The whiskey hits different when you’re trying to forget you’re about to have sex with your high school crush while your fake girlfriend fucks the guy she’s been obsessed with a few rooms over.
I’m on my third glass now, maybe fourth. Lost count somewhere between Caroline’s gentle laugh at something I said, and the moment Dante suggested we split off into separate rooms. The apartment tilted slightly when I stood up, and now Caroline’s leading me down a hallway that seems to stretch on forever.
The guest room is nice. Tasteful. Gray walls, white bedding, the kind of generic decor that screams “we don’t actually use this space.” Caroline closes the door behind us with a soft click.
“Come here,” she says, her voice gentle as she guides me toward the bed.
I sit down heavily, the mattress dipping under my weight. The room spins just a little, and I close my eyes to steady myself. When I open them, Caroline’s standing in front of me, her brown eyes studying my face with an expression I can’t quite read.
“Can I ask you a question?” she says.
“Sure?”
She moves closer.
“This is your first time swinging, isn’t it?”
My throat goes dry. I nod, then force myself to speak. “Yeah.”
Caroline sighs, and it’s such a calm sound that it makes my chest tighten. She sits down beside me on the bed, her thigh brushing against mine.
“That’s funny,” she says softly. “Your girlfriend told Dante on the app you’ve done this a few times already.”
Fuck.
“Ohhh... yeah,” I stammer, my brain scrambling to maintain the lie Ashley built. “I forgot. We definitely have.”
The words sound hollow even to my own ears. Caroline’s quiet for a moment, and I can feel her eyes on me, searching my face for something.
Then her arms wrap around my head, pulling me against her chest in this strangely maternal gesture that makes my heart hammer against my ribs. Her fingers thread through my hair, gentle and soothing.
“You don’t seem like the type to lie, Vincent,” she whispers, her breath warm against my scalp. “Tell me the truth... please?”
The kindness in her voice breaks something inside me. I can’t hold onto the lie, not when she’s asking like this, not when she’s being so gentle about it.
“Yeah,” I breathe out, my voice muffled against her. “I’ve never swung before.”
She pulls back just enough to look at my face, and there’s this smile on her lips. Not mocking, not cruel. Just... understanding.
“I thought so,” she says.
Her hands move to my waist, and I feel her fingers working at my belt buckle.
“I wonder if Ashley lied about this too,” she murmurs, more to herself than to me.
She pulls my pants down, then my underwear, and suddenly I’m exposed. My cock hangs there, average and unremarkable.
Caroline stares at it. Her eyes widen, her lips parting slightly.
“Holy shit...” she breathes.
The shame intensifies, burning through my chest like acid. “What?” I manage to choke out. “Is something wrong with it?”
She looks up at me, and there’s something in her eyes that I don’t understand. Relief? Happiness? Maybe both?
“No,” she says quickly, shaking her head. “It’s just... I’m...” She trails off, her gaze dropping back down. “Dante wouldn’t normally...”
She stops herself, biting her lower lip. I can see her wrestling with something, some truth she’s trying to figure out how to say.
“Wouldn’t normally what?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Caroline’s fingers trace along my shaft, her touch feather-light and hesitant. Her eyes are still fixed on my cock, and I watch her throat work as she swallows.
“Dante has... preferences,” she says carefully, each word measured. “When we swing, he only really wants me to be with guys who are...” She pauses, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Well, he likes them to be really big. Like, impressively big. Like he is…”
My stomach drops. “Oh.”
“No, Vincent, that’s not...” She looks up at me quickly, and there’s something almost desperate in her expression. “That’s not what I mean.”
Her hand wraps around me fully now, her fingers warm and soft. The touch sends electricity up my spine despite the shame curling in my gut.
“Is mine too small?” The words taste bitter coming out.
“No.” She squeezes me gently, and I gasp at the sensation. “Vincent, if I’m being perfectly honest, I have a hunch this is the size I’ve always wanted.”
I blink at her, trying to process what she just said through the whiskey fog. “What?”
Her thumb strokes along my length, slow and deliberate.
