A Little Too Drun

It was a fun party, from what you remember. You'd nailed your makeup that night. You were wearing that gorgeous new outfit you got the week before. You'd had a couple glasses of a nice wine before you left, and you had a bag full of cans of cocktails from the supermarket to tide you over all evening. Your friends met you at the door, ecstatic that you'd been able to make it, telling you how hot you looked, and everyone was in high spirits -- a perfectly mild summer evening on a Friday. Your school friends were there, happy for a joke and a catch up as the night kicked off. You managed to sink a couple cans before everyone had even arrived -- dangerous for a pretty little thing like you.

It wasn't long before drinking games kicked off, with a couple rounds of Ride the Bus and unfortunate bets putting you down another can and a half in record time. Then things moved onto Ring of Fire. There were a couple of jacks drawn early, so the game was tricky; focusing on using your right hand for your drink, getting caught out for using your friends' first names. And there was this guy. One you vaguely remembered from school but didn't know that well. He was on you, your eight-is-mate from the 2nd pass of the cards, dedicating both of his 2s to you, and always, always so sharp on catching your rulebreaks. Round after round, he got more and more of the others onto it, until you were the last link in a chain of 8s and always kept uncomfortably long on every waterfall. It wasn't long before you'd sank all your cans from the fridge and then gotten through a few lukewarms from the bag too. Was it 6? Maybe 8? In just 2 or 3 hours? That couldn't be right, surely? That's way too much, you'd be feeling it already if that were the case, and you felt great! Of course, it was no one's fault that you ended up getting that 4th king. No teasing, ganging up, or group targeting could influence what card you chose -- genuinely. But it seemed keeping with your fate that evening that you had to down 3/5ths of a pint made up of rosé, tequila, and jäger.

In fairness, you did get that king's cup down you, not that you would remember. 10 seconds flat and it was gone. Pretty good going. And then the next 90 minutes became a blur. You declined rapidly into a giggly, stumbling mess, and then got progressively worse still until you got one clear word out in ten and kept insisting you were having too much fun to go home. Your friends resolved to skip the drama of sorting you a taxi or a lift from family, and more-or-less carried you up the stairs to a spare room. Someone else had bagsied it ahead of time, but they would just have to understand this once and settle for the floor in the lounge. Somehow, in a manner that was not clear to anyone, you managed to avoid spewing at all. Perhaps that was something that would follow the next morning, but then and there you quickly fell into a spinning, tumultuous sleep.

It was quite a while before you woke back up, but not the entire night. Not even close, actually. When you came to, you could still hear the party in full swing, the muffled sounds of music and voices beneath you, with the occasional rambunctious laughter coming clearly up the staircase from the guests loitering near the door. In fact, you could hear much better than you could see; the room was completely dark, and close -- like the air was thick. It was a little difficult to breathe properly, in fact. But despite the thickness of the air, you actually felt a little cold. And though things seemed dark to you, the room was fairly well illuminated by a large window on the near wall. The problem was, of course, that your top had been pulled up over your face, but you'd never have figured that out. Caught between sleep and being thoroughly inebriated, it just felt like an unpleasant dream, or as if the room had gotten a lot less comfy since you'd first fallen asleep. Best doze back off, you thought -- you'd take the indecipherable, disorienting dreams over the discomfort of hammered wakefulness. You didn't even notice that the mattress was more depressed than usual, or that there was a pair of hands brazenly groping you through your bra. Didn't notice the thumbs grazing your already-hard nipples, or the multiple unsuccessful attempts to pull the cups of your bra down over your tits. Just fell back into fitful sleep, drunk and defenceless, while a man you'd never really spoken to touched increasingly intimate parts of your body.

You awake with a start a little while later, gasping. The light is on in the room now, but it's faint with your top still up over your head. You've been rolled onto your front with your hands outstretched in front of you, waking after the material of your shirt got stuck in your mouth and stopped you breathing, now that your face is in the pillow. Groggy, you raise your head a little and try to pull your hands towards you, but they're stuck -- when you tug harder it hurts your wrists, though you can't make sense of the issue with the t-shirt over your head. You go to move more but a hand at the back of your head forces your face back into the pillow and pins you down hard until you're struggling to breathe again. It's then you realise you're tied to the bed, effectively topless, and someone -- you have no idea who -- is fucking you right now.

How long have they been inside you? You don't know. Are they using protection? You can't tell. You're certainly not on any birth control. Is it one of the guys you know? No. Clue. All that you know is their cock is uncomfortably large, and your pussy is unbelievably wet.

You can barely breathe with your face in the pillow, and any noise you make is muffled. Every time you try to move, you can feel the nausea welling up and the bed you lie on feels as if it starts spinning and pitching. The stranger goes from holding down your head with their hand to lying down on top of you, pinning your whole body with their weight. It makes it easier to breathe but makes you more immobile. You're not strong enough to shift from under his weight, your hands are firmly fastened to the headboard by something, when you even think of trying to move or put up a serious effort your stomach turns, and with the loud music downstairs and your head inside your shirt, you can't make a noise anyone will hear. So what can you do? You figure you have two options: lie there like a slut and take it, let him use your body as he pleases, and be his warm, wet fleshlight; or lie there like a

