Strange Hunger

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Insatiable rude-girl cumslut indulges her riskiest desires.
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CyranoJ
CyranoJ
232 Followers

Note: This story features a heroine with a passive rape fetish, and for its raw material it draws on direct accounts of this kind of fetish from a valuable and interesting source on another site. The plot, setting, characters, and errors committed are my own. It features anonymous group sex and "preeving"—men satisfying said fetish—along with traumatic non-con incest, sex under duress, and depictions of drug abuse and racism. The treatment of these themes may be disturbing for some readers.

1. Wicked Game.

It was three o'clock in the morning, and room fourteen of Wicked Hostels was still mostly empty, wrapped in a quiet stillness. The muffled sounds of music and drunken partying in some of the nearby rooms sounded somehow faraway, but the bars down the street were in the process of disgorging their drunken rowdies into the night. This little island of quietus was not meant to last.

At least, Hanna hoped not. She could hear her own heart thumping with anticipation even as she pretended to sleep. She and Nomi were the room's only occupants at the moment, the two friends curled intimately into the bottom bunk of the beds furthest from the door. They faced each other, their right hands intertwined, the shared warmth of their young, naked bodies keeping the place's seemingly perpetual chill at bay.

Nomi, nearest the wall, seemed on the edge of genuinely falling asleep. Maybe more than on the edge. Her breaths were deep and regular, her lovely dark eyes having fluttered shut half an hour ago. Hanna watched her, marvelled at her, still unable to stop herself from drinking in the details after months of knowing her. The Jamaican girl was insanely pretty no matter how closely one looked.

Her mahogany skin was lustrous, so smooth that it looked almost as though she was some kind of living airbrushed photograph, and her snub-nosed features and high cheekbones held a symmetry verging on the eerie. That petite, willowy frame could easily be pin-up worthy with its narrow waist, washboard belly and rounded hips around which their shared think blanket gathered in cream-coloured folds. The nipples on her small breasts were stiff in the cool air, hard little chocolate-coloured nubbins. She smelled like vanilla, and like clove cigarettes.

Her breathing didn't change as Hanna stroked her smooth-shaven scalp gently, feeling its flawless surface with a sense of wonder. In the light, she knew, it would shine. Hanna was struck by a desire to kiss her. To taste her tongue and lick her way languidly down her body and bury her face between those graceful thighs, to swallow her honeyed nectar and reprise the sweet, writhing passion with which they'd fallen into bed. But she resisted that urge. It wouldn't bring the relief she needed.

You're getting it tonight, she told herself. It's can't-miss. Hanna was entirely uncovered, deliberately so, her taut flesh goose-pimpling in the chill. She knew from experience that she would draw male attention like a magnet. She had all the tools. She itemized them carefully.

The main attraction of course would be her ass, carefully arrayed and out-thrust toward the room by her posture: big and round, soft and enticing, it would practically glow in the dark thanks to her milky complexion. It sometimes seemed as if it had wandered onto her slender frame from another girl entirely; times like these, though, it more than came in handy. As of course did the rearward peep of her shaven sex, and the tattoos decorating her arms and back with Nordic runes and pagan symbolism.

She had been told by both boyfriends and girlfriends that her porcelain-doll features reminded them of some porno model called... Emily something. Green? Grey? She could never remember, but there was no mistaking the lust in people's eyes when they said it. Sometimes she wished for bigger breasts - although since meeting Nomi she'd also, refreshingly, found herself wishing from time to time for those kinds of cute little bee-stings - but her B-cups were delightful handfuls and mouthfuls in their own right. Their large pink nips were as stiff right now as Nomi's, albeit for different reasons. Her petite body as a whole tended toward a soft, supple femininity that complemented her friend's lithe athleticism, that often made people want to touch her just to see if her skin was as soft as it looked.

Even things she would normally have called imperfections might work in her favour. She pulled her hand away from Nomi's head and feathered her fingers through the minimal fuzz of dark hair on her scalp, wondered abstractly for the fifth time in half an hour if she should razor it again. Maybe, maybe not; there was something about this buzz-cut look that seemed to mesmerize guys, she had seen it earlier that day in the eyes of the room-mates for whom she now lay in wait.

Her mind roved in restless circles, cataloguing and re-cataloguing all these factors. Trying to build reassurance.

