Plastered

Sometimes things just don't turn out the way you expect them to. A guy from work had been flirting with me for the past couple of months. He was single, not bad looking and gainfully employed. On top of that he was personable and friendly and, even while flirting, didn't push past a certain line. I finally capitulated and agreed to dinner and a movie.

Nasty shock number one. When he arrived to pick me up it was obvious that he'd had a drink or two. He seemed to hold it OK and we were using a taxi so I didn't worry too much, but it was a strike against him. Nasty shock number two. He drank steadily through dinner. I had a glass of wine. He had several whiskeys and was moving well past the holding it OK stage. So that was his second strike. Nasty shock number three which was also strike three was the movie. As soon as we sat down, even before the lights were dimmed, he was all over me.

We should have gone and watched Spiderman, because I had my own personal Doctor Octopus sitting right next to me. First I was just fending off his hands but then he started explaining in explicit detail what he was going to do once the lights went out. I excused myself to visit the little girl's room, called a taxi, and never looked back.

Back home I moped around for a while and finished up going to bed early. My flat-mates were double dating that evening, going to some party, and I wasn't expecting them home for hours. This resulted in a bit of a surprise when they returned around eleven. I heard the front door open. What I didn't hear was the girls chattering away. I heard male voices.

I eased quietly over to peep out of my bedroom door to see what the hell was going on. Mike and George, the girl's dates, were carrying Jan and Suzy through to their bedroom, both girls appearing to be out cold.

I was wondering what the hell and flapping my ears as hard as I could, trying to hear what the boys were saying. The conversation went something like this.

"Just dump them on the beds. I guess we should take their shoes off."

"I'd like to strip them and leave them there naked. They'll wake up in the morning and spend the rest of the day wondering did we or didn't we?"

"It'd be fun but they would be oh, so pissed if we did."

"As opposed to being oh, so plastered the way they are now?"

Both boys laughed.

"If I ever catch the bastard I'm going to dangle him from a flagpole by his googlies."

OK. I had to know what had happened. My flatmates never got plastered. Or not when out on dates.

"Mike, George," I said, standing in the doorway observing the boys observing the girls. "Care to explain this little debacle?"

"Oh, hi, Elsie," said George. "Um, Jan and Suzie had a little too much to drink."

"So I see. And how did that come about?"

"It was the fruit punch," said Mike mournfully. "It was mildly alcoholic and all the girls were knocking it back. They thought it was terrific. We didn't touch it because, after all, who wants a girl's fruity drink. We had a beer. Next thing we know girls were dropping like flies. Some swine poured three bottles of 100 proof Vodka into the punch. The girls put the extra tang down to the fresh pineapple floating in the punch. With most of the girls rolling around the party sort of broke up early. We're doing the gentlemanly thing by bringing the girls home and putting them to bed."

"So the night's ending is exactly as you wanted it to be," I said, tongue in cheek.

"Well, close maybe, but not quite what I hoped for," George retorted, smirking.

I'll bet. He's always trying to get into Suzy's pants. A very horny young man. I'm pretty sure he's succeeded in his objective a time or two.

"Anyway, how come you're home? I thought you had a hot date with a honey from work?"

"Um, let's say that I don't have a drinking problem and leave it at that."

"Ah. So you felt it expedient to make an early departure. Enough said."

I slowly became aware of the fact that both boys were checking me out. Now normally there is nothing amiss with having a man check out your figure but normally one is dressed for the occasion. It dawned on me that I'd just got out of bed. All I was wearing was a pair of panties and a t shirt that barely reached my thighs. A surreptitious check behind me, plucking at my panties waistband, confirmed that, yes, I was wearing them. The way I was being checked out had made me wonder.

"Well," I said briskly, "now that you've brought the girls home I'll look after them. Thank you for the delivery."

"It seems to me," said Mike, speaking thoughtfully, "we've all had our plans for the night ruined. As Jan and Suzy are both dead to the world and not needing any immediate attention, perhaps you can look after George and me for a little while."

I gave a nice bland smile while shaking my head and edging away from Mike.

