Ariana Grande Goes To The Prom

Ariana Grande rolled into the video village to find Chloe Bennet and Rose McIver already there. Unusual for all of them to be together; the project had all of them scattered to different subplots. She got killed in the opening, Rose was only in flashbacks, and Chloe was the lead.

They were filming the movie mainly in a nowheresville Georgia town, so there’d been a lot of intermixing with the natives. The crew were like sailors on shore leave, going to the local bars and sharing stories about Harrison Ford or stuntwork. Chloe had played laser-tag. Rose had made an effort to fit in, going shopping at the outlet mall and signing autographs whenever asked—pretty shameless. Ariana had stayed in her trailer. A few more days for reshoots and she would be history. No point in putting down roots.

Producer Jerry Osgood, the point-man on the movie, pressed play on a Youtube video. “Watch this,” he said.

It was a pretty standard Youtube video. Three siblings, African-American, two brothers and a sister. Asking her, Chloe, and Rose to go to prom with them. For every one of those that got answered, Ariana knew there were a hundred that didn’t. It all depended on whether your PR agent decided whether the risk of being seen with some stranger from the internet outweighed the reward of butting into the news cycle.

“So?” Ariana asked when it was over and the hashtag had flashed. “They’re not Marines or anything.”

“They are black,” Jerry replied.

“So?”

Rose spoke up. For a New Zealander, she was pretty abreast of these things. “Jerry’s worried about how people are perceiving the movie. A bunch of white people go to Egypt, get cursed, and then start getting killed back in America—which is full of white people.”

“My father’s Chinese,” Chloe said.

“It’s still a movie about an Egyptian curse with no Egyptians in it.”

“But oh, the cast went out with some black guys, that makes it all better?” Ariana asked. “I mean, not that I have anything against that—“

“You know one of them’s a girl, right?” Chloe asked.

“You just have to go to a dance with them, not get married,” Jerry said. “It’s one night.”

“My contract doesn’t say anything about going to prom,” Ariana insisted.

“It says you have to promote the film. And this is good promotion! It’ll get people talking—“

Ariana crossed her arms. “If I do this, no Jimmy Kimmel.”

“You have to do Jimmy Kimmel, he’s the kingmaker!”

“I’ll do a musical performance, no interview.”

Jerry countered, “I want this prom going viral. Selfies, snapchats, the works. Whatever the hell hashtag that is, it’d better be trending!”

“Oh, it’ll trend,” Ariana said, putting on her sunglasses. “I’ll make sure of it.”

***

Ariana dressed faux-casual: nice, but like she was not trying to look nice. To go with—or rebel against—the school days theme, she wore a short tartan skirt, a gray crop top, and long white stockings up from her pretty polished Mary Janes. With the little bob of her ponytail trailing behind her, she looked like the most Catholic schoolgirl to ever grace an Aerosmith video.

The date was like pressing the flesh anywhere. After letting their people handle the details, they showed up on the night in a limo. Had a little meet and greet, everyone doing a few pictures and vids for social media. They were all old hands at it, though the triplets—the Randalls were their names—seemed to have fun playing it up for the camera, showing them the house, laughing at all the right jokes. After some cooing over how cute everyone looked in their prom outfits, they headed out.

Ariana’s date was named Mags. He was shaved bald, with six tattooed dots on his forehead. Besides that, he was tall and slender, a runner’s body; exceedingly, almost painfully polite. Ariana forced herself out of her shell to talk to him, trying to keep pace with the animated conversations Rose and Chloe had going.

Finally, they arrived. The prom was being held in the lobby of the local high-class hotel—Ariana thought Chloe and Rose were actually staying there. And whoever was in charge of decorating the place, either students or some hired professional, had done a good job turning the place into a decent imitation of a nightclub. It was a madhouse, in fact, electricity in the air, music pounding, lights shattering the atmosphere, everyone both dressed to the nines and dancing like a fool.

