A Special Occasion

Author's Note: This is a companion piece (same main characters) to 'A Trip to the Booths.' Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated.

As he often does on special occasions, her husband has picked out her clothes for her to wear, in this case, a simple black cocktail dress with a pair of suspender pantyhose and heels, both in black, as well. Noticeably absent are any kind of undergarments, and her initial relief

(we're going somewhere nice)

is quickly replaced by fear

(what does he have planned?)

They actually do go somewhere nice, though, splitting a bottle of expensive wine over immaculately prepared meals, amidst other well-dressed couples, while she spends their time at the restaurant with her knees clamped together, anxiously scanning the dining area to see if anyone has noticed her lack of panties.

Dinner, she quickly realizes, is just a tease, a glimpse of respectability that he will undoubtedly snatch away, a cruel dangling of a carrot while the stick is held at the ready, just out of view. He has, she knows, any number of metaphorical sticks at his disposal with which to punish her: shame, humiliation, his thick, veiny cock. They eat in silence, the fearful anticipation of what comes next causing a knot in her gut, the uninvited moistness on the inside of her thighs bringing shame and self-loathing.

He just knows what you are, and what you need.

As they wait for the valet to bring the car around, he squeezes her backside through the thin material of the dress, leaning in close and whispering, "I can smell you, Karen," and her cheeks burn with embarrassment.

They drive further into the city, through the center, into the industrial area south of downtown, past empty gas stations and dark warehouses, coming to a stop along a stretch of pothole-ridden gravel service road along the train tracks, amidst abandoned cars, under the amber glare of a streetlight. She looks around, wondering why they're here, but knowing better than to ask. He unbuckles his seat belt, and then his pants, withdrawing himself, already semi-erect.

And now the stick.

"H-here?" she asks, her voice very small, looking around.

He simply gives his shaft a shake, and her a cold stare. She regrets her hesitation, knowing it'll cost her, and forces herself to move, to unbuckle her seatbelt and lean over, to not continue scanning outside the car for other people. And then she's serving, like he's trained her to, taking him down to the base of his shaft in a single gulp, his head grazing the back of her throat, lips drawing tightly around his member while her tongue slides and rolls along its underside. Taking a fistful of her hair in his hand, he sets a tempo for her, and she noisily bobs away on his meat in the warm darkness of the car's interior, the gathering froth around her lips and chin mirroring the ever-increasing dampness between her legs that's already soaked through the seat of her dress.

"Mmm, good girl," he coos, "now I remember why I keep you around."

This is what you need, piggy.

When she hears the whirr of the driver's side window being lowered, she instinctively tries to lift her head, to see what's happening, but his grip on her hair tightens, and she realizes what a mistake that would be.

"Don't," he growls, "even

think

about stopping."

So she continues sucking him off as cool evening air drifts into the car, along with the distant sounds of train whistles, and then, the sound of approaching footsteps on gravel. Unable to see, shee feels a rising tide of panic welling up inside her chest.

They're going to see me with him in my mouth.

A shadow falls across his lap, and she catches the faint scent of cheap perfume or body wash, chewing gum, and a hint of marijuana.

"Looking for company?" a voice asks, female and flat, and then: "You already got some."

"It's a special occasion," he says, his voice frustratingly even and composed, despite her diligent servicing of his turgid cock. "My wife and I are celebrating, and we're hoping to find someone open-minded."

"I can be open-minded. Real open-minded for the right reasons."

She hears the rustle of cash, and he presses her head downwards firmly, as the salty, metallic taste of his load fills her mouth, and she frantically gulps it down, eager to finish, to sit back up, to not be seen like this, to see what's going on.

"For this many reasons, I expect a lot."

"No tying me up. No marks. No scat. No animals."

"No condoms."

A pause. "OK."

It feels like it takes forever to completely drain him; when he's finally finished pumping her mouth full of seed, he releases her head, and she abruptly jerks upright into her seat, hastily wiping the semen and saliva off of her face. The speaker is leaning her forearms against the sill of the driver's side car, unnaturally large and round breasts front and center in a strappy, low-cut halter top, countless tattoos snaking along the smooth, pale skin of her arms, neck and chest. She's younger than Karen, and pretty, in a hard-edged kind of way, sharp-featured and toned, almost muscular, her hair some combination of blatantly artificial colors, shaved down to the skin along the sides, the top extravagantly styled up atop her head. There are piercings scattered everywhere, rings in her ears, septum, lower lip, and through the skintight fabric of her top, both of her nipples, and as she stands up with her husband's roll of cash in hand, Karen can see the contours of her crotch through tight, silver booty shorts, and the geometric overlay of black fishnet stockings across her tattooed legs. Karen thinks of tropical birds, decoration, fishing lures, plumage and chrome, satin and leather, black and neon pink all mixed together.

"I've got a room, nearby. You know the Westward Motor Lodge?"

She nods, and there's a mechanical click as he unlocks the doors; the young woman climbs into the back seat, as Karen looks at the dashboard, feeling the newcomer's eyes on her, silently assessing her.

From the backseat: "I'm Silk."

Her husband chuckles and replies, "Of course you are."

