I awoke in the empty bedroom still dark, limbs tangled in sheets that smelled like regret and sweat. The mattress sagged beneath me, springs groaning when I shifted. Nobody about only the ache remained, my jaw, my hips, the raw sting between my legs.
The first thing that registered wasn’t the cold bite of floor boards under my bare feet or the sour aftertaste of cum still coating my tongue, it was the buzzing. A relentless, insectile hum coming from somewhere in the tangled wreckage of my bag near the door. My phone. The screen lit up like a flare in the dimness, casting jagged shadows across the driver’s filthy carpet as another notification rolled in.
3:17 AM. The numbers burned neon green into the dark, the cheap digital clock's glow seeping across the nightstand where the driver's ashtray overflowed with crushed filters. My phone buzzed again against the floorboards, the vibration traveling up through the mattress springs like a live wire.
The phone screen lit up under my trembling fingertips, casting a blue-white glare that made my swollen eyes squint. Twenty-three unread messages. Seven new photos. The preview thumbnails blurred together, flashing strobe lights, spilled drinks, grinning faces smeared with lipstick. My stomach twisted as I swiped up, the first image loading with cruel clarity: Jess draped over some guy's lap at the club, her sequin top barely hanging on, his fingers buried in the waistband of her skirt.
My dress lay crumpled near the foot of the bed like a discarded skin, the cheap fabric torn at the seams where eager hands had pulled too hard. I stared at it for a long moment before scooping it up between two fingers, the damp fabric clinging unpleasantly to my palm. "Not wearing this again," I hissed to the empty room, my voice raw from overuse. The neckline gaped where the straps had snapped, the hem frayed from being yanked over my hips too fast. Tossing it back down, I scanned the dim room with gritted teeth.
The first thing I saw when I dragged myself out of bed was the shirt, army green, stretched thin at the shoulders, smeared down the front with what looked like ketchup and something oily. It lay discarded on the floor near the door, half-tucked under a pair of work boots crusted with dried mud.
The shirt smelled like stale beer and engine grease, the fabric stiff against my skin as I pulled it over my head. It hung loose on my frame, the shoulders sagging comically low, the hem barely skimming the tops of my thighs. The sour stench of sweat clung to the collar, pressing against my nose with every shallow breath I took. I shuddered, my fingers trembling as I buttoned it halfway up, the coarse fabric scratching against my bare chest. The mirror above the dresser reflected a stranger, eyes hollow, lips swollen, the shirt swallowing me whole like a borrowed shame.
The kitchen light was too bright, a single fluorescent bulb flickering like a dying firefly above the sink. I blinked against the glare, my bare feet sticking slightly to linoleum that hadn’t been scrubbed in months. The fridge hummed a low, arrhythmic groan, its door smudged with fingerprints and what might’ve been dried ketchup.The housemate stood at the counter, his back to me, shoulders hunched as he rummaged through a cupboard. The muscles in his forearms flexed under faded tattoos, a blur of ink that might’ve been a skull or a rose or something equally cliché. He didn’t turn when I shuffled in, just grabbed a glass.
"Hey," I rasped, the word scratching its way up my shredded throat. The housemate didn’t turn. Just kept pouring cheap orange juice into a glass that still had lipstick smudges on the rim, last night’s shade, not mine. "Erm. Do you know where…erm he went?"
The housemate's laughter hit like a slap, too loud, too sharp in the quiet kitchen. Juice sloshed over the rim of his glass as he turned, grinning with all the warmth of a rusted bear trap. "Him? Aw shit, you don’t even know his name?" His chuckle dissolved into a wheezing cough, thick with last night’s cigarettes. "How many times you guys fucked? Three? Four?"
"Twice," I muttered, my fingers tightening around the hem of his stolen shirt. The fabric bunched under my grip, stretching thin over my knuckles. The housemate's laughter hit like a sucker punch, wet and wheezing, flecks of orange juice spraying from his lips onto the countertop. "Aw fuck, you fucked him twice already and don't even know his name?" He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, grinning like a feral dog. "What a slut you are!"
The words hit like a slap. I went bright red, shame washing over me in a wave so hot I could feel it prickle down my neck, pooling in the hollow of my throat. My fingers curled tighter in the too-long sleeves of his shirt, his shirt, not mine, never mine, the fabric damp with my own sweat. The orange juice in his glass caught the flickering fluorescent light, casting jagged reflections across his grinning teeth.
