Three gangbangs in one night

Three gangbangs in one night.
By: Friskee_cpl ([email protected])

(co)Author’s note: A few months ago I wrote a story that led to a fruitful correspondence with fellow authors Friskee_cpl. When we discovered we have similar tastes and styles, they were kind enough to propose a collaboration on a story idea they’d been considering. Needless to say, I jumped at the chance. Below is the result of the artistic coupling of the lustiest minds of our respective continents. I wish to thank my Aussie brethren for the chance to play in their world. It’s been a lot fun. I hope y’all like it too. – Fastandsloppy.

***

Sharon looked at her rain splattered watch. She had five minutes to get to the railway station, buy a ticket, drag her bag down the stairs and into the 7.45 train back home. All up it was going to be a 90 minute trip home to her husband and the four other band members waiting to celebrate her fortieth birthday.

The so called conference she just left had been a debacle. From self-destructing technologies to delayed presentations, the day, and the previous night, had been a total waste of time.

Her husband Marcus had organised another gangbang with the band for her birthday, and she had to be home, at the very least, by nine o’clock. Why nine o’clock? Because after the last gangbang good old Stan, the aggressive cockhead with the small dick and appalling attitude to women, told all the other guys’ girls about what was going on. So now they all had to be home around ten. But such is life and when there is a will, there is a way. She had originally planned to be home by about 7.30 but it seemed that fate was against her. If she wasn’t going to get two and a half hours of hardcore sex, one would have to do.

Two weeks earlier Marcus had told her of his plan to fuck her senseless. She hadn’t known about the conference at that time and now, as the companies finances collapsed, she couldn’t really say no.

So here she was, ninety minutes from home and as horny as a goat. All she could really think about over the last two weeks was having the band fuck her like they had a few months ago. She wanted her cunt, arse and mouth filled with cock. She wanted cum, not rain, sprayed all over herself. She was a total slut and her husband loved her for it.

The rain was peeing down and the wind was strong enough to blow a dog off a chain. The familiar blue light of the railways signage beckoned to her through the veil of falling water. She flung her overnight bag back over her shoulder and continued down past the Railway Hotel towards the station. She had a quick look into the pub and saw three workers in their matching work jackets having a beer at a table. In the background the barman was on the phone. ‘Sitting down to a nice cold beer would be nice,’ she thought to herself. She couldn’t say the same about the ‘All you can eat’ Asian ‘Chew and Spew’ next door. The awnings overhead did little to keep the angular precipitation from drenching her attire. Her hair, indeed nearly her entire dress, was soaking wet and the wind had it pinned tightly to her petite, soft body.

The streets were nearly empty of both cars and people, not surprising considering the almost cyclonic conditions. With no weather protection available she never bothered to shield herself from the torrential downpour. Only about fifty metres away was the railway station and ninety minutes later she would be home, naked and being fucked.

She heard the familiar sound of a train rumbling towards the station as she stepped back into the rain. She put her head down and ran as quickly as her heels would take her across Railway Parade. Thanks to the wind carrying away most of the sound, the train was much closer than she thought. As she reached the footpath the train pulled into the station. A builder would have been offended by the language she used as the realisation that she was going to miss the train sunk in. Through the yellow tinted windows she watched ten or so punters hop on to the near empty train.

Regardless of the inevitable, she continued to sprint along the footpath and for a short moment, she was running at the same speed as the train as it left the platform.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” she said into the storm.

Although the train was gone, she bolted up the stairs to the station, took protection from the wind and rain and pondered what to do next. She looked up at the railway staff member who spun the hand on the clock around a full 360 degrees to 8.45pm and as far as she knew, she was going to miss out on the gangbang. All she could think to do was ring Marcus and let him know she would be catching the 8.45 home and that by 10 all the guys would be at home with their beloveds. She fished her mobile out of her handbag and called home. She heard the riff of the Beatles ‘Birthday’ and her heart sunk for a moment.

“Hey darl, how are you?” Marcus said.

“Up the shit.”

“Why, what’s going on?”

“Missed the bloody train.”

The music stopped in the background.

“Bloody hell,” Marcus said

“I won’t be home until after ten.”

“That sucks.”

“Tell me about it,” Sharon leant forward in a despondent slouch. “And it’s as windy as all fuck and pissing down rain.”

“Is there anywhere to go for an hour?”

Sharon looked back down the street. “There’s a pub just down the road.”

“What’s it called?”

“The Railway Hotel,” Sharon said.

“Go and have a beer,” Marcus laughed, “Maybe you can pick up down there.”

“There were only three people in there Marcus,” She looked back down the empty street toward the pub, “For Chrissake its a Tuesday night, not a Saturday.”

“Well I’ll see what I can do here,” Marcus said. “Maybe we can spin a yarn to their girls.”

“Give me a call in ten.” Sharon said. “I’m as horny as hell.”

“No worries love, see ya.”

“Bye,” Sharon said and slipped her phone back into her bag.

The ticket office was still open and a man of indistinguishable ethnic origin glumly slid her ticket across the grate without even glancing up from his magazine.

Like a hypnotist’s spiral, the rain spun around in loops as it was blown down the road in the direction of the Railway Hotel. She was already soaked so re-entering the tempest was not an issue.

With the wind behind her, the trip back to the pub was quicker than the upwind crawl to the station. The owner of the ‘Chew and Spew’ held the door open for a moment in the hope that Sharon was a interested in consuming the congealing by-products of an illegal abattoir. Sharon slowed at the first window, and with a renewed interest, she eyed the three lads through the nicotine stained glass.

When the door of the pub opened and a wet, petite lady with long curly black hair stepped in, all heads turned towards her. For Sharon, entering the pub raised two separate reactions. Firstly she was hit with the smell. Stale beer, cigarettes, deep fryer oil and sweaty men, all combined to act as an olfactory aphrodisiac that sent memories of wild drunken sex flooding through her cerebral cortex. Secondly the icy air conditioned atmosphere sent her nipples northward. The three lads sitting in the middle of the room kept their eyes fixed on her as she smiled at them and sauntered towards the bar.

The pub was your typical 1960’s beer barn with carpet that was so old, the underlay was visible through the worn sections under the stools.

“Still a bit wet out there?” One of them asked sarcastically.

“Just a bit.” Sharon replied laughing. “I missed the train so I thought I’d pop in for a quick one.”

“What would you like?” another asked.

“Oh,” Sharon pretended to be surprised by the offer, “I’d simply love a beer.”

“Easy,” he said as he hopped up from the stool and as he was halfway to the bar he turned back to his mates.

“Sorry guys,” he said, “who’s up for another?”

They both raised near empty glasses before one said to Sharon, “What beer would you like?”

“Carlton will be fine.”

“Carlton for the lady Jacko.”

A drop of water ran off her hair and trickled down into her cleavage.

“You should go and dry yourself off upstairs,” one of them said.

“I might do that,” she looked over to the barman who was smiling at her and still chatting to someone on the phone.

Sharon felt the two guys eyes on her as she approached Jacko at the bar. The barman was giving a mobile number to whoever was on the phone.

“No worries mate,” he said before he hung up.

“Good evening love,” he said as he eyed her up and down. “You look like you need to dry off.”

“Exactly what I was thinking,” she said smiling.

“There is a bit of a bathroom just out the back if you want to towel yourself off,” he turned to his mobile which beeped an incoming message.

He grabbed the keys from behind the bar and handed them to her. “Down the corridor and go through the dining room, it’s the middle door on the right.” “Cheers,” she said and took the keys from him.

“I’ll get you this first,” the barman said as he poured her a beer.

Sharon sipped the amber nectar and went back to her bags at the table. When she turned back the barman was showing Jacko his mobile phone. Jacko laughed and sculled half his beer. Sharon could hear her phone ringing so she fished it out as she strolled down to the corridor. As she answered her phone Jacko was showing the barman’s phone to his mates. It must have been some joke, Sharon thought.

“Hi darl,” she said, “any luck?”

“Not much,” he said. “None of the girls believed our tales.”

“Bugger.” She quickly looked back at the three men and gave them all the thumbs up. “Maybe they can come over tomorrow night?”

“You know that won’t happen. It’s taken this long to convince the girls that Stan was full of shit,” Marcus had been working on them to allow the band to rehearse there for weeks, “They won’t allow two nights in a row.”

Sharon knew he was right. “I’m just going to get changed into yesterday’s dress, I’m soaked.”

“OK mate,” he said, “take care and whatever you do, don’t miss that next train.”

“Bye,” she dropped the phone back into the bag and headed through the dining room. She heard another phone ring in an office as she unlocked the door. The bathroom was small but serviceable. A fresh stack of towels was sitting on the vanity so she grabbed one and towelled down her hair. In her bag she had another small black dress she had worn to the meeting the day before. The mirror on the wall was grazed and cracked but from what she could see her make up looked ok. She unbuttoned the front of her dress and pulled it off. It clung to her like plastic wrap and her hair fell down over her face. Now she had on her semi damp underwear, and she decided to remove those as well. “No use having wet undies under my dry dress”, she thought.

Standing in nothing but a pair of black high heels in a strange pubs bathroom excited Sharon more than she could really be expected to handle. Knowing that four virile men were just out in the lounge had her imagination going and her hands went down to her tingling pussy.

She closed her eyes and ran her fingers through her finely cropped pubic hair before rubbing her swelling clit. Marcus and Sharon often discussed their fantasies and one of Sharon’s, coincidentally, was to be banged in a pub by a bunch of strangers. Clich? Maybe, but really, what fantasies are original? Their open relationship meant that, theoretically at least, with the others permission they could fuck anyone they liked. Was Marcus serious about picking up at the pub? She grabbed yesterday’s short black dress and quickly threw it on. The material was a little bit crushed but not so badly that it wasn’t wearable. She didn’t bother with the underwear, wearing yesterdays underpants didn’t appeal at all. Wearing only a small black dress and a pair of black high heels she leant over the sink, found a semi decent portion of the mirror, and re-applied some fresh lip-stick.

Sharon was in two minds as to whether she should go ahead with the possibilities that presented itself. She only had fifty minutes before the next train and at home her husband was more than functional when it came to satisfying her carnal desires. Was she being greedy? Should she just finish her beer and go back to the station? Should she shag the four guys out in the bar? She needed to speak to Marcus so she grabbed her mobile and called him back.

