Lucky Number Thirteen

I wake up face down on a warm, wrinkled pillow with a sleep mask tied tight to my head. I’m groggy. Disoriented. Confused. I’m not sure who I am. Or where I am. Sheets are bunched up around my legs and twined around my torso, soiled and sticky from a night of . . . a night of . . . what did I do last night? Who did I do? Everyone, I think. My questions come rapid fire. What time is it? Where are my clothes? Whose tongue is in my ass?

“Who-“, I ask, but a hand covers my mouth and another presses my face into the pillow. The hand on my mouth is small and smooth and pungent. It smells like it spent the night marinating in cum and piss and lube. I breathe deep, savoring the scent.

A finger pops into my mouth. Then another. They’re coated in a sticky, viscous jus. I lick and nibble and suck, devouring every delicious drop.

Two large, soft breasts press into my back. There is a tongue at the nape of my neck, licking up and around toward my ear.

“You can fuck. But you must also be able to take instruction. Lay here and Number Six is going to take care of you. Do you understand?” a voice says from inches away. The words fall hot against my skin. The voice is feminine. Sexy. And firm. Authoritative. She is in charge. This is not a request.

“Yes,” I say and melt back into the bed. Then I shift onto my side and reach for my cock. It’s hard, pulsing. I need to cum. As my fingers grasp the shaft, there is a violent yank on my scrotum. It hurts. I jerk away, but someone grasps my hips firmly and holds me in place.

“I told you to lay here and Number Six would take care of you. What part of that did you not understand?”

“I’m sorry. I-“

“Everyone is entitled to one mistake. But I suggest that you do not make another.” She says, while running her short, sharp finger nails through my morning stubble.

“We are going to have to shave you later. I want you smooth,” She says.

Number Six’s tongue is fucking my ass so hard and fast that I can’t take a full breath. I’m squirming, clutching the sheets around my body. “Whatever . . . you . . . want,” I reply.

“Whatever I want? That is quite the offer,” She says as she kneels, reaches over me and grabs my cock with a vice-like grip. “And what if I want this?”

Her touch threatens to send me over the edge. My breaths shorten. My body tenses.

“No, no. Not yet,” She says, squeezing my cock tighter and tighter.

“Please . . . “

“Please what?”

“Please . . . I have to cum.”

“No, you have to answer.”

“What . . . I don’t-“

She shakes my cock violently. “This. Can I have this?”

“What . . . yes . . . sure.”

“But are you sure? This is a promise that you cannot break. Broken promises have negative consequences,” Shes says as she digs her nails into my shaft.

I moan from the pain. Or the pleasure. Or both. “Yes! Yes!”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, it’s yours.”

“To use however I want? To fuck whoever I want?”

“Yes . . . however . . . whoever . . . “

“Whenever, I want?

“Yes, whenever you want . . . whatever you want . . . it’s yours. Just please . . . please,” I plead.

“Wonderful. You can let go now.”

And I do. And it does go, every-fucking-where. Rope, after rope of thick, hot, creamy cum spurts out of my cock as Number Six’s tongue is replaced by two fingers jammed into my asshole, working my prostate, milking me for every drop. My body shakes and convulses as wave after wave of bliss washes over me.

When I’m done, when I’m empty, I’m turned over onto my back and someone straddles me. A woman. I can feel her wetness. I can smell it. It’s her, I think. The proud new owner of my cock.

“Welcome home, Number Thirteen,” She says and I moan like a whore as I’m engulfed in an orgy of hands and teeth and tongues and tits. “I think that you’re going to like it here.”

And now I know. I’m Number Thirteen. And I’m home.