Rubber Game

"I promised you you'd be fucking," Sally giggled.

The girls on the couch broke off and sat up. The professor and his girl came over and sat next to them. Everyone wanted to see Tom get fucked. Dwayne made a show of it. He worked his way in slowly, bit by bit, and it felt better. He worked his way in to the point where he was far as he could go, the tip of his prick was bumping up against the end of Tom's rectum. He stayed that way for a while, bump, bump, bump, almost like he was scratching an itch Tom had never known he had. Tom felt the base of his balls glowing, behind that, a tingling. He was starting to come from behind. At each bump, there was a little spurt of fluid out of his prick. It still wasn't erect, but it felt like it was coming, over and over. Then Dwayne pushed a little harder, and slid on through into Tom's bowels. That second penetration was even more exciting than the first. Tom shifted, he opened himself as much as possible, he strained to make it even deeper. It kept getting better and better, until finally he felt bone against his bones, hard belly against his back. There was a little gasp from the onlookers. No flesh against him, cold air sucked in unto his sweaty back, the prick sliding back out of him, then all the way back in, with a little slap of flesh on flesh as their bodies collided. Again, and again, and Tom wanted more. "Harder," he gasped, "faster." And Dwayne did that, he pounded for a couple of minutes, until he gave one last plunge, one last sigh, and just lay down on top of Tom. He was too heavy, but the weight felt good.

"Excellent!" Dwayne sat up to find the last of the beer.

Sally was still lying on her back. Her thighs and his face were smeared with his saliva and her desire. He crawled up on top of her and kissed her, smothering her in the taste of her cunt. Her tongue darted eagerly into his mouth, his own tongue was tingling as she ravaged it. Somehow, after all the beer, all the fucking, he was getting hard. She was so drunk, so slippery, so wide open from his tongue, that he slipped right into her. It took him a moment to realize what had happened. Shit! He was fucking her after all! By the time he remembered about the rubber, it was too late.

What did it feel like? It hardly felt like anything, she was so wet, he was so drunk. He was just floundering away inside of her. Then she kissed him again, and at the same time something happened at the other end. She was clamping around him. He had to fight to free himself. He had to push his way back into her. He knew what it felt like to have a prick inside, he knew what it felt like to have your flesh glowing at each thrust, and he thought about that, he thought about how each time he touched the top of her cunt it was setting off a little explosion. She was starting to gasp now, starting to shudder. He was riding a wave of sensation, he felt like he was coming, but it was going on forever, he was ejaculating even though there was nothing left of ejaculate. He didn't know how to stop, he didn't know how to keep on going, and she was moaning. He didn't know if he was hurting her or if she really liked it, and he didn't care, one way or the other. She dug her nails into his back, and he realized that he hadn't been coming at all, that this was the real thing, and he pushed even deeper into her, so deep he hit something rough and she yelped in pain. It was over. He was, so to speak, totally fucked.

A waitress had come upstairs to clean up. She'd been watching for a little while, but then one of the guards had come up to see if she was okay. They had both been standing there, at the top of the steps, for a few minutes now. The guard cleared his throat. "Sorry folks. Party's over." Everything in the building was dark. They were closing for the night.

The dancers rearranged their clothing. The waitress had a big tray, not big enough. It took her a couple of trips to retrieve all the pitchers, all the empty pizza boxes, dirty napkins, dirty ashtrays, used rubbers ... the rubber! What had happened to it! The tables were empty. The waitress had gone downstairs with the last of the debris.

"Shit!"

"What's the matter Tom?"

"Lost something." Tom stared at Dwayne. The loincloth shifted a little. He wasn't wearing the rubber. Had he gone to pee? Had he flushed it down the toilet? No. One of the girls had been giving him a blowjob, while they were all watching Tom and Sally. He must have taken the rubber off before that. But it was gone now.

"What's the matter?" Sally could see his agitation.

"Lost something."

"I lost something too." She gave him a little kiss, but he broke away. He wasn't feeling romantic at the moment. He wasn't feeling anything except, oh God, he needed to pee. It had just snuck up on him, but now he was rushing to the bathroom. No pants, no underwear, he was sure he was leaving little dribbles on the rug. The door was locked! They had cleaned the upstairs bathrooms and closed them for the night! Where were the ones downstairs? Around the corner, there it was, the door was propped open, there was a cone blocking the way, but he didn't care. A cleaning woman gave him dirty look.

"Sorry." He started to gush into the urinal, and she began to laugh. It seemed like she was laughing for a long time. It took forever to empty his bladder. Outside on her cart was a bag of rubbish, probably from the upstairs bathroom. He gave it a quick glance, he even opened the top, but no sign of the rubber.

"What are you doing?" The cleaning woman had finished.

"I lost something."

"Lost something? What did you lose?"

He hadn't looked at the cleaning lady before, he'd just brushed past her. A little non person, probably Hispanic or Vietnamese, part of the underclass that dealt with the mess the students made. But now he realized she was young, very pretty, her English not broken at all. Was she a student, doing a scholarship job? It was, he realized, the same waitress who had been cleaning up upstairs. The one who had been watching him. She was staring at him now with a mixture of amusement and frank admiration.