The phone rang for a while before it went to the message bank so Sharon dropped it back into her handbag and gathered up her gear. The only thing that she could really do is go back into the bar, have a drink or two, and see what happens.

Once again as she entered the room the lads all spun around to greet her. Their eyes took in her delicious torso and the barman hung up the phone and grabbed a bottle of scotch down off the top shelf.

Sharon noticed that the curtains had been pulled down and some of the chairs were upside down on the tables.

“Are you locking up?” she asked the barman.

“Not much happens here on a Tuesday night,” he said as he poured two glasses of Old Pultenay. “I reckon that you would be a bit of a scotch drinker,” he added, “Would I be correct?”

“Well you never know what the wind can blow in,” she said, “and yes Scotch is one of my favourites.”

“Ice?” he asked.

“Definitely,”

Jacko grabbed a spare stool and sat it down next to the table. “Here you go,” he said, “Come and plonk yourself down here.”

The barman carried the two scotches over to the table and set them down. “These should warm the cockles of your heart,” he said.

“And the heart of your….” she laughed.

“Ah well,” he said, “you know what they say about whisky.”

“What do they say?” Sharon asked as she took a gulp.

“Whiskey makes a lady frisky.”

“Does it now.” she took another gulp and felt the welcoming burn down her throat. “Maybe it does, or is it Brandy that makes us randy?” she coughed a little as it made its presence felt.

Sharon wiggled up onto the imitation suede stool and gyrated her arse into the lumpy padding to make a comfortable perch for herself. As she felt her damp labia brush the crusty old surface of the cushion she saw two of her companion’s eyes pop open with eager discovery. She grinned when she realised she’d just exposed herself to the lads.

“Well hello there,” one of them said with a truncated laugh.

“Oops. Apologies boys,” she said looking at them through narrowed, hungry eyes as she readjusting herself. “My, um… my undies were wet.’

“Looked like it might still a little damp down there,” said one of the guys with a nervous laugh.

“Shit, I missed it,” another muttered glumly.

Sharon cast a quick glance around the faces of the men arrayed around her. They positively buzzed with checked desire; eager to take her but reluctant to push her too far too fast. They needed some help. “Well, I hate to hear that anyone got left out,” she said as she pulled the hem of her dress up and let her thighs fall open as all four men bunched around her to gaze at her increasingly moist vulva. She shuddered as their stares lapped at her pussy like a physical force.

She knew where they were headed and in her heart she knew that without Marcus’s consent what she was doing was not part of their agreement. However she gave no thought to stopping the proceedings; her lust was like gravity, pulling her down into a well of warm, delicious sin.

A hand settled on the small of her back and slid down over the top of her arse. She cocked an eyebrow in amusement as the man next to her turned to his mates and said, “I guess that explains the lack of panty lines boys.” They all laughed.

“Is someone going to check my bra line too?” she asked with mock innocence as she raised her hands to lace her fingers together behind her head. Two different sets of hands reached in to find her tits. She began panting in anticipation as they lifted and squeezed her flesh. Other hands found her thighs and began running up towards her sex as her skin bloomed in goosebumps. Hands brushed across her tender labia as others slid down into her dress to tease and pinch her nipples.

“Oh Christ ma’am, you’re so damn sexy,” gasped one of them. There was a general mumbling of agreement.

The straps of her dress were slid from her shoulders as it was pushed down off her tits. Two of the workmen’s faces found their way to her heaving mounds, lapping and tugging at her firm nipples with faces rough and scratchy with a day’s worth of stubble. The sensation of their rough masculine faces tasting her tender flesh aroused her deeply; make her feel naughty and wanton as the workmen had their way with her. Her trembling lust spiked further when one of the men who had been massaging her legs and playing with her pussy stepped between her thighs and began to sink to his knees. She leaned back to eagerly accept his kiss on her pussy.

Unfortunately she had forgotten the stool had no back. With a squeak she felt herself toppling backwards but powerful, work-hardened hands grasped her flailing limps and propped her back onto her stool. Unfortunately, the near fall seemed to have broken the intensifying storm of lust they had been generating and the lads stepped back, forming a ring of aroused, florid faced men around her. Her dress was gathered into a mere belt of black fabric around her midsection and her companions looked over her exposed body with unconcealed desire.

“I declare,” she said, feigning a southern US accent she had been playing around with since she and Marcus had watched “Gone With The Wind” on Blue-ray a week ago. “I don’t consider it rightly fair that y’all are in your uniforms while I’m so cruelly exposed.” She splayed her fingers across her upper chest in pantomimed distress.

Jacko aped her accent as best he could. “Well, dang-blast it. I reckon I mighten just start the ball then and remove my dungarees,” he said as he unclasped his belt and pushed his pants to the floor.

“Do they say dungarees?” asked the man to the left of Sharon.

“Your devotion to accuracy is sadly misguided,” she told him, still in character. “I’m much more interested in your devotion to showing me your manly root.”

A couple of the guys laughed as they all commenced desperately tearing off their clothes in a flurry of flying fabric that erupted around her. As she watched with keen anticipation she noticed their uniforms for the first time. State Rail was stitched on the shirt pockets.

“You lads all rail workers?” she asked, dropping the fake accent.

“Yes sirree ma’am,” the guy behind her said as he went back to pulling off his fluorescent yellow shirt..

“Well,” she checked the time on the clock over the bar, “We don’t have long before I need to get to the station, unless one of you guys can delay the train for a while.”

“No way,” Jacko laughed, “The paperwork’s a killer.”

The guys had shed their clothes and stood around her, naked but for their socks. Despite her entreaties to hurry things along they seemed frozen in place, unsure of how to recommence the orgy. She laughed as it occurred to her that they reminded her of four polite elderly aunts staring down at the last biscuit on a plate.

“You guys realise that I had expected you to have started fucking me by now,” she laughed.

“Well, I hate to keep a lady waiting…” said Jacko as he moved up between her legs.

The spell was broken and the men swirling around her drew close to envelope her in a tide of probing, grasping hands and firm, prodding cocks. Her legs were pulled wide by the barman and one of the rail workers as Jacko pressed in to slide the firm length of his meat up along the furrow of her womanhood. She felt the electric thrill jolt through her body as his cock pushed up over her clit and then withdraw as he slowly bathed the underside of his unit in her rapidly gathering juices.

The adrenaline rushing through her body at this point was enough to fuel a small car. “Quit playing around and fuck me Jacko,” she ordered.

“You’re the boss,” he said and she felt him push slowly into her wet and welcoming depths.

Her adrenaline surged through her in volumes fit to power a semi-trailer across the country. She gasped and settled into the arms of the man who had positioned himself behind her to play with her breasts. She felt his hard cock poking her between her shoulder blades as she leaned back into him. The guys who had been holding her legs wide for Jacko moved up to tower over her torso. She reached for their hard cocks bobbing over her body and began running her fingers expertly up the shafts, over the lip of the glans then back down again to stroke and cup their balls. They both moaned in tandem.

“Mmmm,” she said, feeling a sharp twinge of guilt at abusing her treaty with Marcus. But her trepidation was drowned in a flood of sexual sensation as Jacko began ramming his cock into her with wild eyed gusto and the two men at her sides started slapping at her hard nipples with their cocks. Indeed the wrongness of what she was doing perversely drove her desire higher as she looked down to see a thin filament of pre-cum stretch back from her left nipple to the quivering head of the barman’s prick.

“She’s fucking gorgeous,” said the barman.

“Wait ’til you climb inside mate,” said Jacko with a lecherous grin. “This cunt’s heaven.”

“Hurry up Jack, we all need our turns,” said the man to her right.

Sharon looked up at the clock again. Only twenty five minutes left. Shit.

“Here lie back,” the man behind her said as he tucked another stool in beneath her back. She did, letting her head drop back so she came face to face with his cock. She regarded it from her upside-down vantage and gasped in approval. It was the largest of the group in both length and girth. Her opportunity to admire it’s sleek masculine beauty was gone too soon as it pushed forward to press against her mouth. She let her lips drop open and felt it push in along her tongue. Her whole being undulated in sublime ecstasy as she settled in to enjoy the feeling of two penises moving inside her at opposite ends of her body. “Fuck, we’ve a bit of luck tonight, eh boys?” one of them said as he grabbed her left breast and pulled on her nipple.

Sharon moaned around the cock in her mouth.

“Totally magnificent,” the barman said as he pulled on her right nipple while slapping the underside of her tit with his iron-hard cock.

The pleasure she felt as the four men enjoyed her body was as intense as her first gangbang years ago. She remembered that night when Marcus and three others took turns using her body after a concert. The intensity of the pleasure had been a rebirth; an epic event that had changed her life and her relationship with Marcus for ever and for the better. But sadly, she had to hurry things along tonight. She now had under 20 minutes to get off and get back to the station.

Fortunately she could feel the orgasm coiling up within her like a watchspring. Her nipples grew from merely hard to rock solid and her pussy began to trill with the energy to approaching release. But, God damn it, Jacko couldn’t read her the way Marcus could. He pulled his cock out and slapped the barman on the arm.

“Your go mate,” said Jacko as he moved aside to stroke his wet cock.

Sharon groaned in exasperation. She drew her right hand down to rub along either side of her clit to try to catch the wave of her climax again as the barman slid easily inside her. But she could tell she had lost the propulsive urgency that would push her over the apex of pleasure; the fifteen minutes remaining to her weren’t long enough to bring her to the crest. Shit.

Oh well, she thought as she struggled to suck air around the huge cock now pushing well back into the uncomfortable regions in the back of her mouth. I can at least give these boys a story no one will ever believe.

“She’s really into it,” said one of them. She had no idea who as her only view was an upside-down one of Mr. Fatcock’s balls.

“Fuck her hard mate, that’s what she wants,” said another.

“Mmmmm Hmmmm,” Sharon growled loudly.

“Hurry up, I want a turn at that pussy.”

The barman gave her a few more pumps before pulling his cock out. Sharon could feel that her well used vagina was gaping open, eager and adorable as the third man stepped up to invade her. She arched her back in approval as he sunk into her.

“Give me a go of her mouth,” the barman said to the one with the fat cock. “Me too,” said Jacko as he joined the barman waiting for a go at her backwards hanging head. “Man this bird is hot. Wanna take turns?”

