Part 1: Anal | Threesome | Creampie

Part 1: Punished By Their Big Cocks In My Tight Virgin Ass

Part 1:

Me and some friends of mine had taken to hanging out in Greg’s workshop late at night. It was near the center of town and easy to get to, with a little bit of adventurous climbing involved to get inside through the top window.

He was this older guy I lived with because the rent was cheap, but he could be pretty strict and stern around the house sometimes. His workshop was his pride and joy and going there felt kind of rebellious.

We’d been doing it for years and never got caught, but tonight was different. At nineteen I had started to socialize with the kind of people Greg had always warned me about. It all came back to bite me magnificently.

“Hey, let’s light a fire,” Craig said after a few rounds of spin-the-bottle. I’d only met him that night and honestly I was kind of in to him.

“That’s stupid,” Chelsea scoffed. “We’d light the place up!”

“It’s a concrete floor,” Craig said, rapping it with his knuckles. “What can go wrong?”

His friend Brad started to crumple an old newspaper and throw it in Craig’s direction. Craig began bundling it together and threw in some little sticks of wood and plastic wrappers for good measure.

“Be careful!” I warned, immediately scalding myself internally for being such a killjoy.

“It’s fine, Kim,” Craig said. “Here, you do it.”

He handed me his lighter and sat back in wait.

“Kim, don’t listen to these guys,” Chelsea said. I never thought she’d wind up being the voice of reason.

“I dare you!” Craig teased, giving me a playful nudge that made me giggle.

“Okay,” I said, excited by it all. “But we have to put it out straight away.”

“Sure,” Craig said dismissively.

“Kim I — ” Chelsea started, but I’d already clicked the top of the lighter.

The flame erupted and lit an outstretched tendril of some shredded paper, catching fire immediately. The thing must have had some gas on it or something, because it quickly burst into a flaming ball on the ground.

“Shit!” Craig laughed, looking down on it.

“Fuck,” I marveled. “It’s really going!”

“It’s fine,” Craig said now. “See! Concrete floor.”

We watched as the ball of fire burned there in the middle of the shop, the four of us staring at it like it was some kind of crystal ball.

“Okay, that’s enough,” I said. “Stomp it out.”

“A little longer,” Craig said.

“Stamp it out!” I cried.

Craig sighed and then lifted his boot, bringing it down again and again at the centre of the fire. The bundle of flames broke apart, scattering as the embers crashed outwards.

He stamped again and again and I watched as one bit of burning paper danced to the side of the room and settled on damp rag.

Craig held out his arms and shrugged. “See, I told you nothing would go — ”

“Fire!” Chelsea shouted, pointing over at the fast-combusting bundle of fabric on the workbench.

“Shit,” Craig said, running over to it. He slapped it and then cursed to the heavens, shaking his hand wildly and holding it to his chest. “Brad, do something.”

Brad picked up a bigger cloth and ran over, tossing it over the top of the flames in a panic. The thing lit up instantly, doubling the size of the fire along with our problems. Each of us flailed around in a panic, frozen in fear as the fire started to get away from us.

“Do something!” I cried.

Craig was wrestling with the door now, trying to open it as the fire blocked our exit through the high window.

“It won’t open!” he cried, and every passing second the fire grew a bigger.

I was catatonic with fear and mesmerized by the growing flames. I watched as the smoke wisped skywards and the screams and panic of my friends started to fade out as I daydreamed. It meandered upwards and I followed the trail, all the way to the blinking red light that sat on a box on the ceiling.

Just then there was a click, followed by the sound of a blaring alarm and then — like manna from heaven — a fierce shower of water from the sprinkler system above us.

I breathed a sigh of relief as the water washed over all of us, suffocating the fire below until it was just a mass of black, charred wood.

Chelsea had her back against the wall, damn-near hyperventilating. Craig was wide-eyed with shock and Brad was slowly making his way towards the fire, moving some of the kindling aside to let the water get on it.

“I told you!” Chelsea screamed afterwards, taking a run at Craig and hitting him hard.

“Hey! It’s fine,” he protested. “We’re fine, aren’t we?”

“Greg’s workshop’s pretty fucked,” I said slowly, looking around the wet room.

Just then the sprinklers cut-off and behind them the sound of a wailing siren could be heard, getting louder and louder.

“Shit!” Craig cried, and before I could even fathom what was happening he had launched himself up on the table and he was scrambling through the open window.

“Sorry, Kim,” Brad said, following his friend.

“I can’t get in trouble again,” Chelsea said, shaking out her hands in panic.

I sighed at the inevitability of it all. “Just go.”

“I’m sorry, Kim,” she said, and it felt genuine.

“I know. Just go. I’ll deal with this.”

I stood there dripping as Chelsea clambered up out of the window and into the night. The sirens grew louder and soon the room was illuminated in flashing colors.

I made my way onto the burnt table and kicked a leg through the window, jumping down into the street and shielding my face from the bright light.

“Is there a fire in there, ma’am?” one of the firefighters asked, far nicer than he should have.

“There was,” I said, walking over towards them and hugging my body.

“We have to make sure it’s out,” another cried, and before long two more men were at the door, each of them holding one side of a heavy battering ram.

They crashed it against the lock and the door burst open, then in went another man with a hose, dousing Greg’s equipment to make sure the fire couldn’t start back up.

My mind whirred as I stood there while the men did their job, clearing out the building. Just then the cops turned up and, more worryingly, Greg’s truck pulled up beside them and out stepped him and his friend Richie.

“What the hell?” he said, as the officer approached me.

“Do you have any idea how this started, ma’am?” the police-officer asked sternly.

Greg and Richie looked at the building with their hands on their hips, ignoring me for now. I watched over the shoulder of the officer as they walked into the building and took a look inside.

“Ma’am,” he said again, raising his voice.

“I’m — uhh — sorry, I — ”

“Kim, you’d better start explaining what the fuck happened here,” Greg said, walking briskly over.

“Do you know this man?” the officer asked.

“Yes. He’s — ”

“She’s my tenant,” Greg interjected. “And this is my workshop.”

There was a silence as Greg stared at me, his chest rising and falling as he took in several deep breaths.

“Do you need my assistance, sir?” the officer asked, sensing it might be best to stay out of it.

“We’ve got it from here,” Greg said. “Have a good night officer…”

Continued In Part 2