Our little convoy looked like a scene out of *The Road Warrior*. We were rumbling a steady north-west up the interstate; going just over the speed limit to reach the sum total of our lewd desires awaiting us at our destination. And what was the pulsing terminus of our longing? This year’s Fuck Con.
This year the world renowned confab was being held under the mammoth steel canopy of the Circo® Dome™. Lord knows how the organizers were able to inveigle the wholesome-faced telecom giant to host such a debauched and not family-friendly get together. I’d heard whispers that Marty Gallows, the Desperadoes coach, and Lance Summeral, The CEO of Circo® had been caught blowing each other at a downtown sex club and Fuck Con’s deep-pocketed promoters were able to use the snuffed-out scandal to their advantage. The public line was that money spends, but we were prepared for the hordes of preachers and placard carrying flocks that surely awaited our arrival seething with anger.
Our caravan was made up of eight vehicles. Maria and Trev were on their crotch rocket, Alvin rode solo on his Harley (the solitary voyeur of our group), there was Javi and Solie in his ridiculous truck, Ram and the gays were piled into two Jeeps™, Mari and *El Palo* who had driven down just to go back up with us were cruising in their drop-top, *Angelito* had his whole crew squeezed into his jalopy-ass dually (would it even make it all the way up?), and finally we rented a deluxe RV for the six of us so we could travel in comfort and style.
We were looking at about seven hours on the road so to break up the monotony and to keep our fires burning we figure-eighted, weaved and threaded the needle through our selves all while showcasing feats of sexual derring-do. Solie would intermittently lift her skirt and pull her black panties down then press her naked ass and cunt to the massive windshield. Every time Maria would unleash and jack her husband’s cock their bike would do a nervous two-step and skitter back to correct itself. When *El Palo* and Mari would switch driving duties they’d also switch who was filling the other’s mouth with their hard-on. All the lovely gays disassembled the hard-tops of their Jeeps™ and proceeded to rub and suck each other vigorously as the wind whipped the lithe twinks and diesel studs skin. Judy and Alana, two legendary whores in our circle, climbed out of the cab of *Angelito’s* dually and performed a wildly voluptuous show in the trailer-bed to the honking delight of passing traffic.
Our orgy inside the RV was much more private, but far more plush than the savages out on the blacktop. All 6 of us took turns driving so that everyone could enjoy each other’s company. We wanted to maximize our experience at Con so as much as possible we tried to edge each other, but there were a few errant cumshots and pussy squirts that the undisciplined among us let fire off. I managed to keep my orgasms at bay, so that now my cunt is so achy and attention-starved it feels like Charro is doing her Cuchi-Cuchi dance from the tip of my clit to deep within my asshole. I’m quite literally twitching at the console table, wishing the suspension was a little looser, or the asphalt a little more chewed up so that something would jolt and knock against my horny pussy.
*The agonizing wait will be worth it* I keep telling myself. Fuck Con 2020 promises to be the most insane gathering of swingers and perverts and porno stars that has ever been loosed upon not just our conservative, heartland, uptight, sex-phobic state, but the whole of this puritan, repressed-ass nation. From the promo trailer and numerous teasers we know that theme of this year’s Con is some kind of post-apocalypse. The gridiron of the Circo® Dome will be done up like an abandoned and bomb cratered city. It will be divided into five districts. At two polar ends will be totally gay and totally straight with bi and pan folks meeting in a smaller center ring. The two other corners will be reserved for women only and the other for transsexual people and their admirers. Gourmands will again be able to intermix from either of these sectors at the interior. The outer rings and concession areas are dedicated to hawkers selling their erotic wares as well as food vendors and facilities for aftercare or just chilling out. The stands are free play areas, that while not very conducive to fucking are open to general admission as they see fit. Behind both end-zones stages have been erected to be performed on by an exciting array of sex stars which will also be simulcast on the many screens throughout the stadium.
We’re about thirty miles outside of Corbijn when we start to get into costume. Adrenaline is kicking my medulla, this is really happening, I’m finally going to Fuck Con with the people I love. We pass a lenticular billboard for our destination that winks lasciviously at us as we glide. Everyone cheers and honks; we realize there are many more fellow travelers alongside us. Obscene drawings in puff-paint and on poster-board festoon the rush of cars and trucks zooming all around us. Tits and asses, pussies and cocks all explode out of sunroofs and truck-beds and on the backs of motorcycles. I catch a glimpse of Alvin, mashing his cock as he criss-crosses through lanes.
