WHAM
The edges of my vision blurred and turned white. The hand was small – when I saw it wrapped around my cock less than an hour later, the word "dainty" would pop into my head, despite the bruised and bloody knuckles – but it almost floored me as it smashed into my right temple. The crowd, gathered around us in a circle, cheered and hollered. I stumbled back towards my "corner", reeling from the combination of the impact, rum, whiskey, and the aftereffects of the last nitrous hit. Dan caught my shoulder and ineffectually poured water onto my face, not even trying to aim for my mouth – also swollen and bleeding. Mark threaded an arm under my other shoulder and hoisted me upright, placing a hand on my chest.
"Come on, champ", fully in character, he affected a decent cockney whine. "You're floating like a fucking butterfly out there! Here…" He dabbed at my face with the ripped remains of my t-shirt. "You've gotta get in there and do some damage!"
I chuckled and coughed. "Isn't that a line from Snatch? Are you seriously being Jason Statham right now?" He patted my cheeks and fed me a measure of rum, which stung like a bitch.
"Focus! You've got to focus!"
"Mark" I protested, choking on the alcohol "I can't…she's a girl! I can't hit a girl in good conscience."
He laughed and motioned for Dan to pour some water over my head. "Who said anything about conscience? Just slap her around a bit, she'll back down."
"Come on, ladies! We doing this or what?" Rhian jeered from across the circle. Her 'coach' was giving her a similar wipe down, before leaning over to whisper something in her ear. She laughed, throwing her head back and pulling her shirt off, exposing her red sports bra.
Mark and Dan lead me back to the center of the ring, where Rhian was already standing. Cassie stood between us, the can of nitrous in her hand. She raised her hands for silence, commanding the attention of the crowd.
"Ooooookay you mmmmotherfuckers! We're back for round four! Now I don't want to see a nice, clean fight! I wanna see you kids get down and fuckin' dirtaaay!" This drew another round of cheers and catcalls. She looked at each of us in turn.
"Are the contestants ready?"
Rhian nodded, throwing out a quick one-two. I grinned. Cassie lifted the nitrous canister between the two of us.
"Okay, Rhian got first hit last time, so-" "Fuck that." I said. "C'mere, girly." I snatched the canister out of Cassie's hand, put the tube to my lips and grabbed a fistful of Rhian's hair with my other hand. I yanked her forwards, smashing our lips together (and teeth, a little – it was not a good kiss) while I released the gas. We both inhaled, deeply, although somewhat ineffectually. I broke the kiss just as suddenly, shoving her backwards, dropping the canister in the grass, and stepped forwards, delivering a couple of quick slaps to Rhian's small, angular face. She hissed, like a cat, and threw herself at me, executing an almost perfect double leg takedown. I landed hard, gasping for breath, fighting for enough air to cry out in pain as she sank her teeth into my shoulder. I managed to roll her over, levering myself up to put my full weight on her shoulders, before smashing our mouths together again. She bit my lip. I bit back.
It had started, as a lot of truly crazy nights do, with boredom. Mark and I had been kicking around our apartment on a Saturday night with fuck all to do. Our regular friend group had already put paid to any chances of hanging out by indulging in a sizable quantity of ecstasy earlier that afternoon, and we were feeling more than a bit left out. We called our mutual friend Dan in the hopes that he’d know of something going on, and struck gold. We could barely hear him over the phone – whatever party he was at was clearly going from the window to the wall – but we managed to get an address out of him. We hopped in my shitty Volvo and jetted off the the suburbs, racing down the highway under the cold, clear November moon.
When we arrived, we found what can only be described as a bacchanal in full swing. The house belonged the parents of one Kate, a friend of a friend of Dan’s. Her folks were out of town the week before Thanksgiving, and despite the fact that the house was bedecked in all sorts of finery to celebrate the upcoming feast, she’d invited a horde of horny youngsters over to tear shit up. Among the fifty-odd people in attendance, there were all sorts of crazy things going: drugs of all shapes and colors being consumed in every room, alcohol was flowing like a river after a heavy rain, and I’m pretty sure I saw at least one orgy taking place behind a half-closed door. We traipsed through the house in search of someone we knew, and before long, found Dan in the back yard, seated in a circle of people by the pool. A bottle of rum and a rather elaborate bong were making the rounds, and they appeared to be engaged in a lively game of truth-or-dare.
