You pass a billboard that advertises a motor lodge on the next exit. You look at one another and shrug. By now it's 1:30 -- you're all exhausted.
Bleary-eyed, the three of you stumble into the lobby of Comfy King Motor Lodge, which advertises a nightly as well as an hourly rate. More importantly, the sign outside says No ID's are required.
It's not the cleanest place you've ever seen: a roach skitters by on the grimy tile floor as you step inside. An unbelievably rotund specimen of a man sits at the faux wood check-in counter.
"Wait," you say. "You guys have any money?"
"No," Cerise says. "Don't you?"
"God, you're so useless," you cry. "If you're going to whore yourself out, the least you can do is keep a little pocket change around."
"Get bent. I didn't expect to have to shell out for a motel room when we left. And what kind of guy walks around without a wallet?"
"Will you two assholes cram it?" Whitney says. She pulls a velcro wallet from her back pocket. "I've got a little cash..." she counts it and then looks sheepishly up at you. "Uh, I guess two of us are gonna have to share a room."
[ ] I'll bunk with Whitney.
[ ] I'll bunk with Cerise.
[ ] I want to sleep alone because I'm literally that fucking retarded.
[X] TIE VOTE
"Why waste the money?" Cerise asks before you can decide. "We can all three sleep in the same room." She calls out to the fat man at the counter. "Hey, lardo! You got any triples open?"
"Singles only," the fat man grunts, scratching his stomach.
"We'll figure it out, I guess," Whitney says.
Unit J01 is a corner room at the back of complex. As you approach, you can hear dogs barking on the distance. Hundreds of moths flutter in the lights hanging on the stucco walls outside. The interior isn't any more promising: a single twin bed with a busted coin-operated vibration mode, and a busted TV. The paneling is yellowed with age. You could just about touch opposing walls with your arms spread out.
At your request, the fatass bellhop gave you two extra comforters and some extra pillows, but there's still the question to settle of who gets the bed.
"Not me," Whitney yawns, stretching her back luxuriously. "I don't want scabies. You two clowns can fight over it."
Rock-paper-scissors is always a joke when you play with Cerise. No matter how many times you throw, you always tie. You play rock, she plays rock. You play paper, she plays paper. It's like some kind of eerie telepathy. Tonight is no different.
After a few minutes of this, Whitney groans in protest. "Shut up already. Hanging out with you guys is such a drag. Ally, just give your sister the bed you assmunch. What about chivalry, huh?"
Cerise crawls into the bed before you can agree to this, rubbing her temples. "I need a drink..." she grumbles to no one.
"This is shit," you complain. "Why do you always take Cerise's side? You hardly even know her."
Cerise has already kicked off her shoes and is underneath the covers, halfway to sleep. "Here," Whitney says in conciliatory tone, fluffing her pillow and sliding it a little to the side. "We can share beddings. It'll be more comfortable that way."
You look down at her lying on the floor and see a glint in her eyes you're not used to seeing. The remembrance of what happened in the locker room two days ago plays through your mind's eye.
"Come o-o-on, Ally~" she mews, patting the ground. Slowly, you put your blanket down next to her.
It's hard to sleep with Whitney cuddled up beside you, you soon find. You didn't ask her to do this -- you figured you'd keep to your own sides -- but as soon as you lied down, she turned over and wrapped her arms around you, complaining that she was chilly. Her breaths are slow and measured against your chest, and you can feel the warmth of them even through your cotton tee. You try to doze but every time you open your eyes, she's just staring up at you in the dark.
"Jesus, that's creepy," you finally say, just to break the silence. "What are you looking at?"
Whitney's legs wrapped around yours squirm a little. Her well toned calf muscles tense against yours, giving you a weird sensation of supple firmness. "I dunno," she says. "I'm just excited. We're on an adventure."
"Don't be stupid," you manage, sounding really stupid. Whitney gives you a playful slug on the hip.
"You were cute in those spats," Whitney says, her voice suddenly silken. You feel a jolt of adrenaline. "They fit you. I mean, they didn't fit you-- that's what made them fit."
You feel yourself flush and hope she can't see it in the dark. Trying to keep your voice from shaking, you say: "I don't get it. I thought you were a dyke."
Whitney laughs, burying her face in your chest so the sound is muffled. The vibration of it tickles you and makes you writhe around, but not uncomfortably. When the laughter subsides, Whitney looks up, her eyes two bright orbs in the dark. "It's complicated."