“I didn’t choose swinging,” she says softly. “Dante introduced me to it. He was so excited about it, talking about all these experiences we could have together, and I...” She trails off, her gaze dropping. “I went along with it because I thought it would make him happy.”
Her hand keeps moving, and I’m getting harder despite the emotional weight of what she’s saying.
“Every guy he picks for me is too big,” she continues, her voice barely above a whisper. “And it hurts, Vincent. Every single time. I’ve tried to tell him, tried to explain that bigger isn’t always better, but he just...” She shakes her head. “He thinks I’m being modest or something. That I secretly love it. Because he’s also too big…”
“That’s fucked up,” I manage to say, my voice rough.
Caroline’s fingers tighten around me, and she nods slowly. “Yeah. It is.”
She’s quiet for a moment, her hand still working me with gentle, exploratory strokes. I’m fully hard now, and the whiskey haze makes everything feel heightened, more intense.
“None of those guys ever let me try anything I wanted,” she says suddenly, her voice taking on an edge I haven’t heard before. Her brown eyes lift to mine, and there’s something hungry in them now. “They all just... do their thing. Take what they want. Never ask what I might enjoy.”
The look she’s giving me is vigorous, almost predatory in a way that’s completely at odds with the gentle Caroline I’ve always known.
“Could I try being on top?”
“Whatever you want, Caroline,” I say without hesitation.
Her eyebrows lift slightly, surprise flickering across her features. “What, no bravado? You don’t want to hold me down and make me yours?”
A small laugh comes out of me, slightly bitter, slightly genuine. “I’m just trying to focus on not killing myself every day.”
She laughs too, but it’s dismissive, like she’s brushing away my self-deprecation. Then she’s standing, her hands moving to the hem of her dress. I watch, transfixed, as she pulls it over her head in one smooth motion.
Holy fuck.
Caroline’s body is stunning. Soft curves, smooth skin, the kind of figure that makes my mouth go dry. Her breasts are perfect, not too big, not too small, just... right. Her hips flare gently, and there’s this softness to her that makes me want to touch every inch.
She reaches behind her back and unclasps her bra, letting it fall away. My eyes are glued to her chest, watching the way her breasts move as she hooks her thumbs into her panties and slides them down her legs.
“Vincent,” she says softly, and I realize I’ve been staring like an idiot. “Move higher on the bed.”
I scramble backward, nearly falling off in my haste. The whiskey makes my movements clumsy, but I manage to position myself near the headboard. My heart’s pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears.
Caroline crawls onto the bed with feline grace, and I watch her approach with something close to awe. She moves up my body, straddling my chest, then keeps going. Higher. Higher. Until she’s turning around, her ass positioned over my face as she lowers herself.
Oh god.
“Let’s start like this,” she says, and I feel her breath against my cock.
“Okay,” I manage to croak out.
Her pussy descends toward my face, and I can see everything. The pink folds, already glistening slightly. The scent hits me, musky and sweet, and my mouth waters instinctively.
Then her mouth wraps around me, and my brain short-circuits.
“Fuck,” I gasp against her, the word vibrating against her most intimate parts.
She takes me deeper, her tongue swirling around my shaft in a way that makes my eyes roll back. I can feel her enthusiasm in every movement, the way she hums around me, the eagerness with which she explores every inch.
I force myself to focus, lifting my head to press my lips against her. The taste explodes on my tongue, tangy and addictive. I lick along her folds, trying to remember everything I learned with Ashley, but Caroline’s different. Softer. Wetter.
She moans around my cock, the vibration sending shockwaves through my entire body. Her hips start to move, grinding against my face, and I grip her ass to hold her steady. My tongue finds her clit, that sensitive bundle of nerves, and I circle it slowly.
Her enthusiasm doubles. She’s sucking me harder now, taking me deeper, and I can feel the back of her throat. It’s overwhelming, almost too much, but I force myself to hold on. To give her everything I’ve got.
