No One Rides for Free Ch. 07

"It's fine," Andrea told me. "Raheem never even said anything to you about seeing you at the slut card booth."

I looked around, as if anyone in the airport cared about our conversation. "I know. I still blushed bright red every time after that if I saw him at school. All through the last two weeks of classes, I was a wreck."

"And then we had exams. And then we graduated. We're done, and you don't need to think about him anymore."

"It's not that simple. I heard from someone that he accepted a position at the Court of Appeal. What if I have to appear at the Court of Appeal, and he sees me there. I can just imagine him whispering to a judge See that junior lawyer with the big tits? Let me tell you what I know about her."

"You're in a spiral. You need to calm down."

"What have I done to my reputation? To my potential career?"

"He was in there too, It's not like he can gossip about you without giving himself away. Just forget about it, and think about lying on the beach in Mexico while someone with bad luck eats your pussy." She moved in closer to me, whispering now. "You've got a fruity drink in one hand, and some poor girl on a bachellorette party who tried to pay for her room with a slut card is buried between your legs, doing whatever you tell her to."

Her voice, and that little smile on her face were starting to work on me. I felt a slight tingle in my pussy. I looked in Andrea's eyes. She had such pretty eyes. "I can't believe you're moving away," I said.

Our trip to Mexico was a celebration of completing law school, but it was also a last hurrah for me and Andrea. When we got back from the two week trip, we would both start new jobs. Mine was at a small practice downtown, but hers was all the way across the country.

"You can always come visit. Any time. For ever." She stroked the side of my face possessively. "Even if I get married, I am going to include it in my wedding vows that I will be allowed to fuck you if you come visit."

I smiled. I truly believed that she would say something like that in front of a whole wedding party. "I bet you would look sexy in a tuxedo. Or a wedding dress. Would

She began to answer, painting a picture of a bizarre punk-inspired wedding with a Wiccan priestess presiding. I allowed her to distract me as she described the event at length. We boarded the plane and it took off for Cancun. It was almost two hours of blissful peace of mind before my mind went back to Raheem. "Damn it, the only reason I got caught by Raheem was this vacation! I should just tell him that I'm not going to use the card myself!"

She sighed.

I know how she felt. This trip was my idea after all. I had come up with the perfect compromise; the precise set of factors that convinced her to risk it all by finally swiping that slut card she had been carrying around. My masterpiece of negotiation hinged on these three conditions:

a) She said she didn't want to be seen by anyone she knew. Hence the trip to Mexico.

b) She would only use it on this one trip, because of the fact that we wouldn't be together anymore and the slut card game had been such a part of how we initially met. I had made big round puppy-dog eyes as I pushed this point.

c) Finally, the third condition: to feel safe, Andrea had wanted to add a condition to her card. I didn't know it at the time, but it was the same condition that Raheem had added: Andrea's card would only be active if I was present. Of course, that meant I needed to get a card of my own.

And that's why Raheem saw me, and that's why I was now a nervous wreck.

"Really, I should be treating this as payback for pushing me to use my card," Andrea whispered, even though the guy in the window seat beside me had been asleep for an hour. "You spent a month telling me I should use mine to buy a fucking milkshake or whatever, and now you know how it feels."

"You and I are different people," I whispered back. "I could never use it. I am not built like that." I should mention that I had paid for our flight with a normal credit card. Not that there was a choice; back then there were no airlines that accepted slut cards. And, as I said, I wasn't the sort of person who could use a slut card in any case.

"And I am?"

I looked around to make sure no one's eyes were on us. I licked my left index finger and then, in a single swift motion, slid my left hand into the front of her jeans and into her panties, stroking her clit firmly and slowly. She stifled a gasp. I looked into her eyes seriously. "You are shameless and slutty and are born to be used mercilessly by men and women for hours on end, my dear. That's what I love most about you." I withdrew my hand and sat back in my seat innocently. At a normal volume I said "I don't have the same level of confidence that you have."

* * *

We were excited and giddy as we rode the minibus from the airport to the secluded beach resort. It was a brilliant warm spring day on the Caribbean coast and we were free from law school, so we spent most of the ride making out, telling jokes, and trying to forget that these two weeks would be our last together.