We’ve reached the 90mph Secession Star freeway, our home stretch into Corbijn and juicy relief. I can’t wait much longer. My palms gush sweat, the inside of my head sounds like a refrigerator motor, I keep having to slap my own hand away from my throbbing cunt. Just pulling on my flimsy, little panties send my clit reeling and trembling and screaming for touch. I need to distract myself so I offer to drive. Everyone is a bit on edge I notice as I climb over Paco onto the driver’s seat. His belt-buckle against the crack of my ass sends me. We’ve broken out the *mota*, now. Someone, probably Griz that *puta* junkie passed around some E pills. I neck two and breathe out a ponderous swell of carbon. I bang on the roof of the cab, “Fuck Con 2020!”
We’re finally pulling into the parking lot. An attendant with cones disinterestedly waves us forward to the checkpoint where they check your parking tags. I flash back to hours earlier when we were crossing the immigration checkpoint. Twenty-eight rowdy, horned-up Mexicans trying to rein themselves in like they’d just got called to the principal’s office. But we all had our passports and driver’s licenses and we could tell the agents which high schools we went to and answer the questions they asked in Spanish in English, so having so rigorously proved ourselves in our own country, we were free to travel further north into it.
The lot itself seemed about as big as our town and it was choked with tents and tailgate parties and people already fucking in huge, passionate groups. Every now and then security guards in a gold cart would scatter the orgies, but as soon as they drove off the revelers would regroup. Paco and Manny were gently sliding cock-rings around each other’s shafts while Mercedes deftly slipped a pair of plugs up their boy pussies. Nacho and Griz sat watching the whole scene, smuttily stroking each other’s fuck organs and twisting at their matching nipple piercings. I pulled into the closest spot I could find, but in the setting sun I could tell it’d still be a major hike to the entrance.
“Ya’ll ready?” Mercedes asked as she gave the boys a playful swat on their stuffed asses.
A rousing, whooping *grito* shot out of us like a flare, or a hail of bullets over a New Year’s party. The interior of the RV reverberated with our nervous joy and we pounded on the walls and windows. The hydraulics of the door hissed and we made our way out into the twilight.
Outside we passed around a water bottle full of some unholy mixture of cheap liquors from across the border. As our group magnetized together into its full strength our volume multiplied and rollicked with every playful grope and attempted, drive-by hickey.
“The beaners have arrived!” Bellowed Jhonny, the butchest, yet most dramatic queen in the group.
“Whose got the weed?”
“Stick my joint between those DSLs, *mami*!”
“Can ya’ll actually believe we made it here? Finally!”
“Trev almost crashed like thirty times!”
“That’s cause you never warned me when you were gonna go for my dick, bitch!”
“Nah *pues ta cabron*!”
“Ladies from the South!” A chorus of gays exploded, doing high-kicks and like the famous Vaccarette dance team their high school was so famous for.
We went on like this as we made our way toward the entrance. As the crowd grew thicker members of our legion were siphoned off by sexy propositions and people whom they propositioned. Lusty new faces and bodies swarmed among us in an electrifying, attractive way. We touched these beautiful strangers and they touched us back, all over. My body became one nerve, each new caress, each new flick or bump set my pussy on fire. The smug, contented grin on my face was so wide it would have surely been aided by one of those banners they hang off the semi-s that pull jet fighters and prefab homes. We shared our liquor and our drugs and they gave us handfuls and awkward, walking mouthfuls of their cocks and their asses and their tits. My head spun like a glorious cartoon character’s. I was already beginning to lose the contours of myself as they blurred into a warm, glowing sort of pleasure.
Up by the entrance, just as I’d expected barricades were erected and all around howled and spat and scolded the preachers with their huge, dogmatic banners. *Who the fuck prints these?* I mused internally as I strolled on by, immune to their consultations.
“Did you guys pay for parking badges?”
“You’re stealing spots from honest perverts!”
“Repent this!” Roque, another of the more flaming of the gays, dropped his pants, bent over and spread his bored-out asshole to them.
We were almost inside. I could hear the subdued thump of bass from deep within the yawning maw of the stadium. I could smell the distinct kerosene tang of smoke machines. I raised my arms so that security could frisk their hands over me. And as they did I succumbed to the uncontrollable steam that ballooned each and every one of my veins. As she looked at me through incensed, slitted eyes; knowing eyes; eyes that could determine what kind of shudder the shudder I just shuddered was—I came, hard and gushing. I could feel drips and spoors and streams of pussy juice at the dunes of my ankles. The security guard pushed me passed her, into the joy and the chaos. A feeling like the religious feel when they enter a church washed over me. I had found sanctuary. I had come home.
Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/cpu7g3/fuck_con_2020_pt_1orgypansexualkinkbondage