Speaker 1: The zipper on my denim skirt felt louder than it
should have, a metallic shriek. In the silence of my bedroom.
At one in the morning, I froze, held my breath,
listened for the creak of floorboards in the hallway, the
shuffle of my parents' footsteps. Nothing, just the hum of
the refrigerator downstairs, and the distant bark of a neighbor's dog.
I pulled the skirt up over my hips, wriggling into
the tight fabric. The black crop top came next, a
little thing I'd bought three weeks ago and hidden in
the back of my closet, still smelling faintly of the mall.
I'd been planning this night since my eighteenth birthday, fourteen
days of imagining, fourteen nights of touching myself with one
hand over my mouth while I thought about what might
happen inside those doors. The club was called ven. I'd
overheard two girls in the coffee shop talking about it
in hushed, giggling tones. Everyone there is so free, one
of them had said, and the phrase had lodged itself
in my brain like a splinter. I couldn't work loose.
My window slid open without protest. I'd greased the tracks
with cooking spray the afternoon before. The drop from the
porch roof to the lawn was maybe six feet, I'd measured,
and my converse made barely a sound. When I landed,
crouched and already running through the dark, the uber smelled
like vanilla air freshener and someone else's cologne. The driver
didn't speak. I watched the street lights slush across my
thighs and thought about turning back. I didn't turn back.
Then was tucked between a laundromat and a boarded up pawnshop,
its entrance marked only by a red bulb above an
unmarked steel door. The bouncer, a woman with a shaved
head and a neck tattoo of a scorpion, looked at
my id for a long time before nodding me through.
First time, my voice came out a whisper. Yeah. She smiled.
The smile was knowing, predatory, almost maternal. They're going to
love you. The hallway beyond the door was black painted
and narrow, music vibrating so deep I felt it in
my molars. Then the hallway opened into a room, and
the room opened into a world bodies everywhere, couches in
dark leather, low tables, curtains of red velvet partitioning off
alcoves where shapes moved together in half shadow. The lighting
was amber and bruise purple. A woman in a harness
of black straps walked past, leading a man on a leash,
and nobody stared. And that's when I realized nobody was
going to stare at me either, not unless I wanted
them to. But I wanted them to. I stepped further in.
The music was something with a slow grinding beat, and
my hip started moving without permission. A man looked up
from the couch to my left, forties, maybe with salt
and pepper stubble, and eyes that caught the light, and
his gaze traveled my body like a hand. Well, hello,
he said. His voice was low textured. Just what I've
been looking for? Fresh meat, he said, I should have
been a fan instead. Something hot unspooled in my stomach.
First time he asked, and I realized I'd been asked
that twice in ten minutes. Yeah, he stood. He was
taller than i'd expected, broad shouldered, wearing a charcoal button
up with the sleeves rolled to the elbows. I'm Paul.
He extended a hand, and when I took it, he
didn't shake. He held his thumb traced my knuckles. You're
going to get a lot of attention tonight. A woman
appeared beside him, older fifties, perhaps, with silver streaked hair
and lipstick the color of dried blood. Her dress was
sheer and left nothing to the imagination. She cuped my
chin and turned my face toward hers. Look at this one,
She murmured, The things I could teach you. I opened
my mouth to speak, but Paul's hand had moved to
the small of my back, and the woman's hand was
on my hip. And three more people had materialized from
the shadows. A younger man with sleeve tattoos, a curvy
woman in a latex body suit, another man with a
shaved head and a runner's build. They encircled me, slowly, deliberately,
the way water closes around a stone. You want to play,
Paul asked, his lips close to my ear. Say no,
and we back off. No hard feelings. Everyone here respects boundaries.
I looked at the circle of faces. I'd never felt
so wanted, so seen so completely. The center of gravity yes,
I said, I want to. The alcove had a large
circular bed and walls draped in crimson fabric. Someone dimmed
the lights further. Someone else handed me a glass of wine,
which I drank in three gulps. Then hands were on me,
too many to count, too many to track. The latex woman,
Mara I'd learn, unclasped my skirt with practiced fingers, while
the silver haired woman tugged my crop top over my head.
Cool air hit my nipples and they tightened instantly, drawing
a low laugh from Paul. Eager little thing, he said,
look at those. The tattooed man knelt behind me, his
breath hot on my shoulder blades. What's your name, sweetheart, Cassie?
The word came out, fractured, Cassie, he repeated, tasting it
pretty name for a pretty slut. The word hit me
like a slap. It should have stung, but instead it
pooled warmth between my thighs. My breath caught. Paul noticed,
Oh she likes that, he said, tilting my chin up.
