Sometimes the word “crush” made perfect sense. It felt like that, like being crushed, like being pressed under the weight of want, the density of desire. Sometimes I thought about Caitlyn and my chest swelled. She was just so pretty and kind and charming.
Maybe we all had a friend like that. Someone gorgeous, with a smile that lights up the room. Someone who had that combination of sweetness and almost painfully intense sexual charisma.
Still, as powerful as my attraction was, I don’t think I was her type. Our lives were very different. We moved in different circles, we had different needs. Still, it was nice to have a crush. It just brightened my day to see her and to get a hug from her. My heart swelled when she laughed at my jokes. Maybe that’s how I wanted to organize my life and my heart. I let myself be madly infatuated with my friend.
Sometimes the beauty in someone’s face, the charms of their body, seem indelibly tied to their personality. Caitlyn was sweet and soft-spoken and thick thighed and honey lipped and possessed an infectious laugh and a gloriously huge ass. It all seemed part of the same thing. It was Caitlyn, perfect Caitlyn. Thick and sweet as syrup.
So when David told me Caitlyn was going to be behind the wall at his next party, I surprised him by saying I wanted to attend.
Usually, I didn’t go to David’s Friday night parties, his “Wall” parties. The parties he had every other Saturday were a bit more to my taste. On those Saturdays, he hosted elegant little soirees at his loft, with nice cocktails and hors d’oeuvres and spankings and kissing and maybe some finger fucking and oral sex, tastefully done under a table or pretty blanket.
There was a line, difficult to explain fully to someone outside of our circle of friends and lovers. There was a line in the Saturday parties where we would play and beat each other and even fuck, but not overtly, not obscenely. There was a line of decorum that we all agreed on that made the Saturday parties somehow elegant.
The Friday parties were something very different. There was a line there as well, but it was a very different line. The Wall parties were held in Brooklyn, in an industrial warehouse. David set it up so that there would be something like a glory hole, only someone’s whole torso and legs would stick out of a hole in a big wooden wall.
It was very elaborate, with a sort of door built into the wall and a little padded table on each side for the person to lay on. Some people did it face up, other people face down. Sometimes their legs were up in the air, suspended with ropes or straps.
You didn’t go to that party to chat and catch up with friends. You didn’t go for a few hours to flirt and tease and linger. You went to fuck the person with their head in the hole. You went to use someone who had put themselves in a very specific position to be used. Or, you went there to be used, like a toy or a tool. Then, usually, you left to go somewhere else, to fuck someone else, to do Friday night things. That or you stayed around to watch like a pervert.
At least that’s how it was the one time I’d gone. It had been a year though, so I knew things had evolved a bit.
I asked David if I could be first, if I went. He chuckled. “You know that’s not how it works. First come, first served.” He eyed me and noted my worried frown, then he leaned in, even though we were the only people at the bar, and whispered, “but, well, I will tell you that we usually begin around 8 pm, but Caitlyn asked to start a bit earlier. So if you were to show up before seven, you might have a good chance.”
So, I got there not at seven, as David had recommended, but at five. I milled around outside the building, looking at my phone and nervously pacing around. At around six, I saw a car pull up and I saw David and some of his helpers lead four people into the entrance to the building. I got a glimpse of Caitlyn in a sundress. Radiant with a blush in her cheeks I could see from across the street.
I paced for another hour until I saw the bouncer outside and made my way in. Then, there I was, in the warehouse. It mostly looked the same, there was the same smell of freshly cut wood and oil and some distant sweat smell. The place was one huge square with a high ceiling and windows on all sides. The floor was paint and oil spattered concrete and the ceiling was metal girders and a web of pipes and thick ducts.
In the center of the big room, there was a cube of well put together plywood. The last time I had seen it, it was set up a bit differently, but now there were holes on each of the four sides of the central edifice.
I saw David on the opposite end of the place, setting up the bar. He gave me a wink. Two of the holes were being prepared. Two women, or at least people with pussies. I watched as they were awkwardly pushed, feet first, halfway out of the holes in the walls. Naked hips and asses wiggling and shifting until they settled, one face up with her ankles in leather cuffs attached to hooks on the wall above her. The other face down, feet on the floor, doggy style.
Caitlyn was face up. I knew those thighs anywhere, that ass, those hips. I had seen her at other parties, so I even recognized her pussy, the triangular frame of short dirty blonde hair. I emitted sounds, instinctually. Groans of want.
Why did she want to be behind the wall? It was certainly an intriguing idea. The separation of your mind, your face, your identity, from your body. Objectification, but to another level. To become a toy, a useful hole, a thing for people to use.
