Hostel

CW: NON/DUBIOUS CONSENT

It’s late. After a long day of traveling mishaps, it should not come as a surprise that the hostel you booked no longer has any private rooms available. You are too tired to complain much, and your German isn’t up to the task anyway. Instead, you accept a spot in one of the many mixed company rooms.

It is dark already as you enter the room, but you dimly perceive a long room lined with bunk beds in the gloomy half-light. The soft sounds of sleep, little murmurs, light snoring, dreamy mumbling, and the hush of sonorous breaths reach you at the entrance. The place reminds you of Jane Eyre, of boarding schools, as you stumble and fumble through the darkness, groping blindly for your bunk. You’re happy to see that you’re on the bottom bunk.

You undress quickly, too lazy to change into sleep clothes, clad lazily in naught but underpants and a t-shirt that is ratty to the point of threadbare. Before long you are under the covers, your breath evening out, your body going limp and languid with impending sleep, heading swiftly down the black river to swirling unconsciousness. Caught as you are between sleeping and waking, you are only dimly aware of the groan of your bunk and the warmth of another body suddenly beside yours. There is a gruff voice in your ear, there are rough hands on you. You are enveloped in the strange man’s heat from behind, and his hard cock presses insistently against your backside. Your German isn’t very good, but it doesn’t have to be to read the intention behind the words.

The stranger plays with your nipples, flicks them, pinches them, rubs them, strokes them through the thin cotton of your shirt. He bites and licks and sucks at your neck as his hands wander. Still partially submerged in the current of sleep, you are powerless to stop the helpless whimper that crosses your lips, and his hand is suddenly rough across your mouth, silencing you. “Do you want everyone to hear, slut?” he murmurs into your ear. He speaks English with a thick accent. “American, aren’t you?” he says, with something like naked admiration in his tone. “Easy whore.” He grips your hipbone, then slides his hand around your butt, cupping the flesh there. He gives it a little slap, quietly, then his hand moves to palm the wet patch between your legs. “Getting wet for it already, greedy little whore.” His hand muffles your moan. “Oh you like that, do you?” He presses hard into your underwear. “What a good little slag you are.”

He presses two curled fingers into your mouth and you suck greedily, eyes still closed, utterly ruled by your baser impulses. “Good girl,” he says, slipping them out. He pushes your underwear hastily to the side and curls two fingers inside you, chuckling low in your ear. “So wet already.” With his other hand, he pulls the underwear down and off. He spreads the slickness from your cunt to your clit and begins to flick there. You make a strangled noise of pleasure and he tuts. “Everyone is going to hear what a stupid dirty slut you are.” He increases his pace on your clit, slipping his other hand between your legs. “They are probably all jerking off to the sound of you.” The finger on your clit is nearing the crest where pleasure becomes pain. “You like giving them a show, don’t you, fucking slag. They want to hear you come. Come for them.” You are powerless to stop the high moans issuing forth in a stream. Your back arches, tightening like a string about to snap, and you shudder as climax rips through you.

Before you recover your sense of place and time, the stranger shoves his cock inside you, fucking you hard with a wet slapping sound. You unconsciously push back onto him, outside of yourself with pleasure. His fingers are hard on your hips, holding you firmly in place, gripping hard enough to leave marks, no doubt. There is nothing you can do to stop the noises coming out of you on every thrust. “Fucking whore,” he growls in your ear. “You like it, being fucked with a roomful of strangers listening. Probably wouldn’t mind being fucked by each of them one by one.” You can’t stop the throaty moans, although they are loud in the hushed stillness of listening in the room. “You like being used, don’t you, little slag. You’d love to be the communal cum-bucket.” You are sobbing ‘yes’ brokenly every time he pounds into you, eyes screwed shut, hands clenching your blankets. With that, he buries himself deep inside you and comes with a swear in German. You are warm and sticky and sweaty. He climbs out of your bed and is gone with nary a backward glance, leaving you with his cum trickling out between your legs, your blankets twisted and smelling of sex, your t-shirt rucked up, your underwear nowhere to be found. You fall back asleep, unable to help yourself.

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