Spotlight

This story jumped up on me. It's not what I was planning to write next, but it's what came out. This is the second entry in my series In Media Res. While both stories are standalones, we're dropping in on the narrator of "Juxtapositions" 10-15 years down the track.

If you dive in, expect an intense scene of public group sex with multiple anonymous partners, partner sharing, knife play, heavy impact play, some verbal degradation, and piss play.

It's also sad, and at times emotionally intense. These are two broken people who don't belong together, and don't end up together. There's a description of intense arguments, and extreme/abusive behaviours during those arguments. There's also a brief mention of childhood trauma. If you want a purely happy story, please skip this one.

Thanks so much to Bramblethorn, Erozetta, and JuanaSalsa for being generous with their time and feedback. I'm lucky to have three of my favourite writers on Lit as readers for this one. You should definitely check out their work. Go on, I can wait.

All characters are 18+.

xxx

The smell always hits first, as eyes adjust to the darkness and ears get assaulted by the porn slapping and moaning sounds. Industrial-strength cleaning chemicals, semen, bodies. It's unpleasant on the surface, but such a turn on in context. For a deviant like me, the overpowering, offensive scents of an adult cinema may as well be the sweet taste of Proust's madeleine.

We walked through the thick black curtains. It was a decent crowd for a Saturday night. Maybe twenty men spread across the fifty or so seats. The back row and the side two-seat sections were intermittently occupied by guys in pairs jerking or sucking each other. We moved to the third row, middle section, which was unoccupied. Right in the center of the room. The front rows were all men on their own, separated by a seat or two, observing the unspoken etiquette of places like this. There were a few in the row behind us as well. I could feel the eyes on us as we walked in front of the screen and up the side aisle. Some looks were subtle, others were anything but.

I put our coats and Jen's handbag in the seat next to me. We were overdressed, having just been out to a nice dinner with friends. I had dressed up my jeans with a button-down and a suit jacket. Jen was wearing a wrap dress in a dark print of reds, purples, and blacks, with bare legs and ankle boots. Her honey brown hair had been down all night, but she had pulled it up into a messy pile on top of her head as we'd climbed the stairs up from the alleyway.

She could feel the eyes on her, I could tell. Her breath was coming a bit quicker, and her eyes looked glazed in the harsh light from the screen, where a bottle blonde was getting vigorously fucked from behind, fake tits bouncing. The porn barely registered for me, or her, or increasingly for the men around us. They wanted to see what we would do. What she would do.

None of them were men that Jen would have given a second look under other circumstances. At least half were too old, others too scruffy for her tastes, a couple of meek, nerdy-looking guys who were likely students. But here, it didn't matter. She was soaking up the attention and desire like a black hole sucks in light.

She always looked the most beautiful when she knew she was wanted.

xxx

The first time we played properly was the second time we met. It was midweek, she had the afternoon off work, and her housemate was on shift until 7. Freelance life wasn't always the easiest, but days like this, I appreciated the flexibility.

I had warned her not to wear anything that she didn't want ruined. She answered the door in a slightly garish party dress that didn't fit quite right. Later she'd say that she'd gotten it at an op shop for a fancy dress costume. The loose bodice didn't do much to disguise a black satin bra.

When we first met, her hair fell straight down just past her chin, styled to frame her face. Her round, pale cheeks flushed pink, blue-grey eyes glistened, framed by lashes thick and dark with mascara. As loose as the dress was, the curve of her hips and ass were still noticeable.

Going on appearances, she was the girl next door incarnate, and I'll admit, I got pulled in. Call it an early onset midlife crisis - I was 30, she was 22 - call it making up for lost time after I'd spent the second half of my 20s married to someone older, call it a lizard brain desire to ruin one of the pretty, popular girls who were so far outside of my orbit when I was younger. Whatever the reasons, I was there at her door and I was hooked.

To be fair, it wasn't just about looks. We'd been messaging for weeks, during which we'd already met once and fucked first in a bar bathroom, then in an alleyway. She was absolutely, positively filthy, and relatively new to kink, but taking it seriously - reading, asking the right questions - and eager to learn. She was bright, curious, and could keep up with rapid-fire banter, giving as good as she got. This wasn't about corrupting her, because I was years too late for that. This was about showing her how much more there was to fucking than random vanilla hookups and letting guys use her indiscriminately.