I suck her clit into my mouth, applying gentle pressure, and she gasps around me. Her thighs tremble on either side of my head, and I take that as encouragement. My tongue flicks rapidly across the sensitive bud, alternating with long, slow licks along her entire length.
She’s so wet now that I can feel it dripping down my chin. Her taste is everywhere, coating my tongue, and I can’t get enough. I bury my face deeper, my nose pressing against her as I work her with everything I have.
Caroline pulls off me with a wet pop, gasping for air. “Oh god, Vincent,” she moans, her voice breathy and desperate. “That feels so good.”
Her thighs clamp around my head, and I feel her entire body go rigid above me. Then she’s trembling, her hips grinding down against my face as waves of pleasure roll through her.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck, Vincent!” she cries out, her voice breaking.
I keep my mouth on her, licking her through it, feeling every pulse and shudder. Her taste floods my tongue, and I’m drunk on it, on the power of making her fall apart like this. Her moans fill the room.
Before I can process what’s happening, she’s lifting herself off my face. I gasp for air, my chin slick with her, and watch through blurry vision as she spins around. Her eyes are wild, pupils blown wide with arousal.
She straddles my hips, her hand wrapping around my cock to position it. There’s no hesitation, no gentle easing into it. She just sinks down onto me in one smooth motion, taking me completely.
“Holy shit,” I gasp, my hands flying to her hips. “Don’t we need a condom?”
“It’s not like Dante is going to wear one…”
She grabs my wrists before I can grip her, pinning them to the mattress on either side of my head. The sudden show of dominance sends electricity shooting through me. She’s breathing hard, her breasts rising and falling inches from my face, and there’s this fierce expression on her features I’ve never seen before.
“How do you like that pussy?” she demands, her voice rough and commanding.
The words sound foreign coming from her mouth, like she’s testing them out. There’s uncertainty behind the aggression, like she’s playing a role she’s not quite sure fits yet.
I can’t help it… I smile up at her. “I like being held down,” I say honestly, my voice breathless. “But I don’t think I like the insults.”
Her expression shifts immediately. The fierce mask cracks, and something genuine breaks through. She nods, and suddenly she’s smiling too, this bright, relieved smile that makes my chest ache.
“Yeah?” she asks, her voice softening. “Okay. I can work with that.”
She starts to move, grinding down onto me with slow, deliberate rolls of her hips. The sensation is incredible, her warmth enveloping me completely, and I can’t stop the moan that tears from my throat.
She’s still holding my wrists down, and I realize she’s experimenting with this. Testing what it feels like to be in control, to take what she wants. There’s wonder in her eyes as she moves, like she’s discovering a part of herself she never knew existed.
“God, you feel perfect,” she breathes, picking up the pace. Her hips move faster now, grinding and rolling, finding angles that make both of us gasp. “This is... fuck, Vincent, why does this feel so good?”
I watch her face, transfixed. She’s lost in it, completely absorbed in the sensation and the power. Her head tips back, exposing the elegant line of her throat, and her hair falls down her back in waves. She’s gorgeous like this, uninhibited and free.
“You’re amazing,” I manage to say, and I mean it.
She looks down at me, her brown eyes locking onto mine, and there’s something vulnerable in them despite the dominant position. “I’ve…”
She doesn’t finish the thought, just leans down to kiss me. Her tongue slides into my mouth, hungry and demanding, and she releases my wrists to cup my face. My hands immediately go to her hips, not to control but to feel, to ground myself at this moment.
She breaks the kiss, sitting back up, and her movements become more frantic. She’s chasing something now, her breath coming in short gasps. Her hands press against my chest for leverage as she rides me harder.
“Touch me,” she commands, and I obey instantly.
My hands find her breasts, cupping them, feeling their weight. They’re perfect in my palms, soft and warm, and when I brush my thumbs over her nipples, she gasps. Her back arches, pushing her chest further into my touch, and I squeeze gently, testing her reaction.
“Yes,” she breathes, her hips never stopping their relentless rhythm. “Just like that.”
