Justine Elyot - Sex and the Stranger

Now the gangbang was really on. I was a gangbang slut, just like in a porno movie. I wondered if I would feel shame later on. I didn’t feel shame at that moment and I knew if three, ten or fifty more guys showed up, I would take them all on.

The five of them took me in just about every combination possible over the course of the next hour. Ron, Todd and Jack came in my mouth twice, and Oscar and Hank managed one more time each. My mouth and throat were coated with the semen of five men, the tastes mixed together like some kind of nasty cocktail, and I felt my stomach filling up with their splooge. I thought about those urban legends of cheerleaders sucking off whole football or basketball teams and having to get their stomachs pumped because of too much semen. Maybe this was no myth after all?

But I could handle it. I could swallow more baby batter if it shot my way.

The interns were ready for more, but by then I was pretty worn out and begged off. Any protests were quickly squashed by Hank. Not wanting to anger their supervisor, the three younger guys thanked me for a great time and headed back to the picnic. Oscar and Hank were gentlemanly enough to stay with me until I got back some of my wind.

I knew I was a mess, covered in sperm and sweat. I knew I had some raunchy rancid sperm breath. Luckily, a part of the lake that was out of view of the picnickers was nearby. A quick dip in the water washed off all the obvious evidence of my gangbang. Even so, I was walking gingerly thanks to the pounding the guys had given me. It was Oscar who came up with the idea of saying I had strained something playing volleyball. Hank offered me some gum he had.

‘Gum to hide the come,’ he joked.

We all laughed.

We returned to the picnic, from different directions, five minutes apart. I stood around by a tree and thought about what I’d just done. I still didn’t know if I felt guilty because if the chance came – if, say, the three interns found me and whisked me away into the bushes – I would let them, and I would love it. The only thing I was concerned about now was what my husband would say about my prolonged absence.

It turned out I had nothing to fear since he was so drunk he hadn’t the vaguest idea of how long I had been gone or if I was even there. I sat next to him, informing him that I was sincerely glad he was having a good time, since I was having one as well.

We stayed at the picnic another hour before heading back home, Steve thoroughly drunk. I helped my husband to bed, no longer irritated with him since my itch had been scratched quite well and good.

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