A Moment of Metal and Mayhem

The metal pole whistles through the air, its heavy base swinging with a momentum that makes my arm ache just from the weight. It connects with the side of the security guard's head—a dull, heavy crack that echoes off the sterile tiles. The big guy stumbles sideways, his shoulder slamming into the doorframe before he crumples to the floor like a sack of wet cement. He groans once, low and guttural, then goes still. My heart's pounding, ribs screaming from the fresh tear in my side, but I don't stop. I stumble past him, the IV stand rattling behind me like a goddamn shopping cart on a bad day. Pain shoots through my chest with every step, vision blurring at the edges, but fuck it—I'm out.

The hallway stretches out, all closed doors and flickering fluorescent lights that buzz like angry hornets. I remember this place from the haze of the last few days: hospital, meth crash, the works. My mom's voice still echoes in my skull from that psychotic episode, bitching about nothing while I thought I was teleported to some stranger's house forty miles away. But that's behind me. I ripped the IV out in the room, grabbed the nearest thing that looked like a weapon—a spare pole from a broken bed frame—and now I'm free. Or as free as a guy like me gets.

I make it to the elevator, jabbing the button with a bloody knuckle. The doors slide open, and I collapse inside, the stand clanging against the wall. Floor one. Lobby. Fresh air. As it descends, my mind races—gotta find a way out, gotta lay low. But then the doors ding open, and there you are, Amy, standing in the lobby like you were waiting for a fucking bus. Your eyes widen when you see me, all disheveled and dragging this metal contraption.

"Shane? What the hell happened?" You rush over, grabbing my arm before I can bolt. Your touch is steady, grounding, not like the frantic grip from that time in the bedroom when we first hooked up, your nails digging into my back as we fucked like the world was ending. That memory flashes—your legs wrapped around me, pussy clenching tight—but I shove it down. Not now.

"Escaping," I mutter, wincing as another rib twinge hits. "Guard's down. Help me or get out of the way."

You don't hesitate. You snag the IV stand and steer me toward the exit, your shoulder under my arm. "You're insane. Renae's been blowing up my phone—Candice too. They think you're still hallucinating from that shit you were on."

We burst through the sliding doors into the parking lot, the evening sun hitting like a slap. My truck's still here, keys in my pocket from when they admitted me. You help me into the driver's seat, then slide in beside me. "Drive. I'll text them we're grabbing you somewhere safe."

I start the engine, tires screeching as I peel out. The hospital shrinks in the rearview, and for a second, the pain fades. You're looking at me with that mix of worry and heat, the kind that always pulls me in. "You look like hell, Shane. But fuck, I'm glad you're out."

We end up at your place—an old converted warehouse on the edge of town, all exposed brick and mismatched furniture that you swear adds character. It's random as shit: one wall's covered in vintage arcade machines you salvaged from a junkyard, another has shelves of weird taxidermy animals that stare with glass eyes. No dimly lit romance here; it's chaotic, alive, like us. I collapse on the couch, ribs throbbing, while you fetch ice and whiskey from the kitchen.

"Drink this," you say, pressing the glass into my hand. Your fingers linger, tracing my knuckles. "And tell me what the fuck you're running from this time."

I take a swig, the burn cutting through the fog. "Same old. Meth ghosts. Thought Mom was some intruder, then the hospital felt like a prison. Hit the guard with a pole—didn't kill him, but close enough." I glance up, catching your eyes. They're soft but sharp, remembering that night we spent tangled in your sheets, your breath hot against my neck as I thrust deep, your moans filling the room.

You sit beside me, thigh pressing against mine. "You're reckless, you know that? But it's hot. In a stupid, heart-attack way." Your hand slides to my chest, careful of the bruises. "Let me check those ribs."

Before I can protest, you're lifting my shirt, fingers cool on my skin. The touch turns electric, pain mixing with something else. You lean in, lips brushing my collarbone. "This might hurt, but I bet I can make it feel good."

I groan, not from the ribs. "Amy, I'm a mess."

"Then let me clean you up." Your mouth finds my nipple, tongue flicking slow, deliberate. Heat builds low in my gut, dick stirring despite the ache. You slide lower, unbuckling my belt with practiced ease. "Remember last time? You fucked me so hard I couldn't walk straight."

