CRACK
James Moston
‘I’d not had a chance to view the room. Between graduating and landing this London job, I barely had time to cram my life into boxes before Dad drove me down. It’s a tiny space. Single bed, a rickety Ikea bedside table, worn chest of drawers and an early-HD wall-mounted TV. The tiny cupboard had mould spots in it. Bleach’ll sort that. I figured I’d best check everywhere else before unpacking. Questionable yellow and red-ish stains on the mattress, an empty pizza box under the bed, and a small, circular-shaped crack the size of a coin concealed by the TV. It reminded me of a time in uni halls.
I’d brought a guy back one night when pissed up. My bra and knickers didn’t match, but they weren’t on for long. Vodka and Red Bull removed my usual inhibitions, and I remembered a metal butt plug my sister gave me as a laugh for a stocking filler. It had a beautiful little lily embossed on the base. I lubed it up and popped it in.
‘Kinky bitch,’ he said with a grin. Laying back and wrapping his fingers around my hair, he encouraged me towards his groin.
I went for it, demonstrating the full extent of my fellating skills whilst wiggling my plugged arse in the air. He loved it, sitting forward to slap my cheeks as he drilled my face like a piece of furniture. He got carried away, ramming his Coke-can-resembling phallus so far down my throat that my whole body convulsed as I gagged for breath. The tension sent the butt plug shooting from my arsehole like a torpedo, cracking the wall and leaving a flower impression beneath a greasy streak of lube that’d also sprayed out. We rolled over howling and, despite losing my deposit at the end of the year, it was a happy memory. Looking at it, you’d have never imagined the cause.
Staring at the crack in this dishevelled room, I couldn’t help but wonder how it got there. I doubted it was a butt plug, but the more I imagined, the more my smile gave way to other possibilities.