Fatcock stepped away and Sharon raised her head just enough to fix the barman and Jacko with a wild eyed glare and croak, “Come on, both of you.” She let her head hang back and opened her mouth again in anticipation.

When she demanded his two mates fuck her in the mouth, the man throwing a wet, noisy fuck into Sharon’s pussy lost his composure and pulled out of her just as his cock began to erupt. He sprayed a wild torrent of semen that showered pearly drops into her pubic hair, across her stomach and onto the fabric of her pushed up dress, where it soaked in to bloom outward into pale, milky polka dots.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck” he said as he furiously wanked the last of his seed onto her. Sharon reached up to rub the slimy, sticky spunk into her sweaty skin. God how she loves the feel of hot sperm smeared onto her flesh. Meanwhile, the two men positioned at her head began feeding their pricks into her mouth. They struggled to get their rhythm at first as they alternated sliding into her mouth, but soon they were thrusting their manhoods into her face like a well drilled team. The salty shafts still tasted of her own insides as minor flows of pre-cum dripped and stretched from their quivering cocks. Then she felt a fat hunk of meat pushing at her down below. She knew it must be Mr. Fatcock. If she was going to get off, it was going to have to be him.

“Yes, fuck me with that big dick,” she said, throwing off Jacko and the barman’s delicate rhythm. Before she knew it both cocks collided in her mouth, causing their owners to jump back in surprise.

“Yeah, I want both those beauties in my mouth at once,” she said; the word “once” jumping in a frantic key of surprise as she felt the tender walls of her pussy stretched tight by Fatcock as he filled her completely with a single thrust. Her mouth dropped open in a feral gasp and, as she’d commanded, two cocks pried her mouth wide. She felt her world dissolve around her in a swirling paradise of thrusting, punishing meat.

“Guugg mmm hrrrr,” she gulped around the cocks now roughly fucking her face. “What?” someone asked.

“Fuck,” she said as both cocks slopped from her mouth in an explosion of spittle and pre-cum. “…Me,” she croaked in the brief gap in time between Jacko’s thrust to the back of her throat and the barman’s. “…Harder!” she cried out past the two heads pushing at her sperm encrusted lips.

Fatcock understood the command and soon he was slamming relentlessly into her, nearly lifting her off the stools as he punished her pussy with energetic thrusts. It wasn’t long before she sensed his desperate tremble and could hear the telltale catch in his breath as he tipped into release. He gurgled as he began pumping pulse after pulse of hot sperm deep into her womb before sagging forward with sated exhaustion. Sharon felt the stools beneath her scoot along the floor and nearly fall over beneath her.

Reacting out of man’s vital instinct to keep one’s privates out of the mouth of a woman about to fall and possible chomp down violently, Jacko and the barman jumped back. Fortunately the man who’d recently cum across her stomach was standing close trying to tempt his dick back to attention. He stepped forward to steady her on her teetering perch.

“Christ, I’m sorry,” said Fatcock as he helped hold her. “But, fuck that was good.”

“No problem…” Sharon panted. “Just help me down.”

All four stepped close to help her off the two stools. She sunk into a crouched position between Jacko and the barman. She could feel slimy drips of cum oozing from her pussy to drip onto the carpeted floor of the bar. “You two will need to hurry up. I need to catch my train soon,” she said with panting urgency as she pulled the straps of her dress back up onto her shoulders.

“I’m nearly there,” said Jacko.

Sharon could see by his red, sweat-streaked face that he was probably only a few pulls away from climax. She reached up and brought his cock to her mouth. She let him slam his shaft well back into her mouth as the barman took hold of her head an pushed her forward onto Jacko’s prick. She fought back a gag and let him brutally face fuck her.

Indeed, Jacko had been close. After only a dozen or so thrusts back past her tonsils he pulled his cock from her mouth and, gasping a throaty “Aaaaah,” erupted onto her face. It must have been a week since he had last got off because insanely heavy jets of cum arched up across her forehead and deep into her hair, pumped across the bridge of her nose and spurted into her left eye causing her vision to go blurry under a burning flood of writhing sperm.

“Ouch that burns,” Sharon started to say, but only got as far a “Ou…” before the barman thrust his cock into her mouth for his turn. Soon he was giving her the same treatment as Jacko, pushing far back into her mouth; testing her gag reflex while Jacko pushed her head deeper onto his mates cock on each thrust.

“Careful man, you might kill her,” warned one of the men.

“Don’t worry about her mate, she’s got talent.”

“Too bad she’s got to leave, I could spend all night fucking that hot little cunt.”

Sharon wished she could spend all night getting her hot little cunt fucked by these guys too. If she didn’t have to worry about watching the clock she was sure she’d have come half a dozen times by now. If only she’d gotten a hold of Marcus to get his agreement on her little adventure. Maybe then she could justify it and spend the night on the beer soaked floor of this dank little railway bar getting rogered in every hole until she was awash in jizz. A damn fucking pity, that.

“Unggh,” the barman said as he took hold of her hair and held her face back from his purpled, twitching head. She left her mouth hanging open, waiting for his flood. He came almost immediately, filling her mouth with his musky essence until it flowed from the corners of her mouth to hang from her chin, splat against her chest and run down into her heaving cleavage. As he withdrew unsteadily on shaking knees she swallowed his load, enjoying the feeling of his warm spunk sliding into her belly.

Sharon turned her head to look up at the clock but encountered Fatcock holding up his phone towards her. Out of habit she smiled; throwing him a sparkling grin through her cum smeared lips and teeth as he snapped a picture.

“You’ve been taking pictures?” she said, wondering which horrid website she was likely to show up on this week.

“Just a few dozen,” said Fatcock sheepishly.

“More like a dozen dozen,” laughed Jacko.

“That’s gross,” said the barman but no one picked up on the pun.

She was about to warn Fatcock that he’d better blur her face if he was planning to post those pictures, but he stepped to the side and revealed the clock. She was out of time.

She climbed to her feet and quickly smoothed out her dress with her hand. Her fingers encountered several speckles of still-warm jism. God, I must smell like a used condom, she thought. Oh well, not much I can do about that now.

“It’s been a pleasure meeting you boys, but really I have to run,” she said quickly.

“Jacko, you parked out front, be a good lad and give her a lift to the station,” Mr Fatcock said.

The barman had gone to the bar and had brought over a Railway Hotel tea towel for her to clean up with.

“Thought you might like a souvenir,” he said.

“Wow,” Jacko said, “A cheap shit tea towel.”

She thanked him anyway and wiped the cum off her face and cleavage.

“The next time I come up,” she looked them up and down “I might pop in.”

“Please do,” the barman said. “Give us a call. The numbers on the tea towel.” “Not such a stupid souvenir after all,” the other bloke said as he whacked Jacko in the arm.

“I’ll be here,” Mr Fatcock said.

“I’m looking forward to it already,” she smiled and looked at the clock, then at Jacko, “we should go.”

Her handbag had spilled all over the floor. Her wallet, make-up, car keys and the other hundred or so items that are concealed in a woman’s handbag were all splayed across the filthy carpet. She had shovelled her paraphernalia back into her bag when she saw her unfinished whiskey on the table. In one quick motion she grabbed it and threw it down. The warmth flooded through her body and she once again considered staying the night to enjoy her new friends properly. But she let the idea slip away.

“We’ll be off then,” she turned with Jacko just as one of the lads had received a call on his phone. He held his hand up, urging them to stop, “You’ve a few minutes Jacko, Rusty’s running a bit late.”

Jacko gave him the thumbs up and hustled her into the twin cab ute parked out the front.

The wind and rain was almost cyclonic and once again she stuck to the seat as she climbed in. Her well used pussy almost winked at Jacko.

“I ought to stop making a habit of this,” she straightened the hem of her dress back down over her nether regions. “Thanks for this,” she said. “Thanks for that,” Jacko said and smiled down at her waist. “Your husband is a lucky man.’

Sharon smiled back but something about his statement wasn’t quite right. The twin cab tore up the road and pulled into the staff car park right next to the platform.

“I’ll open the gate and you can hop straight onto the platform.” Jacko said. “You have a ticket don’t you?”

“All organised,” she said as she grabbed all her bags and tied her hair back.

“Good,” he said as he separated one key from all the others, “let’s go.”

They flung the door open and Jacko quickly unlocked the gate and let Sharon through onto the covered platform, just as the train came into view.

“Nice timing,” she said. “Thanks again.”

“Not a problem,” he closed the gate, “See you later Sharon.”

That was when she realised what the problem was. She had never told them her name nor whether or not she was married. She didn’t wear her wedding ring as neither did Marcus. So how did they know? Her bag was with her at all times and unless they snuck a peek at her wallet as they were fucking her… suddenly panic set in. She recalled how her handbag had been dis-engorged over the floor, Had they ripped her off?. Her heart beat tripled as she took a fitful breath and quickly pulled her wallet out of her bag. Her hands were shaking in time with the vibrations of the platform as she clawed her way through her red purse. With a slow release of breath, she was relieved to find they were all as she had left them.

As the train screeched into the station, carrying with it a fine spray of water, Jacko reversed out and she was in no position to ask.

She surveyed each carriage as they passed. She was looking for one without any undesirables. As is the norm with trains, you could draw a nice bell curve if you graphed out the number of occupants per carriage from front to back. Ironically she was too far from the carriage that was designated as the ‘safety zone’ to safely walk there, and as the blue and silver rail car slowed to a stop, the last door was the one she headed for.

After an annoying and tense delay, the doors slid open like in an old episode of Star Trek. She headed up the stairs to the top level of the train because down below she could see a dirty old bloke taking a swig out of a bottle wrapped in a brown bag. The upper floor of the carriage only had three other people in it. One young couple,at the other end of the carriage, were caught in a fervent embrace, and an Asian gent, with his head against the window, fast asleep.

Sharon didn’t like the idea of having her back to the stairs so she threw her bags against the last seat and sat down to watch the young couple go for broke in front of her. They were only in their teens but judging from the amount of saliva that hung between their mouths as they momentarily parted, the juices were well and truly flowing.

Sharon reminisced about her first pash with Ken Humphreys back when she was in high school. She remembered losing her virginity to Paul Rodgers in her parent’s room when they went away one weekend and recalled swallowing some guy called Bruce’s cum after a party at some house whose owner and location she couldn’t recollect.

