Girls Who Want To Be Fucked

By | December 16, 2009

I was buying a sandwich at the supermarket when I saw it.

It seems to be a standard accessory, like the iPod, the Prada handbag and Gucci watch. A Mini Cooper S. They all have one, successful young things, either as part of their “Excellent Bens” or on finance that would fund a reasonable size mortgage.

I could see her perfectly manicured fingernails gripping the steering wheel, careful not to catch them, they might chip and she was out tonight, the Friday before Christmas. First the office party then, when the senior management began to cruise the room for young talent she’d be off. She is ambitious, but not so desperate that the MD would get to feel her tight ass while rubbing his cock against her thigh as he lurched her round the dance floor.

Let’s call her Lucy, her friend Emma. They both slip into their coats as the disco begins and walk across town to the nightclub quarter. The beat from the clubs hits them before they see the neon signs. Soon they are immersed in the throng queuing outside the doors. Stern faced doormen turn into leering, sneering welcoming committees as they approach. They are dressed to thrill, in the flush of youth and obviously moneyed, and that opens doors.

They ignore the prestige clubs, heading for something a little different. A little more down-market. They’re ushered past the ranks of glaring girls in the queue, VIPs because of their demeanour and poise. They’re dressed like models and look the part. Lucy blonde, Emma black haired. Both straight and exquisitely cut. Their dresses too set them apart, below the knee, Lucy’s red, Emma’s green, expensive, very expensive.

They wait by the bar. Not for long, the first of many prospective suitors offers to buy them both a drink, his friends at his shoulder, waiting for their reaction. They refuse him and the second, and the third. The fourth they accept and take a booth with him and his friend. They have nothing in common, to the boy’s credit they attempt conversation. Their small talk is limited to football, a subject that neither Lucy or Emma have the slightest interest in. They don’t try and fake it, the boys aren’t interested in their soccer allegiances. It’s their cocks that are leading the way tonight, like every other night.

The boys hold back knowing the girls are different, not their usual prey. Something about Lucy and Emma makes them diffident, so the girls make the first move Lucy plants a kiss on he partner’s lips, forcing her tongue inside his mouth. The taste of cheep lager excites her. So much more base than red wine and expensive brandy. Emma does the same, her suitor is transformed from hunter to hunted as she grabs his hand and places it on her exposed knee.

Emma looks straight at him, eye’s widening in an obvious invitation. His hand travels upward, under her skirt. He licks his lips, mouth dry with excitement. It’s a long way to go, most of his girlfriends wear skirts so short that sitting down would reveal the colour of their panties. For his hand this few inches is like an epic journey. Reaching the confluence of her legs his surprise shows on his face, instead of the underwear he expected his fingers touch a freshly shaven pussy, naked and moist, its lips swollen with her coursing blood.

Emma glances over at Lucy, flashing an amused smile. Lucy’s eyes smile back, knowing her friend’s secret, her mouth not breaking contact with her new partner’s.

Tasting the promise of an evening to remember the boys are despatched to the bar for more drinks, leaving the girls sitting demurely in the booth. Emma spots two more suitors, beckoning them over with enchanting eyes, her hand toying playfully with the necklace she wears. These two are older, but no less eager, soon sitting next to the girls, close enough to feel each other’s body heat.

Lucy and Emma feel the moment approaching, Emma’s exposed pussy becoming wetter under her dress, Lucy’s gusset awash and heavy with her rich perfume at the thought of it.

It’s as thought the thunderous music in the club stops for just a second as the two pairs of face each other. Emma and Lucy take up an unassuming posture and watch the inevitable unfold.

The conversation is brief, serving only to provide an opportunity for the contestants to size each other up before the mêlée. “Who the fuck are you?”, “Who’s fucking asking?” The four roll into the dance floor, fists flying. A circle opens around them, the shrieks and screams of the gyrating girls cutting through the megawatts of sound.

The DJ fades the record for a moment to shout “Security!” before fading it back up again and mixing in a more hardcore beat to accompany the new floorshow. Before the bouncers reach the heap of anger, testosterone and adrenalin blood has already begun to flow. Noses have been broken, tomorrow eyes will be closed by the impact of well-aimed fists.

Lucy and Emma sit quietly, watching, evaluating, contemplating. Lucy’s tongue glides across her lips the anticipation is now palpable.

A dozen black clad enforcers physically hurl the protagonists out of exits at the opposite ends of the club.

Lucy and Emma rise and make for the exit. Once outside they turn towards the exit where the second pair of suitors where ejected. The alley is dark, illuminated by a guttering street light and the glow filtering from frosted windows of the gents toilets of the club. They can see two indistinct figures leaning against the wall. One is leaning towards it, hand resting flat-palmed on the brickwork, letting the blood drain from his broken nose. The other has his back to the wall, fumbling to hold and light a cigarette with a fractured left wrist and a right hand sporting shards of glass.

Lucy dips into her handbag to retrieve a lighter. She flips the case and spins the wheel with her thumb, cupping the flame she lights his cigarette. His face is illuminated in the yellow flame, his left eye already closing from the injury it had sustained. His lip is split, blood dripping from his chin.

He draws deeply on his cigarette, “Thanks”. She waited a moment, watching Emma stroking the back of her gladiator. Emma turns her partner round and pushes him against the wall, which was what Lucy has been waiting for. She did the same, pressing her face against his, smelling the fresh smoke and lager on his breath.

He drops his cigarette under the force of her onslaught. It rolls across the asphalt and into the damp gutter hissing into extinction. She grabs his cock through his jeans, demanding it respond to her, but already having its undivided attention. She is ravenous for the taste of him, her tongue rampaging in his mouth. The ferrous tang of freshly spilt blood thrilling her like nothing else can, it brings out a side of her that cannot be unlocked in any other way.

The ferocity of her onslaught wakes the animal in him. The pain in his hands and face numbed, for now. She pulls at his belt, freeing his cock, yanking at it.

Now he pushes her against the wall, she pulls at her skirt, lifting the hem to a roll around her waist, exposing black silk panties to the cool December air. Lucy pulls them to one side and guides his throbbing head between her sensitive lips, made even more so by the kiss of the icy air.

She cums almost immediately and screams it out to the world. He takes it as a compliment and thrusts into her fast and hard. Her legs wrap around his waist, her back pressed uncomfortably against the wall, brickwork grazing her exposed shoulders. He’s grunting now, the animal in him wanting to cum in her tight wet cunt. Not to give her the best orgasm of her life but to fuck so she knows she’s been fucked. Which is just what she wants.

Emma’s yell of satisfaction cuts into Lucy’s personal cocoon of sexual bliss. Lucy glances over to see her friend being fucked from behind over a stack of crates, her back spattered with blood from her partners shattered nose. Then Lucy cums again, with her chosen cock pumping it’s sticky payload into her.