Correction: I’ve been informed that the paddle with the Greek letters on it actually belongs to PS, so I guess I’ve fucked a sorority girl, not a frat boy. Doesn’t seem as transgressive, somehow.
And some metablogging: I woke up in a really dreadful mood this morning because of a bad day (actually a bad 10 minutes) at work yesterday, but when I sat down before work to write this in my notebook, my mood lifted exponentially. This means that:
a. I’ll have to keep being really slutty if I’m ever gonna be awesome at the other parts of my life.
b. Life would really suck without the stars of this story, so thanks pals. You are sunshines from heaven. Dirty little sunshines.
There was one guy at the party whom I’d known for a while but who, for some reason, was giving me a go-put-my-clothes-on vibe that night. So I got into my cute PJs and played strip poker without really playing—it was the most I’ve ever learned about poker, and it wasn’t much. PS and CM’s other girl was there, and I wasn’t sure what that meant, etiquette-wise. I went with my default setting, which was to step aside, and went upstairs to lie down in their bed. I listened as the game got less and less about poker (not that it ever really was) and became more like a game of truth or dare. And I ended up being the stakes:
“If I lose,” I heard Cute Master say “Then I have to go upstairs and fuck (me).”
Sure enough, he did lose, and up the stairs he came.
“Wait, are you sure this is okay with (PS)?”
He responded by standing over me, pulling out his dick, and pulling my head toward it. I happily gagged myself, worrying a little bit if I was doing it badly since I was tipsy and at a weird angle. It felt so the-good-kind-of-humiliating with everybody downstairs listening and felt extra-naughty with PS not in the room. He climbed on top of me, grabbed my hair, kissed me hard, and then turned around and went back downstairs.
Soon, their game completely devolved into sexytimes, and I really, really liked hearing them all down there, even with the guy who had been giving me the creeps in the mix. I thought about sitting on the stairs and watching but I was all cozy so I just listened and got handsy with myself. Apparently this is just a thing I do sometimes on the weekends, fuck myself in their bed.
Just as I was starting to get ready to come, they came up to join me.
“Did you come up to go to sleep?”
“Um, no. Turn over.”
“He’s not gonna fuck you in the ass,” she said helpfully, since he’d been threatening to do so all night while they were making fun of me for waiting for SG.
I was glad to be flat on my belly for them. I remembered from class that a pillow would have made a helpful angle, but I was too comfy to suggest it. Though it’s my favorite position it didn’t quite work for whatever reason, so he turned me over, pushed my legs all the way up, and shoved inside. I pulled his head toward me and kissed him, kissed her, hollered my head off in my showoffy way. A girl could get used to this! Maybe I am.
When it was her turn to be fucked, his fingers played gently around my asshole (I’d put away the pretty butt plug when I put my pajamas on) and I turned over to give him better access. I wanted his fingers deeper, but he was deferential to toward the area despite his swaggersome claims that he’d be better for it than SG. I suppose before long I’ll be able to compare, though I wouldn’t.
PS got worried anyway that I was upset that he’d touched me there, and kept checking in. I was fine and sleepy. PS went downstairs to attend to the one remaining awake party guest, and that’s how I ended up falling asleep with a guy for the first time in almost two years. It was fun. His hand rested on my hip and he pulled my ass in close. Every once in a while he’d get half-awake and bury himself in the back of my hair, kiss my neck, squeeze my boobs. I didn’t know if he was even aware that I wasn’t PS and I really didn’t care. I fell asleep that way, aroused and pleased and enjoying the smell of him.
Around 7 AM, he woke me up, urgent and rubbing myself against me, pulling my hair, feeling for my clit. When he got to the (bigger) boobs, I think he realized I wasn’t PS, and he got up and went to find her.
This is a very proud moment, a fantastic benchmark of a new level of sluttiness. It seems like I should’ve been upset or insulted somehow, but all I was was turned on again. I listened to him in the guest room, waking her up, creaking the bed, bringing out first happy murmurs and then her wonderful, musical moans, and soon my own little personal-time moans joined in. They came in and caught me, and I didn’t even feel the slightest bit sheepish.
He lay back on the bed and she went down on him wholeheartedly. He took my hand and put it on the back of her head, and I grabbed her hair and moved her up and down forcefully like the guys do. It. Was. Awesome.
“When she’s done doing that, could you please fuck me? Since I asked so nicely?”
“(PS), get a condom.”
She rolled one onto him and he held me down and fucked me, hard and deep this time. He reminded me of the sleeping guests and she put her hand over my mouth. When she wasn’t doing that, I shoved my face into a pillow.
“I want to hear it, I don’t care,” she said and he admonished her but I heaved out some lusty wails before shoving my face back into the pillow. Oh, penises. You’ve really got to get in there more often. You’re just the best.
He ran out of steam before I did, but I still fell asleep happily, on the outside this time, snuggled up to Pretty Slave.
I was the last one to leave in the morning. PS made me coffee and I sat on the couch between them watching Ted—it’s a testament to how much I like them that I’d watch anything Seth MacFarlane made. It was funny but gave me the creeps when I thought about it later.
The rest of the day was melancholy. Sundays are mostly workdays for me and loneliness often sets in in the evening. It’s wonderful to be a single slutty girl almost every other time of the week, but I get the blues thinking of everyone else having snuggly family time while I’m printing out lesson plans and being divorced-girl.
1. I got pretty drunk without getting mournful!
2. I now can say that I know how to get myself laid when I need it.
I felt a little bit ashamed as I worked through the hangover, but writing about it now, I feel nothing but proud. No-strings sex (Well, okay. Very few strings sex.) get ready for me, because here I come.