After about five minutes, the young girl noticed that Sharon was watching them and she pulled quickly away from the stunned lad. As he looked at her with a ‘what the fuck’ look on his face, he also came to realise that they were no longer alone. He spun back around with an obvious air of embarrassment. Sharon could only chuckle at their discomfort and quickly imagined them completely naked and hard at it.

But as quickly as she thought of that, she soon changed tack and began to ruminate on the complex issue of just how did they know her name?

From the time she entered the pub, she had her bag with her at all times. She carried it into the toilet and back out again and the only time she could think that it was out of sight was when she was taking care of business.

She knew she gives into the moment when she’s shagging, but without the dopamine rich flood of orgasmic juices to distract her completely, she is usually on the ball.

Granted she didn’t notice that the bag had been decanted like cheap wine onto the floor, but just when did they have a look?

On reflection she realised it was only Jacko that mentioned a husband and knew her name. Maybe he snuck a peek after he had his way with her.

All she was sure of was that she’d had a wow of a time, and next time she was in town, she’d be heading back for more. And then the guilt, once again, kicked in. She’d broken a hard and fast rule. No extra-marital activities without the other’s consent.

But had he given it? “See if you can pick up.” he’d said. Was that consent enough? She decided to call Marcus and let him know what had happened before she got home.

One glance though at her mobile’s screen and she slumped down into her seat. ‘Emergency calls only’ it said. Employing the universal action of trying to find a signal, slowly moving the phone out in front of her, and despite the fact she was travelling at about 90 km/h, she waited until a few bars appeared. As the two green lines appeared she quickly pressed the green phone icon and held the phone nervously to her ear.

It rang twice before descending into silence. She looked back at the screen “Useless fucking thing,” she said under her breath.

She didn’t really have much choice but to wait until they got out of all the tunnels and mountains, and into the outer suburbs, before she could rely on some decent reception. She gave herself thirty minutes before that was going to happen. The only thing the phone was good for was as a timepiece. She had forty minutes to go before she was back at the station and then into her car for the five minute ride home. One thing she knew was that there was no chance she’d be back home in time for the band to look after her.

Flashing red and blue lights distracted her as she saw police, fire brigade and the state emergency service clearing a fallen tree from some unfortunate bastard’s car. This weather is shit. She thought to herself.

The train slowed down and the young couple hopped up out of their seat and headed quickly down the stairs. The young girl glanced back at Sharon who gave her a knowing wink. The girl, dressed in nothing more than a short floral skirt and a singlet top, smiled back.

At the station the young couple were followed by the drunk who was momentarily, and quite comically, blown backwards by the wind. No one else hopped on the train so all that was left was Sharon and a sleeping man.

She could feel the stickiness of her previous escapade cloying around her pussy and she lifted her skirt to take a peek. Her lips were still red from the power fucks she’d just had and she decided she’d clean it up before she’d dig out her old panties and slip them back on.

The daggy old tea towel was perfect as a means of cleaning up the mess. It hadn’t been used at all and was probably cleaner than any of her own clothes. The soft cloth felt good against her twat and she rubbed it for longer than what could be considered a clean up. She was now entering into the realm of masturbation and when the cotton gave way for her fingers, she knew she’d stepped over the line. She watched the Asian gentleman as his head bounced against the windows and she remembered her first inter-racial fuck with a Tongan bouncer after a gig. He was useless. It was all over in about a minute and all the big tattooed boofhead could do was whimper, apologise and carry on. His true nature was nothing like his external countenance. He was actually a very peaceful bloke.

As she let her mind wander off into a mental inventory of the various races and nationalities of men she’d enjoyed in bed, on tables, up against walls or what have you, she absent-mindedly lifted the hem of her dress up over her thighs and let her legs fall open. The cool air of the train compartment felt good against her pussy as her fingers traced up and down along her tender, ruby tinged labia. She closed her eyes and imagined Marcus down there, barely touching her with his tongue as he drove her crazy with teasing, light-as-air licks and kisses. Better yet, Marcus with a moustache, the stiff but pliable bristles tickling along her delicate nethers as he worked her towards orgasm with his mouth (oh God, how she’d begged him not to shave it off, the bastard). As she sunk deeper into her fantasy she felt an orgasm building within her; the orgasm she’d missed back at the bar, returning for a second chance. She decided to commit fully and slipped the index and middle fingers from her other hand inside herself.

“Ahhhh,” gasped a voice from somewhere close.

With a start she opened her eyes. Standing over her was the Asian gent from a few rows down. His glasses were crooked and his hair mussed from his nap against the window, but the most noticeable aspect of his appearance was his dick, which was in his slowly stroking hand as he looked down at her with a big, toothy smile. His eyes looked a little frightened, like he half expected her to pull out a rape whistle and start blowing. But she just smiled back.

Encouraged, he redoubled his stroking while glancing from her face to her pussy to her face and so on. His obvious appreciation sent a wave of arousal through her, so she paused to pull her dress up even higher, giving him a full view of her hips. They were good hips for a woman turning forty; let the gentlemen enjoy the show.

“Mmm,” he moaned as he slowed his stroking to maintain the moment. She knew he was hoping for an invite to climb down and fuck her, but she was already feeling a little morally dodgy about that whole thing in the bar. This didn’t count as long as they didn’t touch, she decided.

“Shhh,” she said when he opened his mouth to speak. She didn’t need him getting talky and ruining the moment. She needed this climax. She’d fucking earned it. He nodded with a smile and got back to work on his prick. His already squinty eyes squinted further and she immediately thought of the old Vapors masturbation anthem “Turning Japanese”. It was bad luck. She had a nasty habit of getting songs stuck in her head and now her mind locked on the chorus to the song. It was like an immense roadblock dropped in the path of her hoped-for orgasm. I’m turning Japanese I think I’m turning Japanese I really think so …over and over and over. Goddamnit.

“Ahhh…” he said with intensity. His eyes started flitting about, looking for somewhere to deposit his load. He looked hopefully at the tea towel, but Sharon had a better idea. She opened her mouth and leaned forward.

“What do we have here?” said a voice from somewhere behind her new friend.

The Asian fellow jumped back in alarm and caught the back of his calf on the seat facing Sharon, causing him to topple backward and land at the feet of a pair of amused looking transit cops. Sharon quickly pulled down her hem. “I dunno mate, but I’m pretty sure it ain’t legal,” laughed the taller of the cops. He was a youngish guy; pink faced and freckled with pale blue eyes and a crooked smile.

The other cop was a stocky, swarthy fellow with a big, push-broom moustache and small dark eyes. He nudged the Asian lying at his feet with his toe. “You are correct officer Barnaby, this isn’t legal at all,” he said without amusement. The young cop, Barnaby, leaned over and glared at the Asian who was quickly working to stuff his penis back into his pants. “OK rice-cake, put your dick away and get the fuck out of here,” he said. With astounding speed for a middle-aged man he was up and jumping down the front stairs three at a time. Although the young cop pivoted to watch him flee, his partner kept is eyes locked on Sharon.

Sharon could usually deal with cops without difficulty. She was a good looking woman and a little batting of the eyes and a bit lip could get her out of most difficulties with a gentle warning, but her curly hair was still wet and lank, her makeup long gone and her dress crumpled and noticeably soiled from the bar. But still, some guys liked a messy girl. A little charm was worth a try. “I… I’m so sorry officers.”

“Make a habit of this sort of thing ma’am?” asked the swarthy cop.

“No. Not at all,” she said, looking up into their eyes and seeing a spark of… something. “Well, not in trains anyway… to be perfectly honest.”

The two cops turned to each other and smiled. Officer Barnaby turned back to her. “What’s your name ma’am?” Sharon told them and they looked at each other again like they’d had some suspicion confirmed.

“Am I in trouble?” she asked with a kittenish purr. She couldn’t believe she was coming on to these cops, but she was achingly horny from her unresolved encounter with the poor Asian gentleman. She was risking spending her fortieth birthday in jail if she misplayed this situation, but she was usually pretty good about reading people and these two seemed ripe for plucking.

“Do you want to be?” asked the swarthy cop. Sharon looked at his tag. His name was Collins.

“Well… A little temporary trouble might pass the time nicely Officer Collins,” she said and cocked her head like a playful puppy.

“We thought you might say that,” said Collins. He held up a phone, pointed it at her and pressed a button. “Please stand up ma’am.”

Sharon complied with his order. “Did you just take my picture?” she asked.

“New policy ma’am,” he said in a dry officious voice. Barnaby however was smiling like a stupid kid about to get his first handjob as he stared at her. They led her down the back stairs to the area outside of the rear control room. It was a bland little room with the alcove containing the controls for the driving the train tucked back in a corner. The engineer would just switch from one end to the other when it reached its terminus, but now it was empty except for Sharon and her two captors.

“Think we should search her?” asked Barnaby with a grin.

“For a start,” said Collins.

“You should probably restrain me too. I’m a double-O spy and my body is a deadly weapon,” said Sharon with a wry smile in a low seductive voice.

Collins and Barnaby looked at each other and each arched and eyebrow. Collins withdrew his nightstick and Barnaby pulled a fistful of zip ties from his pocket.

“Remove the frock ma’am,” said Collins as he dipped his nightstick under her hem and lifted it up for a peek at her arse. Barnaby moved in close so he towered over her. He was almost two metres tall.

Sharon’s heart was racing. When she was young she’d had fantasies of being a captured spy on a foreign train; a woman in peril using her brain and body to outwit her captors. She’d let such trifles fade over time, especially since she and Marcus’ open sex life fulfilled whatever sexual needs she had. But finding herself plopped down into a girlhood fantasy made her feel young and randy. True, she was violating her agreement with Marcus for the second time today, but this was a long held fantasy; he’d understand. It would be as if she came home and found him with his cock buried in Megan Fox’s arse, she wouldn’t fault him for taking an opportunity like that and neither would he with this. At least, that’s what she told herself as she wiggled out of her dress.

Barnaby used his twist ties to lash her wrists together behind her back as Collins stood before her and slowly dragged the end of his baton up the contours of her body. He played his part well, looking at her with iron coolness while she knitted her eyebrows together and panted in pretend fear.

However, her budding fantasy was interrupted when the speaker crackled into life and a voice announced the next station. The lads got very animated. “Think Morris made it in time?” asked Barnaby to Collins.