Ariana grabbed Mags’s hand and led him deeper into the grind. “Let’s see what trouble we can get into,” she said with a giggle—relaxed now that the fraughtness of the limo ride was over. Now she just had to dance, play along, and she could do that almost automatically.

She, Rose, Chloe, they all strutted. This movie was their big break and they were out to show they deserved it. Ariana saw Chloe with her date, the sister, Ariana forgot her name. They cut into the seat of hot bodies just like she and Mags were doing, the dancers parting for them as if to the beat of the throbbing music. There was a lighted platform waiting and Chloe climbed onto it with the sister, the two women grinding their hips together, dragging their hands up each other’s thighs as they rocked their hips to the demanding bass of the Caribbean beat.

Chloe wore black hotpants, cut a few inches above her thighs. A silver zipper ran down the high-waisted shorts, down the front of her flat belly, between her legs, the tab hanging like a tail at the apex of her buttocks. An untanned portion of her breasts showed underneath the silk blouse that flowed freely from her shoulders to just below her jutting cleavage. Every man in the room was eyeing her and her writhing date. Even Ariana watched in a little astonishment, barely distracted by the dance she was doing with Mags.

“Let’s get a drink,” Ariana said, intending to go with him, but Mags hurried off without a word, returning in a moment with a loaded Dixie cup. Ariana took it with a thanks and drank. “Who spiked this, anyway? I’ve tasted Kool-Aid that’s more bitter.”

“Oh, it’s not spiked,” Mags assured her. “The school has sensors that detect the alcohol content in the punch bowl.”

“Ain’t technology grand.”

The next song started. Ariana glanced at the lighted platform. Chloe and the sister were still at it. Grinding their breasts against each other, running their hands over their own curvaceous thighs, buttocks, breasts, in searing symmetry with the other. The women feigned disgust, but Ariana thought it was just jealousy—knowing that at that moment, either of the two ladies could’ve had any of their boyfriends.

Mags’s brother approached, Rose on his arm, both of them sweaty from their own dancing. The brother bore two drinks, one of which he gave to Ariana, who was running on empty.

“Thirsty work, huh?” Rose asked, grinning shyly.

They eagerly started in on the conversation, Ariana grateful that Rose did most of the work. She was something of a party animal, and was quick to praise the hotel, the music, what everyone was wearing, how everyone was dancing. All Ariana had to do was chime in now and then and enjoy her drink.

Were the Randalls local boys? Yes, born and bred. Mags was on the swim team, his brother headed the debate club. What were Ariana and Rose up to? Ariana was next headed to a shoot for a fashion magazine, while Rose would be recording voiceovers for an upcoming cartoon.

As they talked, lined up against the far wall of the dance floor where the music wasn’t so oppressively loud, Ariana noticed she was being eyed. Every eye in the place seemed to be on the provocatively dressed celebrities and their local boy dates. Rose seemed to play to it, chatting coquettishly, sliding closer to her date. Ariana was tired of being the odd man out, though, the second fiddle, not as hot as Chloe or as charismatic as Rose. She reached out to Mags and touched his arm, emphasizing the point she’d just made in their conversation.

A moment later, Mags confidently reached out and put his arm around her, almost touching her well-displayed cleavage. Ariana leaned herself against him encouragingly, discreetly rubbing her breasts on his arm. He may have been on the swim team, but he was tall enough for basketball.

“Hey, Rose, isn’t your room up there?”

“Yeah,” Rose answered, batting some of her hair back behind her ear. “Why?”

Ariana shrugged. “Thought maybe I could get a real drink.”

“Minibar? I’m on the CW, not a network, Ari.”

“I’ll pay you back,” Ariana promised. “So how about it, Mags? One drink?”

“Sure,” Mags said. “I could go for a drink. Bro?”

His brother shook his head. “I’m good. Rose, how about another dance?”

Rose smiled widely. “Sure!”