I remember feeling time go elastic. The walk from the train to her nondescript row of brick units down a side street went by in a blur. The door opening seemed to take hours, then in a flash I had pushed her inside and up against the wall, dropping my bag, grabbing a fistful of her hair and pressing my mouth onto hers, kicking the door closed behind us. My next memory was of cuffing her to the rail in her wardrobe, though I know that I'd quickly scoped out other options -- a kitchen chair would have been better, but there was no space to bring one into her tiny bedroom, and we didn't want to be out in a common space, just in case her roommate came home early.

Using the biggest knife from the block in her kitchen wasn't the most practical choice, but I wanted to make an impression. I started with the flowing skirt of the floral print dress, which came down just past her knees. Long, vertical slashes all the way around, through the fabric and lining, gradually exposing glimpses of her soft, milky thighs. Occasionally, I'd press the flat of the blade against a new patch of bare skin and drag it across, keeping the blade safely angled away, but nevertheless drawing gasps and shudders.

Once I'd worked my way around the skirt I tore open the bottom hem, leaving the remnant strips to hang free, tattered edges tickling her thighs, knees, and calves every time she squirmed. I stood, pressed the knife to her cheek, watching her eyes go wide, then press shut. I pulled the tip across her throat, gentle as a whisper, then brought it up to her lips, ordered her to kiss and lick the length of the blade. She held my gaze as her tongue flicked over the steel, not giving an inch. If there was any real fear in her, she was doing her damndest not to let me see it.

I've always loved playing this game, especially early in a relationship with a new partner. You get a flow of pure sensory data with each move. Breath. Vocalisation. Physical response. Body language. Facial expression. It's like picking up a guitar you've never played before, giving it a strum, tuning it, learning its unique quirks and specificities. And if I was already infatuated with her before we started, I only got in deeper once we were in the middle of this dance, as I absorbed her tension, adrenaline, and need, and poured it back into her, feeling us coming together like synching waveforms.

After I cut out a panel of fabric covering her stomach, I used the knife tip to write four letters in shallow scratches, barely marking the skin. S L U T. I angled her towards the mirror on her wardrobe door so she could see. Her sex was thick in my nose by now. She whimpered as she looked at the tiny red filament scratches across her tummy. I kneeled again, cutting away several of the skirt strips at the front, exposing her black bikini briefs. Perhaps I could have drawn this bit out too, but I needed them, so it was two quick slashes at her hips, and then they were free. They were soaked -- fragrant, sharp alkaline notes surrounded by musk.

I balled them up and shoved them into her mouth.

I freed her tits next, first ripping the bodice to shreds with my hands, then cutting the straps of her bra, using the knife tip to tear at the lace around the sides, and finally slicing straight through the little bow between the cups. Fuck, they were glorious. Full, high, and proud, topped by tawny, eraser-sized nipples. She arched her back, pushed them up and forward, watching my reaction with a clarity and focus that belied the fact she was hanging from a clothes bar with a mouth full of panties and her clothing cut to shreds. It was the first time I felt the pure heat of her need for attention, admiration, focused lust.

I teased her tits with the knife. Small prods, steel caresses, little flicks. Finally, I reached between her legs and plunged two fingers into her while I smacked her left nipple with the flat of the blade, hard. Even muffled, her cry was loud. She desperately wanted to squirm as I hooked my fingers and took her hard and fast, but she did her best to plant her feet and hold her chin up, eyes to mine, as I abused her tits and pushed her roughly to the brink.

Just before she could come I pulled my fingers out, and she screamed into the fabric in her mouth. I unbuckled her from the leather cuffs and dragged her towards the bed by her hair, ordering her to strip away the remnants of her outfit before pulling her over my knee. I brought my hand down hard, once, then twice, pausing to pull the makeshift gag from her mouth and check the intensity of the blows on a 1-10 scale. She answered 6 without hesitation. I gagged her again and rained down with the same force, one side, then the other, and back again. Her ass moved quickly from pink to red. I didn't ease off until my hand started to sting and I could see flecks of purple coming through the crimson.

