My racing heart had steadied to the driving beat, the last tequila ran wild through my blood, but it was the bass that hugged my insides. Not a groove, just a deep rumble that had started at my core but now pulsed in my cunt like the sweat dripping onto the dancefloor of the Inferno.

A girl’s trip that up to now had been so insanely boring, I didn’t mind leaving all of it in Vegas.

He placed his hand on my hip, and I spun around. Tall, dark, built on muscle alone. Fang-white, bite-white, breath hot with whiskey, his sweat cutting through the smoke and perfume. My cunt clenched at the size of his hands—fuck me hands, grab-me, throw-me-down hands.

I saw Gabby’s worried face behind him, and all of a sudden, she took my hand and pulled me away from the big hands—hands that promised so much more.

“Chrissy!” she yelled over the music. “What the fuck are you doing?”

I snagged her drink, downed it, and laughed.

“We’re leaving tomorrow. I don’t care how many children we have or how married we’ve gotten since we promised ourselves we’d always have Vegas. I need to fuck!”

“Jesus, Chrissy. Let’s get you back to the room.”

Her voice landed flat, too soft, too worried—too fucking married. The beat didn’t care, and neither did I.

I broke free of her hand. Snarled. Yelled at my best friend since high school.

“Fuck off, Gabby! You can come with, or you can go to the room. I’m getting laid!”

She hesitated. I saw it in her eyes—wanting, resisting, almost ready—but she paled, and I didn’t have time to care. I spun, expecting him to be lost in the crowd, finding some other bored cunt to grind into. Forty-two and faithful to the same cock since…well, last year’s trip to Vegas.

But he was there, watching me, and smiled as I walked toward him.

“Hey—” he started.

“Take me to your room,” I cut him off, “Fuck me.”

He grinned, a little foolishly.

“I share a suite with a few work buddies,” he started.

“That’s okay.”

I kissed him. Wet. Needy. Fierce.

“They can fuck me, too.”

The elevator took the beat and bass out of me, but not my need. I wanted him to finger me, but he only kissed me and grabbed my ass.

He swiped his card and waved me inside. Four guys on the couch, hockey on the big screen, another at the fridge pulling beers.

They waved, lazy as hell, until I let my dress fall. Then they forgot about beer and hockey.

“I’m Chrissy,” I said, “and I’ll be your fuck for the night.”

I’ve never been mauled that much. Pulled at and fingered. I’ve never sat on my knees in a ring of cocks, sucking my jaw sore. And when they turned the lights low, and found a track with only drum, bass, and wanting, I was theirs.

Pushed full of cock, still on knees I never left that night, I took them one after the other until they lost patience and used all my holes. The more they gave, the more I needed; the more I begged, not only harder, not only deeper, not only faster, but more. One up my cunt, two up my ass, two fighting over my mouth, until all I could smell was sweat, cum, and my own cunt fed back to me.

When I started cumming, I held the line. Refused to derail. And they refused to slow down.

But when they started cumming, in me at first, then on me, they lost momentum. Pace. Long before the end of my line.

Desperate, I screamed at them, clawed at them, still only eying the apex rising in front of me.

“Fuck me,” I hissed. Then screamed it, throat tearing, voice breaking into the bass.

And driven forward, by the sway of my heavy tits slapping the floor, slapping each other, my leaking cunt pulling them in, my hungry lips devouring their cocks for fuel, and the engine of my lust thrusting us forward, they all climbed aboard for the final ascent before throwing us over the edge.

The room blurred, as did the music, falling off beat, raging down the hill until there was no more track, no more sense, nothing left to hold on to. I rose, then fell, shattered by my own orgasms. Once, twice, until I lost count.

We crashed at the bottom.
I think I pissed myself.
I don’t know what I swallowed: tears, sweat, snot, or cum?

I scraped myself together in the aftermath, but didn’t hug myself in front of the wrecks left on the floor. I found my dress, but no dignity in how I leaked. I found my purse, and my cell was still buzzing with missed calls and messages.

All from Gabby, apart from one from my husband wishing me a good night. Telling me how he was looking forward to me coming home.

I sighed as I swiped my card, then entered.

Gabby sat on the couch, clutching a wine bottle, staring at me.

“Jesus, Chrissy,” she whispered.

I crawled onto her lap. Let myself leak onto her as I kissed her.

She brushed my hair out of my face, her tender eyes looking beyond the smears of eyeliner, the bruised jaw, the streaks that still clung.

“You’ve got something,” she whispered, “there,” as her lips left mine to lick my jaw.

“And there,” as she pressed kisses into the curve of my neck.

Her hands moved down, pulling my dress off my shoulders, baring my unruined breasts, still hers to defile. Her lips on them made me feel unfucked, like she was readying me for another ride.

“You’re derailed,” she whispered, her hands sliding up my thighs.

“I know,” I moaned as she found my soreness. “Crazy, right? But that’s how it goes.”