I met Walker in Long Beach. I was initially suspicious of the tough neighborhood where I parked and climbed beside him in his Audi. Just like old times, my quick mind wanted to remind me, but I shooed that thought away. I started asking him about his work, which I realized I knew very little about. It was useful conversation until we got to the bar and I hastily downed my first drink.

The joint, as he referred to it, was exactly as described, almost too rundown to be quaint. The smell of booze and stale cigarettes saturated the wood paneling, the vinyl booth seats and the air. The crowd was small, half regular white-collar working types listening to some very good jazz, half derelicts and scruffy black, blue-collar fellows who were doing the same. The draw was obvious; the sexy music climbed right into my belly and jiggled it up nicely. I was swaying to the notes, drinking tequila like water and sinking my cunt deeply into the chair seat so it could fiddle with my clit. I was drunk before I realized what was happening, and actually thankful that my uptight, straight-ass ex-boyfriend was sitting across the table from me. He wouldn’t fuck me when I was drunk–had told me so hundreds of times in our relationship, so I figured I was safe in his hands. When a big black man asked me for a dance, I was back in Newport Beach at Charlie’s beach house, banging my butt against a naked black crotch, waiting for the feel of a big beautiful cock nestling in my pussy.

I danced the guy around the room. He followed my wiggling snatch anywhere it would go. More booze, I shook my ass some more, working my way into the center of a nearly deserted dance floor with a good dozen pairs of eyes on me as I slowly, like a stripper, hiked my skirt until it was dangerously close to going too far.

At one point, Walker confiscated me and made me sit down. But he only fed my lust with another shot of tequila. I was back on the dance floor a half hour later, doing the same thing and showing off for him. He leaned back in his chair and smiled at me. I don’t ever remember getting that much approval when we were living together and I†was doing such evil things just for his pleasure.

I hiked my skirt again, teased the crowd, lifting it far enough to show my pretty shaved pussy. The bar must have been closed by then, no one was asking me to tone it down. Maybe in this neighborhood they wouldn’t bother. But maybe they closed the place so I could give my audience a better show.

My pussy danced on air. My ass followed behind. A black hand felt me up from the rear and I egged him on, as he jerked my tight skirt this way and that until my whole bottom broke free. What a revelation!

I got shy, flirtatiously pushing the material back down. Then, someone handed me another drink, which I didn’t think to connect with what these lechers were after. They wanted me naked and I was helplessly, happily on my way.

I knew how to get over men, a few drinks, a night on the town, what more did I need? I caught Walker’s eye a few times, just for reassurance. There he was, as critical and stoic as ever, but looking a little more merry than I remembered him. Maybe he wasn’t all that bad. Maybe I could forgive him. Maybe nothing mattered now, not a blessed thing.

The dancing got wilder. A couple of men were on either side of me, pressing bodies and crotches into my front and back, hard cocks urgently looking for more.

“On the table,” a stray voice shouted.

I was lifted toward the ceiling by a pair of enormous hands that held my waist with the strength of vice grips. It was all striptease now, flinging clothes like a hooker being interviewed by a new john. When I’d get thrown off balance, another big black hand would guide me back. I stumbled twice and almost crashed to the floor, but I made a grandstand show after that, keeping myself upright until I was down to my heels, bra and panties.

“Bids.”

I heard the word, and it passed right by.

Walker was swarmed by men, jabbering so much that even as drunk as I was, I wondered what was happening. I let it slide. I was having fun. Reeling, getting dizzy, and finally falling…

My head crashed against something, then felt light as a feather. I was weightless, spinning, moving around in circles. I finally blacked out.

™™™

I woke up in bed, on my back, my wrists tied to bedposts above me. Where was I? Any minute, I expected Alec, my kinky boyfriend, to walk in the room, but Alec wasn’t there. Reason to panic! My ankles were tied, cuffed and drawn up over my head, tied to the same posts that my wrists strained against. My ass was targeted for punishment, cunt and bumhole open, vulnerable, ready for penetrationÆ

“She’s awake,” someone outside my vision called to someone else.

I looked up through the gloom realizing that I’d been kidnapped. There were men around me, but I recognized no one. There were no beautiful burly, sexy black men. Instead, I was swarmed by white button-down genius looking clones of my white button-down ex. Thankfully, Walker was nowhere to be seen–he’d better be light-years away. I would have spit in his face and torn through the manacles to get at him.

“You look scared,” one of the white guys peered into my fuzzy eyes. “You’ll be all right in a minute. The drugs should be wearing off by now.”

“What drugs?” I asked, in a hoarse whisper.

He shook his head. “Don’t worry. We have no plans to kill you. Using you will be just fine.”

“How comforting. I suppose you want my ass?” Though my limbs felt numb–gee, I wonder why–my survival instincts were returning to me, so too my sarcastic wit.

“You like being bound, don’t you?”

“I like being free to make my own choices,” I declared.

“Sorry about that. This one’s been made for you. And the more silent you are, the more likely you’ll survive.” He stuffed a wad of cloth in my mouth. I think I recognized my panties, smelling the fruity tang of lemon cream body whip and sex juice.

One of the button-down good old boys was brandishing a whip, flicking the damn thing between my thighs, right in the direction of my very exposed private places. I screamed into my panties, getting them wet with saliva, practically gagging on my fear. The whip man didn’t surrender to my muffled verbal command to stop. He cracked his whip, letting the sound thunder through my fractured nerves, then gentled down to work my pussy and anal cleft. It wasn’t one flick of his whip in particular that got inside me, but the accumulation of biting sensations that pushed me, probed me, insinuated me into erotic territory. I couldn’t stop my traitor pussy from wiggling its little creases, rocking as though it were actually having fun, juicing as if it were begging some big thing to get inside.

The whip man was dangerous.

Just when he had me lulled into thinking I might get off, he reared back and snapped his tool across my inner thigh.

“GAWWWD YEEEEAUUUUGH!” I screeched at the top of my silenced lungs, emitting some garbled nonsense into the gag. He understood. His face turned happily sly. He was actually enjoying my terror.

I was almost enjoying it myself. At least my body was.

He brought the sexuality back to life, whisking that little demon all over my crotch, until I was on the rise to cum and cum hard. I think I had him almost frightened. I didn’t care how hard he was hitting me. He reeled off a few pretty nasty blows, and I still edged my way to the finish.

“ARUUUUUUUGH, UH, UH, UH.” The sound was wasted, but not meaningless for me.

“I think the little slut’s cumming,” the attacker chortled, seriously surprised.

I just CAME, you fool! I wished I could have cried it to the world.

I got fucked, six times fucked–and these were nothing but stuff-it-in-the-door-and-let-it-go fucks. When my legs were lowered, I was left to myself and used that vacant interval to rest. I knew the adventure wasn’t over. I was giving them too good a time… and what did I care? I was having a good time too. Eventually, they’d tire of me, but for now I’d be their drunken slut and be happy being just that!

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