"Ah, I think that my plans for this evening might have been a little different from anything you and George were hoping for, so I'll pass."

Unfortunately, I didn't pass. I found that by edging away from Mike I'd backed right up to George. With me standing right there in front of him it was easy for him to just lift my t-shirt an inch or two and grab hold of my panties. So much for checking if I was wearing any. The answer had just changed to no.

Naturally enough, when George pulled my panties off I turned around to face him while backing away from him. It just goes to show you shouldn't do what comes naturally. Backing up put me in front of Mike who had no objection to lifting my t-shirt up and off and just like that I was entirely natural.

It was dawning on me, brought to my attention by circumstance, you might say, that George and Mike might not be completely sober. Not that they were drunk, or even tipsy. More in a state of lessened inhibitions.

I was talking to them quickly and calmly, pointing out why this was a bad idea. They weren't interested.

"Oh, don't be such a prude, Elsie," Mike told me. "It's not as though you're a blushing virgin. To-one will know but us. Now be a good girl and lean over the table."

We had moved out of the bedroom and were now in the kitchen/dining/family room. We didn't have a couch or I'm quite sure the boys would have pushed me down onto it. As soon as the word table was mentioned I was backing away in a different direction. I figured I'd curl up in the one easy chair we had and try to fend them off from there.

As soon as George saw I was edging towards the easy chair he was all in favour of it.

"Good idea," he said, catching my arm and changing the direction I was moving in. Instead of landing in the easy chair I found myself sprawling over the arm of it. It was a big, comfortable, chair, with nice wide fatly padded arms, and I landed across the arm with my hands on the seat.

I tried to push myself back up off it and one of the boys slapped me. Right on the bottom, as though I was a naughty child. I couldn't believe he'd do that, whichever one it was that did it.

Mike, it turned out. As soon as his hand slapped against my bottom it kept moving, sliding down between my legs and cupping my pussy. That done he started massaging. I started trying to kick at him but gave that up as a bad idea very quickly. The first time I managed to kick Mike two things happened. First, I hurt my toes. Second, Mike growled, "Behave. Daddy smack."

"You are not my daddy," I pointed out coldly.

"Well, I would hope not," he said, slipping a couple of fingers inside me and wriggling them around. "But I can still smack. You've got a very smackable bottom you know. Ever tried a sexy spanking?"

"No, and I have no desire to do so," I replied. "How about you just go away?"

"Go?" he asked, sounding surprised.

"Yes," I said eagerly, thinking he was finally getting the message.

Wrong message. It was time to go so he proceeded to go and put his cock where it didn't belong. I gave the appropriate cries of displeasure and protest but that didn't stop me feeling what seemed to be an awful lot of cock making its pleasurable way up me. I was being filled with a long piece of hot hardness that was bringing unexpected warmth to me.

Once he was in me he got down to work, pulling back and driving firmly home again. His hands were holding my hips, helping to guide my response while he drove in with quite a degree of energy. There are some things that you just can't help. If a girl has a cock making its introductions then her hips just have to respond, bouncing up to meet it. Still, for a few moments I was a little confused. I had Mike driving his cock home in a truly professional manner, his hands guiding my hips and helping the merging, while at the same time his hands were playing with my breasts, teasing and rubbing.

Common sense told me that Mike couldn't have that many hands. Then memory of George kicked in. He was copping a free feel while waiting his turn. All I could do was lie there and be ravished. Very thorough was the ravishment, too.

Mike was driving in hard but with no sense of urgency. His thrusts were firm and deep but they didn't have that desperate edge that some guys have where their cocks seem to be yelling, "Gotta fuck, gotta fuck." Mike was just taking his time, building up his own head of steam but also lighting fires within me and stoking them.

After a few minutes I was starting to feel like yelling at Mike to put some beef into it, as he was driving me mad. I had to practically bite my tongue to stop myself from giving him suggestions. He, on the other hand, just ploughed merrily away.

My frustrations and expectations weren't being helped by George and his ten-fingered nipple concerto. The way he was playing with my breasts you would think he'd never touched breasts before and was making up for lost time. I had these pleasurable little sensations spiralling out from my breasts while Mike was wreaking havoc down below.