Say it again, filthy little slut. The tattooed man whispered,
against my spine. You came here to get used didn't
you to get filled up by strangers until you can't
walk straight. I couldn't form words. I nodded. Mara pushed
me onto the bed, and the silver haired woman, Claire,
straddled my face before I could orient myself. Her scent
was musk and salt, and her thighs pressed against my ears,
muffling the music to a distant throb. Show me what
that mouth can do, baby girl, she said, lowering herself
onto my lips. Make me proud. I'd never been with
a woman before. My tongue moved awkwardly at first, searching, probing,
until Claire's hand fisted in my hair and guided me there,
right there, don't stop eat that old cunt. Good use slut. Meanwhile,
other things were happening to my body. A mouth closed
around my left nipple, Paul's mouth, I recognized. His stubble.
Fingers pushed inside me two or three I couldn't tell,
and they curled upward in a way that made my
vision spark. The tattooed man had my right hand wrapped
around his cock, guiding my strokes, teaching me his rhythm.
You're dripping, Paul observed, his voice thick with amusement. He
lifted his head from my breast. The carpets soaked, and
she's only been here five minutes. Boys, I think we
found an insatiable one. Laughter rippled through the group, not cruel, laughter, appreciative,
like they'd discovered something valuable. Claire came on my mouth
with a sharp cry, her thighs clenching, and I swallowed
everything she gave me. When she dismounted, my face was
slick from chin to nose, and Paul leaned down to
lick a stripe across my cheek. Tastes good on you,
he said. Now, let's see what else that mouth can do.
What followed was ours, at least it felt like ours time,
and then moved differently, syrupy and distorted, marked only by
the rhythm of bodies and the wet sounds of sex.
Paul positioned me at the edge of the bed, so
I was on my knees, face height, with the crotches
of whoever stood before me. You're going to suck every
cock in this room tonight, he told me, his tone casual,
like he was assigning chores, and you're going to thank
them for using you. The tattooed man was first grasped
my jaw and fed himself into my mouth, pushing past
my lips until I gagged. Relax your throat, Claire coached
from somewhere behind me. Breathe through your nose. I tried.
Tears streamed down my cheeks, but I didn't pull away.
Look at me, the tattooed man commanded, and I tilted
my eyes up. He held my gaze as he fucked
my face with slow, punishing strokes. That's it, Take it,
take all of it. When he came, it was with
a guttural groan, and the salt bitter heat of it
filled my mouth. I held it on my tongue, unsure
until Paul's voice cut through. Don't swallow yet. He cupped
my chin, tilted my head back and kissed me deeply, filthily,
his tongue plunging into my mouth and swirling through the
mess there. He pulled back with a wet sound. Share
it with me, he said, and I understood. He wanted
me to pass the com back and forth between our mouths.
We did it time and time again that night, different men,
different women too. Mara had a strap on. She called Veronica,
and she made me choke on it, while Paul kissed
the tears from my cheeks. Each time someone new spilled
onto my tongue, and each time Paul was there to
kiss me afterward, to taste what they'd left behind. You're
my favorite, he whispered, his lips, brushing mine, sticky and warm,
my perfect little cumbucket. The words should have horrified me. Instead,
I pressed my thighs together and moaned. Someone else's cock
was already waiting. I don't remember leaving. Then the details
dissolve into static. The uber ride with my skirt on backward,
the climb back through my window, The way my thighs
trembled so badly I nearly slipped off the porch roof.
My bed sheets were cool and clean, and I crawled
into them without showering, still tacky with dried sweat and
other things. Sleep hit like a freight train. Morning arrived
too bright and too loud. My alarm blared at seven,
and I dragged myself upright, wincing at tenderness in places
I didn't know could be tender. The mirror showed a
girl with tangled hair, bruised lips, and a faint mark
on her collar bone that I couldn't explain. I covered
it with concealer and hoped for the best. College was
a blur. My first class introduction to English literature was
in a lecture hall on the third floor of the
Humanity's Building. I slid into a seat near the bed,
rested my head on my palm, and waited for the
professor to appear. The door opened. A man walked in charcoal,
button up sleeves, rolled to the elbows, salt and pepper,
stubble eyes that caught the light. He set his briefcase
on the lectern, scanned the room, and stopped when he
found my face. His expression didn't falter. The smile that
spread across his features was slow, deliberate, and devastatingly familiar.
Class he announced, his voice carrying to every corner of
the silent hall, the voice that had whispered filth into
my ear twelve hours ago. I'm your new teacher, mister Keenan.
He held my gaze, and I think we're all going
to get on splendidly, blendidly. I hoped you enjoyed today's
sexy story. If you love this podcast, leave an Apple review,
Share what sexy fantasies you want to hear. Maybe we
can make your dirty dreams come true. See you soon.