Rose and Ariana hugged and kissed each other goodbye before parting, then Ariana led Mags out into the nearly deserted hotel proper, finding an elevator just waiting for them…

***

Up in Rose’s room, Ariana stepped out of her pumps first thing. “You mind if I get a little comfortable?” she asked.

“Go right ahead.”

Sighing with relief, Ariana went into the bathroom, wagging her finger to admonish Mags not to snoop around. He stayed by the doorway, hands in his pockets, and was still there when Ariana came back out, seeming to wear not much more than an oversized St. Mark’s sweatshirt and large horn-rim glasses. Her long bare legs pillared to the floor, pocket flaps jostling over her thighs, so she had to be wearing some kind of shorts underneath the hanging hem of the sweatshirt…

“Sorry,” she said, bare feet padding on the carpet. “I just can’t stand being all dressed up and having my contacts in and all that. I’ll put it all on again before we go back out, but for now, I just want to sit down and have a drink.”

She went to the minibar, helping herself to a bottle of Grey Goose, and jauntily swung it over to the couch. Mags followed her, undoing his bowtie, and sitting down beside her on the couch.

“I know you wanted more from this evening than just watching me drink—you can get that from TMZ…” Ariana bounded up from the couch, wincing a little as her feet came back in contact with the floor. “How about we make a game of it?”

“A drinking game?” Mags asked.

“Yeah, why not?” Going to the suite’s kitchen, she quickly returned with two shot glasses, parceling them out on the coffee table for her and Mags. Next, she poured for both of them. “Truth or drink?”

Mags shrugged. “I’m game.”

“Okay. Who’s idea was the whole prom thing?”

“Like, historically?”

“No. Inviting all of us to your prom.”

Mags considered his drink. “My brother. He really has a thing for Rose… for Ms. McIver… and he thought it was more likely this would work if it were all three of us. More of a… social media profile or whatever.”

“Alrighty. Your turn.”

“Why’d you lick those donuts?”

Ariana smirked and drank, then poured herself a new shot. “See? It’s that easy. Now, my turn. Have you ever jerked it to me?”

Mags was shocked for a moment, staring at Ariana as she playfully let her glasses slip down her nose, looking at him. Then she helpfully mimed stroking something invisibly phallic to demonstrate the concept.

Mags drank. He needed it.

“You have!” Ariana cried happily.

“Maybe I just don’t want to flatter you.” Mags poured himself another shot, embarrassing himself by sloshing a little over the side, shit. He wiped it up with the cuff of his sleeve. “Have you ever jerked it to me?”

“No. People like you, maybe.”

“People?” Mags asked.

“You know… dark meat. Is that offensive?”

Mags smiled. “Not if it’s true!”

Soon, they’d been through half the bottle. Ariana felt warm, loose, a little giggly. She normally didn’t drink this much, but she felt comfortable around Mags. The balminess of being around him, a little tipsy, was a fun feeling.

“Whose turn is it?” he asked her.

“Doesn’t matter. Bottle’s half-empty.”

“I thought it was half-full.”

“Either way!” Ariana exclaimed, grabbing the bottle and pouring for both of them again, even though their glasses were full. Mags laughed as the excess puddled on the glass. “Now we play drink or dare. And I dare you to kiss me.”

“What?” Mags asked, taken aback once again, shocked back to the stiffness of himself pre-shots.

“If you can’t kiss a girl when she’s daring you to, when can you?”

She was on the love seat, he was on the couch, the two of them flanking the coffee table. So he stood up, then she stood up, blocking him as soon as he straightened. She reached up, stretched her arms around his neck and shoulders, and pulled his head down to hers.

