At A Bachelor Party

On the deck outside the bar, a lamp flickers and hums with a low-pitched whine, flocked by several moths. You are standing in a quiet corner of the deck. The wooden fence skirting around it smells of spattered alcohol and cigarette stubs.

 

Leant against it with your ass in the air, you and your companion are shrouded in shadow away from the windows at the front of the bar, hidden from the prying eyes of the patrons inside.

Listening to the muted chatter and sound of glass clinking at tables, chairs screeching in and out of place, you light a cigarette, tucking your lighter in the pocket of your skirt. At the same time as you take a drag, a set of palms, chilled from the night air, slink under your skirt, smoothing down the bare flesh of your thighs.

“Like what you see?” Without looking at the stranger’s face, you look over your shoulder and flash a grin of pearly teeth in his direction, feeling his hands squeeze your ass. The contact runs thrill up your spine, and you arch your back, nudging the hardness in his jeans.

“Are you sure you want to do this? Here, in the dark?”

“I like the anonymity of it.” Another inhale. You flick your cigarette onto the wet lawn over the side of the fence, curving your hands around the wood while the man behind you undoes his belt, the metal buckle jangling. “There’s lube in my other pocket. Hurry up, you’re wasting my time.”

Just getting his cock out is a grand debacle. His laboured, stuttering breath is harsh in the air behind you while he slicks himself with lube out of a small plastic bottle. You shimmy out of your underwear, kicking it aside, and hum contentedly at the sensation of cool air kissing your skin. The stranger’s hands lift the back of your skirt, bunching it around your waist. He turns his head to glance nervously back over his shoulder, amber light from inside the bar spilling over the planks a few metres away. He shifts on his feet.

“Nobody can see us,” you tell him, a bite of impatience in your voice. “Give me some of that lube.”

“Okay. Okay…” he whispers. You catch a tremor in his voice, a hesitant softness to his touch as he swirls clear gel over your hole, his thumb working in a clockwise motion. Preparation is never the most exciting part of your sexual hijinks, but in circumstances such as these, bent over a fence exposed to the elements, even lubing up delivers a spark of excitement deep in your gut. This experiment is going to be interesting.

“Are your friends still inside?” You had promised each of them a turn. You don’t know how the seemingly shiest of their group has managed to convince the others to let him have the first turn. Maybe they drew straws, or the others were just morbidly curious as to what would happen if they sent him outside with you.

“Yeah,” his voice has evened out, steadier than before. “I told them not to draw attention to our…rendezvous. They’ll wait in the bar until we’re done.”

“Good boy.”

He clears his throat, returning the bottle of lube to your pocket. He sounds youthful, inexperienced, but courteous. He’s probably never fucked a man, woman — hell, anyone’s ass before.

As if on cue, he confesses to you, “I’ve never done this before.”

“Never fucked, or never fucked outdoors?” you ask him.

“No, I — I’ve fucked,” he laughs giddily.

“Then, get to it.”

He grabs a hold of your wrists in one hand, pulling them behind your back so you’re leant forwards like a proper whore, the wooden fence digging into your hipbones and your stomach hanging over the other side. Hair falls past your face. You widen your stance, the pointed heels of your shoes lifted halfway off the deck.

“That’s more like it–ah–” His thumb sinks into your ass and you tense, hissing through your teeth. You wiggle your ass backwards and take the first joint of his thumb, wetness building between your thighs already at the intrusion.

You can only manage a few leisurely rocking motions of your hips until your self-control dissolves, your rampantly horny body desiring more. You’re looser than before, thanks to his thumb working in and out of you. When he retracts it and settles against your back, lining himself up, he finds the right angle on the first wobbling movement of his hips, pushing the head of his erect cock into your ass.

“Did I –?” He opens his mouth to speak, but then he slips in further, losing the ability to speak for a moment. “Holy fuck.”

He twitches inside of you, nearly doubling over with his stomach fit to the curve of your ass when you cruelly roll your hips backwards against him.

“Don’t come,” you order, and he draws in a sharp breath, determined not to disappoint despite what must be an animalistic urge to start pounding into you until he is relieved of the blissful heat coiling in his gut, rendering his cock stiff and aching.

After a moment to compose himself, he begins thrusting in a slow rhythm, edging his hips back and forth and only deepening his strokes once he feels capable.