Mark and I made our introductions and plopped down next to Dan, each taking a couple of hearty swigs from the bottle in an effort to catch up. As we arrived, the button had landed on the girl sitting immediately to my left. She was a small, elfin thing; characterized by sharp cheekbones and pinned-back blonde tresses. Her hands and wrists were exquisitely delicate, and a pair of minuscule jean shorts covered the tops of her deliciously long legs, softly pale in the moonlight. I was smitten at once, and gave Mark a significant nudge-nod as we sat down. He gave her a once over, smirked, and nodded: all mine if I could make it happen. Though we’d already made our names known to the group, I extended a hand flashed her a grin.
“Hi. I’m Max.”
She took my hand, exhibiting a surprisingly strong grip for such a slight girl. “Rhian. It’s spelled like rhino, pronounced like the Fleetwood Mac song.” I held onto her hand a little longer than strictly necessary “Rhian, huh? I can’t say as I’ve ever met a Rhian before.”
She returned my smirk. “I guess it’s your lucky day, then. So, who are you with?” I indicated Dan and Mark behind me, and she nodded.
“So, I guess we’re playing truth or dare?” Another nod. “Who’s in the hot seat?” She did the “what has two thumbs” gesture, indicating herself. Across the circle, a girl with a large mop of unruly black hair called out. “Rhi-Rhi! Hurry the fuck up! Pick someone!”. I noticed that, while she declined both the rum and the weed, the girl was cradling something that looked like a stainless steel thermos in her arms. As I was puzzling over what the device might be, Rhian shushed the group. She glanced around the circle, theatrically extending a finger and drawing a line from one face to the next.
“I spy, with my little eye…”
“Wrong game!” someone crowed. Rhian stuck her tongue out and continued to turn, eventually bringing her finger to rest squarely on the tip of my nose.
“Someone new!” She said, grinning like the Chesire Cat. “Well, Maxy? Truth…or dare?”
I could feel myself developing a crush on this girl. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I recalled my brother’s admonition to the young and stupid: stick not thy dick in crazy, lest it get stuck there. But I was in a kind of mood that night, you know the one; the “I’m gonna crack this night open, spill it all over my life, and spend weeks licking up the dregs" kind of mood.
"Dare."
Immediately, hoots and titters erupted from the circle, peppered with suggestions as to what exactly Rhian should dare me to do. Her eyes, meanwhile, were fixed firmly on mine. She hadn't expected me to do that. After a moment, she took a breath.
"Oookay. Iiiiiiii…." She cast around, looking for a suitable target. She found one. "I dare you to make out with Dan!"
Immediately, Dan threw up his hands. "Whoa, whoa, don't I get a say in this?!" Dan knew that I was bi, and that I found him quite attractive. I turned to face him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Sorry, bud." I tried to keep my voice sincere. "C'mere; give daddy some sugar."
I laid my other hand along his jaw, curling my fingertips just below his ear. His eyes were wide, betraying shock and disbelief, as if he couldn't quite force himself to realize what was happening. Internally, I dredged up every memory of the experience of kissing a woman that I could think of, softening the muscles in my face and around my mouth, letting my lips part slightly. I wanted to make this kiss look and feel as real as possible, both for the onlookers and for Dan. In a moment, it was over, and I withdrew, giving Dan's bottom lip the gentlest of scrapes with my teeth, as if to wink and say "Gotcha".
As I sat back, I noticed Dan's eyes were closed. After a very pregnant pause, they flicked open. The whole circle was silent.
"Fucking hell, dude, you're a good kisser!"
The circle erupted into laughter and applause, and the night was on.
For the next few hours, we moved from room to room, subjugating the elegantly upholstered furniture as we went, leaving glasses and bottles in our wake. By this time our group had thinned somewhat – it was down to me, Mark, Dan, and a hilarious guy named Jordan, who happened to be Kate's (the host) boyfriend, on the boys' team. Of the fairer sex, we'd managed to retain Rhian, Cassie – the raven-haired girl with the O2 canister-, and Kate herself, who didn't trust Jordan alone with either of them.