“Go take a look, mate,” said Collins. Barnaby nodded and reluctantly left the room, keeping his eyes on Sharon as long as he could and nearly running into the frame of the door.

“Who’s Morris?” asked Sharon.

“I’ll ask the questions, prisoner,” said Collins as he stepped around her while still dragging the end of the truncheon along her skin. The light pressure of the hard object raised a crop of goose bumps all over her body. Behind her now, he reached around with his left hand to cup her breast and pinch her nipple. She choked back a groan of pleasure as he twisted it.

“Please… stop,” she said unconvincingly.

Collins’ teeth traced along her shoulder to the nape of her neck as his truncheon moved around to press against her windpipe. She let her head drop back as he bit her harder than tenderly, but lighter than painfully. With her bound hands she could feel his cock going hard within his pants.

“I asked you to wait Collins,” said a voice; low, but feminine.

Sharon looked over at another cop; a woman about her age. She was a tall woman with a firm, square jaw, prominent cheekbones, and piercing blue eyes. She pulled off her yellow rain poncho and threw it to the side. Her hair was short and black and the tag on her uniform confirmed her name as Morris.

“Sorry,” said Collins like a chastised schoolboy. “I didn’t know if you’d make it with this weather.”

“Took me twenty bloody minutes to drive ten fucking k’s in this shit,” she spat out like the weather was the fault of someone in the room. She pointed at Sharon with her chin, “This the tart you called me about?”

“We caught her upstairs sucking off some Jap,” said Barnaby from behind her. That wasn’t actually true, but Sharon let it slide. She was more concerned with what the hell was going on. Especially the odd detail of how could these cops have called the severe looking woman over twenty minutes ago when they only just caught her five or ten minutes ago. But for some reason the woman’s cold icy eyes prevented her from asking.

“Have you lads searched her yet?”

Barnaby and Collins both answered no. Morris held out her hand for Collins’ truncheon and stepped back behind Sharon. Sharon felt it slide between her tights and up towards her pussy. Her flesh jumped and twitched at the sensation. “Open your legs,” demanded Morris as she dug her long fingernails into Sharon’s left arse cheek. Sharon obediently complied. “Bend over,” she ordered. Again, Sharon complied.

Officer Morris began sliding the truncheon up and down long the length of her vulva, pressing it up along her sensitive lips with firm pressure as she rocked it back and forth along her dampening slit. The surface of the hard, black shaft grew wet with her increasingly copious juices. The two male officers moved around in front of her. From her position she couldn’t see their faces, just their crotches positioned before her at eye level. It was no surprise to her when she saw their hands go to their flies and start opening their trousers.

“You are going to have to learn that we don’t appreciate you horny swingers turning Australia’s transit system into a filthy sex club,” said Morris. She changed the angle of the truncheon and pushed lightly at the maw of Sharon’s now dripping wet cunt. Without further preamble she slid the truncheon up inside, causing Sharon to gasp and rise up on the balls of her feet at the deliciously wrong sensation of her rough penetration. Morris began violating her with a firm in and out motion while giving the baton a slight twist with each invasion. Sharon groaned in lurid pleasure.

Barnaby and Collins both had their dicks out now. Sharon noticed that their cocks matched their owners; Collins’ was dark and thick, Barnaby’s was long and pink. They began rubbing and slapping their heads across her face; smearing glossy trails of precum on her brow, over her cheeks and along her lips. She opened her mouth in a silent, pleading motion and sighed in gratification as Collins took the first turn at her. As she rocked back and forth with the motion of the truncheon thrusting inside her she let Collins’ prick move in and out of her mouth along the length of her rippling, teasing tongue.

“Fuck, she’s good,” exhaled Collins as thick strands of precum stretched back from her lips to his wet, shivering cock.

“Gimmie a go mate,” pleaded Barnaby. Collins moved over to let Barnaby slide between her pouting, puckered lips.

Sharon closed her eyes. She was back in her dreams; a young courier for the French resistance, caught by fascists and on her way to prison. Her only way to escape was to satisfy them all so thoroughly that they fell unconscious from exhaustion. For Victory, she thought to herself as she forced her face down on the full length of Barnaby’s cock. The howling rain and the roaring wind buffeting the outside of the train only added to her vivid daydream. “Shit, you weren’t foolin’, she’s taking me down her throat,” panted Barnaby. Officer Morris had shifted the angle of her truncheon so it was now hitting her g-spot with each thrust. Sharon began pushing back onto it; riding it to an orgasm she could feel charging her body with prickly energy. She was feeling the tingle settling into her body from her teeth to her toenails as her bones trembled with the incipient explosion of knee weakening pleasure she’d been craving all day. But suddenly Morris stopped. If it weren’t for the dick in her mouth she would have screamed in bloody minded frustration.

“Come back here Mike, I’m moving up front,” said Morris.

“Sure Donna,” answered Barnaby and withdrew from Sharon’s mouth to move around and take position at her pussy.

Barnaby fucked her leisurely while Sharon watched Morris quickly remove her slacks and climb onto Collins’ lap where he had sat on a padded bench at the rear of the compartment. The lady cop settled on to his cock facing out and began to ride him reverse cowgirl style while he reached around to unbutton her shirt and fumble open her bra. Her tits were small with dark, pointy nipples. Morris threaded her truncheon behind Sharon’s head and used it to pull her face to her pussy where Sharon began greedily lapping at Donna Morris’ clit and Collins balls as they fucked within millimetres of her face. The smell of their mingled juices flowing out over Donna’s lips and down along Collins’ balls sent Sharon into paroxysms of feral lust.

“Don’t you dare come until I’m done, Jimmy,” ordered Morris as she worked herself on Collins’ cock with vigorous intensity.

“I’ll try,” he panted in a voice that sounded like he didn’t think it likely. Sharon gyrated her hips backwards onto Barnaby’s cock, trying to get him to hit her sweet spot as the rhythm of their foursome increased in intensity. However, she’d invariably get herself positioned just right when he’d shift his footing or change his angle so she was left breathless and frustrated. She desperately wished her hands weren’t tied so she could work her own clit. But then again, she didn’t. The constrained desire of this rough usage was building a time bomb of a climax down in the basement of her soul and she was alive with the thrill of riding it to its eventual detonation.

Donna was not having such difficulties. Her wet slaps down onto Jimmy Collins were ferocious now and Sharon was having a hard time keeping her tired tongue on her clit. She resigned herself to keeping it out and available for Morris to slide past as she pumped up and down in her final rush to ecstasy. When she suddenly halted and went tense with a low growling cry, Sharon fixed her lips to her thick, throbbing clit and sucked with abandon. As Officer Donna Morris came with an intensity that Sharon could only envy she felt Collins suddenly start to buck and twist under her as he pumped his load up into Donna. She dropped her face down to bathe his wet scrotum with her tongue.

“I told you not to come,” admonished Donna.

“You said not to come before you,” said Collins meekly.

“That just means our swinger slut here is going to have to work for your jizz,” she said as she braced herself to rise up off of Collins’ lap. Then as she pulled herself free of his cock she barked, “Eat his slime, slut. Don’t you dare waste a fucking drop.”

Sharon greedily clamped her mouth onto Donna’s pussy. She felt Collins’ slimy seed sluice down the contracting walls of Donna’s cunt onto her probing tongue. The deliciously rank and musky taste of their sex drove spikes of red hot fire into her stampeding libido. She heard herself emit sloppy, unbidden noises of rampant sexual gluttony as she feasted and inwardly smiled to herself as she heard Donna gasp and hum at the sensation of being sucked clean by her willing prisoner.

Sharon lost track of herself in her cunnilingual frenzy and was surprised to find herself standing with her wrists free. The two male officers were holding her arms up and tying them to a steel pole mounted horizontally to the ceiling as a handhold. Looking left and right she saw that Collins was flaccid but Barnaby was still rock hard. Donna stood in front of her slapping her palm with her distinctly slimy looking truncheon. She was completely naked now and actually smiling.

“You are a talented bitch, I’ll admit that,” she said.

“She made you come twice, heh?” said Barnaby with a goofy smile.

“Yes she did, yes she did. Twice in a row. I think she’s earned something special.”

Something special? Sharon liked the sound of that. She was wondering what it could be when Barnaby stepped up in front of her and reached around to grasp her arse in his large hands. He was a skinny young guy, but powerful. He easily pulled her up along his body until his stiff cock bobbed free beneath her. Donna reached under her to guide it into Sharon’s body as Sharon held onto the bar and helped lower herself onto the young cop’s cock.

The exertion involved was enough to quickly raise a gloss of sweat over their bodies as they slid laboriously against each other. Sharon threw her legs wide, then wider still as she squirmed to push her clitoris against Officer Barnaby’s lithe young body. But when she felt Donna begin to draw her omnipresent night stick along the cleft in her arse she suddenly realised what they had planned for her. Her mind thrilled with excitement at the thought of a double penetration. She knew from past experience that she’d probably come as soon as both stiff rods began sliding against each other through the thin film of her tender inner tissues; if she even lasted that long.

But the loudspeaker had some distressing news. “Belton, next stop. Next stop is Belton Station,” it announced. Shit! That was Sharon’s stop.

“Hey that’s…” she began when the lights went out and the train began a slow deceleration on the dark tracks.

“Aw Shit.” exhaled Barnaby.

“Power’s out!” yelled Collins.

“Duty calls lads,” said Donna and burst into a flurry of redressing in the dim glow of the yellow emergency lighting. Collins, already mostly dressed redoubled his efforts to get his tunic fully buttoned up. Barnaby however began pumping a desperate fuck up into Sharon in an effort to get off before he had to run off for blackout passenger control.

“Leave it Mike,” shouted Donna.

“I almost…”

“Leave. It.”

Mike let his unsatisfied cock flop out of Sharon and lowered her to where her feet settled onto the floor. Sullenly, he grabbed his pants off the deck and pulled them on.

“Hurry,” barked Donna.

“Christ, it’s not like the passengers…”

A look from Donna shut him up.

“Hey what about me?” cried Sharon.

“We’ll have to get back to you love,” said Officer Donna Morris who leaned in and gave Sharon a full, open mouthed kiss. As she pulled back an obvious look of desire and respect passed between them. Then Donna turned to leave.

“But my station…” she began, but they ignored her as they burst out forward down the train while still pulling their clothes on. Left alone, Sharon could only growl “Shit!” with vivid emotion.

