Ohhhh man. There it was. That tingle. That feeling.
A shiver of pleasure ran down Brad's spine as he closed his eyes and leaned his head back. He couldn't resist bobbing it in time to the thump-thump-thump of the throbbing techno music being blasted into the crowd, filling the dark basement nightclub.
He could feel it: he was starting to come up on molly. The sensation was like a warm, electric current running through his veins, making every nerve ending in his body tingle with anticipation. He sighed deeply, and a wave of pleasure pulsed through his body.
Oh yeah. He fucking loved this feeling. God, he'd missed it.
Brad glanced over at his girlfriend Becky. She was gorgeous, five foot ten, tall, skinny, with perky tits and a slim waist. Her slim figure was accentuated by the skimpy outfit she wore -- a tight, tiny Brandy Melville crop top and short shorts that barely covered anything.
Becky was an eighteen year old goddess. Any straight man would give their left nut for a chance with her.
But tonight, when he looked at her, he felt strange.
Empty.
Hollow.
Something was missing. Something about her... just... didn't feel satisfying.
"You okay, baby?" she said, looking over at him, her blonde ponytail bobbing. It took him a second to snap out of the trance.
"Yeah babe," he said, "I'm fine."
"Okay!" She beamed and looked back at the stage, throwing her hands up and bouncing up and down in time with the music. The DJ had just dropped the beat, and the crowd was going wild.
It was an hour into the main set and everyone was really starting to loosen up. He was guessing they weren't the only ones who'd dropped an hour ago and who were starting to feel the delicious, creeping waves of ecstatic pleasure now.
All over, his muscles were starting to tingle.
He closed his eyes as a shiver ran through him and he touched his muscular abs, covered only by a tank top. He ran his hands up his torso, to his impressive pecs, and then started massaging his triceps and his traps. It felt really, really fucking good to massage himself.
He ran his hands up to the back of his neck, squeezing the tanned skin, and then roughly dragged his fingertips up the back of his neck and up through his tousled blonde hair.
Ohhhh fuuuuckkkk.
It was hitting. It was really, really hitting.
These were some good goddamn pills. Brad could feel the MDMA slamming into him in slow motion like a fucking freight train. He knew he was about to be rolling hard.
Each squeeze of his swollen muscles sent an electric shock of pleasure radiating throughout his body. Damn, he was coming up really fast. Like a lot faster than usual. His heart raced. This could be bad.
He pushed the thought out of his mind, the anxiety replaced with satisfaction as he took a deep breath and sighed deeply. This felt so good. He may as well enjoy it to the fullest.
Brad's dealer had warned him these molly pills were doubles and he should maybe split them before they popped, but he and Becky didn't listen.
They wanted to go all out tonight.
Brad opened his eyes and looked around the club. The lights were swirling and pulsing in time with the music, casting kaleidoscopic patterns on the walls and ceiling. The air was thick with the smell of sweat and cologne, and the press of bodies was almost overwhelming.
Becky was feeling it too, he could tell. She had backed up and was grinding her skinny hips against him, her ass pressing into his crotch. He could feel her heat, her energy.
The feel of skin against his skin was electric. But it felt... shallow somehow.
Hollow.
Not enough. He needed more. But he couldn't quite place what was missing.
As the MDMA continued to surge through Brad's veins, his thoughts became increasingly hazy and his body felt electrified. And yet couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing, a deep yearning that he couldn't quite place. It grew and grew, a yawning chasm at the back of his mind.
Something ached in his core as the rising feeling of the molly high began to soak his brain. Each of his muscles instinctively flexed, including his tight sphincter.
An electric shock raced up his body as he flexed his asshole.
Holy fuck. Why did that feel so good?
And yet so... unsatisfying?
The vague, indistinct desire to be touched all over, to have another human's warm skin against his, had started to coalesce around that tight hole.
He contracted it again. A wave of desire washed over him.
It needed something. To be touched. No, to be...
...filled?
It was a thought that would have felt weird and out of place sober. He was straight, after all. He'd always been straight.
But he was careening deep into the serotonin ocean, rolling so hard that it somehow felt so natural, so normal.
His head was spinning. The MDMA was thundering into him like a freight train, and he was coming up much faster than he ever had before. The music pulsed and the lights flashed relentlessly and his mind raced and spiraled with need, the need to touch skin, the need to feel the electric pleasure of a warm body against his hand. Logic and reason were slowly being jettisoned out by a warm, beautiful gush of serotonin splurting into his synapses, overwhelming his mind.
Brad found himself scanning the crowd. Fuck, everyone was so beautiful on molly. Normal people looked like gods and goddesses, sweat dropping down their exposed bodies.
For some reason, as his eyes wandered, his gaze seemed to linger especially long on the firm, muscular bodies of the men around him.
He couldn't help but notice their muscular physiques, the way their sweaty shirts clung to their chests and their shorts hugged their thighs.