You mull that over for a few moments. Whitney goes still in your arms, but then she wiggles herself up onto her elbows in order to see you better.
"You know," she says, "I thought all that time training on your video games taught you how to handle a situation like this a little bit better."
"What?"
"You're a fucking stupid jerk is what," she says, and kisses you wetly. You don't know how to respond: your tongue lies dead in your mouth while hers probes and prods hungrily. She pulls back, a thin strand of saliva joining you.
"You suck at this," she says. "I'm going to have to teach you everything, huh?"
"What about my sister?" you say, dazed.
"Who gives a clumpy fuck?" Whitney hisses.
A red heat rises from your core and you grab Whitney by the shoulders, flipping her over so you're on top.
"Oooh, scary~" Whitney hums, her wrists pinned.
"You want me to fuck you?"
"No, I want you to paint me green."
You reach under the covers and pull her shorts partway down. She isn't wearing panties. You look back at her with disbelief, and in that moment Whitney must sense an advantage: she latches onto your mouth again, drawing you into another kiss. This time you move your tongue, but you keep bumping it against her teeth. You squeeze her face with both hands and redouble your efforts as if more force will make you better.
Her hands now free, Whitney reaches down and unzips your pants. When she pulls you already rock-hard out of your boxers, her back arches and she moans -- involuntarily? -- directly into your mouth. The hum travels down your throat like a ripple. You feel Whitney's feet kicking frantically as she snakes her way out of her shorts just far enough to permit entry.
You wag your hips a little, trying to find your way. Pulling back from her wanton mouth, you groan: "am I in?"
"No. Christ." She runs her hands through your hair with frustrated anxiousness.
"Now?"
Whitney sighs and wraps her legs around your waist, pulling you around in a split-second reversal of position. Now you're the one who's pinned.
"You're hopeless," she moans. She pulls off her shirt, grabs your hands, and guides them to her tits. The heat of them alone makes you shiver. Her nipples are already pert and prominent.
Reaching between you, Whitney grabs your cock and guides it home. She lowers herself into a kind of reverse missionary position and slides back onto you. You grit your teeth at the sudden sensation.
"NOW you're in," she coos. She grinds her pubis against your own, her deepest parts contracting and relaxing in a rhythm that feels like being milked.
"Is this your first time?" She asks tenderly. You don't reply. She stops moving; the milking motions stop. "Is this your first time?" she demands, voice low, not so tender now.
"Y-yes," you groan. "God. Yes."
She kisses you again. Her tongue is practically raping your mouth and you have no way to counter. She starts humping at a frantic pace, her lower half moving parallel with your bodies to maintain this topsy-turvy missionary position.
"Perfect," she whispers in your ear. "I knew you were a virgin. Tell me, is it better than your hand?"
"What? Of course it is--" you stop, hearing noise further back in the room. "Whitney," you whisper.
"Fuck me!" Whitney pleads. "Come on, move your fucking hips, you little pervert!"
"Whitney, my sister--"
There's definitely some kind of movement in the shadows by Cerise's bed now. You hear the soft squeal of bedsprings. Whether Whitney doesn't notice or just doesn't care, you can't tell.
"You can cum inside, Ally~" she says, and licks your chest. "Pour it all inside me, okay? As much as you can!"
There's a loud hiss from the bed like someone gasping through their teeth. The squeaking springs, soft at first, are now louder than the slapping noises of your copulation. There's no way Whitney can't hear it.
"Jesus," you say, sweating, mauling Whitney's tiny breasts with both hands, feeling the inevitable about to happen. "Are you safe? Is this safe?" you plead, suddenly growing panicked.
"Not at all!" Whitney cries, like she just won the lottery. "It's completely, 100% not safe!"
The squeaking from the bed gets louder, if such a thing is possible. You try to send the emergency signal to your arms to push Whitney off of you before it happens, but your body is no longer your own. Your hips move to meet Whitney's thrusts without your conscious effort.
"Whitney, really-- I'm gonna-- I can't hold--"
"Do it! Do it! I don't care!"
With a wet, far-off sounding splash and a guttural moan, you let go, and paint Whitney's womb with your cum. Whitney howls and collapses against you -- and there's another voice in the room howling now, too.
GIRLS FUCKED: 1/6