Lad's doo

The envelope satin the middle of the lounge. Plain white. Innocent. But Emma couldn’t take her eyes off it. Every nerve in her body screamed with the weight of it. Her thighs clamped together, her nails dug into her glass, and her chest rose and fell like she’d just run a sprint.

And then it happened.

Noise. Boots and trainers hammering tile, a wall of voices flooding the space. Thirty men stormed through like a drunken army. Bright shirts everywhere, each one stamped with filth, Pussy Patrol. Sit On My Face. Pedal My Ears.

Emma’s blood iced and then boiled in a single breath.

One of them, shaved head, red neck, built like a nightclub bouncer, plucked the envelope off the seat. Didn’t even hesitate. Tore it open with thick fingers.

And the room cracked.

A photo dropped out. He held it up. His face twisted, then split into a wolf-grin.

“Fucking hell!”

The pack swarmed. Laughter. Shouts. The sound of thirty men baying like they’d been thrown a carcass. Emma’s skin lit up like fire as her body hitched forward, instinct screaming at her to snatch the pictures back but she couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

They passed the photos hand to hand, each one met with jeers and whistles. “Jesus Christ, look at this!” “What a fucking slag!” “Who is she? Who the fuck is this?” Phones came out, flashes popped. Emma saw her own body a dozen times over, spread open across glowing screens.

Her pulse punched against her throat. Her lips parted but no sound came out. Heat flooded her, shame and something darker rolling through her like a ****.

Mark leaned in, his voice low, rough. “They’ve got them. It’s done. We need to move.”

But Emma was locked in place, staring at thirty strangers chanting over her naked body. She bit her knuckle to stop the moan tearing its way out of her.

Mark dragged her by the arm and somehow they boarded, the roar of the pack still ringing in her ears.

The plane was chaos. Bags slammed overhead. Men shouted down aisles, sang dirty songs. Stag-party madness. Emma turned but Mark was already gone, swept down another row. Thirty seats between them. Alone.

Her row waited. Empty. Relief lasted a heartbeat. Then two shadows dropped.

One on her left: bald, neck like a bull, stinking of lager and cheap aftershave.

One on her right: a giant. Six-five at least. Shoulders spilling into her space. Beard like a flaming hedge, chest stretching the slogan across his shirt, MY NAME IS GARY — SHOW US YOUR TITS.

Emma froze. The hem of her dress crawled up her thighs. The neckline tugged low. Trapped.

Gary flagged down the stewardess with a lazy grin, ordered a double, then turned to her. His voice was smooth, disarming, almost kind. “Want one too?”

She nodded before she realised. Her mouth was desert-dry.

“Gary,” he said, like they were at a dinner party instead of wedged shoulder-to-shoulder on a stag flight. “Chartered accountant. Boring, I know. The lads dragged me out, rugby, football, booze. Kid brother’s eighteenth. Whole week’s a write-off.”

Emma blinked at him, dazed by the normality spilling out of a man in a shirt that screamed SHOW US YOUR TITS.

And then it hit.

A slap on Gary’s shoulder. A glossy print shoved into his hand. One of hers. Anonymous face, but legs wide, body spread like meat on display.

He looked at the picture. Then at her.

And his jaw slackened.

“No fucking way.”

Emma shot upright. “Excuse me—” Her voice cracked. She shoved past him, her dress hitching, hem flicking, she was exposed, her shaven bald pussy inches from his nose, she could feel his breath against her soft pink folds. She saw his eyes drop, saw his whole body stiffen. His voice cut after her, low and stunned:

“Jesus Christ. It’s you.”

Emma stumbled to the toilet, slammed the lock. Pressed her back to the door, chest heaving. She caught sight of herself in the mirror — hair wild, dress crooked, nipples straining like bullets against the thin fabric trying to escape. Her face burned, but her eyes shone, hungry and terrified at once.

She stayed until her hands stopped shaking. But they never really did.

When she returned, Gary was waiting. His mate on the other side, asleep, dead to the world.

Emma tugged at the hem of her dress as she sat, but the seat trapped her, bunched the fabric high, her thighs glistened and her pussy showed below the hem, she pulled it down and her breasts swelled high, she could looked down and could see the pink hard nipple just showing over the top.

Gary leaned close, the rum thick on his breath, voice low enough to slice through her skull. “Don’t worry,” he said. “Your secret’s safe."

Relief filled Emma and she relaxed for a second until he continued

"As long as I get a little proof.”

His phone glowed. His smile widened.

Emma’s heart rattled so hard it hurt. She should have said no. Should have screamed. Should have run.

Instead, her lips parted. And she nodded.

She looked around herself, the man of his left was snoring and with Gary's bulk no one else could see her, Emma wiggled the dress and pulled it down, her breasts fell free and Gary's big busy face broke open in a wide grin, his camera clicked relentlessly and Emma watched as he licked his fingers and took on of her nipples between then pulling at them slightly too hard, the pain and pleasure was intense and Emma let out a little moan that caused the other man to stir then fall asleep again.

Emma raised her dress and her slit was on full display, in the small confines between the two men she couldn't open her legs fully, Gary's big meaty hand reached between her thighs and rubbed against her clit, Emma struggled to keep her calm as Gary continued to rub.

"I, I can get more photos, better ones, if you give me your phone, I'll go to the toilet"

Gary though then nodded, Emma covered herself the best she could and slid past Gary, she could see a monster cock straining against his shorts and she swallowed hard. In the toilet she removed her dress, her slit was wet and she pushed her fingers into herself and recorded it on Gary's phone, her hole body shook as she took pleasure from herself. Eventually she returned to Gary and handed him back his phone

"I made you a little video, don't watch it until your back in your hotel, you can show your friends if you want"

Emma sat content, she would have to tell Mark about her little game when they landed.