"A ring," he lied, "I lost a ring."

"A ring? Oh dear! That's awful! I haven't emptied the vacuum yet. We can go through the bag. Where did you think you lost it? It's not, like, stuck somewhere?"

Her concern was so sincere he couldn't keep up his lie. "It's not a ring. It's a rubber."

"A rubber? You weren't wearing a rubber." She blurted it out, then covered her mouth in embarrassment.

"Never mind."

"I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have ... my name's Theresa." She offered him a hand, then realized she was wearing rubber gloves.

"Tom." He took the rubber glove. She really was very pretty. "You work here?"

"Three nights a week. You know where to find me."

She gave him a smile of such frank invitation that he felt his skirt lifting up again. But Sally was tugging on his shoulder. "Come on, it's only twenty minutes until the last bus. Unless you want to ride home in that dress." Staying the night did not seem to be an option.

He gave a longing glance at the trays of debris still piled on a table in the main room. One of those glasses, one of the ash trays, might be the resting place of that precious rubber. But she pulled him out into the dark. She was really in a hurry. She started to run back towards the dorm. The stupid skirt was too tight, it was dark, no one was out walking at the hour. He just pulled the stupid thing up around his waist and ran along with her, bare assed, dick and balls bobbing in the cool night air. Was it the wind on his balls, the girl running beside him, her breasts flopping around, or the memory of the look Theresa had given him? Maybe the running was helping him shake all that beer. Whatever the cause, by the time they reached the dorm he was really, really horny.

"What?" She only had time for that one word as he pushed her on to the bed. "We don't have time for this!"

"Yes we do." No need to undress, no need to take off clothes. Just push her skirt up, and there she was. He started to give a couple of preliminary licks, just to loosen her up. Then he hovered above her, ready to impale.

"Wait! Use a rubber!"

"What? We didn't use one the last time."

"No reason to be stupid twice." She was so matter of fact about it. It was taking all the fun out of it. Then he realized -- a rubber! He'd be saved! He could put a little pen mark on it. How would Sam know the difference? Where were his jeans, where was his wallet? Where was the emergency rubber that had been sitting there for a year and a half, the one he thought would never see the light of day? He was starting to get limp, the distractions were making him lose it. There it was! He had never actually put one on before. He was staring at it, stupefied.

"Oh God!" Sally grabbed it, rolled it open onto his cock. "Hurry the fuck up!"

She grabbed a cheek with each hand and pulled him down onto her. She shoved him into her, she wrapped her legs around his back. Her hands were around his balls now, her fingernails digging in just behind them. One, two of those digs, and he was coming.

"Happy now?" She pushed him away, tossed him his boxers. "Hurry up, we only have seven minutes."

What a disaster, literally a fucking disaster. At least he had the rubber. At least he wasn't out fifty bucks. He stripped it off, and started to look for his hanky in the tennis skirt.

"Wait."

"What?"

"I want the rubber." She held out her hand. There was no denying her.

"Why?"

"A souvenir. Of our first time."

He noticed the way she said our. What the fuck was that supposed to mean? "It wasn't our first."

"Close enough."

So he gave her the rubber. Fifty bucks shot, just like that, on a girl he was never going to see again. Well, maybe that was a little rash. Just because she had lied to him, held out on him, cheated on him -- was that any reason not to fuck her? He might as well hold on to her until something better came along. Maybe Theresa. She was really hot. Or Dwayne.

"What's the matter?" She was shoving his shirt at him. "Put this on. You're shivering."

"It's nothing." But he barely made it to her sink before he threw up. "Sorry," he gasped.

"Too much beer, too much pizza."

"Too much sex." He rinsed his mouth out, he peed. He looked at his watch. Three minutes left. They raced down the steps, no time to wait for the elevator, and sprinted over to the bus stop. Four minutes late, but the bus was still there.

"Saturday?" She gave him a little kiss on the forehead.

"Sure thing."

"We'll take out a canoe."

"Sounds like fun. " Something made him check his pockets. "My handkerchief. It's still in the dress."

"No it's not. I have it right here." And she did. She handed it to him. "You were great today. Love you." And she kissed him again.

He went up into the bus and sat down. The doors closed, and it rolled away. What the fuck did that mean? You were great today. What part had been so fucking great -- skipping around in a skirt bare assed, getting fucked up the ass? Was that going to be their typical date now? How many people were going to be in that canoe? Dwayne and another girl, and they'd all take turns pairing off?

He was still holding the handkerchief. There was something in it, a little piece of paper, crumpled up -- no, not crumpled, folded very carefully, origami style. Something was written on it. "With love, T." No, that wasn't a T, it was a D. He opened it, and there was the rubber, the one Dwayne had been wearing. There was the little blue dot. His bet was safe, after all.

He wanted to laugh, he wanted to cry, he had to sit very still to keep from puking again. He really had to pee, and each bounce over the potholes seemed like it was going to be the one to push him over the edge. Fifty bucks, he kept telling himself, fifty bucks. It was worth it.