Welcome to Free Erotica Friday
Today, dear readers, we are beyond excited; we are practically fizzing with delight at having today’s Free Erotica Friday author with us! She is known as the trollop with a laptop; the literary siren, the mistress of literary erotica ~ it’s the one and only Alison Tyler!
Erotica’s own superwoman, Ms Tyler is not only an awesome erotica author but also an editor extraordinaire ~ on last count, her name and hot stories featured in no less than twenty (20!) of the sexiest titles on our shelves!
We can’t wait any longer, so without further ado let’s all enjoy Alison’s gangbang scene from Morning, Noon and Night!
3 a.m. Last Call
I want the bartender to close and lock the front door of the bar. “What happens in The Local, stays in The Local,” I want some wiseass to say. There will be laughter, of the nervous variety, and the men will try not to look into each other’s eyes. Because what we’re going to do here is a gangbang, and brother, when you say that word aloud, people get jittery.
This isn’t non-con, mind you. I am not asking for something from Last Exit to Brooklyn. Don’t leave me unconscious on an old vinyl car seat behind the bar. Yes, I want the abuse, but I want to revel in every moment. In fact, I want to name the lineup. That’s why we have to wait until closing time, when everyone else can leave except for the five men I’ve chosen.
Choosing was the difficult part. Which five? And even more curious—why five? Five is the number I’ve decided on tonight, because I think that’s what I can take. Five guys in a line. One after the other. Or five guys in a circle, coming on my naked skin.
I won’t start out naked. I want to be clothed and mussed. I want my opaque black tights pulled down, my panties tugged until the seams give way. This outfit was purposefully chosen for the thin material that will tear easily. I would have worn a dress made of paper if one were readily available.
Closing time’s coming. I look at the clock over the bar. The boys are starting to shuffle around. I can tell that they want the rest of the crowd to leave as much as I do. Stumble home, people. Get into your trucks, shut one eye, and hope you make the ride home alive. However you do it, get the fuck out. My five are all hard. I can tell. They are about to come in their pants, and we haven’t even started.
How did I choose the team?
Number one goes without saying. He’s my man. Declan wants this to happen as much as I do. We talk about nothing else when we’re in bed, his hand on my throat, his cock to the hilt inside of me. “How many can you take?” he likes to ask. “Could you do three? Four? How many could you work, baby?”
Tonight, we’re finally going to find out.
Next up? The bartender. He’s young, yet, and baby-faced. He thinks he’s all that and a bag of chips. Why shouldn’t he? The girlies in town take their turns riding his cock and his pretty blond mustache. But we’re going to age him tonight
The chef—if you can call him that, more of a fry cook—he’s third. Why? Because the big guy seems lonely, and I’ve always been a compassionate sort. He’s good-looking, with an extra solid forty pounds on his 6-foot frame and a guilty look in his eyes all the time. What type of porn does he have stashed under his single twin? I’d like to know.
Fourth is a friend going through the type of divorce that makes men believe all women are cunts. Flynn is bitter and angry. I want him to take that aggression out on me. Call me her name, I plan on telling him. Make it hurt.
Five is a drifter. He’s not a local. But he’s the kind of guy who has always made me perk up and take notice. He’s lean and hard-bodied in his old Buffalo-plaid flannel shirt and worn Levi’s. He looks as if he has done some serious fighting in his life—hands all scarred to shit—but he also has that glint in his eyes. Yeah, he’s done some serious fucking, as well.
The other four know that this is a gangbang. The drifter? I simply asked if he’d stay on after closing. He gave me a look of mild interest, tracing me up and down with his dark blue eyes, and said he didn’t have anywhere better to be.
How can we do a gangbang in a small town like ours? We’re all friends here. Or if not friends, at least not enemies. We all know each other. That’s my point. This could be a problem in some places. How can I sashay in next Friday night after having been spread out on the pool table tonight, whipped and fucked by neighbors?
Like I said, tonight we’re finally going to find out.
Here’s my thought on the matter: We all know each other’s secrets here. Why not add one more? Look, I don’t want to be one of those women who reaches the end of her road and thinks, Why not? What the fuck was I waiting for? I want to sit there on my front porch in my rocker and have shimmering nights like these to remember.