Had she set the scene carefully enough? She felt sure the half-dozen discarded cans of Pilsner and the empty mickey of vodka by the bedside should sell the illusion of her being passed-out drunk.

Was she presenting her ass at just the right angle? She arched her back a little more just to be on the safe side.

Her pussy was wet and swollen, molten desire churning in her belly in ways that try though she might to relieve on her own - or with the aid of Nomi's long tongue and agile, knowing fingers - had only one true remedy. And yet she knew perfectly well that despite everything, there was no guarantee that she was getting what she yearned for tonight. That was the hell of it: the waiting, the uncertainty.

Suppose they're too drunk when they get back? They had looked like sturdy enough lads who'd hold their liquor in the light of day, but you never knew who might prove to be a lightweight.

Suppose they found girls while they were out at the bar and aren't coming back? They were handsome enough guys that it was possible, though they'd all had a touch of hipster-edition clueless boorishness about them that suggested they would under-perform in the hookup sweepstakes.

Suppose they're too uptight or upright or whatever and just refuse to - She curtailed that train of thought savagely.

Just wait, Hanna, she told herself. Just wait. She squirmed around the yearning ache in her hot, slick cunt. Knew now her friend wasn't actually sleeping by the way those clever fingers tightened comfortingly in hers. Nomi looked out for her when the urge to seek a certain kind of thrill grew unbearable, but she could only keep on eye on things when and if they began. She couldn't make them happen. "And even if I could," she had told Hanna candidly once: "I don't think I would. I love you, kid, but all this - it's pretty fucking weird, you know?"

Yeah. Hanna knew. She just couldn't help it.

She waited. Random bits of flotsam drifted across her mind. That line from The Shawshank Redemption dripping out in Morgan Freeman's rich molasses tones: "I had some long nights in the stir. Alone in the dark with nothing but your thoughts, time can draw out like a blade." She always liked that line. It spoke to her at times like this.

And there came bits from that old poem, the one they'd been studying in her English class just before she'd dropped out and gone nomad. "To-day we have naming of parts . . . The blossoms are fragile and motionless, never letting anyone see / Any of them using their finger." That one had always made her sweetly sad. Sometimes she wished she would have stayed to learn that poem better.

She waited. The moments ticked by so slowly that she felt like screaming.

But then she heard them. The familiar voices of their room-mates coming down the hallway outside, loud and raucous and clearly quite smashed but sounding good natured. Closer listening disclosed that it was all six of them. Hanna licked her lips, felt her heart begin to race. Nomi's dark eyes flickered open, meeting her own grey gaze as they shared a look of communion, a silent promise. The friends exchanged a nod, a slight peck of a kiss.

Hanna closed her eyes just as the door of the room banged open. Gave another little squirm and sent out a prayer to whatever dark incubus had planted this thing inside of her. Now, we'll see.

* * *

"I still think that blonde was DTF, you know? All we had to do was -"

"See, this is your problem, Nate. You think you've got game and you just straight up don't -"

"I would've fuckin' killed that guy, he thought he was all tough and shit -"

"I dunno man, I saw that stance he was doing, that was like Krav Maga or something -"

"Uh, hey... is anybody else seeing -"

"Hey, quiet you guys, they're probably sleeping - whoah."

The babble of crosstalk that announced them was half-spoken, half-whispered in that half-assed way particular to the drunk who mistakenly thinks he's being considerate. But it cut off abruptly as the guys saw, and really registered, the two girls curled into their bunk together. As they registered Hanna.

The ensuing silence was that of men trying to decide if they really believed what they were seeing, or if they were having some kind of collective hallucination. Finally one of them managed to say: "Guess they're kinda out of it, huh?"

"Jesus Christ, Nate, is that all you can think to say?" whispered another one fiercely. "Fucking hell, sometimes I think you're a closet fag or something. Just look at that."

"Oh, I am. Believe me."

Their footsteps into the room were quiet, tentative, as one of them shut the door. Hanna felt her flesh tingle as they formed into a crescent around the bunk and their eyes drank her body in. She fancied she could feel the paths their ogling took down her back, over her ass and into the cleft of her sex, like heat-lamps. She could visualize them from the brief encounter and shy handshakes they'd shared earlier in the day. They were all built on the skinny, sinewy beards-tats-and-earplugs template, executed at a range of heights with representation from a token ginger—she was pretty sure that one was Nate—and an introverted, bespectacled type whose name had made no impression on her.