The house was enormous, a seemingly endless sprawl of room after room, a fair number of them empty and largely pointless. At one point, Mark had asked Kate how her parents were going to feel about her trashing the place a couple of days before their grand Thanksgiving ball. She just laughed and said that the head maid already knew to have an extra shift here in the morning to get the place tidied up before they returned. Mark, Dan, and I shared a glance; we were tiptoeing meekly on the coat tails of a lifestyle we could scarcely imagine. I feel like everyone has that friend in high school or college – the obscenely rich one who ends up slumming it with the "commoners" because they're so much more interesting than the children of the people their parents associate with. But I digress.
Our meanderings came to an abrupt end when Rhian, having just downed another vodka red bull, executed a flawless crescent kick and sent an antique vase flying from its pedestal and onto the marble floor, to which the vase took immediate and grievous affront, and reacted by going absolutely to pieces. Hearing the crash, Kate whipped around and thrust a finger at Rhian.
"Alright! Enough, kiddo. I'm cutting you off."
Rhian stuck out her tongue and flipped Kate the bird.
"Bullshit! I'm just getting started! It's barely…" She checked her phone "it's barely two AM! I am ready. To. Rrrrrage!"
Kate sighed, cradling her head in her hands. "Fine, but whatever raging you're going to do, do it outside."
Rhian tossed out a couple of experimental jabs before settling into a boxer's stance, knees bent and fists clenched in a defensive posture by her head. After a moment, she stood up straight, with a strange look on her face, and said to the group
"I think I wanna fight somebody. Who's up for whippet boxing?"
Which brings us back to the beginning of our story. As you've probably ascertained by this point, whippet boxing is a sport that was invented by a group of people who were already extremely fucked up – so fucked up, in fact, that the normal avenues of getting fucked up no longer seemed interesting to them, so they began to invent new ones. Some people make bongs out of watermelons, or human skulls if you're of thrill-seeking persuasion. Rhian and her friends invented whippet boxing.
Fundamentally, whippet boxing is like slap boxing. Matches are undertaken "Fight Club" style, meaning that you and your opponent keep going until one of you calls it. They like to say that "if it's your first night, you have to fight", but you absolutely don't, though Rhian will find several different ways to call you a pussy if you refuse.
The participants form a loose ring in an open, flat area, in this case, Kate's back yard. As each person steps into the ring to fight, the two on either side also step in to serve as their "coaches". One of these provides water, the other, alcohol, both of which are administered between rounds.
The "whippet" part of Whippet Boxing comes at the start of each round. The referee, in this case, Cassie, squares the fighters off in the center of the ring. Just before the round begins, she gives each of the fighters a hit from the O2 canister. The contestants are then turned loose to slap each other silly for the ensuing 20-30 seconds until the effects of the nitrous wear off, at which point the round ends and the boxers are given their water and liquor, ad nauseum (usually literally), until someone taps out.
It was in just such a situation that I found myself, a scant 20 minutes later, riding the wave of a wicked compound buzz and fending off a scratching, hissing hellcat named Rhian.
The fourth round was also the last. Rhian and I determined, independently, that between the two of us we were starting to accrue enough cuts and scrapes that it would make for a couple of very awkward explanations come Thanksgiving in a few days. Waving away offers of help, we threaded our arms together and staggered back towards the house. Kate called after us that there was a first aid kit in the kitchen, so we beelined there, both still reeling from the numerous shots and nitrous hits we’d consumed in the past ten minutes.
As soon as we stumbled through the front door, we both knew what was going to happen. We stared at each other for a long moment, unblinking, and then crashed together like two massive tidal waves, hands clawing desperately, clutching violently at each others’ clothing, hair, and skin. We fell through the doorway of the nearest guest bedroom, frantically unbuckling pants and kicking off shoes, lips searching hungrily, tasting and biting. Within moments, we were naked, and moved towards the bed.
She shoved me down onto the mattress, dropped to her knees, and attacked my cock. With one, swift motion, she took my entire length down her throat, gagging determinedly on it while one hand cupped my balls, massaging them just gently enough. I threw my head back and groaned as she fucked her face with my dick, ramming it into her mouth over and over. After a minute or so, it began to actually hurt so I reached up and grabbed a fistful of her hair, dragging her up from between my legs.