“God, you’re so tight. I’ve never…I don’t think I can…where do I come?” His voice is strained, almost a whimper. It’s kind of cute, or it would be if you weren’t on the cusp of deciding whether or not to finish this one off early and risk a chance with his friend. He’s nice, lengthy enough, but you need someone more ferocious to get you off. “Should I pull out, or…?”

“Where do you want to come?”

You squeeze around him, his hands gripping your waist. He swallows thickly, fingernails digging into your skin and hot breath rushing from his mouth. His thrusts become sloppier, flesh slapping flesh slippery with sweat. “I–my friend said before, he wanted to come in your ass, so–so, I shouldn’t, but you’re so hot. You’re so hot.” He huffs, burying himself up to the hilt inside your ass. Even you can’t help but groan at being stretched. A few more minutes of that and you would come easily, he lacks the strength to keep at it, slowed from too much alcohol. He pauses, tempted to finish in your ass right there and then, but forces himself to pull out.

He comes across the backs of your thighs with a tremulous cry, clutching himself in one hand and panting at your ear.

“Thanks.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. You can go and send the next one here,” you say once he has caught his breath, smiling coyly. The first fuck of the night has left you abuzz in the best of ways, eager for the next round. Your hands shake clumsily around the box of cigarettes you retrieve from inside your jacket. He offers you his bottle of beer and you swirl the vulgar-tasting brew around inside your mouth, swallowing it down. “How many of you are there again?”

“There’s three of us.”

“What did you and your friends come to the bar for tonight?” you ask out of curiosity.

“Bachelor party.” He tucks himself back into his jeans, readjusting his belt to look presentable for his return to the bar.

You groan inwardly. Just your luck to be saddled with a band of virgins the one night you came to the bar to experiment with anal. At least you’re wet now, the fingers of one hand sliding through the arousal between your legs while you smoke with the other. Your clit is a sensitive bud, thighs quavering with each gliding touch past it. You tense at the sound of footsteps on the deck behind you, reaching back to tug your skirt down over your ass before anyone sees you in the corner. An impressed whistle cuts through the air.

“Fuck. He wasn’t kidding.”

You smirk, staring ahead at the embers flaking from the end of your cigarette. Fuck Number Two sounds confident, which is promising. Even more so is how he strides towards you across the deck, pulling you closer to him by the waist but keeping you bent over the fence. He reaches around, deftly unbuttoning your shirt, and slides a hand under your bra to grasp your breast, liking the weight of it. A ring on one of his fingers bites your skin, but it disappears too quickly from your breast to tell whether it’s on his ring finger.

He stinks of expensive cologne and liquor. There’s less of a tipsiness to his voice than the first man had. You grin in the darkness, your cunt pulsing, and reach back to grasp the raised wooden post beside you. You wouldn’t mind a few fingers drilling into your cunt to ready you for this second fuck, but you aren’t here for a simple fingering. He knows it too, spreading your ass open with both hands. You repeat the step-by-step process the same as the first time, smearing lube over the necessary parts belonging to each of you.

“Is some of that for me?” He steals a drag of your cigarette before you put it out, bracing his hands on your hipbones. He wastes no time with small-talk and eases into you with a short jab of his hips, cock sliding through a mess of lube. You gasp on his entry, dragging cold air into your chest. The edge of the fence knocks into your chest on each hurried thrust, your shirt hanging open and breasts exposed to the cold air.

“Fucking hell.” Fuck Number Two fists a hand in your shirt, ramming into you with strokes that tickle something forbidden inside of you, teasing you with an oncoming orgasm if he can only keep up the pace. “I haven’t fucked like this in a while. My girlfriend’s a prude. You have no idea how badly I’ve needed this.”

“Oh, yeah, baby.” Head tilted back, you curve your spine to feel his cock invade deeper depths inside your cunt than you thought possible. “Any time you want, just let me know.”

“Hah,” he laughs. “I’ll hold you to that.”

You like his mouthiness, but it’s getting tiresome. You reach backwards and grab his hand, guiding it between your legs. At first, he mashes the heel of his hand against your cunt, unsure what you’re asking him to do until you position his index finger on your clit, guiding it up and down. He gets the idea eventually, but by then his breath is heavy from exertion. He hikes your hips higher on the fence, so enthralled by the tightness of your ass around his cock that his finger slips and loses its place on your clit, missing it entirely.

Unable to hold himself back, a roughened groan escapes his throat, and he pulls out of you, finishing on the small of your back after a few strokes of his hand.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“Later,” you promise.

