What This Girl Did For Love

He looked into my eyes as he fucked me, said: "You're a tight wee girlie aren't you?"

And then I realised he was Scottish, and I thought of how I'd never had a Scotsman before. He gave a thrust that took my breath away, and I grunted like a Williams twin mid-volley. I yelled out loud at the wonder of his size. It was like childbirth — the joy and the pain.

Oh, God!

He licked my cheeks as fucked me, then my nose, chin, ears. Then back to my lips, but never ever really kissing me, but lapping at me like an enormous dog, a mastiff. I turn to the side to avoid his slather and saw Kath wriggling out of her clothes, desperate to be rid. When naked, she quietly slipped onto the bed and lay beside Pearce and me. And I saw again all the others who filled the room, stood and watched. I did not count them, could not now say who saw and who did not.

I raised up my knees and wrapped my legs around Pearce as he continued to fuck me. I dug my ankles into the base of his spine to encourage him while Kath caressed my chin and ran her fingers over my lips and said. "I've always thought you were beautiful, Lauren. Can I kiss you?"

Kath's lips on mine. I never imagined she thought of me like that. Her tongue was like brush-strokes; they painted a picture of her need. I sensed her excitement, how it possessed her, compelled her to explore me.

But for me, it was like kissing family; wrong because she was a person so much part of my everyday life, a girl I saw often, had come to know so well. Sex is not a thing you do with a friend like Kath. We shopped together, had tea and scones with on Tuesdays at M&S. And then there were the hours of tittle-tattle in or our kitchen, the neighbour, last night's Corri. And besides: she was the girlfriend of my bloke's brother, and that made it as taboo as incest. And because she kissed me so sweetly, I became almost ashamed. And then I remembered Rob and became a true black-hole of shame.

And yet . . . . It was all so fucking-beautifully-filthy. Rob and Kath!

And all the time she kissed me, Pearce grudge-fucked me with murderous energy. He grunted and rammed, and I was getting sore. Our pubes rasped, and I feared there would be scorch burns — like from a carpet. When he cum he bellowed like a buffalo, and it was an inundation. I moaned into Kath's mouth in gratitude.

Then Rob returned and shoved his cock between mine and Kath's lips, and Pearce was gone. He had not even cum. Kath and I both sucked and licked at Rob's cock, and a new partnership was formed as our mouths worked in symmetry. Our tongues and lips became the vehicles of grace.

Others joined us on the bed. The mattress dipping when anyone came aboard. Perhaps six of us at any one time. And then it didn't matter who'd had me. I couldn't give a shit. Who was to having whom not a problem. Nothing mattered. "Bring it on, God," I called out in my mind. I wanted there to be no end to the night's surreal decadence.

And then Rob's cock in spasm and his cum between our lips. When he was done, I lay back and let Kath pass her tongue over my lips, and she gave me what she had retained of him, and it mingled with my saliva what little of his cum I had snatched for myself.

His cum, our spittle: I brewed a potion. Then I swallowed and swallowed.

A shock to see Lucy return just then, her eyes ablaze with the sight that greeted her. She was eager to be with me again. Before she settled herself between my legs, she lifted her heavy hair and placed it so that it would spill over both my thighs like veils, as she once again found her place to please me from.

And she did please me.

I began to tire of all this coming and going, people using my body like a buffet table, taking what they wanted and wandering off again, momentarily satisfied, only to sheepishly return for top-ups later.

I'm not sure how many people visited our home that night. All the time the bump of feet up and down our stairs, and downstairs a party raged, one to which I was never invited. Maybe it was the same few people coming and going, or perhaps the whole street came-a-calling that night, unknown neighbours waiting patiently to take their turn.

The house became unreal, unfamiliar in a way I never imagined it could ever become. A place rendered strange by strangers. Our marital bed became soil for the thicket of limbs and bodies that continually knotted and untwined; a garden of never still, thrashing flesh. Rob and Mark somewhere among them all, others coming and going.

