It’s Friday night. The night club is loud and dense and sweaty and the crowd flickers in and out of existence as the lights strobe around them. I can feel the fast-paced rumble of rap lyrics in my bones as the speakers rhythmically thunder with bass.

LESS is the name of the club. It’s the kind of place where half the girls aren’t wearing panties and half the boys have perpetual erections.

I’m at the club with my boyfriend, Jason Thompson – he’s the perpetual erection type. Jason is sitting next to me in a big, circular, corner booth, but he’s ignored me all night – instead he’s leaning over me, having a conversation with a pretty, young girl on the other side of me. I don’t know this girl, but I immediately dislike her.

They talk about inane subjects, such as the schools they’ve attended and the cars they’ve driven. I use the word ‘they’, but in reality the conversation is obnoxiously one-side – the pretty girl is yammering a mile-a-minute while my boyfriend simply stares down into her aggravatingly perfect crease of tan cleavage. I notice him staring as the girl’s breasts jiggle slightly with each hand gesture she makes. I’m a pretty understanding girl, though, and would never chide my boyfriend for such a simple faux pas. Instead I sit there between them awkwardly nursing my Vodka-tonic.

I don’t like this girl. I don’t like her hair. It’s blonde and wavy and perfect and it seems to spring and bounce with her chattering head as she talks. She seems bouncy. Her breasts are bouncy and her hair is bouncy and her head is bobbling from side-to-side. Bobbling is similar to bouncing.

I study her. I also don’t like her dress. It’s red and short and slutty and it seems tailored to her – it seems to fit her as if she were designed for it. She stands up to ask my boyfriend to dance. She’s perky and flirty — like she’s 18 years old – like she’s a cheerleader. I hate her.

Ok, I admit it. I’m jealous. My boyfriend looks frozen by the offer to dance. Stunned, like he’s immobile, like a mannequin with a giant hard-on.

I don’t blame him, I guess, so I say nothing as they get up to dance. I smile, insisting that I don’t mind. Why would I mind? That sounds like something a prude would do. I’m certainly not a prude, so I watch my boyfriend grab this pretty young girl’s hand and drag her into the sea of people on the dance floor. They disappear as I drink another vodka-tonic… and then another… and another. The drinks are $10 a piece, but they seem like a good value, considering the circumstances.

I’m on drink 6 by the time they get back. They’ve been gone for what seems like an eternity, and they’re hot, drunk, and sweaty by the time they return. My boyfriend’s t-shirt is tight, wet, and clinging to him – coincidentally the pretty girl is clinging to him too, and I imagine that’s she’s equally tight and wet. I don’t like her. Her hair is now glistening and beads of sweat seem to be sizzling off her chest. He has his hand on the small of her back – or possibly her ass, I can’t tell — steadying her as she drunkenly sways in her ridiculous, red high heels.

For most boys this would be the end-of-the line. This would be the point where an ordinary girlfriend would put her foot down. I, however, am better than that. I am a good, understanding girlfriend, so instead of jealously storming out of the club I let the tight, wet, firm, slutty, glistening, pretty girl stumble into the booth next to me – practically on top of me.

I must admit that she smells good – like some aromatic mix of candy and sex and sweat – like Halloween just stuck a lollipop up her tight little asshole. I imagine what this might look like – her young butthole pinching the white paper stem as it sticks out between her two tan, firm buttcheeks. I smile thinking about it.

I notice that she’s smiling back at me. It’s an impossibly cordial, pretty smile – maybe she doesn’t have anything up her ass after all.

“I’m Mandy.” She says over the loud club music that is still blaring.

That rhymes with candy, I think to myself. My smile grows.

“I’m Kelli.” I say.

“Your boyfriend is a great dancer.” She chatters, parts bouncing.

Her breath smells like peppermint – like she just gave Christmas a blowjob – like peppermint elf cum. I try to imagine what this might look like. I imagine her stripped naked in the snow, wearing nothing except for a Santa hat, high heels, and slutty, red, thigh-high stockings as a dozen, well-hung elves gather around her. I imagine one of the elves working the lollipop in and out of her asshole like an anal bead while the other elves force-feed her their oversized dicks, dumping load after load of peppermint-flavored elf cum in her mouth.