His wide lips touched her slender, candy-pink ones, and she felt overwhelmed by his masculinity. Her hands sweep across his face, down his chest, over his belly. His arms wrapped around her body and he stiffly lifted her up as they continued to kiss, lewdly, open-mouthed. Ariana extended her toes to keep in contact with the floor—she wiggled her legs around, trying to get a better grip and Mags shifted, loosening his grip on her, and she got her feet back under her by she slipped on a wet carpet doused by a spilled shot and fell back onto the love seat, fwumping deep between the cushions. They laughed. Ariana slowly spread her legs, letting the oversized sweater lull deep between her thighs.

“Your turn,” Ariana said.

Dazed, Mags busied himself with the bottle and the shot glasses. The vodka seemed to be hitting him all at once. “So I just dare you to do something?”

“Or I have to take a drink,” Ariana replied.

“What if I dare you to take a drink?”

“Mags!”

“Alright, alright—I dare you to… put your shoe on your head.”

“C’mon, Mags. Give me a real dare.”

“What’s a real dare?”

“You know. Something I might not want to do. Or maybe something I want to do. Whichever.”

“That’s not narrowing it down.”

Ariana stole her glass back and raised it to her lips. “I’ll drink! I swear to God, I’ll do it!”

“Okay, I dare you—to stand on your head.”

As it turned out, Ariana was wearing pants.

But not much of them.

***

“Why don’t you finger my ass?”

The bottle was three-quarters empty. Mags had taken off his jacket. Ariana had dared him to.

“What?” Mags asked.

Ariana pulled her sweatshirt up off her thighs, to her midriff, displaying the short-shorts she wore—a little brushstroke of black between her thighs and along her waist. “You know. Two in the pink, one in the stink? Just without the pink.”

“I can’t do that!” Mags protested, waving his drink around, not noticing that the vodka was sloshing out onto his fingers. “I’m just some guy! And you’re, ya know—you.”

“I’m daring you to,” Ariana insisted. “If you won’t, ya have to take another drink…”

“Can’t do that,” Mags reasoned. “Gonna have one fuck of a hangover already…”

“I just wanna know what it’s like,” Ariana continued. Now she was skimping her pants down her legs, though the sweatshirt fell in thick folds around her legs, keeping Mags from seeing anything as she stepped out of them. “I’ve always wondered how people can like it. I mean, it’s your butt. But everyone does seem to like it. I thought I’d try it myself, but I can never bear to… you know… to myself. But you can. Just one little finger? Please? Just so I know what it feels like? I dare you, Mags. I double-dog dare you.”

She took his hand, the one holding the shot glass. Pliantly, he let her slip the glass away, drop it to the carpet, then lick his hand. Her tongue probed between his fingers, sucking the spilled liquor away; then her lips sucked at his fingertips. She took his pointer finger into her mouth, wetting it with her saliva and her whipping tongue. And as she sucked—fellating his finger like it was a cock—she pirouetted around, turning so her head was twisted over her shoulder, her body facing away from him.

She bent over, drawing her mouth off his finger with a slurp, using her hands to pull her sweatshirt over the dimples of her back. Suddenly, Mags could see her ass. As pert and spry as the rest of her young body, with little markings of tanlines where a very scant thong had gone. It wasn’t plump or bootylicious, but more like some small, ripe, piquant fruit. Just looking at it had a tart taste, a sweet taste… it whetted his appetite.

He extended his hand, his spit-slick finger catching the cool of the air conditioner, and cupped the center of Ariana’s buttocks in his palm, his finger extended inward. Ariana was bent over the coffee table now, her hands locked around its edges, the bottle under her face like some glass phallus. She teasingly blew on the bottleneck as she waited…

Then she winced forward, jumping a little as she felt Mags’s finger prodding in between her buttcheeks. Ariana now knew he would go through with it, and she wasn’t quite sure how she felt about that. All of a sudden she felt obscenely naked, unprotected, her whole body the strained skin around her tiny asshole that was being pulled open. Then—

She thought it would hurt, but it didn’t. There was pressure, an intensity, but no pain. Instead, there was a sensation of muted heat… good heat… that swelled inside her.

