Page 12 of Strangled
I can distinctly feel three hard dicks rubbing against me, rutting to the beat of the music. I’m hot all over, sweating profusely, my mesh shirt doing nothing to cool me down.
Hands grab at my waist, yanking me backward. A dick rubs against my leather pants, thrusting, fingers digging into my hip. I close my eyes and step back, putting my back flush against them as we grind together.
Waves of euphoria float through the air, and when I crack an eye open, I see the vast majority are fucking through clothes, animalistic with pleasure as we all find someone to get off with. It’s heady—tantalizing.
It’s not the first time one of my parties has turned into something like this, but it is the first time I’ve participated myself. I’ve never been this fucked up at one of them before, but now that I am, I can see the appeal.
No fucks given—only pleasure. Heat.
“Come with me.” A hand clasps the nape of my neck, dragging me through the sea of twisting bodies. The guy trails ahead of me but never loosens his grip. I stumble, tripping over limbs as I rush after, the desperation to come all I can think about.
He drags me up the stairs, my hand clutching at the rickety railing for support. Dust and grime coat my sweaty palm as it slides along the wood. Small splinters pierce my skin. They’re a mere afterthought masked by the haze of my own fixation.
It feels like it takes forever and no time at all before we finally stumble into a room. It doesn’t register that these rooms are filthy with disuse and abandon, that there’s a room just a few dozen feet away that sits with rot and filth from two decayed bodies, that this is a fucking murder house with unusual sounds and unexplainable sensations.
No, I don’t feel anything other than hot and bothered and ready to come down a tight, hot throat of someone I don’t give two fucks about.
The room is pitch black. I can’t see my hand in front of my face as I feel around for the light switch. Fingers wrap around my wrist, stopping me.
“Leave it.” Hot, damp words wash over my skin, and I shiver, relinquishing the desire to see. My head’s filled with fog, my eyes bleary, as we stumble deeper into the room. His hands grip me from all angles, pulling, pinching. Teeth nibble at my neck, and I moan, my head falling back to allow him more access.
My back hits a wall with a dull thud. Lips find mine, and we devour each other in a clumsy and chaotic kiss. Our teeth clash, and spit flows between us. I pull back, needing a breath when his touch disappears from mine.
I gasp at the loss of sensation, feeling disoriented. A groan followed by a crash startles me, and I clumsily push away from the wall, taking a step backward. My eyes fly over the room, a reaction of pure instinct, though I can’t see a goddamn thing.
My heart is in my throat, hands trembling at my sides as I hear nothing but the muffled party below.
Just as I lift my leg to take another step back, a quiet whisper fills the room.
“Shh, it’s okay. Come.”
My eyebrows pinch together at the sudden voice shattering the potency of the air. It doesn’t sound familiar—deeper, yet quieter than the one I just heard. But then again, I don’t exactly remember what he even sounded like.
“Are you okay?” I ask, keeping my voice a whisper, too, even though we’re alone.
“Tripped,” he gives me a short, one-word answer. I nod in acceptance, forgetting he can’t see me.
“Closer,” I hear again. I mindlessly obey the command, my blood spiking now that the apprehension has settled. I take a step, my nose brushing the wall.
“I don’t take,” I mumble, even though I can feel my hips resisting the urge to jut out and just fucking take it, like they have a mind of their own.Just a blow job… that’s all I want,I tell myself, even though my muscles are clenching around nothing in desperation to be filled.
“Put it in here.” I feel a touch along my zipper, heavy yet too fucking light. My dick throbs, leaking and aching. All of the blood rushes from one head to the other, leaving me dazed. I fumble with my zipper, the teeth sticking as I yank my fly down too fast.
Finally, with blissful reprieve, I free my cock, almost groaning as the cool, sticky air of the room flushes over it.
“Here.” Another whisper.
I press my hands flat against the wall, confusion jumbling my single-minded thoughts.
“Found a hole,” is the only response I get. I’m too blissed out of my mind to think twice about how fucking kinky this is as I brush my fingers down the sticky, cobweb-covered wall until my finger delves into a decent-sized hole.
A wet tongue laps at my digit, sending a shiver straight down my spine. “Oh, God,” I moan, shuddering as the tongue wraps around my finger and sucks, pulling it deeper into tight, wet heat.
All too soon, the heat around my finger is gone, and I groan in frustration, my eyes snapping open, still shrouded in complete darkness. Gripping my cock with one hand, I guide it to the hole, replacing my finger with my shaft.
I hesitate as my over-sensitive head scrapes along the rough wood, a shiver skating down my spine. Fingers brush against my slick head, tugging. I follow their lead, slipping through the gap in the wall with ease.
As my hips press flush against the wall, I’m forced to turn my head and rest my cheek against it. Dust particles linger in my nose with every heavy breath, but I barely register the slightly burning sensation when my erection is gripped—hard.
