Ride them.

"Time to ride sluts." A burly guy with a horseshoe mustache hauled Max upright and tossed her onto his lap, his calloused hands spreading her thighs wide before slamming her down onto his cock. The stretch burned—he was thicker than the others—but Max gasped as he gripped her hips and **** her to move, her body bouncing with brutal efficiency. Chloe wasn’t spared either; two men dragged her onto the edge of a speaker, spreading her legs as one buried himself inside her while the other pressed against her ass. Chloe’s scream was half-protest, half-ecstasy, her nails clawing at the men’s wrists as they pinned her in place.

Rachel, ever the queen of chaos, stood atop a beer crate, legs parted, as a line formed beneath her. "One at a time, boys," she purred, before lowering herself onto the first cock with a sigh that twisted into a groan. The crowd’s laughter was rabid as she rode him, her head thrown back, sweat-slicked hair clinging to her shoulders.

Max’s vision flickered between clarity and haze—the mustached man beneath her grunting like a beast, his grip leaving finger-shaped bruises on her thighs. Her own voice sounded foreign, a broken chorus of "ah-ah-ah" punched out with every downward slam. Someone shoved a shot glass against her lips; whiskey burned her throat, dribbling down her chin to mix with sweat and spit.

Behind her, Chloe’s gasps turned ragged as the second man pressed into her ass, her body straining to accommodate. "Fuck—*fuck*—!" she chanted, her fingers white-knuckling the speaker’s edge. One of the men chuckled darkly, palming her breasts roughly. "Tell ’em to go harder," he taunted, thrusts turning punishing. Chloe’s scream dissolved into a sobbing laugh, her head lolling back.

Max felt someone pushing against her ass—a new cock, slick with spit or maybe her own arousal—probing her tight ring of muscle. She choked out a protest, but the mustached man beneath her only laughed, pinning her wrists behind her back. "Take it," he grunted, and the pressure became a searing invasion, splitting her open in one brutal thrust. Her scream was swallowed by the crowd's roar. Tears blurred the warehouse lights into smears of neon as her body was stretched impossibly wide, two cocks moving in opposing rhythms inside her.

Chloe's curses turned to shattered moans beside her—her own double penetration rougher, faster, the men fucking her with the single-minded intensity of dogs in heat. Rachel, still mounted on her beer crate throne, had three hands palming her tits while she rode a fresh cock, her smirk faltering for the first time as pleasure overtook showmanship. "Fuck—*yes*—right *there*—" she snarled, her thighs trembling.

Max's body burned, her ass clenching around the brutal intrusion as the mustached man beneath her bucked upward, his cockhead grinding against her cervix. The dual fullness tore a moan from her lips—half-pain, half-maddening pleasure—as the crowd's jeers sharpened into a feverish chant.

"Ride 'em, cowgirl!" someone howled, lobbing a crumpled beer can onto the stage. Max barely registered the impact against her thigh; her world narrowed to the split-second rhythms—the upward thrust below, the downward slam above—leaving her shuddering between them like a ragdoll. Her wrists ached where the mustached man pinned them behind her back, her spine arched taut as a bowstring.