Jesus, I’m drunk, I think to myself. My head begins to spin as she bobbles and bounces and breathes. She breathes Christmas onto me – it smells amazing. I’m disoriented by her.

“I love your dress.” She continues. She reaches up and gently feels one of the straps, either accidentally or purposefully letting her hand linger against my skin.

Within 5 minutes I no longer dislike her. Within 10 minutes I know her last name – it’s Evans, even though I was hoping it was Kane. Soon we’re squeezing more people into the booth and she’s sitting on my lap and she has her arm draped around my neck. It’s casual, but flirty, and the boys are watching.

She’s flirting with me, I think to myself. I try to keep her from being so damn friendly, but it’s infectious. It’s all infectious. She’s infectious. She keeps touching my bare skin and breathing peppermint on me while she talks to me. I imagine that one of the elves turns and notices me as he shoots sticky white ropes of white peppermint cum onto Mandy’s busty, tight, contrastingly tan body.

I smile at her. I can feel her as she moves against me. I feel the need to touch her, so I do. It’s no longer casual. The boys have hardons now. At least, I imagine they do. They’re watching us like they’re watching two girls oil-wrestle. Mandy is the center of attention. No. WE’RE the center of attention.

More people crowd into the booth, and she decides… well, I’m not sure what she decides… she spins and straddles me. She literally hikes up her dress, spins and faces me – chest to chest. I guess she’s decided she likes the attention. I like the attention too. The boys are like iron now. I know this because if I had a dick and I were watching this I’d be like iron too. Coincidentally, if I had a dick Mandy would be sitting right on it.

I see my boyfriend watching us. His eyes are wide and he’s smiling a giddy, uncontrollable grin, like a 15-year-old that just saw his neighbor’s pussy in a truth-or-dare game. I know exactly what he’s thinking –he’s hoping I like this girl as much as he does. He’s lucky, because I like her more.

I’m startled by this realization and my pulse picks up. I know I must be at least as excited as he is. She’s facing me now and my mind is racing, but it’s thrown off track as she whispers more peppermint on me. The elves all look at me as if I’m crashing their party. They’re intense and erect and dripping.

Mandy sways on top of me in time with the music. The boys like this. I like this. I’m drunk. I know what else the boys will like, so I gently place my hand on her breast. She smiles and shifts on me, causing her dress to slide up. I can see her panties – they’re red and lacy. I’m sure the boys can see her panties too. We make a show of it – hands, breasts, and sweat.

I’m taken by her. She leans in close to me, her face inches from mine, and suddenly it feels like there is no one else in the room. Peppermint. The elves undress me. My dress slides off and falls into the soft, white snow. My bra pops off as the elves surround me and pull me to my knees. It’s inevitable now.

Our lips touch – softly at first, but with a kind of energy that I didn’t expect – it’s an energy so intense that it causes me to shiver. I kiss her like we’re alone – like I’m hers – like it’s snowing.

Chapter 2
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Mandy has poured herself a glass of red wine that sits idly on the nightstand. It seems to be part of her costume – red dress, red heels, red wine. She looks like Valentines Day – or, rather, she looks like that exciting moment that occurs only once per year at the end of Valentine’s day and beginning of Valentine’s night. She looks like what happens after the candle-lit dinners and the slow dances and the exchanging of sappy gifts. Her tight dress clings to her like she’s a red, shrink-wrapped present. I can’t wait to open her up.

Jason, however, looks outmatched. Mandy has him pressed against the bedroom wall, suffocating him in peppermint and breasts and hips and lips and impending sex. She is kissing him while she feels his big, meaty hardness through his underwear. I can tell that she’s enjoying this. Her hands idle on his bulging briefs, feeling the thickness of him. I can see her fingers move torturously over him as she methodically feels out the shape of his big member. She gropes big, fleshy fistfuls of fabric and meat, tugging and squeezing him while she holds him close to her.