Well, he has a chance to make an impression now. The thought rose on a mad bubble of inner hilarity. Hanna could feel her clit swelling, that unbearable hunger in her greedy little sex growing sharper. She gave out a sleepy murmur, the kind characteristic of someone in deep sleep talking back to an image in a dream. She squirmed in a way that just happened to waggle her rump for them.

Some of them gave out gasps. She heard one guy say: "Oh my God," with that helpless tone a man sometimes gets in the moment he realizes he can no longer deny his hard-on. She fought the urge to smile to herself.

Then one of them said: "Guys... we should... leave her alone."

Her heart hammered in sudden alarm. With a flash of intuition she put voice together with the memory and knew that one was the bespectacled guy, who in that moment she mentally christened Windows—like in that John Carpenter movie The Thing—in the course of trying to beam the thought at him with all the telepathic might she could muster: Do not fuck this up for me, Windows.

"The fuck are you talking about, man? We're just looking, is all."

"At something we weren't meant to see, pretty obviously. And don't tell me looking is all you've got in mind."

"Hey, what are you saying?"

"He's not wrong." This was Nate, his voice husky with desire as the seductive spectacle of Hanna's ass worked on him. "I know I'm thinking about more than just looking. Don't tell me you're not."

"Fuck that. I'm not some pervert or something." But the response carried a telling lack of conviction.

"I don't care what you call it," Nate said. "If you're telling me you can go to sleep with that winking at you from across the room I'm calling you the closet fag. 'Sides, it's not like she'll know anything anyway, she's passed out cold."

"See, this is what I'm talking about." The accursed 'Windows' chiming in again. "I do care what you call it, man, and we know what it's fucking called, right? We should cover her back up and forget about it. Go spank it in the bathroom if you absolutely gotta do something."

She could feel them teetering at a point of decision as they stared at her, their better natures at war with the incarnadine lust tenting their jeans. She couldn't have their better natures winning. Fuck it, desperate times call for desperate measures. Hanna murmured again, a blurred half-formed sentence that slurred around the words "daddy please don't" as she squirmed for their benefit once more, this time just happening to grind her ass in a circle and flash her dewy slit at them.

"Fuck this." A warm coal of delight glowed in her belly; that was Nate going over the edge. "Spence, lock the door."

"Are you sure—"

"You heard him. Lock the door." The rasping tones of Nate's Mate who'd called him a closet fag earlier, coming over to the dark side. And as whichever one was 'Spence' moved to do his bidding, he was already overruling another protest from Windows: "Look, man, you don't want a piece, sit over there and think virtuous thoughts or something. Or take your own advice and go spank it in the bathroom. Anyone else who don't want in?" Silence all around, save for the guys' increasingly heavy breathing. Nate's Mate said: "So Captain Morality, you in or out?"

Windows' voice was weak, thready. "I'll just... sit over here, I guess. You're making a mistake—"

"Shut the actual fuck up." Nate was actually panting. Hanna's pussy pulsed with anticipation as she heard him beginning to scrabble at his flies, pulling his tumescent cock free of his jeans. "Don't say anything else. I'm going first, the rest of you sort it out."

She could feel the guys' attention transfixed now. Focused as the scene teetered on a suddenly-very-different sort of brink. One guy, it was 'Spence' from beside the door, managed a last weak objection: "Hey, what if... supposing the other one wakes up?"

"Then I guess she gets a taste, too." Nate's Mate was fully in the spirit of it now, and there was a dangerous note in his voice. "Now stow it, Spence. You're going last."

Hanna's eyes flickered open, meeting Nomi's alert gaze. Their grip on each others' hands tightened. Nomi gave a little smirk, holding the insurance up in her other hand now, the wicked knuckle duster clasped in a firm grip and waiting to flash into action if any of them got out of hand. Hanna's belly fluttered, her blood singing with the dangerous thrill of what they were about to do. She murmured again, gave the guys one more sexy "unconscious" squirm of her ass for good luck.

