Emily gets filled up

Garrett's thrusts grew jagged, his breathing ragged against Emily's neck as his fingers dug bruises into her hips. Emily felt him swell inside her—thick and unrelenting—before he buried himself to the hilt with a grunt, his release flooding her in hot, pulsing waves. She whimpered around Kevin's cock, her throat working instinctively as he held her head still, fucking her mouth with slow, deliberate strokes.

Garrett didn't pull out. He kept her impaled, his cum slick between her thighs as Kevin finally withdrew from her lips with a wet pop. Emily gasped for air, her spit-slick chin trembling, but Kevin didn't let her recover. He dragged her up by the hair, flipping her onto her back with a roughness that made her cry out. The leather booth was sticky beneath her, the scent of sex and spilled liquor thick in the air.

Kevin's grip on her thighs was bruising as he shoved them apart, his cock glistening with her saliva. Emily's breath hitched—she was still stretched from Garrett, still dripping with him—but Kevin didn't hesitate. He sheathed himself inside her with one brutal thrust, his groan muffled against her neck as her walls fluttered around him.

"Fuck," Kevin hissed, his hips snapping forward. "Still so *tight*." Emily's nails scraped against his shoulders, her legs hooking around his waist as he fucked her with a desperation that bordered on ****. Garrett watched from the shadows of the booth, his fingers trailing through the mess on Emily's stomach before smearing it across her parted lips.

Emily tasted salt and bitterness—Garrett's cum, Reynolds' sweat, the champagne gone flat on her tongue. Kevin's pace grew erratic, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her hips as he chased his release. Emily could feel the tension coiling in his muscles, the way his thrusts lost rhythm as he neared the edge.

Kevin's hips stuttered—once, twice—before he buried himself to the hilt with a guttural groan, his release flooding Emily in hot, pulsing waves. She gasped as he ground against her, his cock twitching inside her while his fingers dug bruises into her hips. The sensation was overwhelming—Garrett's cum still leaking from her, Reynolds' sweat cooling on her skin, Kevin filling her so completely she could feel the throbbing length of him against her cervix.

Emily's thighs trembled around Kevin's waist as he rode out his climax, his forehead pressed against hers, their breath mingling in ragged pants. His hips jerked involuntarily, spurting another thick burst deep inside her, and Emily whimpered, her nails scoring his back. The mess between them was obscene—smeared lipstick, sweat, the sticky remnants of three men's pleasure—but Kevin didn't pull out. Instead, he rocked forward lazily, his thumb brushing her swollen clit as he murmured, "Fuck, you feel *good*."

Garrett chuckled darkly from the shadows of the booth, his fingers trailing through the cum dripping down Emily's inner thigh. "Look at that," he mused, holding his glistening fingers up to the pulsing neon lights. "Ruined her pretty little cunt." Emily shuddered as Kevin finally withdrew, his cock leaving her empty and aching, her thighs sticky with the evidence of what they'd done.

Reynolds reached over to smack her ass—hard enough to leave a red handprint—before tossing her dress at her crumpled form. "Clean yourself up, sweetheart," he said, wiping his hands on a cocktail napkin like he'd just finished a meal. Emily's fingers shook as she clutched the fabric to her chest, the silver material now wrinkled and damp with sweat. Kevin adjusted his slacks with practiced ease, his tie still perfectly knotted despite the chaos. His gaze lingered on Emily's trembling form, his expression unreadable as he buttoned his cuffs.

The walk to the restroom was a blur of neon and bass, Emily's legs threatening to give out with every step. The women's lounge was mercifully empty, the gold-flecked mirrors reflecting her disheveled state—hair tangled, makeup smeared, the lace of her ruined panties still clinging to one ankle. She turned the faucet on too hard, the water splashing her chest as she scrubbed at the sticky trails on her thighs. The soap smelled like lemons, incongruously bright against the musk of sex still clinging to her skin.