Last day and sharing filth

The rally grounds are thinning out, bikes roaring to life, tents collapsing, goodbyes shouted across the fields. Sarah walks back toward their corner of the camp, the leather cut heavy and warm on her shoulders, the patches catching the morning light. She's still buzzing from the night, from the weight of twenty-five men still lingering in her stretched holes, from the come still drying in her hair despite her best efforts to clean up. She rounds the corner and finds Carrie and Laura already at their tent. They're both wearing their cuts too—Carrie's Disciples jacket with its fresh patches, Laura's Road Vultures cut with *Club Whore* stitched proudly across the back.

They see each other at the same moment, and all three of them stop, staring. For a heartbeat, there's silence. Then Carrie bursts out laughing.

"Look at us," she says, spreading her arms wide. "Three patched sluts."

Laura grins, running her fingers over her own patches. "I still can't believe it. A full member. Welcome anytime."

Sarah steps forward, and they meet in the middle, pulling each other into a tight group hug. The leather creaks, the patches press together, and for a moment, they just hold each other, three women who came to the rally to get as much cock and cum they could and achieved it. They break apart and get to work on the tent. The canvas is still damp with morning dew, the pegs stubborn in the hard ground. They work together, efficient and practiced, pulling the poles free, folding the fabric, stuffing it into its bag.

"So," Carrie says, heaving a sleeping bag into a duffel. "How many?"

Sarah straightens up, a grin spreading across her face. "Twenty-five."

Carrie's eyebrows shoot up. "Twenty-five? Fuck, girl. That's impressive."

"What about you?" Laura asks, tying off a rope. "You said you were going for the Disciples. How many did they give you?"

Carrie's grin turns wicked. "Thirty-one."

Sarah lets out a low whistle. "Thirty-one cocks. In one weekend."

"Thirty-one," Carrie repeats, savoring the number. "All of them the first night in two sets, all holes, all night. Came in my cunt, my arse, my mouth. Facials. Creampies. I was dripping by the time they were done."

Sarah nods, her own body aching in sympathy. "The Wolves were the same. Twenty-four on the first night, blowing them one by one and swallowed each one. Then they fucked me senseless in the tent. Every hole, every position. I lost count of how many times I came."

Laura zips up her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. "You two are fucking animals. I only got twelve."

"Only?" Sarah says, raising an eyebrow. "Twelve is nothing to sneeze at."

Laura shrugs, a satisfied smile on her face. "The Road Vultures are a smaller club. But they made it count. Danny was my first, sweet kid, popped his cherry that night, and next day dirty little fucker had my ass."

Carrie whistles. "Go girl, cherry popper."

"It was," Laura says, her voice soft. "He gave me a patch. *Danny's First*. I pinned it inside my cut, over my heart."

Sarah reaches out, squeezing Laura's shoulder. "awww. that's so sweet."

Laura nods, her eyes bright. "Yeah. It is."

They finish packing the tent, loading the gear into the trunk of Sarah's car. The rally grounds are nearly empty now, the last few stragglers kicking up dust as they ride out. The morning sun is warm, the sky clear, the road ahead open. Carrie leans against the car, "So. Next year?"

"Next year," Laura says, climbing into the back seat. "And every year after."

Sarah slides into the passenger seat, her cut hanging from the headrest behind her. "Same time, same place?" Sarah asks.

"Same time, same place," Carrie confirms.

Laura leans forward, resting her arms on the front seats. "And next year, I'm going for more. Twelve was good, but I want to feel what it's like to lose count."

Carrie grins. "That's the spirit."

Carrie turns the key, the engine rumbling to life. She pulls out of the field, the rally grounds shrinking in the rearview mirror.

The car hums along the highway, the rally grounds shrinking in the rearview mirror. Laura's already half-asleep in the back seat, her head resting against the window, her Vultures cut draped over her like a blanket. She's quiet for a long moment, watching the fields roll by, before she turns to Sarah.

"So. How are things with David?"

Carrie's always been the one to dig deeper, to poke at the soft spots.

"Good," she says. "Really good, actually."

Carrie raises an eyebrow. "Yeah? He's okay since opening the marriage"

Sarah nods, a small smile playing on her lips. "It took some talking. Some fighting. Some crying. But yeah. He's okay with it. Well it was either open marriage or divorce and he didn’t want to lose his trophy wife."

"Why is he so uptight when it comes to sex." Carrie asks

"Oh, his mother" Sarah's voice is soft. "She is a deeply religious and finds sin immoral, even though she’s had children. He loves me. And he's learned that this doesn't change that. It's just... something I need."

Carrie nods, watching her. "And what about him? Does he get anything out of it?"

Sarah's smile widens, “Actually, yeah. There's one thing I’ve found so far he loves."

Carrie leans forward, her eyes glinting. "Oh yeah? Tell me."

"He likes it when I give him a lubed handjob. But in a specific way”

Sarah's voice drops, "He lies back on the bed, propped up against the headboard. I sit between his legs, facing him, my thighs pressed against his. And I take my time. I mean, I take forever. I start slow, just my hand wrapped around him, barely moving. Just feeling him get hard in my palm."

Carrie's quiet, listening.

"I cup his balls with my other hand. Gently at first, just holding them, feeling their weight. And I stroke him so slowly. Like, painfully slowly. Just the head, then the shaft, then back to the head. I watch his face the whole time. His eyes sometimes closed, his mouth open, his breath catching."

"Sounds nice" Carrie breathes.

"I edge him. Over and over. I bring him right to the brink, right to where he's about to come, and then I stop. I just hold him, my thumb pressing against the head, and I wait until he calms down. Then I start again."

"How many times?"

"However many I want. Sometimes three. Sometimes five. Sometimes I lose count." Sarah's voice is low, intimate. "He’s begging by the end. He begs me to let him come."

"And do you?"

"Eventually." Sarah grins. "When I'm ready. I speed up, just a little, just enough to push him over. And I lean down and he comes all over my tits. Bucket loads, and then he watches me rub it in."

Carrie lets out a low whistle. "Nice"

"I take my fingers and I spread it across my tits. Over my nipples. I make sure every drop is absorbed. And he just watches, his eyes glued to me, his cock still twitching."

"Fuck me," Carrie says, shaking her head. "That's hot."

Sarah shrugs, a satisfied smile on her face. "And to finish off I suck him moaning like a whore. It's our thing. It's what he gets. And he loves it."

"Good for you, Sarah. Good for both of you."

The car hums on, carrying them home.