The regulars are starting to leave. Last call ends the show. My five are shifting. Yeah, they’re hard. All of them. The chef keeps stepping forward and peering through the doorway from the kitchen. The bartender drops a glass, something I’ve never seen him do before. My man has his hand on my waist, his mouth on my neck. He’s kissing me and telling me how fucking sexy I am and how proud of me he is. Our buddy, touching the spot where his ring used to be, looks as if he can’t wait to come in my face and make me like it. And the drifter? He toys with his half-empty shot glass on the bar, clearly waiting to take his cues from the rest of us.
Say you want a guy to tie you up, and you might win a raised eyebrow. Ask for a spanking, and there’s a pussy type of man who will raise his hand—not to smack your ass, but in protest—and tell you he doesn’t go in for that sort of thing. But confess that what you really desire, what keeps you up in the night, is to have a line of men take turns fucking you, and you’ll find out who your friends truly are.
The bar’s quiet now. The door is locked, front light out. We’re all sitting exactly where we were when Brody hollered “Last call.” Then the cook comes out to lean against the bar. He grips a beer in one big mitt and stares at me. The bartender, always so damn cocky in the past, lifts a bottle of vodka from the shelf and pours himself a shot on the largish side. Declan starts to kiss me, his mouth hot on mine, his hands roaming over my body. I’m sitting next to his buddy, Flynn, and I feel Flynn move in tighter to me. We haven’t talked rules—because how can you do that? How can you run down the rules to a gangbang if you’ve never participated in one before? I have the feeling that this is the sort of activity that grabs momentum as the event progresses. Because right now, there’s just Declan kissing me and Flynn’s hands on my body.
Oh, wait. That’s new. Flynn is running his hands along my back while Declan kisses my neck. I have my eyes closed until the scrape of a chair catches my attention. Is it the cook coming closer? The drifter taking off? No, it’s Brody, setting upside-down chairs onto the nearby tables, as if this is any other closing night on any other night of the week.
But it’s not. Flynn lifts my hair and starts to kiss the nape of my neck. A shiver works through me. The cook walks closer to us. He says, “Did you mean what you said before?”
What’d I say before? You’re wondering, aren’t you? I’d leaned in while he was cooking, and I waited until he looked my way. Then I said, “Joe, you’ve always wanted to fuck me, haven’t you?”
People don’t get to talk like that very often. Do you know what I mean? Most of the day, we walk around stifling our inner selves, damping down on the words we’d love to let loose. But I thought, Fuck that. Tonight, I’m going to get what I want, or flame out trying. Joe had looked at me and said, “Hell yeah, Dina. You break up with Dec yet?”
When I shook my head, his eyebrows shot up, and I simply said, “If you’re game, stay on after closing.” Declan had a similar convo with Brody. And now we’re all here, and Flynn has moved me onto the closest table, and Declan is pushing my dress to my hips, and Brody’s coming forward, clearly unsure what to do, but not so unsure he won’t make a move. He’s young, but he’s a bartender. He’s had his share of girls.
“This an every Friday night occasion?” That’s the drifter. He’s smoking even though you’re not allowed to smoke in a bar in California anymore. But we’ve got bigger secrets to keep than that.
“No,” says Declan, “Not every Friday.” And I giggle, because I can’t help myself. I’m spread on a table, soft woven dress to my hips, Joe stroking my hair off my face, Flynn surprisingly gentle with his mouth on my fingertips. And this drifter wants to know if we do this all the time.
Flynn takes my hand and places my palm against the bulge in his slacks. When was the last time I touched another man’s cock? A man aside from my husband? More than ten years. I trace my fingers along the rise of his erection, and I sigh because this is happening. Finally and for real.
I cup his balls through his jeans, and Flynn presses forward to gain more contact. I wonder for a second if I’m going to be graceful enough to figure this out. I’ve never had much rhythm. But then Brody kisses me, moving aside Flynn and Declan. He leans down and kisses me, and I think that I don’t have to worry so much after all. The guys will do all the shifting and choreographing for me. I let myself go in the kiss. I kiss him the way I have always wanted to, every time I walk into the bar. Because girls want things, too. Guys don’t hold the patent on lusting after what you’re not supposed to have. I sigh as he pulls away, and I close my eyes.