Clare and her friend naked and kissing on the floor at the foot of the bed, their heavy flesh moulded together. People would join them as they came or went from the room, and the two women would bestow their kisses. Later I saw them both on my bed straddling Pearce and some other guy, cowgirl style. An urge to stroke Clare's breasts came to me. As she moved her hips in great undulating rolls and I pictured Pearce's cock deep inside her, remembered its length and girth. I kneeled on the mattress and reached out with both hands for her breasts, took them in my palms and contemplated their weight. Before they had swayed with her movements, but by my holding them, they became quite still. And then I took each nipple, sucking hard, and her hand went down to her clit as she continued to fuck Pearce. When she cum I gripped her shoulders and buried my face between her breasts. I felt her heat, inhaled her hot bitch on heat fragrance. And then she was snatched from me as Pearce threw her down and went all missionary on her.

I cannot recall everything from that night. So many had me, sampled me, or just watched me. So many faces, familiar and not. There was constant movement, people's bodies shifting, twisting, sliding. Which bit belonged to which person became an irrelevance. There was only pleasure; pleasures that enriched my mouth saturated my tits and inundated my cunt. Hands would turn me, adjust me, set me up to to be a vehicle for their own predilections. I would lie on my back for a new lover only to be flipped on my side. Another would take his place, and I would be back on my back again. So many changing partners. They would let me settle.

Too many hands trekked my flesh that night. But out of the mass of fingers that stroked and pawed, one pair of hands commanded my attention. Large and calloused, they worked me with focused intent. Yes, Large, insanely powerful hands that brusquely flipped me onto my belly. A hot and sticky penis followed and began nudging against my arse. I grew afraid, wriggled to be free, avert the inevitable. But I was a prisoner, set tight in the press-flesh of other bodies all about me.

He had taken cream from my dresser and now smeared it between my cheeks so that it mixed with the cum of my lovers, which trickled from my cunt and down to my arse. It made a pungent stew to ease his entry.

To this day, I still do not know who he was, but he was careful with me, gentle as a lullaby. My muscles protested, and my mind stalled. Then a new pleasure; an unmentionable taste acquired. The short fast jabs were best. Such an unfamiliar intrusion; such discomfort; such unanticipated satisfaction.

Whoever he was, he filled me in a way I had not known before. His cum pumping into me, his sperm where no sperm should be; the knowledge of it was deliciously disgusting. I tried to turn to see this man's face, but I remained fixed fast among all the others. When his flaccid cock slipped from me, I felt a soul-deadening emptiness. I tried to follow the sound of his heavy footfalls on the floorboards as he left me, but I could not angle my eyes to catch a glimpse of my anonymous defiler.

All night we moved amidst each other like serpents confined in terracotta. Such a tangle of limbs and torsos. We shared a quest for an end that only so many others can promise. When it all began, everyone had been sweetly shampooed and showered, their breath redolent with gum and mints, but slowly the stench of sex filled the air: sweat and cum — and breath soured by cum, and cum turned sour by sweat. During the night, many drinks were brought up from the kitchen, some spilt on sheets or floorboards, evaporating and mixing with the sexual miasma rising from the exhausted, sweat-soaked flesh. Often someone would light a cigarette — Lucy, maybe, I knew she had the habit. The smoke thickened the air, adding to the cloying reek of it all.

Towards the end, Lucy came for me and extracted me from among the tangle of others. She took me to our back bedroom where a single bed waited, a bed always ready for friends that might stay over, though rarely used. The sheets were starch clean, but cold with a hint of damp from the early morning air. And so Lucy and I lay together between those chilled sheets that enwrapped us so comfortingly. She kissed me softly and whispered how she wanted me to be hers. She asked if I would travel with her the next time she had the urge, and I said would have to think about it.

But I never went travelling with Lucy. We were lovers for a while immediately following that night, and then one day she was gone. But in those weeks shortly after the party, Mark would join us sometimes. And, later there were other wild parties. Perhaps the reason Lucy left without saying goodbye was that she saw how much I enjoyed those nights — probably too much. She saw clearly the person I was becoming.