Mags, too, had expected her to cry out in pain, been prepared to yank his finger out, but instead, Ariana quaked with excitement. Actually squeaking like a cartoon mouse or something, she began wiggling to take his finger deeper inside.

“Do you like it up the ass, Ariana?” Mags asked, wondering how he would get his finger out. Her ass seemed to actually be getting tighter.

“Oh yes!” Ariana squealed, affectionately clenching her cheeks on his hand. Despite himself, Mags enjoyed the pert, firm feel. A nice juicy grape, that’s what she was. Just needed to be plucked off the vine…

Mags moved his finger around in the tight hole, fucking it in and out, widening her more and more. He was surprised how arousing he found it to make her expand, stretch her out, turn something so tight and virginal and new into something that fit. And Ariana liked it too, wiggling her hips back against it, her nails clicking on the underside of the coffee table. Apropos of nothing, Mags forced a second finger in. Ariana winced aloud from the pain and tried to bounce further down the coffee table, mounting it so she was on her hands and knees, his hand right behind her like a slow-motion spank.

“Oh!” Ariana gasped. “You… you daring me to take two fingers?”

“Yeah. Let’s go with that.”

Ariana gasped again. Crawling forward had made her brush against the bottle of Grey Goose, its cool mouth tingling down the hollow of her throat.

Mags misinterpreted the sound. “Does it hurt?”

“No, it feels good!” Ariana responded.

As naughty and taboo as the idea had seemed to her before she’d done it, it seemed even dirtier now that it was actually happening. The minute he’d put his finger in her ass, she’d felt misty between the thighs, the sleek liquid layer of a spray of perfume…

She affected a profoundly innocent voice, reminiscent of her character on Victorious. “Do men really put their cocks up there?”

Something about the question made Mags’s balls feel like they were full of molten lead. “Sometimes,” he said softly, “when the girl likes it. Would you like it, Ariana?”

“I think so,” Ariana teased haltingly. “I have a lot to learn—you’ll teach me, right? Teach me how to take it up the ass…”

“Oh yeah, baby girl. Here’s lesson one!”

Mags lowered himself to her kneeling body, putting his other hand on her shoulder and pinning her down. Ariana could feel that he was warming to the task, and a spike of adrenaline ran through her as she realized she was completely at his mercy. His fingers began to work inside her violently clenched asshole.

Her mouth fell open, uncapping excited groans, as she writhed on this obscene invasion of her virgin ass. A strangely appealing subjugation was upon her. She could feel him looming over her, deliberately stretching her. She could feel herself getting ready to take him, in her ass, her cunt, her mouth—it didn’t matter.

She liked it so much, so much, more than anything.

Then suddenly, she was ready. Ready!

“What’s this?” Mags asked, taking his free hand off her shoulder. He swiped it on the inside of her thigh, an Ariana felt a wetness streak her skin. “Funny. You don’t seem to be sweating that much anywhere else…”

“Dare me!” Ariana gasped. “Dare me to… to do anything!”

“I dare you to suck my balls,” Mags said. “This seems to be the day for things that barely fit…”

Ariana was already in agreement. “You’ll have to take your cock out for that. I can’t suck your balls if I don’t see your cock!”

“Sounds reasonable.”

Her sensual excitement was clear to him; he couldn’t undress quickly enough to suit the wild desire her mockingly innocent voice had brought up in him. As he stripped, his eyes swept over the sweatshirt that covered her body. He could see now that she had nothing on underneath it. The stiff stones of her nipples showed clearly through the material, and he sucked in a deep breath at the sight of them. She, too, stared at his muscular flesh, tanned the color of heartwood, as he ripped at his shirt, pulling it away. Finally, fingers shaking and bare to the waist, he took hold of his zipper and jerked it down. Ariana was gasping for breath, her eyes tightly focused, as she waited impatiently for him. She closed her eyes, then opened him.

