Chapter 4: Sloppy Pit Symphony
The warm, sticky streaks on Bobbi’s skin were already cooling in the draft from the vents, a stark contrast to the feverish heat of the bodies pressing in. She tasted the salty tang of the stranger’s release on her lips, a remnant of the first volley. Jack’s eyes, dark and hungry, locked onto hers from his post against the pillar, and a slow, wicked grin spread across his face. “Look at you,” he growled, his voice a low thrum beneath the crashing cymbals. “A fucking masterpiece.”
His words were a catalyst. Another cock, thick and veined, nudged past her lips, cutting off any reply. She opened for it willingly, her tongue flattening to welcome the intrusion. The head bumped against the back of her throat, and she relaxed her jaw, taking him deeper. The man’s hands fisted in her hair, not gently, pulling strands taut against her scalp as he set a rough, demanding rhythm. She could feel the bassline thumping through the floor, a primal counterpoint to the thrusts in her mouth.
Her own hands were already moving, slick with spend, finding two more hard cocks in the forest of legs around her. She gripped them tight, her fists pumping in opposite rhythms, one slow and twisting, the other fast and frantic. The men groaned, their voices lost in the guitar’s wail. Her tits, bare and swaying with each movement, became a new focal point. A hand, large and rough, closed over her left breast, calloused fingers digging into the soft flesh before finding her nipple and pinching it hard. A sharp, bright pain shot through her, mingling with the pleasure coiling deep in her belly, making her moan around the cock filling her throat.
“That’s it, take it all,” Jack urged, his tone possessive and proud. “You love being their dirty little secret, don’t you? Their own personal slut in the dark.”
Bobbi’s eyes watered as the man in her mouth pushed deeper, hitting a spot that made her gag. She fought the reflex, breathing hard through her nose, the air thick with the stench of sweat, weed, and sex. Spit dribbled down her chin. The man pinching her nipple twisted it, the pain a sharp, clarifying focus in the sensory overload. She could feel the three different pulses in her hands and mouth, three strangers hurtling toward their peak because of her, for her, while her man watched.
The one in her mouth was getting close; his thrusts became shallower, more erratic. He grunted, a guttural sound, and his grip on her hair tightened. “Gonna come,” he choked out.
Jack leaned forward, his face inches from hers. “Swallow it, Bobbi. Every fucking drop.”
She felt the first hot, bitter spurt hit the back of her throat and obeyed, swallowing convulsively as he emptied himself, her throat working around him. As he pulled out, gasping, the two in her hands erupted almost in unison. Thick, warm stripes painted her stomach and the hand still working them, adding to the mess already there. The hand on her breast gave one final, cruel squeeze before releasing.
For a moment, there was just the deafening music and the heavy panting of the men stepping back, vanishing into the crowd. Bobbi knelt there, breathless, covered in their evidence, her body thrumming with a wild, raw energy. Jack moved then, finally closing the distance. He didn’t help her up. Instead, he crouched down, his gaze sweeping over her glistening skin.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispered, his voice full of awe. He traced a finger through a streak of cum on her collarbone, then brought it to her lips, tasting it. “You’re perfect.”
He grabbed her chin, his grip firm. “But I’m not done with you. Not even close.” The look in his eyes promised something darker, more private, and the thrill of it shot straight through her core. The game was far from over.