I’m a little bit jealous now that she has her hands on him. Until tonight I’d never even considered sharing him with another girl. In fact, I’ve always gone to considerable lengths to make sure that Jason is always happy so that he doesn’t have a reason to sink his big dick into a tight, wet hole that isn’t mine. I give him blowjobs on request. I dress up and role-play with him. Sometimes I’m a French maid, or a naughty nurse, or an under-aged schoolgirl who forgets to wear panties and spends most of her time choking on dick because her teacher won’t let go of her pigtails. Sometimes he ties me to the bed, or to chairs, or handcuffs me to the radiator and fucks my ass until I’m about to cry. I spend just about every-other morning washing ropes of cum out of my hair. In fact, there probably isn’t a square inch on me that hasn’t been cummed on by him. I’ve serviced him as well as I could, but I can tell by the way he is kissing Mandy that he’s completely forgotten about these things. She is stealing him from me. I watch as the thief sinks her deft right hand deep into his briefs.

Jason is big — very big — and very, very hard. Mandy seems to appreciate this as he pops free of his underwear. He’s manly, perfectly proportioned, and his testicles are hanging low beneath him, like golf balls in a sock. He’s handsome and strong and lean and hung. I want to watch his big strong body and big strong cock violate this little girl. I want to watch her scream and moan and cum and bounce. Part of me wants him to destroy her so I can have him to myself.

I try to bridle my excitement, but Mandy does a much better job of this than I do. She takes a step back from him toward the edge of the bed, as if seeing him from a distance will give her a better perspective – like it will allow her to take him all in. Then she walks over to the nightstand and grabs her big glass of red wine. It’s an odd maneuver that leaves my boyfriend standing alone with his back against the wall, his big cock exposed, erect, and waiting.

She smirks and raises one eyebrow approvingly as she gauges his manhood from a distance. Clearly she likes it, which makes it all the more strange that she just stands there drinking wine, studying him as if he’s some sculpture that she’s carefully finished carving. She looks like an art connoisseur appreciating the lewdness of the piece of art in front of her.

She sways casually in her high heels while her eyes stay locked on his erection, even as she takes long, casual sips of wine from her big glass.

The three of us stand there for a second… or maybe 30 seconds… or a minute. I honestly don’t know. She makes us wait while she stands there admiring my boyfriend.

She’s so composed and purposeful about herself that I should be intimidated. The strange thing is that even though no one is moving or speaking this isn’t an awkward moment. It’s like the threesome is suspended – like it is buffering – like it is temporarily building energy because we’ve all moved so quickly from meeting each other to undressing each other that we caught time off guard – it’s like we’ve knocked time off balance.

We stand there unable to move, as if we’re actors and actresses in a porn video that Mandy has decided to pause. Then, after some incalculable amount of time has passed, she reaches behind herself and begins unzipping the back of her dress. It’s as if she’s made a decision about the next scene and it requires her to be naked, but she hasn’t yet decided hit ‘play’.

Jason and I stand, mesmerized as Mandy’s dress falls effortlessly off of her into a heap around her high heels. I’m staggered. I don’t know how to describe her now. She’s like a blend of upper-class elegance, fuckable body parts, and impropriety. She looks scandalous – like she’d suck dick at the opera — like she’s about to get DNA all over her prom dress.

Her red panties fall into the red heap around her red high heels and I get tingles all over my body, like I’m a chalky Valentine’s Day candy dissolving in front of her.

She still hasn’t unpaused us. Even if she did, I don’t know that I’d be able to move under my own power. By now I can tell that she likes us paused. It’s like a game to her — like she’s got some sort of spell on us — like she has us frozen in time – like she’s going to carry on the porno without us, using us as props.

Time must be fragile, I think to myself. I think this because she’s moving toward me deliberately and delicately, like she’s moving through an orgy of people that exist only in her dimension and she doesn’t want to bump into them. She walks behind me and I feel her hands on my bare skin. Bare skin, of course, is what she’s after, so she begins unzipping my dress to reveal more of it. I imagine I’m the one who looks like the mannequin now, standing like a statue. She softly kisses the recently unzipped parts of me – my neck, my shoulders, my back. She is deft and sensual and patient. I close my eyes and enjoy the feel of her lips as she kisses her way downward. I can’t feel anything except her wet, gentle lips – not my bra coming unclasped, not my panties sliding down – just kisses as my clothes flutter off of me like butterflies.

It seems that by the time I open my eyes I’m naked and on my knees in front of my boyfriend. Mandy didn’t quite guide me there, but I also didn’t quite end up there on my own. It was as if I’d jumped through time, or as if Mandy had snatched a couple of frames out of our porno so that she could keep them as trophies for herself.

