It’s 3 o’clock in the morning on Monday. Another night of insomnia. I try masturbation. While it usually works, tonight it doesn’t. My mind is flooded with images from Saturday evening.

I’d been to this party once before. With a girlfriend. But this evening, I was with Tank.

The last time, it took about an hour for the party to start rolling. At least the sort of party I like. A few women, lots of BBC’s. All in the same room.

I’d no idea what to expect with Tank along side me. When we arrived, there were very few people present. A shock. Since things were scheduled to begin 90 minutes earlier.

My girlfriend was there already. With another couple who’d brought along a young single guy. So we chatted with them. And others. And still more after that. Ho hum.

I must say that the best line of the evening came from a dominatrix who was dressed in multiple layers of non-descript bedroom clothing for the evening’s lingerie atmosphere. She was with her poly partner—his number two. Tank asked her what always turned her on—after she’d mentioned flogging a man until he couldn’t speak the other day. Her reply?

“A man in pinstripes will always bring me to my knees”

The next thing you know, a man standing next to her revealed his pinstriped boxers.  Her eyes rolled back into her head. I howled. And she went to town.

To pass the time, Tank had taken to giving out medical advice to the women with large chests and poor posture—and smoking cigarettes outdoors even though he’d gone cold turkey a year ago. We even had time to polish off two bottles of wine. One glass for me; three glasses for him. That was after drinking a tall glass of top-shelf tequila at his house. Every once in a while, I’d go find him just to make sure he was still alive.

One hundred and fifty-three minutes after arriving, I gave up.

“Tank, it’s time to go.”

“What’s wrong baby? Not having a good time?”

“NO.”

“Are there any guys here that you like?”

“Yes.”

“Have talked to them?”

“YES.”

“And what happened?”

“They don’t seem to be interested.”

“Well, then, why don’t we get our things . . . and I’ll take you back to my house.”

“We can’t. The door is closed.”

While the general rule at a house party is for the door to the master bedroom to remain open at all times, it had been closed for a long while. Even I had no idea who was in the room and there weren’t any noises emanating from it. But rules are rules—and a locked door means no entry.

Tank and I sat on the sofa. He held me close. And I sighed 50 times, if not a hundred, during the next several minutes. Finally, the door popped open. And a young well-hung black man went in search of a bottle of water.

A line of us entered the room, all for the same reason: to get our belongings from the master bedroom closet. As I began to exit the darkened room, I made eye contact with the single man who the couple had brought with them. We’d chatted a bit early on.

“Are you leaving?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“No one seems to want to play with me.”

“Huh. I believe we do.”

As my eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, I noticed a tall, lithe woman on her tummy sucking a black guy’s cock on the bed. And two more BBC’s next to him, one of whom I’d played with at a cuckold party a few months earlier. I heard:

“It’s your turn.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Right outside the bedroom, I put down my coat and supply bag and motioned “come here” to Tank with my right pointer finger. As soon as we entered the bedroom, someone closed the door.

“Baby, I forgot to tell you that I told these guys about you when I was outside.”

“You what?”

“Get down on your knees baby. At the foot of the bed. I believe there’s a guy wanting to fuck you from behind. And look. Two more for you to suck. Now remember, you need to give your attention to all of them.”

Tank gave me a kiss on the cheek, exposed my breasts from the Night Magic Babydoll I was wearing and sat down with his back against the headboard so he could observe my face.

Including Tank, there were five men. Oh la la. I was in heaven.

It didn’t take longer than five minutes for one guy to come in my mouth. Tank’s been giving me advanced lessons. LOL

It was all a blur. Except the squirting. I remember the first time it happened that evening. I didn’t know who did it until I turned my head to the right and saw that Tank was behind the other woman, licking her pussy with his fingers inside her. And then it happened twice again in succession. By this time, I knew my screams were waking up the neighbors.

And then there was the texting. Yes, texting. The guy from the cuckhold party had me sucking his nine-inch thick dick while he laid on his back, texting someone from his iPhone. I couldn’t contain myself. I screamed at him.

“Hey asshole. You’re supposed to be giving me your attention. What the fuck is this?”

There wasn’t one person in that room who wasn’t laughing so hard they could pee right there. My observation made them even more hell-bent on screwing the heck outta me. Which of course, pleased them—and me—even more.

More than 120 minutes later, I heard someone say, “Get her some water. Man, she’s gotta be dehydrated.” I turned over on my back for the first time and noticed the bed was soaking wet. So was the front of my babydoll.

I stumbled out of the room, bottle of water in hand. “Shit. All the bathrooms are in use.” I waited ten minutes just to get one to clean myself up. That’s when I learned I’d been fucked really hard by hand and by cock.

Tank was ready with my coat when I finally emerged.

“Are you ready to go home now, baby?”

“Uh huh.”

“Have you thanked the boys you were with tonight?”

“Yes, I gave them all a kiss goodnight.”

And with that, I laid my head against his chest as he zippered my coat and off we went. Back to his house. To replay the night’s experience. Again. And again. And again.