When you’re single, you can walk into a bar and pick your man. You can make eyes at the bartender. You can flirt with the chef. You can focus on a drifter and decide that yeah, maybe tonight you’ll sample a bit of strange. There’s excitement on every horizon. How will that bartender fuck you? Bent over a barstool? In his pickup truck? Out in the woods, where nobody can hear? What does the fry cook like to watch when nobody’s home? Man-on-man porn, right? He’ll let you lick his asshole and fuck him with a strap-on, so long as you don’t tell anyone later. And the drifter? Oh, I miss my one-night stands with the men passing through. Men whose names I’d forget later, but I’d remember the connection. And maybe a flicker or two of something else. Like finding a hidden scar way up high under a shirtsleeve. Or seeing a girl’s name tattooed somewhere sacred.
But when you’re part of the old-and-married club, the tools get rusty. You’re not supposed to want to fuck anyone else, anymore, ever again. Take your libido, honey. Bottle it up in that Mason jar and stick the thing on a shelf. No more surprises for you, dearie. You’re all used up.
Things start to move faster now. I think Declan had been waiting for someone to show a sign of life, and that someone was Brody. Brody, whose kiss I still feel on my lips, the taste of his vodka on my tongue.
I sense the men moving around me. Declan tells me to open my mouth, and I do, not surprised at all to find a naked cock at my lips. I keep my eyes closed still, as if I have a blindfold on, because it’s still easier that way. I know right away that it’s Declan’s cock I’m sucking. After more than a decade together, I am well versed in the girth and the ridges that make this cock feel like home to me. I suck him on my back. He lets me work at my own pace. Then I moan—I can’t help myself—because there’s a mouth between my legs, on my pussy through my panties and my hose.
Who is that? I would like to know, would like to peek, but in this position, even if I opened my eyes, I’d only have a view of cock and balls.
“Put out your hands,” Declan says, and I realize I have my fists clenched tight at my sides. I spread my arms open, palms open, and in seconds I have a dick in each hand. Am I stroking off Flynn? Jerking off the stranger? I don’t look. I don’t ask. My tights are getting wet in the center. The man between my legs is sucking at the nylon.
I sense the hesitation and then Declan says, “Take them off her.”
My heels are pulled off, and then the hose. I shiver at the feeling of another man taking off my clothes. It hasn’t happened in so fucking long. Then I feel a moustache against my thigh, and I know that’s Brody between my legs. How funny that I’ve always yearned for a moustache ride, and now I’m getting my wish. His whiskers are sweet against my naked skin, his mouth warm and open over my panties. Declan moves and I open my eyes and blink. I am looking up into the eyes of Joe the chef and the nameless drifter. Joe’s got a cock like I thought he would have. Thick and long and hard. It suits him. The drifter’s is thinner, but rigid. I was wrong. Flynn isn’t close by. He’s standing back, watching. His eyes are wet.
“Get her naked,” Declan says.
Brody pulls my panties down then, and I raise my hips up to help him, but I don’t stop stroking those cocks. I feel energized, as if I could do this all night. The low, hungry sighs of the men is payment enough. I am the center, the focus of attention, and I bask in the glow.
Brody dives back between my thighs, and I bend my knees and splay for him, back arching. He’s so good. Declan knows how to eat me, knows all the tricks and turns I love best. But there’s something unreal about having that magic moustache run over my pussylips and against my inner thighs.
Then suddenly, Flynn is in motion. “If we’re going to do this, we should really do this,” he says, surprising me. He’s not my husband. But he takes charge, nonetheless, gripping me in his arms and carrying me to a low, heavy wooden table in the back of the room. He pulls my dress off me, leaving me totally naked. Then he motions to Brody, who gets on the table first as if he and Flynn have had a private conversation, and then he positions me over Brody’s mouth, on my hands and knees.
“Like that,” he says as Brody resumes licking my pussy. “You,” he points to Joe. “You start.”