Tied to the ceiling, naked, in a dark room with the wild moan of the storm roaring outside, time seemed to dilate to the point where it had no meaning. Sharon’s anxiety echoed around her brain as she wondered what the hell she’d done in life to deserve a birthday like this. It certainly didn’t help when a hand holding the coldly glinting knife slowly reached around her and entered her field of vision.

“AGGGHHH!”

“Calm down,” said a deep, quiet voice in her ear. “I’m setting you free.” The knife moved up and easily cut the plastic zip ties. Sharon let her hands drop and began massaging her sore and bruised wrists as she turned to look upon her rescuer. Her mouth dropped open when she was confronted with the grinning face of the middle aged Asian passenger she’d encountered earlier.

“Oh. Thanks,” she said.

“You’re welcome. Are you OK?” he asked. His voice was deep, steady and very Australian. She blushed at her unthinking stereotyping when she realised she had assumed he’d talk with a heavy East Asian accent.

“Yeah, I’m fine; just a little frustrated.”

“Frustrated?”

“Yeah, I…” she had meant she was frustrated because her orgasm had once again eluded her but she didn’t think she should share such a detail with her rescuer. “My station is the next one and I just want to get home.”

“Yes. Me too. Perhaps we should make a break for it.”

“Well, I don’t know how far…”

“It is right up the bend in the track. I could see it before the lights all went out.”

“Shit, then let’s get the hell out of here,” she agreed enthusiastically.

She pulled on her dress while her escape partner pulled out a key chain with a small LCD flashlight attached. He inspected the door for a few seconds before figuring out the manual opening mechanism and pulling it wide. He dropped down to the tracks and motioned for Sharon to climb down onto his back.

“You don’t have to…”

“Please, I insist. But let’s hurry.”

As luck would have it the storm hit a lull as he began carrying her along the side of the dark train. Flashes of lightening still forked across the sky and the ground still trembled with the rolling rumble of thunder from far and near, but the clouds only spat occasional thick drops of cold rain. Soon they had left the train behind and Sharon could see the dark silhouette of the station looming up ahead.

“This is so kind of you,” she said. “What’s your name, by the way?”

“Phil.”

“Oh.”

“Why ‘Oh’.”

I was expecting something more Japanese.

“My parents were Korean,” he panted as he carefully walked along the edge of the loose, slippery railroad ballast. “Please don’t call me a…”

And that’s when Phil slipped.

As Sharon pulled herself out of the muddy puddle she was laughing hysterically. The frustrations of the day seemed suddenly hilarious and she was anticipating Marcus’ deep chuckling laugh when she confessed her transgressions and told him the story of her insane night in a way that was guaranteed to get him going. She held up her hands which were now smeared with a black looking mixture of mud and railroad grease and gingerly brushed her filthy hair out of her face.

“I’m very sorry,” said Phil as he held up his broken glasses to inspect their damage in the erratic flashes of lightning. With a shrug he tossed them onto the tracks.

“It’s OK. This has been a fucked up day Phil. It was practically a certainty that I’d fall in the mud at some point. And at least my bag missed the puddle.” “Well let’s continue shall we.”

“Let’s shall. I can walk the rest of the way.”

As she said this it started raining again. The station disappeared in a torrent of falling water and was only dimly visible as they scampered up onto the platform and dashed under the shelter. The place was deserted and the town was black.

“It has been very interesting meeting you. Would you like to come back to my house for a drink? I have a generator, a large bathtub…”

“I’m sorry Phil, I just want to get home now. I’m actually married. But give me your number; we’ll have you over sometime. We’re always open for new friends,” she said with a wink.

“Ah,” said Phil, his voice registering disappointment. “Yes, I see.”

“Wait, you’ve been so kind and, well, chivalrous. Maybe we can finish what we started earlier.”

A flash of lightening lit up the wide smile on his face. He leaned in and embraced her.

They fucked in the dark, open shelter at the edge of the station. Rain was whipped in on the storms erratic winds as she bent over with her hands against a supporting I-beam and he took her from behind. He wasn’t a great lover, but she was pleased to please him with a quick and dirty shag. He was, after all, her rescuer. It was the least she could do. She was sure Marcus would understand; at least, she hoped he would.

Phil came with a gasp and sagged back as she stood to adjust her filthy dress. Then, as if by magic, the lights blinked back on and the town flashed back into existence. They both looked down the track as the train started moving towards them.

“We’d better get going,” said Sharon.

Phil tucked himself back into his pants and quickly zipped up, not noticing his shirt poking through his fly.

“Phil,” Sharon nodded down, “You’re leaving a flag out.”

“Fuck, that’s a give away.”

The train was slowly rolling into the station as Phil and Sharon turned their backs to the rolling stock and headed down the platform towards the stairs. Sharon was looking for the guards as the windows flashed by, but they were nowhere to be seen. The wind had slowed to a mild gale and the rain to a pissant sprinkle when they exited the station and made their way to the near empty car park.

Phil stopped walking as they reached a group of cars parked under a swaying gum tree.

“Thank you, um, what is your name?” he said.

“Sharon,” she said as she brushed her black, dank, oily hair out of her eyes.

“I appreciate what happened before,” he looked down at his feet, “My wife and I no longer have sex and that…”

His awkwardness was quickly stopped by Sharon who really didn’t want to begin a counselling session.

“Look Phil,” she said as she quickly fossicked through her bag for a business card. “I think you are a real gentleman and despite my behaviour I like to be treated with respect.” She handed him a card. “You can call me during the week and we’ll get together, at my home, with my husband, and we’ll discuss your.” he was still looking at his feet, “Well, your performance.”

Phil looked up and although Sharon couldn’t really see his face clearly, she could tell by his voice he was smiling.

“Thank you Sharon. Thank you very much.”

“Ok I’ll cop you later,” Sharon said as she turned away from Phil and headed towards her red Alfa.

As she held her keys in her hand and tentatively pressed the unlock key, she was adamant that if this dodgy piece of Italian engineering was going to chuck a shit fit and not start, it would be burnt where it stood.

Lucky for it and for Sharon, all three lights that actually worked briefly indicated its living status, and with a sense of pure relief she pulled open the door and threw herself into the leather confines of her car.

She immediately snapped the cabin lights back on and flicked down the vanity mirror.

“Holy fucking duck shit,” she said to herself as she tried to wipe the black sooty mud that she and Phil had landed in off her face.

The cream white leather upholstery was not liking the filth, but Sharon had no option but to bring the engine to life and worry about the clean up another day. Her legs and arms were all covered in grey streaks of grime and silt and she noticed for the first time, a five centimetre tear in her dress.

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” she laughed and shook her head, “what else is going to happen tonight?”

Once again she was relieved when the engine cranked into life and the sweet tone of the engine purred into the cabin.

She followed Phil in his Holden Astra out onto the main drag and was relieved to see him turn left and cruise away into the drizzle. For a moment she worried about how a he could see without his glasses, but like most moments it was transitory and her attention went back to another matter.

‘He won’t call,’ she said quietly to herself.

In this weather she estimated that within five minutes she would be home to Marcus and she was looking forward to telling him all about her exploits. She knew he’d enjoy them, surely he would, wouldn’t he?

The doubt mixed with the disappointment of seeing an empty driveway but as she pulled onto the pressed concrete, and noticing that the lights in the garage were off, she knew that she would have the time to explain all.

The neighbour’s dogs announced her arrival with a sharp and decisive array of canine expletives that were met with a few human expletives from Sharon.

Her hands were shaking, something they weren’t doing in the car, as she fumbled with the lock and opened the door. Finally she was home in the hands of the man she loved. Marcus was standing at the stop of the stairs putting the finishing touches to a text message.

He was a man whose expression changed from a wide smile to a look of concern.

“What the fuck?” he said as she ran up the stairs towards him.

“You look like you’ve been dragged through a war zone!”

The first thing she did after embracing him was to cry. The intense emotional occurrences over the past few hours had left her dazed and confused. Should she start the story at the pub or work backwards? Maybe she should let him ask the questions, or maybe just say nothing.

“What’s with all this black shit all over you?” Marcus said as he held her back at arms length.

She managed to smile as the image of her and Phil stumbling over the large chunks of gravel and tumbling sideways into the puddle came back to her.

“The train had to stop for some reason just before the station and this lovely man gave me a lift on his back,” she subconsciously straightened her dress as the rendezvous with Phil played back. “But he slipped on the tracks and we fell into his bloody puddle.”

“Why would a bloke do that?” Marcus asked.

“Umm,” Sharon smiled up at Marcus whose face was hard to read. “Well he did get rewarded.”

Marcus’s expression turned from wonder to enlightenment as he realised what she had said. Sharon had broken their Golden Rule.

“Bloody hell Sharon, why didn’t you just stay on the train and call me?” he walked back up a few steps and left her lingering down below.

“I’m…” he shook his head in disbelief. “I know you were looking forward to tonight but you didn’t have to go picking up some stray fucker on the train.” his tone was now bordering on the angry and it was at this point that Sharon decided to keep the nights events quiet, for now anyway.

“I’ve got you a present and the lads got you something as well, so,” he scratched his head and smiled down at her, “we’ll talk about it later, but go up and have a shower, grab a drink and check out the gifts. I’ll be down in the garage fixing that bloody amp.”

He hopped back down the steps towards her and grabbed her on the waist. She threw her arms around his neck and pulled him down towards her. Their tongues met before their lips did and they kissed passionately before Marcus slid his hands down her back, and feeling that she wasn’t wearing any underpants, lifted her dress.

“I’m sure he was suitably rewarded,” he said to her in an ambiguous tone. She really wasn’t sure if he was angry or not.

She flicked her hair back and smiled up at him. “I’ll go and clean up,” she said not fully realising that that statement could be taken any number of ways.

“Pop back down into the garage when you’re finished,” Marcus smacked her on the arse as she seductively wiggled it up the stairs. “I really do have to fix this amp.”

Sharon just tilted her head back and smiled at Marcus wondering just how she was going to play this out.

“Oh,” Marcus called out from behind the garage door, “Don’t open your presents until after your shower,” he popped his head back around the door, “You wouldn’t want to get them dirty.”

Sharon caught a glimpse of a smile from Marcus as he turned back into the garage. Bastard, she thought, One minute he’s cranky, the next there’s a hint of a smile.

