One Night Only (21 page)

She wore a camel-colored trench coat. The mercury was edging toward a hundred, but the surface of the coat was chilly. It was too hot to drive with a coat on.

She took a deep breath and slipped her trench coat off.

Underneath, she wore not much at all. Oh, to be sure, she would have been decent at a society function, as the trophy wife with tits and ass hanging everywhere, brassy and shameless, slutty makeup a sign of her rich husband's status and her own infinitesimal IQ, whether tactfully faked like her blonde hair or all natural like her tits. She would have been decent at a porn-star tradeshow, packed into a dress that showed her thighs, her garters, the tops of her red stockings with their cute red bows affixed to the lace tops in back, up close to the place where the hem of the dress almost—almost—showed the swelling curve where her cheeks met her thighs. She would have been decent on a strip-club stage, with ample D-cups spilling out, shoved up in a dangerous perch where the dress plunged low. She would have been decent sprawled across the bed of a pay-by-the-minute hotel room or in the bedroom of a man who had paid for her, or on a street where she intended to find one.

As Haley folded her coat and tried to put it down in the driver's seat, she panicked and looked around again. She saw two dark lurking forms in the shadows at the far end of the empty buildings on either side of her. She saw another in an alley directly across from her. Two more dark forms could be seen distantly on the outskirts of a construction site, catty-corner to her. How many? Ten? She didn't know. She
wouldn't
know, until it started. Maybe not even then. Maybe never.

She felt her heart pounding and very much wanted to run. She could have gotten in the car and fled for home, or simply looked and motioned them over and asked for a hug. But Haley had come this far, and she did not intend to chicken out now. If nothing else, doing so would mean she'd have to do it all again some other time, or spend the rest of her life wishing she had. Which is not to say if it didn't happen, she wouldn't be incredibly relieved. Having to abandon the plan because some cop car drove by would feel like a reprieve. Having to abandon it because she chickened out would feel, on the contrary, like an execution. She'd have to put all this effort in all over again from scratch, or beg and plead for everyone involved this time to forgive her and trust that she wouldn't chicken out again. And Kendrick, she knew, would never forgive her. He'd
say
he would, but he'd never take her assurances seriously after this.

She heard her own stupid voice in her head—echoes of the many conversations, her many begging, pleading entreaties.
Really
, she'd told him.
I really want to do this. I promise, it's not just a lark. And yes, I'm serious about the number. I don't just want three or four. I want ten…or twenty. As many as you can get. As long as you trust that they're reliable, and you check that their tests are real…then I'll trust you. No. I'm not going to blame you. I'm not. I know it's risky. But I want it. I have to have it. Please, baby? Please? I'll do anything for you if you make this happen. Please?

That meant this was the very last moment she could cut and run, and it would all be over. There was no cop car to rescue her; there were no homeless people immediately in evidence to mean the site wasn't safe. The lurking forms were ready—hard already, maybe. They were standing in the shadows waiting for Haley Bennett to do as she'd been told—as she had
asked
to be told. If she did not, then it was all off.

She felt dizzy. She actually went to get back in the car, and then came to her senses. She threw down the coat and threw down her keys atop it. They landed with a clang. She slammed the door but left the car unlocked.

She started walking.

Haley moved quickly, mincing in tiny steps, feeling tottery on her high heels. She glanced around and saw dark figures following—everywhere. Places they couldn't have been. Looking at her from windows. Hovering above the street. Perched on power poles. Her heels clicked faster and faster, echoing through the canyons of the city. Panicking, she tried not to run. Her heart pounded. She felt warmth hit her skin. She felt something hot inside her. She felt the fear push her emotions into overdrive.

She reached the alley and ducked down it, into the dark as if seeking refuge from the shadows. She mini-stepped, her heels clicking louder than ever in the narrow space, as she ran toward the big black at the end of the alley, imagining for an instant that she'd gotten the wrong alley, this one wasn't a dead end, and she could slip out undetected and race back to her car. It wasn't a done deal yet; even with a safeword, she could still outsmart the shadows.

