The fog came down between one streetlight and the next. Proper fog. The kind that swallowed the estate and turned the next lamp into a smear.
The party had been in a terraced house six streets over. Cheap decorations. Cheap punch. $name1 had gone as a witch because the costume shop still had the hat and the striped socks and a dress that sat too low on $name1’s tits and too short on $name1’s thick thighs. Glasses on. Dark hair down under the brim. No knickers — the dress didn’t allow for them and $name1 hadn’t bothered.
You had gone home in a taxi at eleven. $name1 had said she’d walk.
The fog came down between one streetlight and the next. Proper fog. The kind that swallowed the estate and turned the next lamp into a smear. $name1’s heels on the pavement were the only sound. Then they weren’t. Three shapes in the mist ahead of her. Then beside her. Then around her.
They looked like men in ruined clothes until they didn’t. Grey skin. Black mouths. Eyes that didn’t blink. And they were hard already, cocks standing out of the torn fabric, thick, heavy, too big for the joke of the costume they weren’t wearing. One of them made a sound that wasn’t a word. $name1’s back hit a garden wall. The witch hat tipped. $name1 looked at the three of them over her glasses and opened her knees in the little dress because that was what $name1 did when she was surrounded.
The first one got $name1 on the wet grass behind the wall. He didn’t kiss $name1. He shoved the dress up, dragged $name1’s thighs apart, and pushed that rancid, swollen cock into $name1’s mouth. $name1 gagged on it. The taste was wrong — sour, thick, cold at first — and $name1 still took it, spit running down her chin onto the cheap velvet. He fucked $name1’s face in short, ugly strokes until $name1’s eyes watered behind the glasses, then he pulled out, flipped $name1 onto her back, and shoved into $name1’s cunt in one brutal thrust.
$name1 cried out. He was huge and he didn’t wait. He pounded $name1 into the grass with the witch dress around $name1’s waist and the hat crushed under $name1’s hair. $name1 came on him helplessly, clenching, striped socks in the air. He drove in deeper, shuddered, and pumped that foul load into $name1 in long pulses. It was hot in a way the rest of him wasn’t. It filled $name1 and leaked around his cock while he was still buried in her.
Then he was gone.
No body. No weight. Just the wet grass and the mess of him running out of $name1 into the mud, and the other two still standing over her.
The second one took his place immediately. He hauled $name1 up onto her hands and knees, witch dress hanging off one shoulder, one heavy tit out in the fog, and slammed into $name1 from behind. $name1’s glasses slipped down her nose. $name1 braced in the dirt and took it. He was thicker than the first. He fucked $name1 like he was trying to push the first one’s load deeper, wet filthy slaps in the quiet street, $name1’s tits swinging, the costume necklace breaking and scattering. $name1 came again with her face near the grass and her mouth open. He grabbed $name1’s hips, buried himself, and came in her with a groan that wasn’t human. That second load was worse — heavier, fouler — and it poured out of $name1 when he jerked and vanished mid-thrust, leaving $name1 open and dripping on all fours in the fog.
The third one didn’t wait for $name1 to turn over.
He dropped onto his back in the grass and dragged $name1 onto him, impaling $name1 on that last huge cock in one drop. $name1 sat down on it to the hilt, witch dress around her waist, and he thrust up into $name1 while his grey hands mauled $name1’s tits. $name1 rode him because there was nothing else to do. $name1 was sloppy with the first two, leaking down his shaft onto his dead-looking hips, and he fucked up into that mess with a wet sound that carried. $name1 came a third time sitting on him, glasses crooked, hat gone, striped socks filthy. He pulled $name1 down by the hair, slammed up into her, and finished with a long, rotten pulse that overflowed immediately, running out of $name1 over him onto the grass.
Then he was gone too.
$name1 was alone.
On her knees in the fog behind someone’s wall, witch dress wrecked, no hat, glasses misted, striped socks ruined. Three foul loads running out of $name1 onto the grass in a thick, stinking mix. $name1’s thighs were still open. $name1’s cunt was gaping around nothing. The street was quiet again. The next lamp was still just a smear.
$name1 didn’t get up straight away. $name1 stayed there in the mud with it dripping out of her, the costume stuck to $name1’s skin, waiting to see if the fog would thicken again.