One too many, dear?

I’m giggling like a schoolgirl, which technically I still am. Too much champagne, or whatever it was that I was offered. There’s a hand on my leg and someone is whispering things in my ear. I can’t remember what was said but I do know it involved a fair number of sexual terms.

The hand slips up my skirt. It pushes a little too much and the fingers arrive at my panties. Another hand has attached itself to one of my breasts. One hand is male, the other definitely female, I close my eyes and let them.

A nail scratches at my pussy. It hurts and I try and pull back. It doesn’t make any difference. The pain quickly disappears and is replaced by more pleasure. Actually, I’m beginning to feel as though I’m passing out. Maybe there was more than champagne in the glass?

There’s a sudden urge of fear and I have a moment of willing my body to fight back. I can’t move.

I’m on a bed, my legs spread and someone is fucking me. I make out others watching. My face feels sticky and slightly wet.

Next time I wake up I’m in a bed, I feel clean and washed. A women enters the room and hands me a large cup of coffee. She looks tired and could probably do with the coffee more than I could. I have a slight headache.

She smiles at me and enquires as to whether I have a hangover, after all I did drink rather a lot last night didn’t I?

Did I? I had one glass. At least, one that I remember. No, wait. Yes, I had one. One that did more to me than perhaps it should have. Or maybe that was the desired effect. How many had been in the room part way through? 5 or 6 that I could vaguely count. How many more? Was it all bukkake or gangbang or both? Would it technically matter?

Somehow I feel satisfied. Even if I can’t remember and probably never will I have awoken to a very satisfied feeling. The sort I feel after nights when I’ve had a damn good seeing to.