"His name's Jimmy," he said, his fingers tightening around my wrist his other hand sliding up to palm my breast through the thin fabric of the borrowed shirt. His calloused thumb rubbed rough circles over my nipple, already hardened from the chill of the kitchen. "And mine's Rob."
His fingers dug into my breast like he was testing fruit for ripeness, his thumb flicking my nipple until it ached under the thin fabric. "Jimmy's out picking up another fare," he said, his breath hot and sour against my ear. "Probably got some other slut gagging on his gearstick by now." His teeth grazed my earlobe, blunt and yellowed. "Lucky for you, I've got nowhere to be."
Rob's grip on my wrist twisted suddenly, wrenching me forward until my knees hit the linoleum with a crack that echoed through the empty kitchen. The cold floor bit into my bare skin as he shoved me down, his fingers tangling in my hair like he was reining in a disobedient animal. His belt buckle clinked, a cheap, tinny sound, as he popped the button of his jeans one-handed. The denim sagged open, releasing the thick musk of sweat and sex still clinging to him from last night. My scent.
Rob's cock slapped against my cheek before I could turn away, warm, heavy, crusty with me from last night. The scent hit me first, that musky, shameful tang of sex clinging to his skin. My stomach lurched, but he didn't give me time to gag. His fingers knotted tighter in my hair, wrenching my head back until my spine arched painfully. "Open," he growled, the word more vibration than sound.
"Be a good little slut," he hissed, the words slithering into my ear like oil down a drain. His fingers tightened in my hair, pulling just shy of painful, a promise, not a threat. The linoleum beneath my knees was cold enough to burn. My lips parted on instinct, the memory of last night's abuse still fresh in my muscles.
Rob's cock was heavier than I remembered, the weight of it against my tongue like a lead sinker. The taste flooded my mouth, salt and musk and something darker, something that made my throat convulse around nothing. He groaned above me, hips jerking forward until the tip hit the back of my throat. My gag reflex kicked in instantly, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes as I choked around him.
His fingers tightened in my hair like a noose, forcing my nose deeper into the wiry thatch of his pubes. The musky stench of sweat and stale sex filled my nostrils, thick enough to taste, salty, sour, with an undercurrent of motor oil clinging to his skin. My lips stretched wider around his girth, spit dripping down my chin as I hollowed my cheeks, sucking hard like I was trying to pull venom from a wound.
The sooner he cums, the sooner he leaves me alone, the thought circles like a prayer, desperate and feverish. I hollow my cheeks tighter, my jaw aching with the effort, trying to speed this along. My tongue presses hard along the underside of his cock, swirling just behind the head where I know it stings sweetest. Above me, Rob groans, his hips twitching forward involuntarily, the tip hitting the back of my throat. I gag, but I don’t pull away. I can’t. His fingers twist deeper into my hair, anchoring me in place like a leash. His other hand fists the collar of the stolen shirt, knuckles brushing my collarbone, the fabric straining against my neck.
The front door slammed hard enough to rattle the empty beer bottles on the counter. Rob's cock jerked against my tongue at the sound, his grip loosening just enough for me to gag around him. "Jesus, you at it again, slut?" Jimmy's voice cut through the kitchen like a rusty blade, rough with cigarette smoke and last night's whiskey. The front door swung shut behind him with a bang that made the cheap cabinets rattle. I flinched, my teeth grazing Rob's cock as Jimmy's work boots scuffed across the linoleum, slow, deliberate, circling us like a shark. Rob didn't pull away.
Rob's fingers dug into the roots of my hair like claws, forcing my head back until the tendons in my neck screamed. His cock dragged wetly across my tongue as he angled me toward Jimmy, a grotesque offering. "She loves it, this slag," he laughed, the sound ricocheting off the grease-streaked walls. His thumb rubbed rough circles against my temple, mocking, possessive. "Didn't even know your fucking name."
His cock slid from my lips with a wet pop, leaving my mouth hanging slack like a broken hinge. Rob's hand yanked me up by the hair so fast I felt strands rip free at the roots. Before I could register the sting in my scalp, Jimmy's shadow fell over us, his work boots planted wide, the reek of gasoline and stale tobacco rolling off him in waves. His fingers hooked into the collar of the stolen shirt, the one I'd barely managed to button over my bruised skin. "This ain't yours, slag," he growled, pulling it over my head leaving me naked in the kitchen.