We arrived in the main welcome atrium of the resort at about three in the afternoon. The minibus drove us up the main driveway to a large building with decorative pillars holding up a roof that was supposed to look like an expensive take on some kind of traditional thatched hut. There were little Mayan relief details in many of the architectural elements, but we barely noticed any of that.

This was the first time Andrea or I had ever been to a place organized around large-scale use of slut cards. Back home, a single naked person who had gotten unlucky was an attention-getting surprise. While we had picked this place because it welcomed slut cards for all purchases, we were nowhere near prepared for what awaited us.

Along the left wall were about a dozen naked men and three naked women, all wearing collars with digital displays on them. They waited, as if on display, and we realized that's exactly what they were. All were good-looking, the men's flaccid or semi-hard cocks were uniformly impressive. The women were mostly stacked and ranged from hourglass-shaped to skinny and athletic.

Our eyes nearly bugged out of our heads as we walked to the counter to check in. We walked past a man in a Hawaiian shirt sitting in a comfy chair with his bathing suit puddled around his ankles, sipping a brightly-coloured drink while an older woman sucked his cock. Like the people on display, she was naked save for a high-tech looking digital collar. The man was looking at something on his phone as if indifferent.

The counter staff, all clothed in crisp red uniforms looked exactly as they would at any other resort. They were attentive to us, but not pushy, and were mostly locals with darker skin. I belatedly noticed that most of the naked people were white, or sun-burnt, and concluded that they were guests and not staff.

"Holy shit," I said under my voice. "This is fucking wild."

Andrea had stopped about five feet from the check-in counter and was staring at the line of naked people. "I... oh shit, am I going to end up lined up along that wall if I get unlucky?"

I turned away from the desk and smiled at her. "You absolutely are, baby. I can't wait to see it."

The red-jacket at the desk was cheerful and pleasant with only the slightest accent to his English. He explained to us the rules of the resort, where to find the bars and the restaurants, and gestured towards a sign that said 'sluts are for everyone: exclusive use of sluts not available at any price.' He then waved over one of the naked men from the wall, who picked up a tray with two welcome drinks and walked over to us with an attentive upright posture.

"This is Michel," the check-in clerk said, as we accepted our fruity drinks. "You can see his name on the collar there. It also shows his star rating, which is three and a half. You can also see here the cost of his time, which is $7. That applies for every six minutes, so a full hour with Michel is $70. Of course, that price only applies if you want his body. He is also working as a bellhop until his time runs out, and there is no cost in having him bring your bags to your room. If you want to fuck him after he brings them, the collar works as a credit card machine. Simply tap your credit card, or slut card, to pay and he will be yours until you tap again."

I sipped at my fruity drink, trying not to stare at Michel. The drink tasted of rum, probably a Daquiri, or something. Then, telling myself that I had better get used to this place, I ran an appraising eye over Michel's body. His collar also had a time clock that showed 3:12, then counted down to 3:11 as I was looking. So his time as a slut must be counted on the collar as well, I thought.

"He paid for his room with a slut card, I presume," Andrea said. There was a bit of trepidation in her voice as she was completing the check-in process.

"Perhaps in part," he said. "Most men cannot cover their entire day with a slut card, and so they pay some part of the daily fee with a card, and some part with cash. It is not considered polite to ask."

"Daily fee?" she asked.

"Oh dear, were you not aware? Unlike most resorts, we require payment on a daily basis. That way, if you are unfortunate, you will have another chance to enjoy the amenities tomorrow."

"And today, you'll be one of the amenities," I whispered in her ear. We had, of course, talked about this. She was simply stalling. "Don't be slow about it. Tap that little card of yours." The check-in clerk typed into his computer a few more things, then held out a credit card machine to Andrea. She had the card in her hand, now, but was hesitating.

"What if I'm not built for this, what if you're wrong?" she said, shaking a little.