How could I forget? Your pussy gripping me, wet and tight, as you rode me reverse on that same couch. I nod, hand tangling in your hair. "Yeah. Do it again."

You free my cock, already half-hard, and wrap your lips around the head. No teasing—just a slow suck that pulls a curse from me. "Fuck, your mouth." You take me deeper, tongue swirling the underside, saliva dripping down my shaft. I buck up, ribs protesting, but the pleasure drowns it out. Your hand cups my balls, rolling them gently, while you hum around me, vibrations shooting straight to my core.

I'm lost in it, eyes closed, when the door bangs open. "Shane? Amy? You here?"

Renae. Shit. She's your roommate, all curves and no filter, the one who crashed our last hookup by "accidentally" walking in naked. She freezes in the doorway, eyes locking on you between my legs. Then a grin splits her face. "Well, damn. Starting without me?"

You pop off my dick with a wet sound, wiping your mouth. "Renae, perfect timing. He's hurt—help me take care of him."

She kicks the door shut, sauntering over in cutoff shorts that hug her ass like a second skin. "Hurt, huh? Looks like he's hurting in all the right ways." She drops her bag, peels off her tank top without a word, revealing full tits that bounce free. No bra. She's always been bold like that—reminds me of the hallucination fog, where boundaries blurred, but this is real, her nipples hardening in the air.

Renae kneels beside you, her hand joining yours on my thigh. "Let me see." Together, you stroke me, your grips syncing—yours firm at the base, hers teasing the tip with her thumb. Precum beads, and she licks it off, eyes on mine. "Tastes like trouble. My favorite."

I grip the couch, ribs forgotten. "You two are gonna kill me."

"Not yet," you murmur, kissing down my abs while Renae takes over sucking, her mouth hotter, deeper, throat relaxing to swallow me whole. Gagging slightly, she pulls back, strings of spit connecting us. "Your turn," she says to you, and you straddle my face without hesitation, grinding your soaked panties against my mouth.

I hook them aside, tongue diving into your pussy—salty, slick, folds parting easy. You moan, rocking as I lap at your clit, sucking it between my lips. Renae's bobbing on my cock, slurping loud, her free hand slipping between her own legs to rub her clit through her shorts.

That's when my phone buzzes—Candice. My aunt, of all people. She's been texting nonstop since the hospital scare, worried about my "episode." I ignore it at first, but it keeps going. You notice, glancing back. "Answer it. Or I will."

"Fuck." I grab it mid-lick, swiping to video call. Candice's face fills the screen—sharp features, that no-bullshit stare. She's in her kitchen, apron on, but her eyes narrow when she sees the scene. Wait, how? The angle must show everything.

"Shane Nix, what in the hell are you—oh my God." Her voice cracks, but she doesn't hang up. Instead, her cheeks flush. Candice has always been the straight-laced one, family glue holding shit together during my meth spirals. But there's a hunger there, buried deep. "Is that... Amy? And Renae?"

I freeze, your pussy hovering over my mouth, Renae's lips still on my dick. "Aunt Candice. Uh, yeah."

She licks her lips, untying her apron. "You think you can escape that hospital and not check in? Turn the camera down. Let me see."

What the fuck? But my dick twitches, and you laugh, lowering yourself back onto my tongue. Renae pulls off, grinning at the phone. "Hey, hot stuff. Join the party?"

Candice hesitates, then nods. "Give me ten. I'm coming over." The call ends, and we all burst out laughing, the absurdity hitting like a drug high better than meth.

Ten minutes later, she's at the door—blonde hair loose, blouse half-unbuttoned already. She steps in, eyes raking over us: you grinding on my face, Renae stripping her shorts, my cock slick and standing. "This is insane," she says, but she's shedding clothes too, skirt pooling at her feet. Panties next—simple cotton, but they cling to her trimmed bush.

"Insane's my middle name," I say, voice muffled by your ass. You lift off, turning to kiss Candice deep, tongues tangling as she moans into your mouth. Renae crawls over, hands on Candice's tits, pinching nipples until she gasps.