"That's better," Jimmy laughed, his cigarette-stained teeth glinting under the flickering kitchen light. The stolen shirt dangled from his fingers like a trophy before he tossed it onto the counter, where it landed in a puddle of spilled orange juice. His eyes dragged down my body, slow, deliberate, taking in every bruise his hands had left last night, before settling between my thighs with a smirk that made my skin prickle. "Now we can see what we're working with."
His hand went straight to my pussy, roughly pushing two fingers in. "She's soaking, this slut," he laughed, twisting his wrist until I gasped. "What'd you do to her, Rob?" The words weren't a question, they were a taunt, underscored by the wet squelch of his fingers working inside me. His knuckles ground against my clit with each twist, the friction deliberate, punishing.
Jimmy's belt buckle clattered to the linoleum before his jeans hit the floor, the denim pooling around his work boots like a discarded second skin. His cock sprang free, already hard, flushed dark at the tip with the same urgency that made his breath hitch when he grabbed my hips. The sudden spin left me dizzy, my palms slapping against Rob's thighs for balance as Jimmy bent me at the waist with a single rough shove. My face collided with Rob's cock slapped against my forehead, already slick at the tip where I'd been sucking him moments earlier.
Jimmy pushed into me without hesitation, the sudden stretch forcing a choked gasp from my throat. His hands locked around my hips like vices, fingers digging into bruises he'd left the night before, each press of his fingertips a fresh spark of pain. There was no easing in, no slow surrender, just the brutal plunge of his cock burying itself inside me to the hilt in one unforgiving thrust. My feet slid apart on the linoleum, the cold floor biting into my feet as my body bowed under the assault.
My fingers dug into the meat of Rob's thigh for balance as I leaned forward, the coarse fabric of his jeans rough against my palm. Rob's cock filled my mouth before I could brace myself, the thick heat of him pressing against my tongue like a brand. My jaw ached instantly, stretched wide around his girth, but it was Jimmy's thrusts that stole my breath. The moment his hips snapped forward, driving deep without warning, my teeth scraped Rob's shaft in reflex.
Rob's fingers twisted deeper into my hair as Jimmy's hips pistoned behind me, each thrust jarring my body forward until Rob's cock hit the back of my throat. The taste of salt and precum flooded my mouth as I gagged, tears streaking down my cheeks. Rob chuckled darkly, using my hair like a rein to drag my face up the length of his shaft. "Look at her," he slurred to Jimmy, thumbing away a tear with rough amusement. "Gagging like a fucking doll."
Jimmy’s thrusts came harder now, his hips slamming against my ass with a wet, rhythmic smack that echoed off the grimy kitchen walls. His fingers dug into my hips hard enough to leave fresh bruises, the pain sharp and bright under my skin. Every forward jerk forced Rob’s cock deeper into my throat, the thick head bumping against the back of my palate until my vision blurred with tears.
The orgasm hit me like a backdraft, sudden, suffocating, inevitable. Jimmy's cock slammed into that spot again, the one that sent white-hot sparks arcing behind my eyelids, and my body seized around him without permission. My thighs trembled violently, the muscles clamping down on his relentless thrusts as pleasure detonated low in my belly. It shouldn’t have felt this good, not with Rob’s cock stuffing my throat, but my pussy pulsed around Jimmy’s length like it was trying to milk him dry.
The aftershocks of my orgasm pulsed through me in erratic waves, each one sending fresh tremors up my thighs as Jimmy kept thrusting. My body jerked against him involuntarily, hips twitching, toes curling against the sticky linoleum, but he didn’t slow down. If anything, his grip tightened, fingers digging into the bruises he’d left last night, using them like handholds to yank me back onto his cock with each snap of his hips. The overstimulation burned like salt in a wound, pleasure and pain blurring until I couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. My pussy clenched around him, oversensitive and sore, but Jimmy only groaned and fucked me harder, his balls slapping against my clit with every brutal shove forward.
