Page 63 of Our Elliana
I recall with unfortunate clarity an incident when a party of women—no one seemed to be a bride, so I don’t know what they were celebrating—decided staring at me in a G-string wasn’t enough for them. To this day, I suspect they were doing a lot more than just imbibing drinks as I kept catching glimpses of many of them sniffing something up their noses.
Whatever they took made them difficult to control, and they rushed the stage. We had a couple of bouncers, but that night there was only one. He must’ve been across the room dealing with some other trouble. Either that or he was taking a piss break because no one came to my assistance.
Not even as I tried to break free of them. Not even as I roared for them to get off me and to fucking stop.
There had to have been at least ten of them as they knocked me onto the floor and groped me all over. This sort of thing was expressly forbidden in the bar’s rules, but with no one present to enforce those rules, they had carte blanche to do as they wished.
With them holding me down—at least five were sitting or lying across various parts of my body and one could’ve been a pro weightlifter she was so strong—they shoved my flimsy G-string aside and fisted my cock. The oil that we had to coat ourselves in aided their progress, and they kept going until I came all over them.
They then howled and applauded as if I’d just performed some quaint and entertaining party trick.
Did they release me then? Hell, no. Those women continued to molest me, to trap me beneath them until I came again, complaining when the amount of semen didn’t match up to what I expended that first time.
Even that hadn’t made them quit. I’m certain that despite accomplishing what they wanted, they would’ve likely drained me dry if the bouncer hadn’t finally shown up to haul them off me.
And the whole time, Nine Inch Nails droned on in the background.
Wrenching my eyes open, I freeze exactly where I stand, my heart racing and my pulse pounding. “Closer” is still in its first guttural verse, and I hit the next button on the remote so swiftly that the image hangs a bit until the signal synchs back up.
Meanwhile, the moaning from the sofa is reaching epic levels. Noah is roaring in ecstasy now with his head thrown back, and I can tell that Elle isn’t far behind. Jackson bends his knees and alters his angle as the muscles in his arm flex, demonstrating what his fingers must be doing inside that pucker of hers.
She pushes back against him in a rhythm that’s becoming more and more erratic as she nears that cliff she’s about to tumble over. When she goes off like a Roman candle no more than thirty seconds later, keening and whimpering, Jackson groans and murmurs something akin to, “Yeah, sweet thing, milk me good. Just like that.”
She’s milked me like he’s describing on numerous occasions, but any arousal I may have experienced tonight has been stolen from me. My only saving grace is that I’m fairly sure my lapse has gone unnoticed. At least until Jackson comes back down from his ascent into carnal bliss and lasers in on me.
“Not a fan of Nine Inch Nails, I suppose?”
“Uh, no,” I respond, taken aback.
Why did he have to catch that? I haven’t thought about any of that shit in forever, and a few lines from that goddamn song and I’m right back there laying on that fucking stage floor. Trust Jackson to be the one to acknowledge something I don’t want acknowledged at all.
The birthday boy chooses that moment to giggle—literally—but I don’t mind because it takes any attention that might be aimed my way and flings it in the opposite direction.
I swallow and wince as the imagery from that bar scene carves jagged gullies through my psyche again, the recollections more vivid and real than ever. It leaves me cold all over, not to mention hounded by the sensation of being unwillingly exposed.
Normally, being naked in front of these three isn’t an issue for me, but right now, I despise how it’s making me feel. Keeping my back to everyone, I shimmy back into my clothes. With them occupied, I take the opportunity to exit the room.
Sorry, kid. But I’m not up for any more festivities tonight.