“Start?” Joe’s cock is in his hand. He’s jerking it as he talks.
“Let her suck you.”
Joe looks to Declan, who nods, and then he steps forward. I part my lips and take him in. He’s so nice and thick. I suck him as sweetly as I can, thinking of how lonely he seems, how needy. I make the most of the seconds he’s in my mouth before Flynn grabs his shoulders and says, “Now fuck her.”
For a second, everything stops, even Brody’s tongue on my clit. There’s an edge to Flynn’s tone. But maybe we needed this. Someone to take command. Joe moves behind me and begins to slip his cock into my pussy. I’m swollen and wet. So wet. Brody continues to lick my clit as Joe fucks me. I turn my head and see that Declan is pressed back against the wall, watching everything.
Flynn grabs onto the drifter. “Now, you,” he says, “What’s your name?”
“Matt, let her suck you.”
The drifter gets in front of me, and I open my mouth for him. He looks over his shoulder, and I know he’s getting approval from Declan. That he knows who the boss really is. His cock tastes like ocean water. I suck him to the rhythm that Joe is fucking me, to the beat that Brody is licking me, and I groan at the sensation of being so well cared for.
Joe starts to speed up, and I realize he’s going to come. He grips my hips and pounds into me, then pulls out at the last moment and shoots all over my back. I shiver at the sensation. I’m wearing another man’s come. I wonder if someone will grab up the bar towel, wipe me clean.
But Flynn is like a machine. He pulls Joe away, puts the drifter into place, and then turns to look at Declan. “You up, man?”
Dec grins at him. “Flynn,” he says in a kind voice, “I’m last.”
The drifter is in my pussy, and his cock seems to reach further than Joe’s did. I see Joe moving to pour himself a drink behind the bar. Flynn takes his spot in front of me. Brody is busy licking my clit like a good boy. Flynn strokes my hair and looks into my eyes. I was there on his wedding day. I was at his house when he found out his wife was cheating. I see all the pain in his eyes, and I see that he wants to imbue some of that onto me. And I want to take it.
The drifter drags his fingernails down my sides, and I shiver. He palms the cheeks of my ass, spreads them a bit to see my hole. I see him in the mirror as he motions to Joe, who is watching with a glass in hand.
“Come here,” he says, and Joe walks closer. I watch in the mirror as Joe and Matthew kiss while Matthew’s fucking me. He pulls out before coming, and the two start to make out against the wall, Matthew’s dick shiny with my juices, Joe’s big fist working around the shaft.
Flynn, who was gentle at the start, who was unsure for the first few minutes, begins to face-fuck me, and I never miss a beat. I suck him like a pro, and I’m pleased with myself. I drain him before he can stop himself from coming. I’m every woman he’s ever loved, and every bitch he’s ever hated, and he howls as he comes down my throat. There’s no undoing that. Whenever he sees me from now on, he will own this moment. He backs off me, and he’s no longer in charge.
Now there’s Brody on the table and Declan stepping forward.
“Suck him,” Dec says. “Suck his cock.”
I undo Brody’s jeans and set him free.
“Suck him while I fuck you,” Dec instructs, and I do what he says, licking the pre-come from the head of Brody’s cock and then sucking him while Declan takes his proper place behind me. Brody has to lean upward to keep contact with my clit, and I’m on my elbows with my ass in the air.
“You’re so pretty,” Declan says, and it’s like there’s only him and me in the room, except for the cock between my lips and the tongue on my clit. Except for the fact that Joe and Matthew are fucking against the bar and Flynn is lighting up one of Matthew’s cigarettes.
Declan slaps my ass and grabs my hair. He fucks me hard, and I come, Brody licking my clit like a beast and then shooting into my mouth. I would collapse against the bartender, but Declan lifts me up, carries me to the hallway and presses me up against the wall. Now it is him and me, and he fucks me so hard, I feel like I’ve never been done before. Like this is the first time.
Which in a way it is.
The first gangbang. The first time I ever showed off who I really am deep inside. Dec comes in me, and then spins me around and lifts me into his arms.
“The first of many,” Dec promises with a smile.
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