The final thrust came without warning, Jimmy burying himself to the hilt as his hips stuttered against my bruised skin. His fingers dug into my flesh hard enough to leave crescent moons blooming under his nails, his groan raw and ragged above the wet slap of skin on skin. I felt the hot spill of him inside me before he even pulled out, his cock twitching as it emptied, another claim marked in the only way he knew how. The slap landed seconds later, his palm cracking against my arse with enough force to send a jolt up my spine. The sting lingered, blending with the throbbing ache between my legs into something obscenely warm.
Rob's fingers loosened their grip in my hair just enough for his cock to slide from my lips with a wet, obscene sound, but before I could gasp for air, his hand clamped around my throat, holding me in place. His hips jerked forward once, twice, then his release hit me in hot, sticky ropes across my cheeks, my eyelids, the bridge of my nose. The first spurt caught me by surprise, painting my eyelashes white until I blinked reflexively, feeling it smear into my vision like a grotesque veil. The second landed heavier, thicker, pooling in the hollow of my parted lips before dripping onto my tongue in salty, metallic bursts.
Behind me, Jimmy groaned at the sight, still in me and giving my arse another slap as he watched Rob's cum splatter across my face. "Fuck, look at her," he panted, his fingers digging fresh bruises into my hips as he spanked me with his other hand. "Like painting a fucking canvas." His laugh was breathless, uneven, his cock twitching inside me as if the sight alone was enough to push him to another orgasm.
Their laughter hit me before their bodies did, Rob's wheezing chuckle and Jimmy's raspy bark bouncing off the grease-stained walls as they peeled away from me like shedding skin. My orgasm still pulsed through me in slow, sticky waves, leaving my thighs trembling and my vision blurred at the edges, but they were already stepping back. Rob's fingers uncurled from my hair with a final, mocking tug, while Jimmy's grip on my hips loosened all at once, letting me slump forward onto the counter. My elbows hit the counter first, the impact jolting up my arms as my forehead pressed against the worktop.
Jimmy's belt buckle clanked as he hitched his jeans up with one hand, the denim still damp where he'd wiped his fingers after pulling out of me. He turned without a word, his work boots scuffing against the linoleum as he disappeared down the darkened hallway. The bedroom door squealed on its hinges, that same drawn-out whine I'd memorized last night between moans. From where I slumped against the kitchen counter, I could hear him rummaging, the occasional thud of something heavy hitting the floor.
He returned with my belongings clutched in his fist like trash collected for disposal. My dress, once pale pink, now stained with sweat and worse, hung limp over his forearm, the snapped straps dangling like broken puppet strings. My shoes swung from two fingers, my phone screen lit up with notifications I couldn't read from this distance. My bag gaped open, its contents half-spilled across his palm, a melted lipstick, loose coins, a tampon still in its wrapper.
"I don't think your dress is any good anymore," Jimmy laughed, the sound like gravel in a tin can as he tossed the ruined fabric toward the trash. It missed, landing half-in, half-out of the bin, just like me, I thought bitterly. The pink polyester pooled on the floor like discarded candy wrapper, the ripped hem catching on a beer bottle's edge. "Better wear that shirt on the counter," he added, nodding at the juice-soaked garment with a smirk that showed too much teeth.
The shirt stuck to my skin where the orange juice had soaked through, cold and tacky against my ribs as I snatched it off the counter. The fabric smelled like cheap detergent and something sour underneath, Jimmy’s sweat, probably, baked into the fibers from nights spent slumped on the bedroom floor. I pulled it on without buttoning it, the hem brushing my thighs, and caught my reflection in the grimy window above the sink.
My face was a disaster. Rob’s cum had dried in streaky rivulets down my cheeks, flaking at the edges like old glue. Mascara smeared in raccoon rings around my swollen eyes, and my lips were chapped raw from being stretched around him. My hair stuck up in greasy clumps, matted where fingers had twisted through it like reins. Behind the glass, my reflection warped under layers of grime and condensation, a funhouse mirror version of the girl who’d left the club last night.
"Come on, slut, let's get you home," Jimmy said, tossing my ruined heels at my feet. They skidded across the linoleum, the sound like claws scraping bone. "I can't go outside looking like this," I protested, my fingers clutching at the oversized shirt hem as a gust of wind from the open kitchen window made the fabric ripple against my thighs. The streetlamp outside cast jagged shadows through the grimy glass, striping my bare legs with alternating bands of sickly yellow light and darkness. My reflection in the toaster's chrome surface showed a stranger, mascara rivers cutting through dried cum, lips swollen like overripe fruit.