Flipping her over onto her back, I used my left hand to maul and smack her tits, tug at her nipples, and drag my fingernails across her tender skin. With my right hand, I open-hand spanked her cunt, palm coming down over her clit, fingers landing on her lips. More muffled screams, thrashing, hands balled into fists, legs going stiff, feet extending and pointing out. Then the shudders as she started coming, three times in succession before her body reflexively pulled into a ball and rolled onto the bed beside me.

After she caught her breath, she pushed me onto my back, pulled off my boots, jeans, and boxers, hastily wrapped my cock in a condom, then rode me hard. There was no art or tease to it, no seductive display of technique, just bucking and grinding while I abused her tits some more and wrapped a hand around her throat, not tight enough to do anything, just to give the odd gentle squeeze and make her gasp. She jerked and thrashed through another two crashing orgasms before I came like a freight train, chest heaving, sweat-blind, pulling her down onto my chest. We hadn't even bothered to take off my shirt.

xxx

Her head tilted back against the plastic seat. My right hand was over her shoulder and down the top of her dress, idly stroking a hardening nipple. She loosened the tie on her dress and pulled the top open, exposing her lacy, cream-coloured bra. I reached over and felt her up with both hands now, before pulling the dress open wider, tugging the straps of her bra down her shoulders, then pushing the cups down. The air in the room felt charged. A new arrival came and sat in the same row with us, just a seat away from Jen. A couple of the guys behind us leaned forward to get a better look at her tits, and the one sitting directly in front of her turned around.

I continued to grope her with my right hand, and slipped my left up under her dress. She spread her knees, and I could feel that she had already saturated her thong. I pushed it aside and two fingers slipped straight in like a hot knife through butter. She moaned and cursed under her breath, just loud enough to be heard over the blonde getting railed on screen. At this point I don't think anyone was watching the porn. A couple of guys had moved closer. There were three in the row in front of her, one to her side, and a couple behind us now, all turned towards her.

She untangled the tie on her dress completely and let it fall open, lifting her hips to slide her thong down past her knees. I plunged my fingers into her a few more times before bringing them to her mouth so she could lick them clean. If we were putting on a show, I'd make sure it was a good one.

I could hear the telltale wet slapping sound of guys jerking off from all sides. So could Jen; she raised her head to look around and take in her audience. The fiftysomething, white suburban dad-looking guy in front of her caught her eye and reached out slowly towards her leg, eyes moving between the two of us. I looked to Jen, and she nodded. From the second she let one of them touch her, it was like blood in the water.

He groaned something about how good her pussy felt as his fingers entered her. The guy next to her reached over to join my hands on her tits. He slid into the seat next to her, pants around his ankles, and she reached out to start stroking his cock, replacing his own hand. He was South Asian, early twenties, with a bit of scraggly facial hair and a student vibe. The look on his face was like you'd just told him that he'd won the lottery. The guys behind us were whispering to each other. I hadn't noticed before, but they seemed to be together. Mid-late twenties as well, around her age. The closer one had a shock of dark, curly hair. More scruffy facial hair. The other one was a bit of a twink. He was slight, with bleached hair, and a tight pink t-shirt. Jen turned to look at them as well when she sensed movement. With an affirmative nod from Twink, Scruffy stood up, stroking his condom-sheathed cock inches away from her face. She twisted her head a bit further to the side and opened her lips. He slid into her mouth while Twink watched on and stroked himself. It was a shame; Twink was cute (they both were), and I would have hopped over the seat and kept him company, but there was no way I was leaving Jen on her own in the middle of all this.

It was a tangle of limbs. Her legs were spread wide now, feet on the row of seats in front of us, Suburban Dad plunging three fingers in and out of her while I stroked her clit. Amazed Student's hands were all over her tits; his grunts and moans suggested that he wasn't going to last long with her fist wrapped around his cock. Two other guys to either side of Suburban Dad were stroking her legs, and themselves, waiting for a turn. Some others had moved closer as well, standing to get a better view over the bodies hunched around her.