She gathered her bags and spun up into the main part of the house. On entering the kitchen the smell of takeaway pizza filled the air and the empty boxes filled the island bench.

The two parcels sat sadly on the dining table next to the lads’ empty beer bottles. One package was flat and long, the other was square and light. She wanted to open them there and then but considering all that had happened that night, she didn’t dare go against his request to wait until after her shower. The yellowish glow from the globe above the mirror in their bathroom cast a triangle of light across the floor of the bedroom to the point at where she was standing. The two parcels were tossed onto the end of the bed as she quickly headed into the polished marble surrounds of their en suite.

When she finally saw her full reflection in the mirror she knew why Marcus was so concerned.

She certainly did look like shit. Her hair was matted and straggly, her face was splattered with the grit and grime of the puddle and her dress was stained and torn. But underneath the filthy exterior, she felt fantastic.

The pipes in the wall clicked and groaned as the hot water began to flow down and out of the shower rose. When the water began to steam, she pulled her tattered and dirty dress off over her head. For a moment she toyed with the idea of washing the dress and patching the tear, but instead she tossed the foul rag into the corner and checked herself out in the full length mirror.

She took in her naked form with an interest that she had never previously displayed. She wasn’t admiring her slender torso and magnificent boobs, she was looking for marks, evidence of her encounters.

“Bugger,” she said to her reflection as she noticed all the bite marks, scratches and grazes upon her torso. She looked like she’d run naked through a blackberry patch, not someone who’d just been fucked by…she stopped to count how many, but she was confused as to what exactly happened on the train. Regardless of the count she did know one thing, she was still horny.

The hot water opened her pores and sent little shards of pain into the countless wounds on her delicate soft skin. She felt like the water was washing away the sins of the world and she recalled the nuns at primary school reciting the Agnus Dei.

When she rinsed the shampoo from her hair, the mounds of foam trickled down her back and into the crack in her backside where they gathered before continuing down her legs. The peaks of grey water eddied and swirled down the drain. Sharon paid particular attention to her pussy and kept washing it although it was a hell of a lot cleaner than it had been five minutes ago. She wished now she’d gone into the main bathroom where they had a detachable shower head and she could have given herself a thorough clean.

The moisturiser she applied after the shower hoped to settle some of the glowing red patches and her skin was beginning to feel new and rejuvenated. The crisp towelling dressing gown covered her shining form and the red towel wrapped around her hair kept her long, black, curly hair neatly tied and drying on her head.

The two gifts lay side by side on the bed and now she was ready to open them. The first was the square parcel with the large card attached. She knew by the writing that it wasn’t from Marcus and had to be from the band. She could also tell that there was no way it had been wrapped by a man. It was far too elegant. The first thing she saw when she opened the paper was the distinctive Victoria’s Secret logo on the box. Her heart began to race as she lifted the lid and saw what was inside. The black lace, halter neck baby doll nightie, with matching knickers was divine. She held the flimsy nightie up and immediately held it up against herself to check the size. The dressing gown was quickly removed when its thickness denied an accurate measurement. She flung the towel around her hair across the room before she pulled the light material down over her body. It was a perfect fit.

She checked herself out in the mirror and was impressed with how good it looked. These guys knew her well. When she grabbed the card she realised that it felt a lot thicker than normal. On opening the card she discovered why. She recognised herself on the front cover but for a moment she tried to remember when Marcus had taken the image, it wasn’t one that she’d seen before. As she gazed down at her cum splattered face on the card, the realisation of what was happening smashed into her like a tsunami. She sat down on the bed and quickly flicked through the remaining images. The composite of images included some from that evening’s activities in the pub and some of her taken during a few of their other encounters. On the front was a smiling Sharon with cum dribbling down off her chin and the words ‘Happy Birthday’ added across the dirty pub carpet at the bottom.

That bastard, Sharon thought, how the hell did he get a hold of these?

She hit the rewind button in her mind and recalled how Marcus had asked her what the pub was called and had urged her to ‘see if she could get pick up’. She remembered them laughing at the images on the phone and taking the pics of her when they’d finished with her.

He was controlling this whole thing. Sharon was both relieved and disappointed. Relieved that Marcus knew about it but disappointed that had he been there, maybe the night would have ended with at least a decent orgasm.

Inside were more pics of Sharon being fucked by various men in a number of different positions. In the centre they’d written ‘Looking forward to adding a few more memories tonight, happy birthday from all of us.’

Damn, she thought,I guess I missed out on that one.

When she threw the card down she saw the final image. There she was sitting on the train with the left shoulder of a transit cop slightly obscuring her legs, an image taken only an hour or so earlier.

She tidied her damp, long black curly hair a bit before opening the second box. The wrapping this time was obviously done by Marcus. She could tell by the torn edges. The box inside however immediately caught her attention. A long jewellery box is difficult to confuse with anything else. The Japanese script on the front of the box made her recall the quickie with Phil and ‘Turning Japanese’ was still on the high repeat playlist in her brain.

Her chipped nails unclipped the gold clasp and when the long pearl necklace reflected the light behind her, her breathing involuntarily doubled. “Oh my good god,” she whispered.

She held the long strand of pearls up so gently that she thought that they may break at any moment. Inside the box was a small card that Marcus had added. ‘For someone who loves a pearl necklace, a real pearl necklace,’ the inscription said.

Sharon smiled at that and pulled her hair to the side and strung the milky orbs around her neck. They hung seductively down around her neck and once more she checked herself out in the mirror.

She decided to wear it all down to the garage, and after applying some deep red lipstick, she fossicked for some suitable shoes to wear.

The black stilettos she’d bought for their anniversary were the obvious choice so she strapped them on and picked up the knickers that lay on the bed. Looking in the mirror she decided not to wear them and just let Marcus enjoy the show she was going to put on for him.

The garage was still quiet as she opened the door and strutted in expecting only to see Marcus working on the amp. Instead she was met with six coloured lights and the riff from The Beatles ‘Birthday’

‘He says it’s your birthday It’s our party too yeah We’ve all taken Viagra We didn’t want to waste it.

Yes we’re going to fuck you silly Yes we’re going to fuck you silly Yes we’re going to fuck you silly

We would like you to suck (our cocks) Like you did with the cops (our cocks) And those blokes in the bar (our cocks) Fuck…

Birthday! It was probably her least favourite Beatles tune and she agreed with John Lennon when he described it as ‘a little piece of garbage.’

Sharon braced her hands against her hips, frowned and cocked her head like a teacher regarding a class of idiot children. She began shaking her head slowly until the lads noticed and their song began to fall off one fading voice at time. Their faces sank with worry as it dawned on them that perhaps their chance at the always reliable Sharon might not be the sure thing they’d imagined. All except Marcus, that is. He retained his cocky crooked smile as he looked up at her.

Sharon resisted the urge to wink at him. Instead she focused on his mates. “Bloody hell lads… apparently you’ve been watching this whole bloody fuck-up of an evening while drinking our beer and now you think I’m eager to have you lot climbing all over me? Not bloody likely!”

Panic bloomed across their faces. Several of them looked to Marcus as if searching for a reprieve. But Marcus only bit back his smile and shrugged at his mates.

“As for you Marcus,” she stared him down, “You’re a cunt.” It was an insult heavily steeped in affection.

“I’m going to bed,” she continued, investing her voice with a heavy dose of exhausted impatience. “If you lot are so worried about wasting your boner pills you can bugger each other for all I care.”

In sync, Mick and Ben and Dan and Jim’s mouths all fell open as their eyebrows crinkled together in disappointment. But when Marcus quickly pulled his right hand up over his mouth to hide his smile Sharon couldn’t maintain the fa?e any longer. Clasping the door frame to keep from tumbling down the stairs, she doubled over with laughter. When she saw vivid relief erupt back into their faces, it only made it funnier to her exhausted mind.

“Christallmighty, that was a cruel joke,” groaned Mick.

“Getting’ nasty in your old age, eh OW!” said Jim, finishing in a twinge of pain as Dan punched him in the shoulder.

“Don’t ever use the phrase “old age” to a woman you bloody idiot,” hissed Dan. Marcus was laughing along. His eyes sparkled with love towards his lovely, sexy and frequently exhausting wife. After so many years together and so many adventures both sexual and otherwise, she could usually read his mind. She could tell there was another surprise for her; something he could barely hold back.

“OK. I guess I can take five more cocks today,” she said with comically exaggerated reluctance.

The guys all cheered in a single voice.

“BUT… I have two conditions.”

“Anything”; “Whatever you want Sharon”; “Your wish is our command”; etc.

“One: I want a massage. A nice, looooong, oily massage; from all of you; at once.”

Heads nodded eagerly.

“Two: I don’t want to fuck you lot on the floor or on the pool table or on top of an amp or splayed across the hood of a car… I want to fuck in a nice soft bed for a change.”

It was the guys’ turn to laugh now. They turned toward Marcus with knowing looks. His final secret was welling up behind his eyes. Sharon cocked a hip and stared at him; saying, “What?”

“Come on lads, let’s show her.”

The guys came filing up the stairs towards her and she backed up into the kitchen to let them pass. Marcus took a detour and switched on the sound system he’d wired up to broadcast his mp3s throughout the house. Sharon recognised the tune as “Sparks” by the Who. The building tension of the instrumental infected her with a growing impatient lust as the lads surrounded her and lifted her in their strong but calloused musicians’ hands to carry her back into the house. She let her head drop back and saw Marcus following. His face had that “I’m a lucky bastard” gleam it always got when they indulged in their naughtiest impulses together.

She was carried to the door to Marcus’s “office”, the spare room he’d planned to turn into a home office, but which instead kept getting used as a dumping ground for hand-me-down furniture, unwanted gifts, old books and etc. But as they opened the door and carried her in, her breath caught in her throat in surprise. The room was now floored, wall to wall, in mattresses, the walls were tiled in mirrors and the ceiling had several of the bands’ old lighting rigs mounted into the corners with a small mirror ball spinning slowly in the centre and casting little drifting points of light around the room. She also spotted several small cameras mounted at various points around the room. She had no doubt he was recording the scene, as usual.

“Holy shit Marcus… What’s this?”

“Well, I figured the garage had become my office, so I thought I’d use the wasted room for something more… for us.”

“And us!” said Mick.