I was trying to keep silent. I didn't want to make any sounds that the boys might mistake for enthusiasm, so yelling something like, "For Christ's sake, fuck me harder," was sort of ruled out. Keeping my mouth closed didn't stop a lot of mumbled noises from escaping.

When Mike finally hit his straps I was about ready to burst from frustration. He started banging away like crazy and I climaxed, letting out a shriek. I figured a loud shriek to indicate the finish was permitted. Then I was left slumped over the arm of the easy chair, feeling Mike withdrawing and thinking, "Oh my god. I can't believe that happened."

I was quite right to think that, too, because it hadn't finished happening.

"OK, sweetheart," says an enthusiastic George, rolling me over so I'm bent backward over the chair and facing him. "Let's get the real show on the road."

I'm like, "What the fuck is that thing?" staring at what George was waving at me. Did I tell you that George is quite a big man? I mean, BIG. Not bodybuilder big, but just a lot of beef on him. He's the sort of man you don't want by your side in a fight. Your opponents would take one look at him and then hit you as the safer option.

It turned out that his large development extended to unnecessary parts of his body. I had a rough idea of how big Mike's cock was. Pretty hard not to when it had been jammed up inside me giving me what you might call detailed knowledge. George's cock was probably twice that size. I don't mean twice as long or twice as thick but being long enough and thick enough to give it some decent extra mass.

George had as many inhibitions about using his weapon as Mike did; in other words, none. He slapped it against me, giving me time to properly see it and be horrified, and then he was driving it into me.

It seems there was at least one up-side to having Mike jump me the way he had (apart from an interesting orgasm). It left me reasonably prepared and lubricated for George's fiendish assault. I will grant that he took his time taking me, moving slowly enough that I had time to adjust, and it certainly took some stretching and adjusting. Every time I've ever had sex I always thought that I was full of cock when the man initially took me. (Not that there's been all that many times. I am quite choosey, you know.) Now I was finding out what being full of cock really meant.

When George had finally settled into position and started to move I was initially too nervous to do more than lie there, quite certain something would rupture if I responded. George finished up giving me the evil eye and telling me to bounce my bottom. He wanted a woman under him, not a blow up doll. Feeling indignant I started to move with him, everything starting to come more easily now that I wasn't petrified. (I was still going to have a chat with him about penile reduction surgery.)

Come more easily? Oh, my. George was hitting spots that had never been touched before and my whole body was perking up and saying, well, this is different. George was in full control and he established quite a fast rate of bounce. He probably wasn't really any faster than any other man, but there was a lot more cock moving at the same speed, which made it seem faster. (If that makes sense.)

However he was doing it, George was arousing me at a pretty rapid rate. I was bouncing and saying things like, "Oh. Wow. Argh. God, what are you doing? Someone help me? Slow down. Argh, don't do that. Oh god, oh god, oh god." Just petty little ramblings showing that I was aware of what he was doing, not meant to be taken seriously.

Things got a bit more serious when George picked up speed. He seemed to be using my pussy as a springboard, driving down hard and then almost leaping out of me, before jumping back in for his next run. All I really knew of what was going on was that I was awash with arousal and it was still building while I was just going, "Argh," every time he drove home.

I didn't have to wait for him to climax. One thrust too many and the world spun away, heat boiling through me, burning me up and leaving me a figure of ash. One puff and I'd have been blown away.

From the way George was breathing hard and slowing down I guessed he'd had his own climax while I was lost in La-La land. He dismounted and the boys stood there, smiling down at me.

"Not bad, Elsie," said Mike with a big smile. "You're quite a woman, aren't you? We'll leave you to keep an eye on our two drunken friends."

With that Mike and George turned and walked away. I didn't know what to say. They on the other hand knew just what they wanted to talk about. They were discussing me, of all things. (Favourably, I admit, but still.) Before they passed out of earshot I actually heard Mike wondering how they'd be able to set up a return date. He had to be kidding.