I knead her breasts, alternating between gentle caresses and firmer squeezes. Her nipples are hard under my thumbs, and every time I roll them, she makes this breathy little sound that drives me insane. The whiskey buzz makes everything feel distant and immediate at the same time, like I’m watching this happen to someone else while simultaneously drowning in every sensation.
She leans down again, capturing my mouth in another kiss. This one is slower, deeper, almost tender despite the frantic movement of her hips. Her tongue slides against mine.
When she pulls back, there’s a sheen of sweat on her skin, making her glow in the dim light. Her movements are becoming erratic now, less controlled. She’s close again, I can feel it in the way her inner walls are starting to flutter around me.
“Vincent,” she gasps, my name breaking in the middle.
Her whole body goes rigid above me, and I feel her pussy clamp down around my cock like a vice. She throws her head back, her mouth falling open in a silent scream as she cums. The sensation of her pulsing around me is incredible.
I can feel my own control starting to slip, the pressure building at the base of my spine like a coiled spring. Her pussy is still spasming around me, milking me, and it’s too much. Way too much.
“Caroline,” I gasp, my fingers digging into her hips. “I’m gonna... fuck, I’m cumming.”
“Do it,” she breathes, her voice ragged. “Cum inside me, Vincent.”
The permission breaks whatever last thread of control I have left. My back arches off the bed, and suddenly I’m exploding inside her. Wave after wave of pleasure crashes through me, so intense that my vision goes white at the edges. I can feel myself pulsing, emptying everything I have into her warm, tight pussy.
“Oh god,” I moan, my whole body shaking with the force of it.
Caroline collapses onto my chest, both of us trembling and gasping for air. Her weight is comforting, grounding. I can feel her heart hammering against mine, our sweat-slicked skin sticking together. She’s just breathing on me, her exhales warm against my neck, and for a moment we just exist in this space of shared exhaustion and satisfaction.
She lifts her head slightly, propping her chin on my chest to look at me. There’s this satisfied smile on her face, lazy and genuine.
“Your dick fucks, Vincent,” she says, and there’s wonder in her voice.
The bluntness of it catches me so off guard that I burst out laughing. It bubbles up from my chest, genuine and uncontrolled, and she starts laughing too. The sound fills the room, breaking whatever tension might have lingered.
Our laughter’s still echoing in the small room when I hear it.
A scream. Not the kind from pleasure, not the breathy gasps Caroline was making minutes ago. This is raw. Terrified. The sound of something gone horribly wrong.
“Ashley?” Her name tears out of me as both Caroline and I bolt upright.
I’m already moving, scrambling off the bed with my legs tangled in the sheets. Caroline’s saying something behind me but I can’t hear it over the blood pounding in my ears. My feet hit the floor and I’m running, stumbling down the hallway completely naked, my softening cock slapping against my thigh.
The master bedroom door is partially open, spilling light into the dark hallway. I don’t knock. Don’t hesitate. I just shove it open.
“Ashley, are you okay?”
The scene hits me all at once, my brain struggling to process what I’m seeing.
Ashley’s on the bed, doubled over, her body convulsing. She’s making these awful retching sounds, like she’s trying not to throw up, her face twisted in agony. Her hands are clutched between her legs.
Then I see Dante.
He’s standing beside the bed, and my eyes lock onto his cock. It’s massive. Fucking enormous. The biggest, girthiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life, and I’ve watched plenty of porn. It’s still semi-hard, glistening wet, and there’s something dark on the tip.
Blood.
My stomach drops as my brain registers what I’m looking at. There’s blood on his cock. Fresh. Red.
My eyes snap to Ashley, and that’s when I see it. Blood running down her inner thighs, dripping onto the white sheets beneath her. So much blood.
“Did he hurt you?” The question comes out strangled, barely recognizable as my voice.
Ashley’s head lifts, and the look on her face will haunt me forever. Pure horror. Her eyes are wide and glassy, and she’s still making those awful retching sounds like her body’s trying to reject what just happened.
“Dante just cream pied me,” she gasps out between heaves, her voice breaking. “And it’s all blood.”
“What the fuck?”