That put paid to the last shreds of their self-control. Within moments she heard Nate's footsteps coming over to the bunk. She caught the smell of him: booze and garlic and marijuana smoke and a sharp tang of male sweat. She felt one of his hands, the palm unexpectedly rough like a working man's, sink into the supple softness of her left buttock, prising it wide for a better view of her saturated slit, the tight crinkle of her asshole. Held her breath as he crouched and leaned in, as she felt the heat of his blunt cockhead coming to bear, playing blindly along the crack of her ass and down across her taint until he finally found the syrupy mouth of her cunt.

"Oh God," he moaned, praying in entirely the wrong celestial direction as he braced himself and made ready to breach. "Oh my fucking God..." Hanna screwed her eyes tight, her grip on Nomi's hand white-knuckling as he held station for a moment more, and then... surged... in.

* * *

She could never fully prepare herself for the intensity of the first one. Nate's cock wasn't big, but it didn't need to be. It was diamond hard, hot and throbbing, sheathing itself deliciously in her tight hole with jarring force, filling her with sensation... and with the giddy, naughty knowledge that as far as he knew, he was stealing this moment of pleasure from her against her will, staining his own soul forever with the act of pushing his bursting prick into her slick, quiescent quim.

That above all was what drove her instantly over the edge. Stars burst behind her eyes and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out as her cunt gripped his member hard, erupting all over him in clutching, creamy spasms as he groaned at the unexpected tightness. The waves of ecstasy poured through her as he started to fuck her frantically like a baboon rutting on the veldt.

"Aghhh..." He let out a strangled gasp as he plunged himself into her molten honeypot, the rhythmic clasping of her walls alternately embracing and resisting him, spurring him on to even more frenetic hammering as he rattled the bunk and made her soft ass jounce and ripple under his pistoning strokes. In a split second he was instantly transmuted from a drunken, lonely college boy far from home into some conquering warrior on an ancient battlefield, a creature of terrible glory who had just finished setting fire to the enemy camp and was now holding down some slutty little camp-follower and taking his barbaric pleasure whether she liked it or not. Her juices burst out around him, spattering him and drenching his tight ballsack as he snarled and moaned and fucked and fucked and fucked. "Ahhh goddammit she's fucking tight... agh-ugh-ugh-ugh-ugh-ugh-ughhh... oh shit oh shit that's fucking good aahhh-aghhh..."

"Mmmhmmm..." Hanna let out a little whimper as if his cock was penetrating her dreams as well as her fuck-hole, writhing and grinding her hips as her first orgasm chained into a second, her belly clenching in rhythm with the lubricious spasms as her pussy milked his plundering prick. He must have lasted barely more than thirty seconds - but the intensity of those seconds was so vivid that each one of them felt like a sweet, terrible eternity. The bunk creaked and groaned as Nate rutted with rising desperation, sprinting headlong for the moment of release, until...

"Aggghhh! Fuck holy-fuck-holy-fuck agghhhh I'm - aaahhh!" Nate cried out as he buried himself to the root, gasping harshly as his throbbing member twitched and pulsed and finally exploded, sending thick jets of spunk deep inside her as her sweet nectar coated him and her walls gripped him, milking his balls for every last drop of his boiling jism. "Hhhaaahhh!"

With that he was pulling out, reeling drunkenly away as if disoriented by what had just happened. Hanna's cunt was still dilated and convulsing as she heard him sit down heavily on the bunk opposite. Already one of the guys was moving in to replace him.

This one was Nate's Mate, no bigger than Nate himself but every bit as hard. He didn't manage a fraction of his buddy's time, though. In fact he let out something that sounded like a mingled gasp and a sob as just the tip of his cock dipped into the sloppy heat of her cream-pied pussy, and that sensation must have combined with the illicit nature of what he was doing to shatter his self-control, because he gave a sharp barking cry of surprise as he suddenly felt his balls tightening and his sperm fountaining out to anoint their coupling even as he surged in on his first stroke. He managed only half a dozen more, little "haahhh-hahhh-hahhhh" cries escaping his throat as his nuts jumped and fired bullet after bullet of jism into Hanna's madly-clasping sex, as if he was spending years' worth of sexual frustration into that hot cunt as she savoured the shuddering pleasure of draining him utterly.

CyranoJ
CyranoJ
232 Followers