Jason moans as my lips slide around him. Audio. We’re no longer buffering. It’s like we’ve snapped back into motion and I can move again – well, I can suck dick, anyway. Somehow, though, my newfound ability to move doesn’t feel natural – it doesn’t feel authentic. I feel like a puppet – like a dick-sucking marionette – like I’m sucking my boyfriend’s big cock for her pleasure, not his.

Mandy has one hand on her beautiful, naked hip, her other casually supporting her wine glass by the stem. She watches my performance while she takes occasional sips of her wine. It’s oddly erotic and exhilarating to be watched.

Out of the corner of my eye I can see her big breasts bounce free of her bra.

Adrenaline is welling up in me, far exceeding my natural capacity for it. Jason’s big, meaty piston seems to compress it into my veins as he forces himself into my mouth and throat. I can feel the adrenaline squeeze through me – pressurized and volatile – like a nervous, blissful acid looking for an escape. There’s a wet, anxious heartbeat between my legs and I’m half-sure that if I touch myself I’ll orgasm. I refrain, for now, and focus instead on pleasing my boyfriend’s heavy rod. This blowjob is different from those he normally receives – it’s more theatrical, more submissive. It fits the moment — especially considering the fact that I’m being watched. It’s showy and deep – teeth and lips almost to the base of him. It’s vulgar and wet. It’s the type of blowjob that should be filmed and posted online for thousands of men to masturbate to.

My mouth belongs to Jason. I obediently show him this by opening it wide for him. He takes full advantage of this and begins force-feeding himself to me. Quickly the amount of him that I’m swallowing becomes out of control. Soon I’m coughing and gasping and choking and gagging. Jason is holding a fistful of hair on the back of my head and I can take only short, desperate breaths while he fucks my throat. My eyes start to water as I try to suppress my gag reflex.

Mandy subtly reacts, shifting herself. She spreads her legs presumptuously on the edge of the bed. It’s now obvious to me that she isn’t just watching me… she’s also waiting for me.

She’s still holding her glass of wine, and I can tell by her posture exactly what she’s waiting for.

I’ve never eaten pussy before, but this doesn’t matter. At this moment I’d do anything for her. She keeps her beautiful young legs spread wide until I’m drawn in, and then they snap around me like a venus fly trap. She squeals a bit and locks my face between her legs, smothering me with her exotic, hairless cunt. I can already tell this won’t be a simple, gentle introduction to cunnilingus – I’m going to be learning on the job. There’s no warm up – no instructions. Mandy skips the pleasantries and grinds herself onto me.

I’ve barely gotten my mouth on her when I feel Jason posture behind me. He also skips the pleasantries. I scream like a banshee as he pushes himself into me. It’s not a gentle entry, but rather a deep, angry thrust — all the way in, all at once. My scream is half-audible, half-muffled in a glistening blur of beautiful, hairless pussy. I feel every inch of him as he takes me. And make no mistake, that’s what he’s doing – taking me. He slaps my ass hard and then slaps it again even harder to make sure that I feel it. I arch my back and push back into him because I know that’s what he likes.

Immediately I know that I’m good at this – not necessarily the eating pussy part, but rather, being the obedient, submissive girl in the middle. I take my spankings like a good little girl while I lose myself between Mandy’s legs.

For a few minutes I’m their disoriented plaything, but eventually I gain enough composure to look up at Mandy while I’m eating her out. I notice something unusual about her. She looks commanding and controlling, but also slightly mischievous. She still has her wine glass in her hand, which seems to accentuate her lust for indulgence. Her eyes are menacing. They are crisp, sharp, and focused, and she peers into me, smirking like a mad Queen, hedonistically drinking wine while she pompously watches me humbly service her.

Her cunt is raw and untamed — stripped barren – deforested – it’s like scorched earth. I’m feeling the full force of Jason as his thickness invades me, but I’m also feeling the full force of her. She’s authoritarian and tyrannical, guiding my face between her legs with handfuls of my disheveled hair. I can hear her begin to breathe erratically as I practically suck her clit right off of her, but just as I think I’m about to make her cum she retreats across the bed, sliding her wine glass onto the nightstand.