He was holding his throbbing hunk of flesh in his right hand. It was even bigger than she’d expected and the sight shook her. His balls dangled below it like the knuckles of some massive, tightly clenched fist, just as threatening and as powerful.

“Holy shit!” Ariana cried jubilantly, her hands flying to the sides of her face. “How can that be real?”

“It’s real, girl… and it’s all yours.”

Mags sat down on the loveseat. He wiped off the fingers that had sodomized Ariana on the cushion, making her laugh. Then he crooked the fingers at her. Adjusting her glasses, Ariana approached him, falling to her knees once she was past the coffee table and shuffling between his open knees. She used a finger to maneuver the hefty, half-hard length of his cock out of the way, then ducked her head to his balls.

They dwarfed her thin lips, the contours of them parting her lips the second the two came into contact. Puckering her lips, she peppered the orbs with butterfly light kisses, listening to Mags moan softly as she picked and plucked at his balls with her sucking lips. Then she opened her mouth wide and lolled her tongue out, using it on the underside of his balls.

Mags raised his ass from the loveseat and made a sound deep in his throat, groaning and strangled. Mags opened her mouth further and sucked his balls between her lips, their corners straining to get both testicles inside. But they flopped down into their gullet and suddenly Ariana’s mouth was full, stuffed with meat that was churning and thrumming, white-hot cum just inside the salty skin. She petted them with her tongue, Mags writhing above her, and his cock slipped from her restraining finger and flopped down onto her face.

It was hardening, she could feel it, blood rushing in to make it stiffer and harder. It already covered her face, the root at her nose, the head past her scalp, and the way it was growing, she thought it might project out further than her ponytail. She loved it, and she loved the spongy balls in her mouth, she loved sucking on them as she grasped his shaft firmly and petted it with just her fingertips.

“I dare you to let me eat your pussy,” Mags said, and Ariana could barely hear him, the blood pounding in her ears. She looked up at him for confirmation. “Let me eat your pussy.”

She nodded as best she could with his balls stuffed in her mouth.

He took her by the ponytail, easing her off his balls until she had to relinquish them with a lip-smacking “mwah!” Then he simply picked her up, her small body weightless in his hands, and turned her upside-down over his crotch. Ariana whooped as she was lowered back down to his cock, sixty-nining him in mid-air.

“Ohhh, Maaaaags! Do it to my cunt, Mags!” she begged. “Uhn! Do it to me right now!”

Mags pushed his head between her soft thighs, shoving her sweatshirt out of the way so it fell down all the way to her shoulders, hanging like a cape just past her breasts. She was exposed, blatantly nude, but none of that mattered now. She couldn’t even care about it as his tongue explored her crevice, making her clench her ass hard, vulva swollen tight with blood. Every lick, every caress made her gasp for air.

Ariana reciprocated. Grabbed his shaft with both hands, made a soft circle of her lips, then pushed them down over his cockhead and took him as deep into her throat as she could. He was nursing softly at the tautness of her engorged clit, teasing her, and she was letting her tongue go wild up and down her shaft. She knew that if she worked too hungrily at his bulging glans, he would cum in her mouth before she did. And she wanted to cum. She wanted it more than anything.

He was obliging her, giving her clit a great work-out. His tongue was extended, sandpapering over the little hood that usually covered her sensitive nubbin, his lips pulling the tiny bead out, his tongue then lapping it roughly, breaking the tension with an explosion of sensation, then he would let it retreat back into its hood and lick at that, filling her with the buzzing electricity of a high-tension wire.

Ariana ground her hips around, bathing his face with her flowing juices as she suckled furiously at his cock. Her belly heaved against his chest, her breasts dragging heavily across his belly, nipples excited by the forest of curling black hair that rubbed against them. She wanted more than his tongue on her clit. She wanted, needed to be bitten.

And somehow he sensed her need, his tongue parting her, his lips drawing her out, then his teeth, fuck, his teeth—Ariana babbled madly, pumping her ass up and down, her pussy forced down even harder against Mags’ open mouth, his teeth grinding into her satin folds. She had it! She had it!