She pulled her mouth from around Scruffy's cock to tell Amazed Student to come on her tits, pulling him up to his feet by his hard on. He barely got in place before he shot ropes all over her chest. Between the pounding in her cunt and the circles I was rubbing around her clit, the hot thickness hitting her skin sent her over the edge, and she screamed out, bucking and shuddering. She finally had to push Suburban Dad's fingers away; he'd been completely oblivious to the change in her movements and reactions.

Amazed Student shuffled off, and another guy quickly took his place, waving his half hard cock towards her. I didn't get a good look. Some kind of sports jersey and a baseball cap, tracksuit pants around his knees, maybe a bit chubby. Probably Greek or Italian. She grabbed him and started stroking. Scruffy's hips were moving faster now. I grabbed a handful of her hair and forced her forward, pulled her back, fucking him with her face. I leaned down to whisper to her about how she was a greedy, cock-hungry slut, how she was surrounded by strangers who wanted to use her.

Suburban Dad whispered over to me, asking if he could fuck her. I told him only if he had a condom, and he looked crestfallen. If anyone else had one, they weren't volunteering to share. Scruffy and Sports Jersey were both grunting and swearing. Soon a second load landed on her tits, and then Scruffy pulled out of her mouth, ripped off the condom, and stroked himself off all over her face.

As the bodies shuffled around her, Jen took a moment to catch her breath. Her smile was beatific. The dark clouds that usually lived in her eyes were gone, the crease in her brow smooth. She was flushed pink, panting, stretching her limbs like a cat. I brushed some hair away from her forehead.

A fit-looking Middle Eastern guy wearing way too much cologne approached her other side once Sports Fan had shuffled out of the row. He was stroking a nice looking cock, and holding a condom. Jen gave him a nod and pulled her legs down from the seats, shrugged her dress off her shoulders, and turned and kneeled on the seat where she'd just been sitting, grabbing the seat back in both hands. Cologne Guy shuffled in behind her and took her from behind.

With her back exposed, I unhooked her bra and helped her pull her arms free from the straps. She was now completely naked apart from her black ankle boots. Cologne Guy was taking her hard and fast and she was squealing, gripping the seat harder to push back against him. Another older white guy had shuffled in front of her, holding his half-hard, condom-wrapped cock to her face. She dove on it greedily, easily getting her nose all the way to the black-gray hair around his base. He maybe lasted thirty seconds and I don't think he got fully hard before grunting and pulling away, holding onto the loose rubber. Not long after he pulled out, Jen started coming again, letting out a long, high wail. Cologne Guy was jackhammering into her, his slim hips slamming into her soft, round ass with cracking slaps that bounced off the walls.

The next guy who moved in front of her didn't have a condom, so he stroked himself until he came on her face and in her hair. Cologne Guy bashed her through a second orgasm before coming himself with a loud shout. It coincided with the harsh, white house lights coming on, and a voice from beyond the curtain announcing closing time in 5 minutes. I did the maths and realised that we had been there for over an hour, even though it felt much, much shorter.

Jen slumped forward, panting, spasms still working through her, making her ass and tits jiggle deliciously. She was covered in a sheen of sweat. The radiant smile shone even brighter. I looked around. There were four or five guys still close to us, and another two in the back row who had obviously been playing with each other. There was also a couple standing close to the entrance, both tall and slim with dark hair, a bit goth looking. She was wearing a long black coat buttoned up to her neck and a guilty smile as she looked over to Jen's naked, fuck-drunk form. I briefly thought about how much differently the night could have gone if they had arrived earlier.

Someone produced some tissues, which Jen gratefully accepted. She dabbed at her face. There was no getting around the ruined makeup, but at least she could get the worst of the come streaks. She stood on shaky feet like a baby deer and pulled her dress on, tying it closed. Her bra and thong went straight into her handbag, and she pulled out a hairbrush, once again, doing what she could in a short amount of time to make herself look more presentable. I put her coat over her shoulders and we headed for the exit. Nearly everyone else was gone by the time we left, except for Suburban Dad, who must have been hanging around waiting. He tried to chat us up, said he had a hotel, asked if we wanted to come with him, asked if he could have Jen's number. I moved so that I was between him and her and we rushed through the entrance, past the desk, and down the stairs towards the street, not looking back or even acknowledging his pleading. Jen had a self-satisfied smirk on her face as his voice echoed down the stairwell.