It’s the King’s turn, now. He flips me over on the bed like I’m a playing card – the kind with pictures of nude girls on them. I’d make a ridiculous playing card, though. My makeup and Mandy are smeared all over me. My hair is in tangles and I have red handprints all over my white ass from my boyfriend’s spankings. I lean my head back and look up at Mandy. She’s the one that looks like she belongs on a playing card, not me. She looks pretty and pristine and untouched as she kneels on the bed next to me. She’s busty and pretty and seems properly poised and balanced. I feel askew. My boyfriend is still inside me, between my spread legs, my pussy having torqued around his big shaft as he flipped me over. He slaps my right breast for no other reason than to make sure I continue spiraling into complete submission. I moan as his big thrusts begin to stretch me open.

“AH! Fuck! Fuck! Please! Please! Please!”

I’m begging now, but I’m not even sure what for. Jason seems to know. He gives me a short, hard slap to my face. It’s a lustful show of dominance that falls flush on my cheek. It stings, but it also seems to call-out and intensify the energy around me. Somehow this makes the moment feel more real, and I welcome it.

“Harder.” I squeak in a muffled beg, stiffening from the pleasure.

“Wow. She’s a kinky little bitch, ain’t she?” Mandy says, smiling a big, white, surprised smile. She seems giddy at this realization and she seems eager to stress test her hypothesis. She crawls on top of me, biting a long, wet, violent, winding trail all over my chest and stomach. My body is tense, hard, and sweaty, and I can feel a wild energy building in me. It originates where my boyfriend and I are joined and pulses outward as his thickness thunders repeatedly and harshly into me. The orgasm is a blur of Mandy and pussy and sweat and clutched bed sheets. I scream, but there’s no scream that can do it justice, especially now that Mandy’s hand has found my distressed clitoris and her teeth have found one of my nipples. I buck and scream and cum, but I can’t escape Mandy’s hands and teeth or the big cock that is leveraging the orgasm from me. It’s like a long, powerful, euphoric drain of all that I am.

By the time it’s over I’m a naked, quivering husk of a person – lifeless. I can’t, however, just play dead and escape the X-rated whirlwind that’s still raging around me. Mandy grabs my inert hips with her small, feminine hands and rolls me over onto my stomach. I’m bent at the waist with my ass and legs hanging off the edge of the bed like I’m a drunk, passed-out sorority girl who is about to be raped. Mandy smacks me hard on the meaty part of my ass, but I’m too hollowed out to give her the reaction she’s looking for. I lay there, face down, exhausted, while she kneels behind me and smacks my butt again, as if she’s trying to spank me back to life. After a couple fleshy, maddening slaps I think she’s given up. But then, to my surprise, I feel her teeth on me again. She’s biting my ass. I jump, a bit startled, and turn to face her. She pushes herself on top of me and kisses me. The kiss includes a harsh bite to my lower lip and it’s different than the first time we kissed – the gentle, playful taste of peppermint is gone. She tastes acidic and unforgiving, like wine and iron and razor blades — like chains and screams and sodomy. I feel helpless – almost scared. I can’t think straight. She crawls on top of me like a spider and wraps me in a cocoon of body parts. She bites my neck and clavicle and rolls me over on top of her. She tastes like demon cum – like molten sin.

Jason presses himself into me while she holds me. My asshole tears open to accommodate him. The spider wraps herself around me like she’s feeding off my screams as the inches creep deep into me.

Jason’s muscular annihilation of me is rough, swift and thorough, but Mandy never lets me go as Jason takes me. I’m anchored to her – moored to her. She holds me close to her as my boyfriend uses my tight little asshole for himself. It’s painful and terrifying and liberating and bracing all at the same time. Mandy and I share the closeness of it all – the rawness and the carnality of it.

It’s Mandy’s turn next, but it all seems like a single moment. I press my skin close to hers and I wrap my arms around her, embracing her, because I’m scared to lose the connection shared between us. I feel the whole of her. I feel her pounding heart beat next to mine. I feel her inhale and exhale. I feel her soft skin and softer breasts. I feel her sweat and her fingertips and her lips.

I feel her body tense and strain as my boyfriend enters her. She lets out a gasp and shudders beneath me. Then, with him inside her, she kisses me in the most passionate, most fitting, most appropriate way, as if to say, “Thank You”.

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END

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