“Right. We have to play fair, don’t we? I’ll be waiting after lucky-last is done.” He gives your ass a playful swat, reclothing himself and leaving you alone on the deck to go inside the bar. You contemplate having another cigarette, but instead drink the rest of the warm beer in the bottle Fuck Number One left you, swallowing the dregs.

You had been hoping to have orgasmed by now, jealous that the two men you fucked previously were able to finish. Unlike you. You hear Fuck Number Three approach you on the deck. The stranger stands in place behind you, admiring the sight of you with come drizzling down your ass, your hair moved to one side off your shoulder so it’s out of your face. You set the bottle down, gesturing the stranger over without meeting his eyes. You like not being able to see their faces, the element of mystery it adds to the exchange.

“Let’s get on with it,” you urge him.

His body presses to your back. You wait for him to lube himself up and then allow him to choose the position. Let him assume he has some semblance of control. He decides to grip your waist in both hands, leaning you forwards over the flat beam on the fence. You spread your legs, presenting yourself welcomingly.

You feel the man’s smirk boring into the back of your head as he undoes his pants, his voice hushed with awe. “You’re something else,” he murmurs and pushes into you with little resistance. You exhale in relief, content at the fullness of him. Your hole swells around him, gripping his cock tightly as he plunges inside.

“Yeah, you like that?” you ask. He grunts in approval, and you laugh behind a curtain of sweat-sodden hair fallen over your eyes, squeezing around his cock in time with his erratic thrusts inside your slick hole.

You take his wrist, directing his hand to your clit, and almost cry for joy when he picks up on the hint much faster than your second fuck did.

“Do you want me to touch you? Like this?” His finger massages your clit, coaxing you towards climax. “I think I can manage that.” His other hand curls around your throat, knuckles grazing past the underside of your chin. This time, you feel a definite metal band on his fourth finger. You’re bouncing on the cock of a married man, you realise. Glazed in a layer of sweat, your body shivers with wicked delight at the realisation.

“Are you the groom?” In response, he squeezes a hold of your windpipe so your vision narrows to a point, pleasure spiking in your gut. You grind your hips in such a way that his breath hitches and the grip on your throat loosens. “Fine, keep your secrets. You’re tonight’s grand finale though, so fuck me like you mean it.”

He doesn’t disappoint, ploughing in and out of your used ass at a relentless pace. His cock is bigger than his friends’, enough that you have to put effort into accommodating his size. The overwhelming pleasure each of his thrusts brings, accompanied by his finger lashing up and down your clit, far outweighs the discomfort of his size at first. Soon, you’re used to it and want to take him even deeper, crazed with desire.

You buck your hips to the same rhythm as his powerful thrusts, losing all sense of control. His fingers clamp harder around your throat to stifle the open-mouthed moans and squeals that slip out of your mouth.

“Don’t you dare stop,” you hiss to him. “I want you to–huhn!” He crowds himself against your back, gripping your shoulders and pulling you down onto his cock to thrust into you as deeply as the distance between both of your bodies allows. You lose your train of thought, panting raggedly at the sky for breath. “Oh my fucking god, you’re so deep. Keep fucking my ass, just like that.” You feel his grip on your shoulders tighten at the perverse question, grinning. “Do you like how tight I feel around your cock? You love fucking strangers up the ass, is that it? Filling up their tight little holes until they–until they–oh, fuck!”

This time, he doesn’t stop you from crying out, releasing your throat. Your body curls in on itself over the fence. If anybody hears you wail as you come, you couldn’t give a damn. Behind your, the groom with his hair dishevelled, shirt buttons undone, and pants dropped to his ankles, continues to pound into your ass. His thrusts slow, the spasming of your cunt driving him to the precipice of his climax. He goes to pull out.

“Come in me,” you gasp. He needs no further invitation, wrapping an arm around your midsection to lift you off the fence. The slender curve of your back fits to his chest and he thrusts a final time, shouting as he comes. You wrap around him tightly until he’s spent. Your head drops back onto his shoulder in relief.

“Your best man promised me a drink,” you tell him.

He chuckles lowly in his throat, still out of breath. “I’ll buy you one too. After that,” he says. “We never speak of this again.”

“Agreed. I’ll see you inside.” Shifting yourself off of him, you fix your skirt, adjusting it to hide the mess of come on your thighs and leaning against the fence as you were before. Once the groom has done up his pants, he walks back into the bar, swaying slightly on his feet. Still, you don’t try to catch a glimpse of his face. That would ruin the mystery. Instead, standing alone, you light another cigarette, smirking to yourself.