“Mmmm!” Mags gasped, wallowing his face in her open pussy. “Dare you to get me off,” he whispered, cooing into her sex like it was a microphone. “Dare you to make me come with just those hands and that mouth…”

Her mouth was around his tip, her tongue frantically worshipping the swollen flesh. His cockhead bulged hotly against the roof of her mouth and she bit at it, grating her teeth down his shaft, letting the glans pop past her tonsils. She gagged, her throat closing just behind the flared collar, and then she pulled back for air.

“Ohh, it’s gonna explode!” she moaned, feeling the tension of his cock as it left her mouth. With both hands she pumped on him, needing either one just to begin to cover his manhood.

Mags groaned, lapping at her clit as it burst forth to meet his tongue. A tiny spurt of cream jetted from her pussy. He didn’t care, just liked the taste.

Ariana rutted her small hands over Mags’s cock, wildly, too wildly—her fists butted against each other, Ariana laughing at her own lack of coordination as she kept bucking and tugging and jerking as best she could. He felt resoundingly stiff between her fingers, a blood-gorged pulse booming like bass notes against her palms.

She took up a new strategy, holding a portion of his cock tight with one hand while the other skimmed over the remaining length. The combination of pressure and motion made a dollop of precum emerged from his tip. Ariana had never been so excited; suddenly she was coming, coming hard!

“Ohhh baby!” she gasped, dropping her head to his lap as her climax quaked through her, seeming to pull her whole body to one stellar point, then bursting it loose, knots untied, kinks undone, her whole body boneless and limp. She rolled off him, leaving Mags with a raging hard-on that seemed to dwarf her entire body.

“You couldn’t get me off,” Mags said, rising up off the loveseat. “Means you have to drink.”

Weak, shuddering, her hand slick with precum, Ariana reached out, took the bottle, and finished it off with one long pull. She dropped it and it bounced off the edge of the table with a clink before rolling on the carpet.

“Truth,” Ariana said, loose strands of alcohol running from the corners of her mouth.

“Do you like getting cock-slapped?”

Ariana looked up at him. Even if she hadn’t been lying down, he would’ve towered over her. “I love getting cock-slapped.”

He took hold of her ponytail in one hand, his cock in the other. Then a blur of motion and she felt the light, playful impact—playful, but still resoundingly hard, a fleshy slap of wet, firm flesh, the liquid heat of her own saliva landing on her cheek. He did her other cheek, the impact leaving a stinging sensation that made Ariana clench. That was his cock. He was slapping her with nothing more than his big black cock.

Another slap, another, another, impressing on Ariana the weight of his cock, its heft and its massive engorgement. She knew the feel of it now, how solid it was in a way the mere, overwhelming sight of it couldn’t help her comprehend. It was real. All of it, every inch of it, a solid physical force. She didn’t know how that power, that potency, could be inside her body, how it could fit, what the hardness would feel like in her most sensitive space.

But she needed to find out.

“Now what game do we play?” she asked.

He took a step back, and the impact of his footfall made the fallen bottle roll a little more, clinking against the leg of the coffee table like it was making a toast.

***

Mags got on his knees behind Ariana, bent over the coffee table like a discarded toy. She wiggled her ass at him, spreading her labia apart with her fingers. Mags put the head of his cock at her sex, gripped Ariana’s left buttocks in a sort of warning, then gave a little lunge. His cockhead and the first few inches behind it disappeared, Ariana grunting a warm approval.

“Ram your cock deeper!” Ariana gurgled. “Mmmm… give me every inch! Deep in my cunt! Fill my little pussy with big dick! Fuck me, Mags, haaaaard!”

Mags strained to push his throbbing prick still deeper into her, his eyes shut tight, his expression intent. Grunting loudly, he pounded himself into the squirming girl’s cunt with one shuddering thrust after another. Finally, he felt her ass against his belly. He looked down at his wet cock as he pulled it out, dripping and shimmering wetly, then felt her hand on his balls as he fucked back in again.

