused. Not only was her throat feeling like sandpaper, but she couldn't swallow properly and her jaws were strangely cramped. A rhythmic noise surrounded her, like waves lapping against the shore. Her nose itched, but her arms wouldn't obey. Why couldn't she move? Then she felt the leather against her wrists and ankles. She opened her eyes in shock, wincing at the sudden light. Her heart jackhammered against her ribs and she struggled against the restraints, raw panic seeping through every bone in her body. The scream she let out died in her throat, the O-ring gag that forced her mouth wide open, keeping her effectively quiet.
"Ha, you're finally with us..."
The familiar voice cut through the terror clouding her brain and she froze. She gasped for air, only to choke on her saliva - or what little was left of it after being gagged for who knows how long.
Wait, wait... That's...
Heather tried to lift her head - not by much, considering the way she was restrained. Sure enough, her co-worker Jimmy stood at the foot of the bed. Her panic began to fade away, only to be replaced with fury.
Son of a...!
She wanted to scream a few obscenities at this asshole right now. She also had things to say to Stacy--
that bitch!
--currently on her knees, choking on Jimmy's cock. Well, at least that explained the sounds. Still... where was she and what the hell had happened to her?
No matter how hard she tried to stay calm, she couldn't think straight. How had Jimmy kidnapped her? Stacy must have helped him by putting something in her drinks. No way the few cocktails she'd had would have been enough to knock her down. But why?
Jimmy was holding Stacy's long, dark hair in a tight fist while he fucked her face like they were in some porn movie. His lips curled up into a feral grin and Heather had the grim feeling that she wouldn't like what he planned to do with her. Nausea made her stomach churn, but it wasn't because she was seeing her best friend being used as a fucktoy.
Oh, no.
The truth was, some hidden, depraved part of her was enjoying the spectacle unfolding before her. And the part of her that was thrilled when she could put men in their place (she was better than most of them, after all) didn't like to admit that it was so fucking hot to watch.
Jimmy's dark chuckle brought her back to reality. Heather hadn't realized she was so mesmerized by the scene that her gaze had left his face and was now locked on Stacy's pouty lips and the red lipstick stains on his cock. She glared at him, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of admitting that she liked what she was seeing.
"Looks like someone is enjoying the view." His eyes sparkled with amusement, obviously pleased to have caught her staring. "She's got one hot, dirty mouth, that's for sure. You like to suck me like the little slut you are, hmm? Such a dirty girl for me. Tell Heather how much you love being on your knees for me, pet."
A muffled moan came from the young woman at his feet as she tried to answer with her mouth full. One hand was buried between her legs, while the other played with her breasts as she gazed at him with absolute devotion.
"You know what? if it wasn't for you, we wouldn't have met. Be a good girl and tell your friend thank you for bringing us together, pet." He pulled out his cock from Stacy's mouth with a loud pop and used his grip on her scalp to turn her head to face Heather's wide eyes.
"Thank you!"
Stacy's voice was sultry and slightly raspy, probably from the rough blowjob. A happy vacant smile danced across her face, but it was the glassy, empty eyes staring back at her that sent a chill down Heather's spine. She didn't recognize her friend at all and it scared her.
"Now pet," Jimmy stroked Stacy's head almost affectionately, "I think you can do better than that. Why don't you show Heather how grateful you are? Look at this beautiful view."
His hungry gaze devoured Heather's body as if she was his next meal. She felt violated by the lust she could see in his eyes, and yet, a tiny voice in her head told her that the thrill spreading across her body was not only due to fear.
"All this smooth, fair skin. I bet your ass will be the perfect shade of red with a good spanking." Stacy licked her lips, her dark, lustful eyes fixed on Heather. "Show Heather what a good friend you are. Go eat her pussy."
At Jimmy's command, Stacy began crawling toward Heather, who was shaking her head in denial like a madwoman. She squeezed her eyes shut as Stacy climbed onto the bed and licked her from bottom to top with the flat of her tongue before sucking her clit into her mouth.