Jimmy's fingers dug into the meat of my upper arm like a rusted bear trap snapping shut. "You can and you will," he hissed, the words slithering out between his tobacco-stained teeth as he yanked me forward. My bare feet skidded on the linoleum, still tacky with spilled juice and worse, before catching traction near the threshold. The night air hit me like a slap, damp and thick with the stench of garbage from the alleyway dumpsters.
The shirt flapped open with every gust of wind as I stumbled down the apartment building's piss-stained stairwell, clutching the hem with white-knuckled desperation. My shoes dangled from two fingers, the straps snapping against my thigh with each step, while my bag, half-empty, contents strewn across Jimmy's floor, hung heavy on my shoulder. The fabric of his stolen shirt chafed against my oversensitive skin, the sour stench of his sweat rising with every panicked breath.
The car door flew open with a metallic shriek, hinges protesting like they'd done this too many times before. Jimmy's hand clamped around the back of my neck, callouses catching on my skin like sandpaper, and shoved me forward into the cab's stale darkness. My knees hit the vinyl seat with a slap that echoed through the empty street, the impact vibrating up my thighs. Before I could right myself, his palm connected with my ass in a stinging smack that sent me sprawling across the backseat, the shirt riding up past my hips.
"Lovely sight," Jimmy laughed as he shut the car door and got in the driver's seat, the cab's interior light flickering out like a dying candle. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel, tap, tap, tap, matching the erratic rhythm of my pulse. The vinyl seat stuck to my thighs where the juice from his shirt had soaked through, peeling away with a sound like Velcro whenever I shifted. Through the rearview mirror, his eyes locked onto mine, dark and glinting like oil pooled in a gutter.
The engine roared like something alive as Jimmy jammed the accelerator, the cab lurching forward with enough force to slam my ribs against the vinyl seat. Streetlights blurred into molten streaks as we tore through intersections, no red lights, no braking, just the sickening weightlessness of speed lifting my stomach into my throat. The stolen shirt flapped against my thighs where I hadn't managed to button it, cold air rushing through the half-open windows like fingers dragging over my skin.
The tyres screamed against wet pavement as Jimmy wrenched the wheel, sending the cab fishtailing into the curb with a violence that slammed my forehead against the passenger seat. The same dim streetlight, now flickering erratically, cast the same warped shadows across the sidewalk where he'd dumped me three weeks ago, my dress torn and dignity in tatters. The engine died with a shudder as he twisted the key, his other hand already outstretched toward me, palm up. "Give me your phone," he commanded, fingers twitching like a junkie needing a fix.
My fingers trembled as I unlocked the phone, the screen still smeared with fingerprints and something sticky I didn't want to identify, before passing it to him. Jimmy's cracked knuckles brushed against my palm as he snatched it, his bitten-down nails tapping rapidly against the screen. The glow illuminated his smirk as he saved his number under a contact name that made his shoulders shake with silent laughter. "There," he said, flipping the phone around to show me. 'Free Ride' blinked back at me in bold letters above his number. "Now out."
"You're leaving me here, again, in this state?" I moaned, the words thick as syrup in my dry mouth. My fingers scrabbled uselessly against the vinyl seat as Jimmy shoved the phone back into my limp hand. The cab's interior light flickered once, a dying gasp, before plunging us into darkness so complete I could smell the stale cigarette smoke soaked into the upholstery.
The cab door groaned open with the same reluctant squeal as Jimmy's laughter. "Make sure you wash that shirt, I want it back!" His teeth flashed in the dim streetlight, yellowed canines sharp against his smirk. "Now out."
The door slammed behind me with a finality that echoed in my hollow chest. Tears blurred the flickering streetlight into fractured halos as I clutched the stolen shirt tighter around my shaking body. How did I end up here, again? The thought slithered through my mind like oil, thick and suffocating. Same curb. Same taste of shame like pennies under my tongue. Only this time, cum was drying in my hair and on my face instead of just on my thighs.
My bare feet slapped against the pavement, cold, uneven, still damp from last night's rain. The stolen shirt flapped open with every step, letting the predawn chill lick at the bite marks scattered across my ribs. "Only took me fifteen minutes last time," I muttered through chattering teeth, but last time I'd been wearing shoes. Last time I hadn't felt like my insides had been scooped out with a rusty spoon.