I looked over her shoulder. The first day's accommodation was, using the new dynamic pricing, going to mean risking two and a half hours at with 7:1 odds. Not bad, given that she was paying for both of us. "You can do two and a half hours, Andie," I whispered to her. "In fact, you want to do it. You're not here because you want to be lucky. You're here because you want to lose."

Andrea closed her eyes, and tapped "Confirm." The screen went green and said "Enjoy your purchase." She let out a sigh of relief.

"How fortunate," the red-jacket said without a hint of emotion in his voice. "I'll point out that drinks at the bar and food at the restaurant will also require prompt payment. Some guests here are on normal credit cards and can charge things to their rooms, but for anyone who wishes to pay by slut card, our waiters will prompt you to pay on the spot once the bill reaches around $50. That way, both the lucky and unlucky will know what their fate is in a prompt and satisfactory fashion." I think he had recently learned the word 'prompt,' he used it a lot.

"The other thing you should know is that anyone wearing a collar is available for rent at any time. What I mean is that many of the sluts will not be naked, the way Michel is. Please don't hesitate to take advantage of someone just because they are wearing a uniform. If someone is cleaning your room or serving your supper, they will probably be clothed. That does not mean there is any restriction on access to their holes or members, should you wish."

Michel began collecting our bags, and I set down my empty glass on the tray. Andrea hadn't even taken a sip from hers. She looked frozen in place. I tapped her shoulder. "There's always tomorrow," I said, smiling.

"If you have any questions at all, our information desk is right off the main lobby there. Enjoy your stay!" With this, we began following Michel's well-toned ass towards our cabana.

"This is the way to the main pool," Michel told us as we passed through of the lobby into a lush jungle. There was a covered stone walkway splitting off in various directions as we progressed. Michel's French accent was quite thick, and very sexy. I wondered about whether I should reconsider my decision not to fuck him.

"The main pool has a swim-up bar, right?" I asked, pausing so that I could admire the way he effortlessly hoisted our bags in his well-developed arms.

"Yes, it is very nice." He was definitely a gym-goer, with well defined arms and shoulders and stunning hairless pecs. I tried not to look as if I was staring at his body, which is ridiculous, but I was still not able to overcome my shyness.

Andrea, thankfully, did not have the same issue. She had recovered from the fear that tapping her card had inspired in her and was back to being the show-off that I so enjoyed. "Speaking of very nice, would you turn around for me, very slowly. I don't have to pay for that, do I?"

Michel smiled, "non," he said while turning. "To look is free."

"And for seven dollars, I can make you do anything I want for six minutes?"

"But of course," he said.

"All right, lead on, mister. As we go, I want you to tell me what depraved things the other guests have done to you while you've been here."

A middle-aged white man pushing a maid's cart passed us. It was surprising at first to see someone who looked like he could be a middle-class banker working as cleaning staff at a Mexican resort, until I saw that he was wearing a collar.

Michel ignored the other unlucky guest and began carrying our bags again. "It is, I must say, a matter of guests' privacy. I could get very badly scolded if I told you too much. But I can say that, if you were here this morning, you would have seen me in the lobby getting passed around by about seven different men."

"Seven guys? How's your asshole after that?"

"It is, to be honest, a bit sore. But we do what we must, hein?" He unlocked one of the smaller cabanas and then picked up the bags again. "I was grateful they sent me with you two girls. I think they want to give my ass time to heal." His accent meant that he said it more like "hass." We followed him in and had a chance to see our accommodations.

The cabana was simple, with a large bed in the middle of one wall and a couple of end tables. Michel showed us the minibar, and the door to the bathroom. As he did so, Andrea continued her mocking inquiries about how worn out his butt was. "Don't be so sure that you've earned a reprieve. I have a whole range of strap-on dildos in that bag. You never know what the future will bring."

Having completed the short tour, Michel set our bags down on the stand and turned back towards us. I was pretty sure I saw his dick twitch at the idea of getting his ass reamed out by Andrea, but then I studiously raised my eyes so that I was looking in his face.

Andrea had no desire to be so modest. "I think you're kind of into the idea of me fucking your worn-out asshole, aren't you, Michel?" She stood close to him now and stared at his crotch openly. "You do! Look at that, after servicing seven guys this morning, you're still getting a semi at the idea of me bending you over for round number eight!"