“You built a fucking orgy room? You bloody mad man,” she said in wonder. She speculated how much this and the lovely, but obviously super-costly, pearl necklace cost. She decided now was not the time to worry about their finances. Especially since the lads were now laying her out in the centre of the room and easing her new nightie off over her head.

The lads pulled their shirts off and began drenching her in lavender scented oil Marcus seemed to have stockpiled in the room for just such an event (the man knew what she liked!). As ten hands began kneading and sliding against her raw skin and aching muscles, the music changed over to “Can’t You Hear Me Knockin'” by the Rolling Stones. She closed her eyes and let herself drift off into another girlhood dream, the one where she was a sixties groupie on tour with the young, Brian Jones era, Stones; in their private plane; surrendering her body to their raging libidos.

“Help me baby, ain’t no stranger,” Jagger was singing over and over as the fingers slid along her body, tweaked and pulled her nipples, explored the hot creases of her pussy. Strong hands flipped her over and now her back and arse was being coated with oil and roughly caressed. The song had entered its long swirling saxophone-y second half and she let herself get lost in the groovy music and the strong hands. She was being lifted and stretched, probed by fingers and poked by frustrated but expectant pricks as one man after another paused to shed his pants. Once again Marcus’ band was her own personal male harem of willing meat: full of lust, eager to please, touching her, feeling her, wanting her. A thumb brushed over her clit. Teeth pulled at her left nipple as a strong hand cupped her right breast. An errant cock slapped her across the face. She opened her eyes and looked up from the bottom of a deep, slick-walled well of male flesh lit in the pulsing and sparkling coloured lights of the new orgy room. It felt like she was tumbling down into the centre of an erupting spark of pure desire that was burning out through every cell of her own writhing body. “Ooooh FUCK,” her voice croaked; completely feral. “Fuck… Fuuuck Meee..”

And she came. At last. At. Fucking. Last.

And it was a powerful climax too. She was still panting and seeing stars when she found herself being lowered on to Dan’s young, finely muscled body and his cock sliding easily up into her sopping wet hole. She was still fairly tender from the long day of heavy usage, but the ache gave the pleasure a keen edge, like painfully hot Thai food or a really fat cock.

The lads were so kind. Beneath her Dan surged up into her like a heavy sea swell so she didn’t have to do much but move her body so he hit her spot just right. Then there was Mick, stepping up in front of her and sliding his familiar cock past her lips and along her eager, drooling tongue. He took her head in his hands and fucked her face with just the right touch of tenderness and wanton force. Her hands were pulled up to wrap around a pair of waiting erections. She recognised Ben’s big, thick rod by touch as she slid her right hand up and down along its length while she worked Jim’s with her right. But where was Marcus? She wanted him inside her. She wanted that so very badly.

Almost as she thought of her husband, Sharon felt his fingers pull her hair to the side and his hot breath wash across the back of her neck. She groaned lividly around Mick’s cock as Marcus reached around to cup her breasts. She could feel his cock pressing into the small of her back. He was as hard as steel.

“I love you Sharon,” he whispered into her ear. In the pulsing synthesiser freak-out of the currently playing song (she couldn’t place the band now playing, not that she cared) only she could hear him; a tender, shared moment in the centre of a thrusting knot of fucking flesh.

“Mm gullg umm ooo” she affirmed to Marcus as Mick continued to use her mouth. She felt Marcus’s glans pushing at her slick, oily anus. “You want it in every hole, don’t you?”

“uuee” she answered, nodding her head as much as she could.

He pushed into her. Her body complained a bit at first, but she enjoyed the sensation: that virginal feeling of a difficult boundary crossed. He worked it into her slowly as Dan adjusted his thrusts to match. Finally, they were both sunk fully inside her and began working her in a complicated syncopation that reminded her why she loved fucking musicians. Not accountants, cops, engineers, teachers or waiters; no one fucked like a musician. That’s what she was thinking as her second orgasm overtook her almost by surprise.

They moved her. She was sitting with her arse impaled on Marcus’ cock as Ben squatted between her thighs to push his massive meat into her straining pelvis. A gentle hand helped her head back and there was Jim feeding his cock into her mouth. Her hands found Dan’s dick, still gooey from her insides, and Mick’s, still slick with her saliva. Ben began pumping her roughly and expertly. Is it any wonder she came again almost immediately?

Thinking back on it later – and dear reader, let me assure you she still frequently recalls this episode to this very day – this is where her memory gets hazy. Three rapid fire orgasms tend to scramble events in even the most staid woman’s mind; but Sharon is not a sombre sort, nor is she above throwing herself into a moment. And at this moment she was positively fuck-mad. Suffice to say, she was on her hands and knees taking cocks from front and back when she realised it seemed like the room was more crowded than previously. Looking up she saw the long pink body of officer Barnaby of the Transit Police as he pumped his cock into her mouth. Straining her eyes to her right she saw his colleague Collins with his cock in her right hand. Marcus had gathered quite a party for her. If it wasn’t for the storm he’d probably have those fuckers from the pub show up too.

“Out of my way Barnaby, I’ve got a load for our hostess here,” said Collins as he approached to spray her forehead with a load of sperm.

It was the first of many. Whether it was the room or whether it was her, the lads seemed inspired and driven that night. They ejaculated onto her face and across her tits. They filled her mouth with warm heavy loads that she drank greedily down; they flooded her cunt and inundated her ass. Many came twice. Dan came four times (and wouldn’t shut up about it for months). By the time every man was slumped exhausted against the mirrored walls of the reeking orgy room, Sharon was left lying dazed and spread eagled on the new mattresses, their sheets now rank and musky with the flood of semen.

Sharon raised herself to her elbow with difficulty. The lads looked at her with disinterested, half closed eyes. She looked down her body and noticed the thick soup of coagulating cum that hung from the shimmering pearl orbs: a pearl necklace on a pearl necklace.

“Love, would you get the clasp for me? Love? Hey, Marcus!” she shouted to wake him up.

Marcus crawled across the floor like he’d been the one fucked by a baker’s dozen of dicks that day and fumbled with the clasp on the strand of pearls until it came undone and rolled down her body. Pulling it up through the heavy filth covering her stomach and tits she displayed the dripping string of pearls to the suddenly attentive men and ran it slowly though her lips while audibly slurping it’s salty load into her mouth.

“Fuck me!” gasped Barnaby.

“Sharon’s you’re a national fucking treasure,” said Mick with wonder. “I think we should put a picture of that on the fucking dollar.”

“Nobody’d spend the bloody things,” laughed Ben.

“There’d be economic chaos!” continued Marcus. They were all laughing now as Sharon looked them over, her face twisted up in a wicked smile.

Sharon was tired. She’d never been so tired. She’d probably be bed-ridden for days from this endurance fuck on top of the two previous gangbangs. But she was enjoying the attention and she was letting the sensation run away with her. A nasty idea popped into her head and as the guys laughed she slowly wound the string of pearls around her index finger until they covered it from the nail down to the base. She clasped the end of the strand in her palm and held it up in front of her face.

“Watch this… We can put this picture on the one hundred dollar note,” she said and dropped her hand down between her thighs. Every eye was flung wide as the men watched her finger-fuck herself with the strand of pearls.

Of course, she was too exhausted to come again. After the string of consecutive orgasms she’d had only moments ago; after the long day and frustrating trip; after two previous gangbangs; of course an orgasm was out of the question.

…But… she felt the warmth building in her as the smooth but lumpy pressure of the pearls strained at the limits of her overused pussy. The guys were tugging at their limp pricks as they watched, trying to eke out one last go for their now-useless shafts. Their desire and frustration was a like an aphrodisiac and she felt her muscles grow taut and her breath grow shallow as her body hummed with one last impossible climb up to of the apex of sensation.

“Unnng” she gasped as she felt her body grow tense with power of the coming explosion. She collapsed onto her back and began ramming herself hard with the pearls. “Ohhhhh Fuuuck!” she groaned as she felt her skin, then her bones, then her very soul tingle with the incipient pleasure she could no longer hold back.

“OwAaahh, Ahhhh, Ung. Fuck. FUCK. Holy Christ. I can’t fucking believe that.” She panted as the men looked on in disbelief. They traded glances back and forth as if looking for confirmation to what they’d just witnessed.

She brought the filthy strand of pearls back to her face and began to lick at them once more. Thanks to Pfizer’s blue diamond she saw several of the lads cocks were getting hard again.

It was hours, many, many hours, later and Marcus and Sharon were laying arm and arm in the stale funk of their orgy room. Dave Graney’s ‘Rock and Roll is Where I Hide’ filled the room with his cheesy groove and took her back to her first threesome with Marcus and a workmate called Julian. They’d slept late, but they had no idea how late since Marcus had purposely not installed a clock in the room.

“So,” he said when he noticed she was awake. “Did you like your party?’ “Of course I did you bloody fool.”

“Bloody fool?”

“So how much of our money did this,” she waved her hand to indicate the room. “And this,” she plucked at her necklace, “cost us.”

“Quite a bit. Quite a bit.”

“So that pushes back our trip to Amsterdam to… when?” she asked pointedly, trying hard not to feel annoyed.

“Well, that’s the surprise I didn’t tell you. Remember that CD that my old band put out like ten years ago, back before Mick and I started playing together?”

“No.”

“Well, the last track is pure filler. I banged it out in the studio myself one afternoon to just pad the album out to forty minutes. Anyway, some bloke in America heard it – fuck if I know how – and decided it was just what he wanted as the theme for some TV show he’s producing. Something serial about a woman cop.”

She narrowed her eyes at him and cocked her head. “Pull the other one.”

“No. It’s true. They bought the rights to it. I made enough to buy the materials to build our little fuck chamber and get you the type of pearl necklace you can show your mum. Plus, there was a little extra to throw into the bank towards our trip.”

Sharon’s jaw had dropped open. “Oh darling, you should’ve got something for yourself.”

“I thought I did.”

She smiled a little half smile. “You always were a lucky bastard.”

He reached out and pulled her to him. Their flesh was still tacky from the night before as they pressed their bodies tight.

“Yeah,” he said as he pulled her face to his for a kiss. “I know I am.”

***

We hope you enjoyed reading this as much as we did in the writing and collaboration of it. A big thank you goes out to Fastandsloppy whose erotic prose surpasses all others. Collaboration has helped turn what was a sketchy idea into the rollicking romp you have just read. It is well worth the experiment. Please take the time to send us a message.

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