The text came mid-afternoon. “Be ready tonight. I’ve got a surprise for you.” No explanation, no details. Just a time and a place.

By the time I slipped into the passenger seat, I could already feel that nervous ache I always get when something’s brewing. The drive was quiet, headlights cutting the evening dark, until we pulled into the glowing parking lot of an adult store just off the interstate.

He parked around the back, away from the main entrance, where the lot was dimmer and a lot more cars. The air was sharp and cold when I stepped out, the neon glow buzzing faintly above the roofline.

Inside, the warmth hit right away—humid, faintly sweet, heavy with latex and lube. A woman stood behind the counter, mid-40s maybe, with big hoop earrings and lipstick a shade too dark for her skin. She looked me over slowly, eyes wandering down to my chest, then back up to my face.

“Evenin’,” she drawled, leaning against the counter. “What’re you two up to tonight?”

He answered, but her gaze stayed locked on me. I shifted on my feet, feeling her eyes rake across me, the corner of her mouth curling.

“Arcade’s through the hall,” she said, nodding. “Theater’s open, big crowd tonight.” She paused, letting that settle. “You’ll have fun.”

Her tone made my skin prickle. I managed a quick nod, and we moved past, but I felt her watching as the door clicked shut behind us.

The hall was lined with booths, the faint hum of porn playing behind thin doors. A few men lingered, glancing up as we passed. When we reached the double doors at the end, he pushed them open and motioned me inside.

The theater was dark, smelling of sweat and stale cum. A porn movie glowed on the screen, but nobody was really watching. Men were scattered across rows, some alone, some in twos or threes. Heads turned as I walked in, every eye on me, the only woman in the room.

He led me down front, sat me in the third row. My pulse was hammering, the air thick with silence and shifting weight.

The first man approached within minutes—mid-30s, stocky, in a faded hoodie. He hovered, waiting. He didn’t even need to ask. I spread my knees, tugged my skirt up, and my panties were never put on. His cock was out quick, hard and thick, and I leaned down to take him in my mouth.

The taste of him filled me, bitter and raw, while another man—older, gray stubble, beer belly pushing against his shirt—took the open space beside me. His hand slid under my top, squeezing my tits, rough fingers pinching my nipples until I gasped.

I pulled off and let the older one guide me onto his lap. His cock pushed inside my pussy, hot and blunt, while the younger one fed me his again. The spit roast started fast, no preamble.

From there, it never slowed.

Men drifted in and out, one after another. Some lasted several minutes, some barely half a thrust. My top was stripped off early, then my skirt, until I was naked in the seat, my holes being filled constantly. Hands everywhere, squeezing my tits, slapping my ass, guiding my head down onto cock after cock.

One man came in my mouth and I swallowed without hesitation, barely catching my breath before another slid into the same spot. Another pulled out of my pussy to shoot across my tits, and while I smeared it over my nipples, two more cocks pressed forward—one sliding into my mouth, the other filling my ass for the first time that night.

I groaned, muffled, as the stretch tore through me. The rhythm built—pussy, ass, mouth—bodies switching, thrusts rough and constant. Double penetration turned into a steady cycle, my body kept open and ready, the lines of men shifting with each load shot into me.

They used me in waves. Older men who grunted and pumped a handful of strokes before unloading, younger ones who hammered me until my legs shook. A wiry man with tattoos pulled my hair back and fucked my throat until tears ran down my cheeks. 

The air reeked of sweat and cum, moans and grunts filling the theater over the forgotten porn on screen. I lost count of how many men had used me. My skin was slick with spit and semen, my holes raw and stretched.

At one point, I was bent forward between the seats, two men pressed tight at once—one in my pussy, one in my ass—while a third shoved his cock between my tits. Cum dripped down my cleavage, down my stomach, pooling in my lap before the next cock slid through it to push inside again.

Hours passed like that, waves of men, my body never left empty. When one pulled out, another took his place. I was passed around like nothing more than a hole to fill, my throat sore, my pussy aching, my ass stretched.

Eventually, the pace slowed. The crowd thinned, men drifting out satisfied. I was left slumped against a seat, tits streaked with cum, thighs sticky, lips swollen. My body trembled, used up.

He helped me to my feet, gathered my scattered clothes, though I barely bothered putting them back on. We stepped out into the hall, and the sudden quiet felt almost deafening.

The counter lady was still there when we emerged. She looked me over, eyes sweeping across the mess drying on my skin, and smirked.

“Good night, huh?” she said, arching an eyebrow.

I managed a crooked smile, still catching my breath.

“Thought so,” she said. “Come back anytime.”

The cold hit hard when we stepped outside, wind sharp against my bare skin. I shivered, pulling my coat around me, cum drying tacky under the fabric. The lot was nearly empty, the neon buzz soft in the night air.

We didn’t speak on the drive back. I just sat there, sore and aching, replaying every moment until we pulled into the dark quiet of home.