Michel crossed his hands behind his back and stood in a ramrod-straight pose. His cock was indeed climbing, twitching with his heartbeat. It must have been about six inches and it wasn't even hard yet. I tried to force myself to look at it, but began to blush and then looked back up at his face. I should get drunk, I thought. "It does not matter what I want. Please go ahead and tap your card on my collar if you want to start the... what is the English word? Compteur? Taximètre?"

For some reason, this linguistic puzzle made me feel able to join the conversation. It was a safe subject, and a little bit nerdy. "Oh, the meter? Like in a taxi? We call it a meter."

Andrea stepped towards him as if she was about to tap her card, but instead ran her hand down his chest gently. "No, I think not. Perhaps we'll see you around, Michel."

"Okay. I will see you." His voice was entirely emotionless. If he was disappointed, he concealed it well. Then, just as he was leaving, he turned to say over his shoulder in the same indifferent tone, "perhaps tomorrow, I will be lucky and you will not." At this, I detected the smallest little smile before he turned back and left our cabana.

Andrea immediately shoved me. I was so surprised that I lost my balance and fell onto the bed. "Fuck, that was so hot." She said, climbing on to me and kissing me frantically. "I am so turned on right now. Here, feel."

She was practically tearing off her jeans, and she shoved one of my hands into her panties as she did so. It was true, she was soaked. "You were so mean to him. I didn't know you liked bossing around boys," I said.

"Not just that," she said, now pulling off her signature white tank-top with so much enthusiasm that I definitely heard a rip. "Lick my tits. Fuck. Oh, that's good."

She was completely naked in seconds and was still pinning me down to the bed. "I was wet from the moment I realized I was going to have to tap my card at the front desk, and there was one chance in seven I'd end up like Michel, getting passed around by seven random dudes in the lobby of a high-end resort."

Her smooth and wet pussy was grinding against my thigh where my shorts rode up, and she was rocking up and down as she talked, mashing my face against her left nipple.

"You're right. I'm made for this shit. I got this slut card months ago and I've never used it once. Every -- unh -- every fucking night I fantasize about using it. I imagine myself getting railed by men, by women, by anyone else. There were dozens of times when I almost did it. I'd look at a bar that accepts slut cards, or see a sign that a particular store has adults-only hours. Fuck, I want your mouth on my pussy. Right fucking now!"

She climbed up my prone and still-clothed body. Still not letting me move, she got to my shoulders and then, with a sudden movement, spun around to sit on my face. Her frantic hands pawed at my tits through my T-shirt and bra.

"Every time you made me talk about using the card, every time we played with the card-simulator website at home, all it did was get me more fucking frantic. I needed this place. I fucking needed it. Fuck! Yes, don't stop licking my clit."

She was grinding against my mouth, riding my face like a carnival horse. I tried to use my tongue, but could barely manage to focus on anything apart from the intermittent need to lift her shapely ass up so that I could breathe. She came in seconds, but that didn't stop her. She merely screamed and crushed my head between her knees for a few seconds, then started riding my wide-open mouth again.

"You're going to make sure I get thoroughly used here, aren't you. You vindictive little bitch," she pinched one of my nipples hard through my clothes, and I screamed a muffled complaint into her pussy. "I know how much you like the idea of me being a plaything. You've made me your plaything enough times that I can be sure. Fucking make me come again. And I'm not giving shit back to you in return. If you want to get your pussy eaten, I'll pay one of the sluts outside to do it. Or you can wait until I'm on the menu and pay for it yourself."

I groaned as she twisted the nipple that she was still holding.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you. You want to pay for this pussy? You want to pay the resort so that you can fuck me in front of the whole crowd down at the swim-up bar? You want to see the resort pimp out your sweet feminist girlfriend? You filthy bitch. I love you. I fucking love YOOOOU!" With that, she came again, much harder than the first time, and kept screaming for nearly a minute.

Then, finally letting me breathe, she rolled off of me, collapsed to lie on her front, and laughed. "So," she said. "Pool?"