Next to Silk, Karen now feels dowdy, despite her outfit, plump and old in comparison, a housewife with some paint slapped on her, while Silk feels purpose-built for the occasion.

Maybe he'll let you watch them. Maybe he'll even let you clean him off. Or her.

The Westward Motor Lodge is nearby, a tired-looking two-story cinder block structure wrapped around a small parking lot occupied by a few decrepit-looking cars and a couple big rigs, all illuminated by a large, flickering roadside sign bearing its name. He parks the car, and they follow him to a door at the end of the building on the ground floor, standing together under a dying fluorescent bulb as he finds the room key and opens the door.

The room smells of mildew and stale cigarette smoke, with scuffed, faux gilded mirrors on almost every surface, and walls so thin that she can hear rhythmic, wet sounds and muffled moaning coming from the room next door as they enter. Silk makes a cursory survey of the room before setting her purse down on one of the nightstands and sitting down on the bed, legs crossed, leaning back on the heels of her palms.

"Where do you want me, baby?"

He shuts the door, locks it, and throws the chain lock on. "Why don't both of you get undressed and hop on the bed?"

Silk stands up and draws her top up over her head, breasts popping free, exposing even more tattoos around her chest and mid-section that continue down below her belt line; she removes her shorts, revealing a smooth, waxed slit adorned with a pierced clitoris, kicking them aside and crawling up onto the bed, her backside swaying as she makes her way up the headboard, making sure to give Karen and her husband an unobstructed view. Karen gingerly peels off the dress and joins her, sitting nervously next to Silk, who's sprawled out across the bed, idling toying with the ring in her clit as she waits for direction.

"Why don't you warm her up for me, honey? Your head game seems to be on-point, tonight."

She swallows hard and briefly entertains the idea of putting her foot down and telling him no. It's just a brief fantasy; both of them know that she'll do whatever he tells her to.

You knew your tongue was going to end up in her, eventually.

Silk smiles and spreads herself open, giving Karen a come-hither hook of the finger, taking her firmly by the back of the head once she's close enough and guiding her face between her legs. Her grip is surprisingly strong, and Karen can feel Silk's will asserting itself on her wordlessly, sense her approval as she lets her tongue swirl around her pierced clit, feeling her shudder and go wet under her touch.

"I didn't think the missus knew how to eat pussy so well," Silk murmured, pushing herself up against Karen's mouth, smearing her wetness across her cheeks and chin.

Her husband laughs from his spot at the foot of the bed, and she can hear him kicking off his shoes, and undoing his trousers, feels the mattress give as he climbs onto the bed behind her. She tries to turn her head, but Silk catches her by the chin, shaking her head and clucking her tongue, now more aggressively pushing her head back down.

"I'm not done with you, yet,

Karen,"

she says, giving Karen a sharp look.

So this is how it's going to be. Are you surprised? You're always at the bottom, Karen.

So she complies, submitting to the younger guest star of the evening, slowly dragging her tongue up through Silk's swollen labia, obediently working her firm, engorged clit, only partially aware of her husband's hands on her hips, his shaft resting between her cheeks as he positions himself to enter her. And when he penetrates her ass, while surprised, she's not unaccustomed to having to please him this way, clenching and releasing him, resisting him and welcoming him in, riding out the initial discomfort, knowing that after a while she'll be desperately offering pretty much anything for him to keep going until he paints her insides with his spunk.

She's moaning, now, involuntarily, her mouth vibrating against Silk, who draws up one of her legs and pushes her head lower, hooking a pair of fingers into herself as Karen finds her rim, tonguing her ass, hard, her husband's cock plunging deeper and deeper into her with each stroke, balls loudly slapping against her dripping wet slit.

I'm just holes,

she thinks,

and I'm OK with that.

Warm liquid hits her face as Silk, twitching uncontrollably on her lips and tongue, squirts all over her, fluid seeming to geyser up from between her legs, soaking Karen's face and hair; Silk tugs her head back up to face hers and drags her tongue across her mouth and cheek, tasting her own wetness, before sliding her tongue into Karen's ear, whispering:

"Cum on that dick, baby."

"Y-yes." Karen manages in between strokes, each one eliciting a guttural moan from her that makes multiple words impossible, and Silk reaches down below her, working several fingers inside of her, coaxing her along while letting her lips run across her ear, her neck, her shoulder.

God, she wants to put her mouth on that skin, Karen thinks, catching glimpses of her pierced, erect nipples, and Silk seems to sense her desire, offering up one of her breasts, Karen latching onto it hungrily, greedily, clumsily suckling and licking as her legs begin to quiver uncontrollably.

See?

she silently says to the two of them, eager for some kind of acknowledgement, some kind of praise,

See what a good girl I am? See me cumming, just for you?

And as she does, as her muscles involuntarily contract around the swollen cock thrusting in and out of her, Silk gently slips her hands around her throat and squeezes firmly. Karen gasps, struggles, feebly trying to pull Silk's hands off of her neck, blackness encroaching on the edges of her vision. She teeters on the edge, feeling the warmth of her husband's load flooding her ass, and then, plummets over the edge, seeing stars, Silk finally loosening her grip enough for Karen to gulp down air and emit a shaky wail, before crumpling face-down on the mattress, the sheets beneath her soaked, her husband withdrawing from her with a satisfied grunt and climbing off the bed as Silk lightly pats her on the head.