The buildings were tall and the light was distant and she was in the dark before she knew it. It's not like she wasn't expecting it, but when the huge dark form leapt at her from the blackness, she screamed.

One big hand clamped across her face as the other seized her long, blonde hair. Haley struggled and screamed again, a muffled sound behind the tightly clamped hand. Still holding her hair, the big man spun her around and grabbed her wrist; he shoved her up against a smooth concrete wall and pulled her wrist up so hard Haley yelped again, louder than ever this time.
Freed from the hand across her face, she tried to scream again—but this time the sound became a strangled groan as the hand pulled her wrist up into the small of her back and higher in a pain-compliance hold. She flailed with her other hand, weakly—but she couldn't get purchase. Haley was tall-ish—six-foot-two in these six-inch heels. The man with her wrist and her hair in his hands still sported two inches on her—in fact, she knew he was six-four exactly. She knew because she bragged about his height and his shape—like a
building
—to any girlfriend who could listen, and any asshole casting director who made off-color comments.
Oh, thank you so much for the compliment
, went her go-to brush-off.
No, I'm not offended at all. I mean, I think everyone likes to get compliments, especially when it's totally innocent. My boyfriend Kendrick—you'd really like him—he's always getting compliments. He's six-four and black, you see, and he works out five or six times a week at this gym in West Hollywood—you know the Power Punch Boxing gym? Anyway, he's
always
getting compliments from gay men at the gym, and he never takes offense—he really loves it. For him, he just sees it as motivation to work on his power lifting! He even has groupies! Of course, he's broken the gym's power lifting limit six times, so—hey, maybe you and he could work out together! He's in the industry, he's a stuntman and a martial arts instructor. He'll be picking me up later—I can introduce you!
Wandering hands never became a problem.

The man behind her pinned her against the wall and leaned down to press his mouth to her ear. He wore a spandex hood with eyeholes and a mouth-hole.

“You make a sound and I'll hurt you,” he said. “Just be a good girl and you'll walk away. You'll be walking funny, but you'll walk away. Act up and you won't. Do you understand?”

Haley
did
understand—she'd all but
written
the script. But
whether it was method acting that made terror paralyze her vocal cords—or she was just so fucking turned on she couldn't think or speak or comprehend—she didn't know. All she knew was that a hot, painful sob came bursting out of her lungs as she started to hyperventilate.

“Breathe slow and easy, slut. You've got a long night coming. Breathe slow and easy and do as you're told. You know you want this. We know you want this. You're gonna get everything you ever dreamed of, and then some. Make it nice and easy for us and we'll make sure you enjoy it. Give us any shit? We'll make sure you don't. Am I understood?”

She'd expected Kendrick's voice to calm her—but it didn't. Hearing him now, with the cold growl of pure and awful evil rumbling under him, she was left writhing in terror under his grasp: Had she miscalculated? Was her gorgeous, brilliant, sexy boyfriend of four years really a psychopath?

He sure as hell seemed like it. When she just whimpered in response, he shoved her hard against the concrete wall. She flattened her palm against the warm concrete and let out a sob.

He leaned up hard against her.

She felt his cock, hard as iron, pressing against the barely covered curve of her ass.

Deep in the alley, choked by shadows, Kendrick shoved her forward. It was so dark she couldn't even see what was in front of her, so she uttered a strangled yelp of terror as she pitched forward. She was caught not by Kendrick's hands on her wrist and in her hair, but by the hard, cold, smooth surface of an aluminum garbage can. It was exactly the right height to shove her ass up high as he forcibly bent her over. He kicked her feet apart; she yelped again as she felt herself suspended in space. Shadows flooded all around her—six, ten, a dozen, more. Men—heavy boot-steps. Ski masks. One with a camera,
expensive, professional, probably “borrowed” from some locker at a documentary studio. The cameraman—a professional—pointed the lens at her ass, but never at her face. She heard the soft whir of digital video, saw the infrared blink and a green light illuminating black, blank, evil faces.

Her dress rode up above her asscheeks. Kendrick's hand slid up between her legs and he growled in vicious pleasure.