whore

and take it, let him use your body as he pleases, and be his warm, wet fleshlight. You're helpless, too drunk and too weak to put up a fight. No one is going to come help you. You're a free-use pussy attached to a woman. He can fuck you as hard as he wants, as deep as he wants, for as long as he wants. He can cum in you, if he wants -- that'd be your problem to deal with. He can cum on you, even -- on your ass, your back, flip you over and cum on your tits. He could even pull that t shirt down and paint your face. Anything he wants. And it turns out, what he wants right now, what he wants this time, is to cum in that tight little pussy of yours. So he does. You hear him moan quietly, and feel his thick, warm cum pumping out of his twitching cock and deep inside you, flooding your cervix and spilling back out of your pussy. He pulls out, pulls your panties the rest of the way down and off, and pulls your top down enough to grab your hair. He lifts your head up, stuffs your panties fully in your mouth, and drops you back down before you can turn your head or ask who he is. He wipes his cock on your t shirt behind your head and leaves, turning the light off. You can feel his cum dripping out of you onto the sheets. You can hear him walking down the stairs, and the greetings from his friends that follow, and you can taste not only him on your panties, not only the little bit of his cum that spilled out before they came off, no. Terribly, humiliatingly, you can taste yourself even more. While you were asleep, your body was awake. While he was playing with your tits, your pussy was drooling into that thong, desperate to get stuffed. While you slowly realised you were being fucked in your sleep, your pussy knew full well, and was pulling every last goddamn stop to keep it happening. Your cum was thick and creamy on his cock, your pussy desperate for more. He could've lasted longer, but your pussy was

begging

to be cum in. Your body wanted it. So you can think differently, but your pussy knows exactly what you're good for.

You get fucked several more times that night. All by the same guy, of course, not that you would know. He uses his own cum as lube to fuck you the second time, and cums all over your ass right after you wake up. The third time you're on your back again, and he keeps pulling his cock out to tease your clit, and it feels fucking good. He cums all over the t shirt, and you have to struggle unsuccessfully to get back to sleep while it's wet and sticky against your face. The fourth time is a struggle for him -- he's spent and a bit drunk -- and he's struggling to get hard even though your pussy gets wet as soon as you hear the door open. So he pulls the t shirt down. The room is dark, but you can barely see his face for a moment. Is that the guy who you knew from school..? You don't get to find out with certainty, because he pulls the thong out your mouth and immediately replaces it with his cock. He tastes like his own cum, and it seems to be helping with the whiskey dick because he starts getting hard very quickly, every minute getting further towards the back of your mouth before eventually he's in your throat and you're gagging and spluttering and tears are spilling from your eyes all with no reprieve. He only stops when he's fully hard -- too hard -- again, and stuffs your panties straight back into your mouth before he flips you over. Your pussy is bruised and battered, still filled with cum and ready for more, but he doesn't want your pussy this time. He presses the head of his cock straight against that tight, virgin asshole. It won't go in, you're certain of it. His cock is too thick. And at first, it seems like you're right -- even with his cock covered in your saliva, it won't go in. But he's determined, and it's not like you're going anywhere. He spreads your ass with one hand, painfully so, and uses the other to keep his cock straight as he guides it into you. Your asshole strains as you moan in protest, it tries to resist the force of his cock prying it open as more and more force is applied, aches as it stretches, and finally, finally, the head of his cock barely slips in. Holy. Fuck. It's really, really big. Much too big. Your ass is at its limit already, stretched uncomfortably wide around just the tip of his cock and gripping the shaft tight. You're breathing loudly, in shock. You try not to notice that your pussy is wetter than it's ever been. It's just his cum from earlier, surely?

For a moment you remember how the evening started. How you sat doing your make up all cute, planning what time you'd call for a taxi, and imagining yourself curling back up into your own bed at the end of the night ready to wake up the next morning hangover-free and ready to go. Now you're here. Still paralytically drunk, lying on cum-soaked sheets, hands tied, probably pregnant, and now getting fucked in the ass. Oh, did you think he'd just pull out after he got it in? No. He's going to fuck your ass. It's not going to fit? Too bad, it'll have to. You've never done this before? Well, you will have soon. He's forcing it further in right now. Can you feel that? Every millimetre further that your ass stretches it's being forced to its limit, and then the next millimetre of cock forces it to its new limit. Every inch, every inch of it is being forced into your impossibly tight little ass. You can't take it, but you're taking it -- what choice do you have? You can feel his cock inside you, claiming a space you thought was uniquely yours, but your body doesn't belong to you anymore does it? It's his. His balls press against your pussy lips as he buries the last inch of his cock in your ass. Get ready, because this next part will be even harder.

He pounds your ass in your friend's spare room. Gaping it, over and over, as each thrust steals your breath and makes your eyes roll loosely around in your skull. Each impact spills just a little bit more residual cum from your pussy onto the sheets as he steals your anal virginity. Your ass is impossibly tight around his long, thick cock as he rails you, sending your brain into disarray as your body encourages him to cum fast. He only manages to last so long because he had you so many times already, but it doesn't take long before his cock twitches each time he buries his full length inside you, and you know he's getting close. You're lucky, in a way. He wanted to cum on your face before the end of the night, but he won't get a chance to. He's thinking about it, even now, getting ready to pull out and flip you over. But he won't make it that far. He's too carried away fucking your tight little ass. Using it as his own personal fleshlight. In fact, he's about to cum in 3...2...1...

It's weaker than the others, his balls already emptied into you and on you. All you feel is the twitching and nothing else for a few seconds, before just a small amount flows lazily out of his cock and into your ass. He collects himself for a bit, his cock slowly beginning to soften and easing the strain of your asshole, before he pulls out. He leaves without a word, and won't come back this time. But he's left you as you are. You won't get found until morning when your friends come to check on you. And what will they find? A slut, used and broken. A whore, filled and covered in cum. Still tied to the bed. Still a bit drunk.

And fast asleep, smiling.