Hellish Hangover

Frank grabbed his wife and **** a kiss. "What are you doing?!" she said, as she attempted to slap him. He held her arm and looked at her naked body in glee. She was older now, but still taut. Still clearly the woman he had fucked so many times before. "Taking what's mine," he said, as he pushed her into a corner and began undoing his belt.

Elsewhere, I pulled in Laura for a fuck. She had been fucked by half a dozen other boys (and Grandpa Arnold) yesterday. As Cindy sat on her face, we mutually gained pleasure from our cousin as we made out. I spotted my father having rough sex with my mother, and I gave him a thumbs up, smiling at the idea of them getting along. Mom was wrong about him.

The room was quickly filled once more with rutting couples, more or less, as the men from the Michaels' came in at 11 per instructions, although the cocaine rushing through my blood derailed my earlier plans. Instead, I was in a sex frenzy, fucking my way through orifices, as the idea percolated to the crowd who began fucking each other again, regardless of relationships. As I came into Laura, I blacked out.

Frank came into Karen's ass after pounding it raw. "Why are you doing this?" she sniffled, not liking the ****, but her son seemed to enjoy watching, so it wasn't so bad.

He pulled her in close. "This is just rough ridin', darlin'," he leered, "the worst is yet to come." He placed a bag over her head and zip-tied her hands, confident that the crowd was too engaged in their recreations to notice.

The next day:

I was hungover as I felt two globes, breasts, as an unfamiliar cunt rode me. It didn't matter. I smiled as I opened my eyes to behold my savior du jour. The smile soured when I did not recognize her.

"He's awake," she shouted, keeping the slow rhythm as she rode me. I attempted to look around, but she pushed my face forward to hers. "Just look at me, Mr. Doe. We'll explain everything after you ejaculate."

I was on a towel, no, a sleeping bag, with a pillow under my head but concrete underneath. It was outside by the pool, I determined through my peripheral vision. Something was burning. Something was...

"Look at me," she repeated, holding my head forward as my eyes darted around. I don't take orders from some bitch. But, oh God, it was a tight squeeze. And she somehow started tickling my ass.

So I flooded her womb, and she exited me, as I attempted to sit up, but my head hurt, causing the world to spin. What the fuck happened? Who was she?

"Relax, Mr. Doe," knelt a police officer next to me. "I'm Officer DeCarlo, this is my partner, Officer Sheridan," he gestured to the woman next to me, kneeling in a like matter and showing no signs of modesty as she leaked my juices on the cement while wearing only a wedding ring. "We're with the LAPD."

"You took a lot of cocaine, Mr. Doe," he continued.

"Which is fine," interrupted Sheridan. "It's to be expected."

"Yes, but **** use in your condition tends to amplify the side effects. Including, erratic and violent behavior. And that's probably," he hesitated. "Maybe... that's what happened here."

"What?" my eyes shot up in fear, as I pushed away Sheridan when she tried to stop me from looking around.

The house was on fire. The house I grew up in from almost before I could remember was nearly down to ash as the last remaining timber collapsed. My childhood was crumbling before my eyes.

But that wasn't what they were talking about. Grandma Jane was floating in the pool, red trailing her and diluting within. Her throat was slit. I collapsed. Had I killed her?

But, her husband, Grandpa Joe, was staring at me with lifeless eyes from a deck chair, a bullet wound to his head. Aunt Alicia, Uncle Roger, several bodies were slewn around the backyard as I looked in horror. They tried to escape the carnage. Officer Sheridan tried to stop me from getting into the remains of the house, as firefighters contained the last of the flames and carted away indecipherable corpses.

"We estimate between 16 and 20 bodies. No survivors. Other than you," said DeCarlo, as I recognized a woman's face, partially melted into the floor. It was Alex, my first crush.

"Must've been some party," said DeCarlo, trying to reassure you.