"Get over here," I tell Candice, pulling her down. She straddles my waist, careful of the ribs, and sinks onto my cock slow. Her pussy's tight, wetter than I imagined—family taboo be damned, but this is consensual fire, no force, just raw need. She rides me, hips rolling, tits bouncing as you and Renae watch, fingers in each other's pussies.

"Fuck, Shane, you're bigger than I thought," Candice breathes, grinding down hard. Her walls clench, milking me, and I thrust up, hitting deep. Pain flares in my ribs, but it's fuel, making every stroke sharper.

You push Candice forward, your mouth finding her ass—tongue circling her hole while Renae sucks on her clit from below. Candice cries out, body shaking. "Oh God, yes—eat my ass, Amy."

Renae slides under me, her tongue on my balls as Candice bounces, the dual sensation making me groan. I grab your hair, guiding you deeper into Candice's ass, watching your tongue probe, wet and insistent. She's squirming, pussy flooding around my dick.

"Switch," I grunt, needing more. We rearrange—messy, eager. You lie back, legs spread wide, and I plunge into your pussy, familiar heat enveloping me. "So fucking wet for me." I pound hard, balls slapping your ass, while Candice sits on your face, grinding her dripping cunt against your mouth.

Renae positions herself behind me, fingers slick with lube she grabbed from god-knows-where. "Ever had ass play, Shane?" Her finger circles my hole, pressing in slow. I tense, then relax as she works it, prostate hit sending sparks up my spine. "Good boy. Fuck her harder."

I do, railing you deep, your pussy squirting a little with each thrust—warm gush soaking my thighs. "Yes, Shane—fill me up!" you scream, muffled by Candice's folds.

Candice comes first, shuddering on your face, juices smearing your chin. "I'm—fuck—cumming!" Her body convulses, and she squirts too, a messy arc hitting your tits.

Renae adds a second finger to my ass, pumping in time with my thrusts. It's intense, building pressure like nothing else. I pull out of you, dick throbbing, and Renae drops to her knees. "My turn to taste."

She sucks me clean—your cream, Candice's squirt—deepthroating like a pro. You and Candice kiss beside her, hands roaming, fingers dipping into each other's pussies for a lazy lesbian tease. Candice's hand finds Renae's hair, pushing her down further. "Suck him good. He deserves it after that hospital bullshit."

I can't hold back. "Renae—gonna cum." She nods, mouth full, eyes watering as I erupt. Thick ropes fill her mouth, spilling out the sides, dripping down her chin onto her tits. She swallows what she can, pulling off with a pop, cum bubbling on her tongue.

But I'm not done. I turn to you, Amy, flipping you onto all fours. "Your pussy now." I slide in easy, slick from before, and fuck you raw—deep, punishing strokes that make your ass jiggle. Candice kneels in front, offering her face. "On me, Shane. Mark me."

Renae fingers herself watching, scooping her own wetness to lube Candice's tits. I pull out mid-thrust, aiming at Candice—hot spurts painting her cheeks, lips, dripping into her open mouth. She licks it up, moaning, "Yes, nephew—cover me."

Back in you, I chase the end. Your pussy clamps down as you cum again, milking me. "Fill her, Shane," Renae urges, her hand on my ass, pushing me deeper.

I do—erupting inside you, cum flooding your pussy, hot and thick, leaking out around my dick as I grind through it. You collapse, spent, my seed deep, a creamy mess between your legs.

We all tangle on the floor, breaths ragged, bodies slick with sweat and cum. Renae's mouth still glossy from my load, Candice's face streaked white, your pussy oozing my release. The warehouse hums around us, arcade games flickering like distant stars.

Candice wipes her cheek, smirking. "Well, Shane, if that's your idea of recovery, sign me up for every escape."

Renae laughs, licking her lips. "Next time, we tie him down—no more hospital heroics."

You curl against me, hand on my softening cock. "Just promise no more poles to the head. I've got all the weapons we need right here."

I chuckle, ribs twinging, but the high lingers. In this chaotic den, illusions shattered, it's the realest I've felt. And damn if it doesn't make me want round two already.

(Word count: 2487)