The full length of his manhood slid in and out of her slippery pussy. His hands squeezed the cheeks of her pert ass, yanking her hips up every time he pounded into her. Soon, he didn’t have to use his hands. Ariana pushed backwards and they fell into a rhythm, meeting each other with every stroke, Ariana desperate to feel the root of his cock inside her over and over again.

It wasn’t long before her tanned body was so slippery that Mags could hardly hold onto her, their bodies clumsily meeting mainly due to her wriggling thrusts back, grinding her ass into his lap. She pumped with a frenzied, squirming need, using her hand to spread herself as wide as possible, taking his cock straight up her hot cunt.

“Faster! Faster! Faster!” Ariana panted, seeming to speak in tune with the wet sucks her pussy made at his member. “Shove that prick deep! Fuck me silly! Uhhh! Feels so good going in and out, having you fuck me so goddamn hard! Mmmm! Uuuuh! You’re fucking me to death! Oh God! God!”

Mags leaned forward, resting his weight on her body, mounting her ass. Her upper body was protruding over the edge of the coffee table, so he reached down to fondle her tits, enjoying how they shook and quivered in his hands with every drive of his hammering cock.

Ariana could barely breathe for how she was panting, but not even that could stop her aroused babble. She was pinned down by his bulk, only able to kick her heels and slap her hands on the ground in frenzied excitement. “Give me your big cock! All the way up my pussy, don’t hold back! I want you to come inside me! Let me feel your hot cum in my snatch! Fuck the shit out of me! Come in me! Harder! Fuck me as hard as you can!”

With a roar, Mags grabbed Ariana, wrapping his arms around her waist, then he reared back, picking her up, holding her light body in the air. Then, with her embraced in this reverse cowgirl position, he rammed himself up into her as hard as he could, making her bounce like she was on a bucking bronco. Ariana actually screamed, hitting a high note as she took his cock deep inside her, her painfully aroused cunt squeezing his pistoning manhood hard.

“Take it, take it!” Mags grunted as he continued to slam up into Ariana, as if he were trying to throw her clear of his powerful thrusts. “Goddamn, you’re fucking tight!”

She felt her orgasm rising and frantically rubbed at her clit, now powerfully erect. “Fuuuuuck me!” her panting voice urged, and he strained and sweated and pounded her, lifting her almost all the way off his own cock with each thrust.

“Coming again! Coming again!” Ariana gasped happily, reaching behind her head, wrapping her arms around the back of his neck, hanging off him and spreading her legs to offer him all he wanted of her wide-open pussy.

Mags reached down and smacked her boldly erect clit as if it were a disobedient pet, the light slaps finishing Ariana off. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she squirted, squealing, working her pelvis in tight circles as her orgasm washed over her. Her sweatshirt—miraculously still on by the unspoken agreement that it added to the smuttiness of the whole encounter—fell in front of her crotch and was soaked by her own gulping ejaculations.

Her convulsing cunt massaged Mags’s prick, heating it to the point of explosion. The pent-up cum of her failed blowjob bubbled in his balls, then flew down his shaft. He bucked wildly, hard enough for Ariana to slip from their mutual grip and fall forward, onto the couch, arranged on Mags like a wheelbarrow as he growled and made one final thrust that filled her sex with stream after stream of his seed.

Ariana slipped off him and he collapsed, bracing himself on the couch for support right beside her. Both of them gasped for breath, her juices dripping from his cock, his cum running down her thighs.

“Came!” Ariana exclaimed, too wearied and weakened to even try to make sense, and with what little energy she had left, she pulled her hairband out so that her sweaty hair fell all across her face. Then she slipped off the couch and down to the floor, the better for her sex to yawn open and drool cum out onto the carpet.

Neither of them had noticed that Rose was in the room.