"Now

that

was hot."

She can hear the creak of the shower being switched on, the hiss of running water; Silk, she sees, looking up, has fetched her phone and is scrolling away disinterestedly, so Karen, with some difficulty, climbs off the bed, making her way to the bathroom on shaky legs, keenly aware of the rawness of her ass, the sticky wetness between her cheeks working its way down the inside of her thighs.

He's waiting for her by the shower, his cock shiny and still engorged, and she steps into the shower, turning towards him and kneeling, as he follows, stepping under the spray, his cock close enough to her face for her to smell herself on it.

You know what to do.

He needs to be cleaned off, she acknowledges to herself, taking him in her mouth, working her tongue across the veiny surface of his shaft, drawing her lips tightly around the base and firmly sucking the traces of their session away, tasting him, herself, Silk. She lets her mouth roam down and across his balls, bathing them with her tongue as, without warning, he relieves himself, warm urine mixing with the shower, washing down over her from the top of her head, until she turns her face up to him, making sure he sees her perform as expected, the golden stream entering her mouth, her lips gently closing around his head as she drinks from him until he's empty.

Happy anniversary, honey.

He drops a bar of soap onto the shower floor, between her knees, and she retrieves it and dutifully lathers it up before carefully washing him, starting at his feet. He rinses off and steps out of the shower, grabbing a towel and exiting the bathroom as she takes the soap to herself, gingerly pushing his load out of her down the drain, thoroughly washing herself inside and out, opening her mouth to the spray of the shower in an effort to rinse away the taste that lingers there.

Silk enters the bathroom and steps into the shower with her, quickly and efficiently rinsing her body off, wordlessly taking the soap from Karen's hand with a conspiratorial smile before flashing her a glimpse of her open mouth, tongue gliding deliberately along her upper teeth. It's somehow predatory, and Karen mumbles something meant to be a 'pardon me,' and steps out of the shower, hastily grabbing a towel and leaving the room.

Her husband is already dressed and standing in the open doorway as she emerges from the bathroom, the night air making her shiver and quickly wrap the towel around herself.

"I'll be right there," she says, looking around for the dress.

"Don't bother," he answers. "The room is yours until the morning. Why don't you make use of it to earn your cab fare home?"

He steps out, the door clicking shut behind him, as she searches in vain for an appropriate response, standing in the room while her mouth moves silently, no words coming out.

"That's rough," Silk says from behind her, and then, after a thoughtful pause, "I've got a deal for you."

****

She makes it home just before sunrise, climbing out of the cab on shaky legs, unsure if she has the energy left to make it upstairs to the bedroom, and more importantly, to the shower.

Silk had offered her a 60/40 split to help 'entertain,' in the motel room, and when Karen reluctantly agreed, had called up one of her regulars; he'd shown up a half hour later with several of his friends in tow, nearly empty bottles in paper bags grasped in their hands, all smiles and glassy eyes. They were young, full of alcohol-enhanced swagger and eager to put the two of them to work. There were pills handed out, and Karen only remembers fragments after reluctantly taking one: two of them inside her simultaneously; Silk straddling her face in reverse, engorged hood rubbing against her face while a thick shaft pistoned in and out of her, inches above Karen's face; the smooth flesh of a scrotum draped across her nose as her tongue worked someone's ass, while another dug his fingertips into her hips as he pushed, uncovered, deeper, grunting and emptying warm, thick seed inside of her.

As she ascends the staircase in the dark, she's aware that it's still there, coating her insides, along with that belonging to several others. They all finished inside of her, over the course of the evening, and she moves awkwardly with her legs squeezed together, fearful of the consequences of leaking onto the floor, or carpet.

She finds her way to the master bathroom, passing his sleeping form on their bed, peeling off the damp, sticky dress and climbing into the shower, where she quickly loses track of time. She flushes herself out thoroughly, noting, with a grudging satisfaction, the substantial amount of semen piled up over the drain, so much so that she has to crouch and break it up to fit through and drain away.

Such a good cumdump.

By the time she steps out of the shower, the room is thick with steam, and she doesn't see the items left out for her until she's standing next to them at the counter: a large, chrome plug and a wide choker encrusted with what seem to be diamonds, spelling out the word "HOLE." She doesn't remember seeing them when she entered; did he place them there while she showered?

It doesn't matter, she thinks, picking up the plug, admiring its heft, and slightly intimidated by its size. Even after the evening's activities, inserting requires care, and lube, and when it slips in, it fits snugly, imparting a satisfying feeling of fullness, just intense enough to prevent her from forgetting it's there. The collar goes on next, and she admires it in the mirror, pivoting to see the jewels sparkle under the light. The gifts are like a shot in the arm; and she exits the bathroom, the pain and the fatigue seemingly dispelled, and climbs into bed, immediately ducking under the covers, finding him in the dark and hungrily drawing him into her mouth, eager to accept his next gift.