I pushed her roughly onto her back and kissed my way down her body, stopping to draw long, hungry strokes with my tongue over her small, pert breasts. I finished each one off with a quick bite at her nipples, sweat-damp and hard as little pebbles. Between her legs, her pussy was absolutely soaking wet – she must have been getting off from the fight long before we made our way to the house. If I had to find one word to describe her sex, I’d say it was “compact”; her inner lips barely showing beneath a pencil-thin strip of blonde hair.
I dove in, my tongue dancing and flickering furiously across her clit while I slid a finger into her and began pumping it in and out rapidly, each thrust of my hand eliciting a short, sharp cry. I don’t know if she was vocalizing pleasure or pain, or if either of us could have distinguished between the two at that point. Her hands seemed to be everywhere, clawing at my scalp, tugging my hair, digging her nails into my back and drawing scratches across my shoulders. Before long, I heard a word, gasped in between moans and cries.
“St-…ah! Stop!”
I withdrew instantly, for a second mortified that I’d gone too far and too hard. Her expression allayed my fears; she drew herself up, looking every inch like a succubus, her eyes smouldering with sex. She stood and turned, arranging herself on all fours in front of me on the bed. She glanced over her shoulder.
“Fuck me. As hard as you can. Make it hurt.”
I growled, a sound from deep in my chest that I’ve only heard a few times since. In one, swift motion, I buried my entire length into her hot, wet pussy, slamming it in up to the hilt. She threw her head back, mouth open in a silent scream. I grabbed a fistful of her hair and used it as leverage as I began pumping myself in and out of her, each thrust making an obscene slapping sound as our hips collided hard enough to leave deep, rich bruises. With my other hand I began spanking her every few thrusts, grunting out words of filthy passion as I did so.
“You like that?”
SMACK
“You want me to tear that pussy apart?”
SMACK
“You want me to fuck you so hard that you forget who you are, forget where pain ends and pleasure begins?”
SMACK
“I’ll fuck you until the bed breaks and the walls crack, you little slut, you brazen little whore!”
SMACK
Her mouth was still wide open, but she was actually screaming now, wordless sounds of pleasure punctuated by gasps for air and affirmations, acquiescences. Yes, she was my little slut. Yes, she wanted to be fucked into a coma. Yes, yes, yes, fucking YES.
I was now pumping two fingers into her ass in time with my thrusts, relishing the feeling of my cock almost touching my fingers as I filled her to capacity. She was shaking, legs on the point of giving out; her arms had already gone, and flopped limply by her sides as I rammed myself into her. I felt the wave beginning to crest in the pit of my stomach and pulled out, still holding her by her hair, and turned her around. She lay on her back, lazily touching herself as a I jerked my cock for all I was worth, fighting through the alcohol-induced numbness. A few seconds later, with my blood roaring in my ears, I came.
It is, without a doubt, one of the best orgasms I have ever had. I felt as though every single piece of tension, every chip I’d accumulated on my shoulders throughout the past several years, that enormous dam, gave way before the surge of pleasure and release that burst from the base of my spine up into my head. I’m not one to grunt and scream when I cum, but I couldn’t help it. I moaned out her name as my cum burst forth from my cock. The first rope hit the corner of her lips, streaking back to touch her ear. The second, more forceful, went straight into her mouth. The third whipped across the bridge of her nose. After that I don’t remember. My vision went white, just like it had when she’d hit me, and my knees buckled. I collapsed.
A few moments later, I surfaced. She was lying next to me, still shaking, her face absolutely covered in my cum, staring at me. Wordlessly, I grabbed my shirt and gently wiped her face off as best I could in the darkness. Then I pulled her to me, and held her there against my chest until we fell asleep.
When I woke up the next morning, she was gone. The house was already being put back in order by a crack team of maids. I gathered Dan and Mark up and drove them home. I never did see or hear from her again. I don’t think I need to. Some threads are better left unpulled. But god, she was amazing.
Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/3d5slx/punching_drunk_lust_mf_long
Damn. A good story well told. Thanks for sharing!
10/10 story, never laughed so hard while trying to jack it.
Thank you!
Haha, thanks!