“Nothing underneath. What kind of a slut walks around in this neighborhood, dressed like this with no panties?”

He shoved two fingers inside her.

“And she's wet. Let's give her what she wants!”

There were murmurs around her as the men crowded in. One grabbed her hair out of Kendrick's hand and tipped her head back. Someone else grabbed her jawline and squeezed; when she tried to clamp her lips shut, he squeezed harder.

Someone, a stranger, unzipped his pants in front of her, just inches from her face. He pulled out his cock—enormous, dark, uncut. He pulled back his foreskin and showed her his dick—and then Haley saw nothing more, as a spandex mask was shoved over her head. It was shaped like a hood, but open at the top and the mouth to leave her cascade of pretty blonde hair available as a handhold—to facilitate the use of her mouth, which was now open and receptive.

The man who'd showed her his dick grabbed her hair and slid his huge cock into her mouth. He wasn't as rough as he could have been—Haley half wished he would fuck her so hard she would choke. But he gave her just long enough to get used to it, to straighten her throat and open wide for the dick about to ravish her face.

Then he shoved his dick down her throat, and Haley swallowed it easily, feeling a hot rush as she was “forced” to take cock down her throat.

Behind her, Kendrick had his hands deep in her. Or could it have been someone else? There were so many men all around her—a dozen, two dozen, three, four, five; it could have been a hundred. How many men had Kendrick recruited? She would never know, not even when she saw the video later. She would just know that she had been taken by many, and it was safe. Whether it was Kendrick who first took her wasn't the point. The point was that
all
of them took her—bent over a garbage can in a dark alley.

Her dress was pulled up hard, above her waist. The garbage can shuddered. She could feel it was filled with sand—her idea, stuntman tested!—and had had all the sharp edges filed off or taped over.

She heard the camera whining slightly as the cameraman came in close and got a nice shot of her ass and her pussy; her cheeks were held open for the camera. She felt the stranger's cock going rhythmically down her throat and felt her pussy lips being parted.

Naked, hard dick eased up and down her slit, teasing her open—then it came. The first thrust. A hard
shove
. So hard it would have hurt, if she hadn't been ready for it and hungry for it and pouring like a gusher. She tried to raise her ass to meet it and felt a hot wave of fear as hands and dicks and body weight held her down and cocks plunged rhythmically down her throat and into her cunt.

She felt her orgasm building.

That was, of course, not at all possible. No way could she be ready to come so fast. She'd been in a state of arousal for
weeks
as Kendrick planned this thing with her feedback; she hadn't been masturbating because she was too afraid to accept that it would really happen—but too obsessed to slip into an alternate fantasy. When she and Kendrick made love he tried
to talk to her about it, and she shushed him and said let's talk about something else.

Her pent-up energy was uncontrollable; the hard dick sliding bareback into her cunt was more than enough to bring her off after two minutes, three at the most. Her violent struggles made the man in her mouth slide his dick out and slap her face with it; that meant her mouth was free and her throat open as she howled in what only a fool could fail to see was an explosive, soul-searing orgasm.

She let out a sob of pleasure, her body subsumed by the waves of satisfaction rolling through her. A ripple of laughs and cheers went through the crowd, and she heard Kendrick's voice among others saying, “Slut,” “Whore,” “Wanted it,” “Give her what she wants.” His voice was distant; it was a stranger using her now. A stranger's cock had just made her come. Dizzy with that knowledge, Haley felt her face go red and hot with shame and arousal. The men crowded in with new gusto. Her dress, already soaked through with sweat, was pulled up higher and ripped open in front so new men could feel her tits, pinch her nipples. The man in front of her slid his cock back down her throat, and Haley opened wide.

 

Was it two hours later? Three? Four? Five? The sun was not up, so it could not have been six, but it felt like it—her gang bang a lost, swirling mass of smells and tastes and cocks and hands and big heavy bodies pinning her down. A whirl of orgasms, too many to count. She didn't know how long it had been as they hauled her off the garbage can, her dress ruined, her legs and masked face streaming come, spit, sweat and her own juices.