For a moment I imagined myself there. My cock exposed and offered to passers-by. It was interesting, but not really my thing. Caitlyn was different, though. I knew she liked to be useful. She had said sometimes she liked the control of a situation to be taken away. To be helpless and to be controlled. I could understand that.
I watched her squirm as she got comfortable on the little padded table. I was impatient. Finally, the door was closed and her head was hidden. Her breasts and belly and wide hips and thick thighs and muscular legs and her glorious pussy were all exposed.
I stood and went over to the wall. It wasn’t time yet, but I wanted to be ready. I wanted to be first. I felt like a kid, waiting for an arcade game or waiting in line for a roller coaster.
Other people milled about. Another pretty girl was put on the other facet of the wall, strapped in, and readied. Finally, David came by, giving both of the people in the wall a final look over, testing their straps and pads, and so on. He gave a nod to one of the other assistants and then smiled at me.
“Have at her,” he said, patting me on the back.
I was too far gone to feel any embarrassment. My cock was hard in my jeans and my mouth was watering. I walked next to Caitlyn and place my hand on her chubby belly. A warm softness that made me want to laugh with joy. So much skin, all mine to enjoy.
I slipped my hand up her belly to one breast and cupped it. It was like Christmas. I relished the feel of her breasts, breasts I’d eyed and ogled and dreamt of. I closed my hands around both of them and felt her up like I did back when I was in high school, touching tits for the first time.
I leaned down and took one puffy pink nipple in my mouth. My tongue circled, feeling the texture of her areola, the taste of her skin for the first time. I was in heaven and then, in a moment, I was pushed past heaven to some even better paradise.
Caitlyn’s back arched a little as I flicked her nipple with my tongue. I heard her whimper, even through the wall. I felt the vibrations of sound in her chest. It made me ache. Not just some soft perfect toy, but a receptive pet.
I took my time. I slipped my hands across every inch of exposed skin, teasing myself and never touching her between her legs. I marveled at the smoothness of her body and how she reacted to my touch.
Finally, I let my fingers trail down between her pubic hair groaning again. Further, between her thick thighs, my fingers found slick silken skin and my finger eagerly slipped into the heat of her.
Wet from being used. How obscenely hot? I closed my eyes and kissed her cool inner thigh. I smelled subtle perfume on her skin. A dream come true, looking up at her naked pussy.
The stark intimacy was exhilarating. Pretty pink parts, all mine to explore. I’d like to say that I took my time and savored it, but I couldn’t stop myself from diving in immediately. My mouth on her wet cunt. My crush’s perfect wet cunt.
The first taste, like a first kiss, like the first time you hold someone’s hand, like the unsnapping of a bra. The warm wet saltiness of her was perfect. Her pink skin was like a drug.
I was greedy and unabashed. My beautiful crush spread out in front of me, but without the weight of her eyes and the pressure of a first date. She was mine, unencumbered. I buried myself between her thick thighs.
Sometimes what people called kink was just “getting exactly what you want without any of the things you don’t want.” Caitlyn was a complicated person with a whole life that I didn’t know much about and didn’t particularly want to get involved in. What I did want was to leisurely go down on her and fuck her and enjoy her big tits and soft belly and soft body.
For a moment, the reality of the room pushed back into my sensorium. More people were there. Some were watching me. I had to close my eyes and focus on her. The vibe of the place was there, though, pulling at my attention, clawing at my pleasure.
As much as I wanted to linger, I knew my adventure had to be quick. Still, I slipped my tongue against the thick lips of her pussy, her hardening clit, every bit of her. I slipped my tongue into her and her back arched again.
Some mechanical music started. Some kind of industrial something, so far from the live jazz we had on Saturdays. Still, it somehow helped me find distance from the other people in the room.
I stood up and groped her breasts again. Breasts that were a fixture in my daydreams, my wet dreams. I looked down and saw the crotch of my jeans pressing against her naked pussy. She was at the perfect height. I unzipped them while I continued to play with her nipple with one hand.
I refused to miss a second of enjoyment. Pinching her nipple slowly as I reached into my boxers and felt the hardness of my cock. There was a moment of strange emotional vertigo. Was I masturbating? Was I about to fuck my crush? Was I just using her body?
I pushed away thoughts and rationale and concentrated on her pussy. I pushed my jeans down a bit and pulled my cock out of the top of my boxers. I held the familiar weight of my own cock in my hand. I rubbed it while I looked at her. I rubbed it while I felt her breast and her belly and the curve of her hip, the thickness of her thigh. I rubbed it as my cock got closer and closer to her.
I licked my thumb, wet the head of my cock, and then slipped it against her pussy. I rubbed it against her clit and just stroked myself against her a few times. She pushed against me, as eager as I was. I smiled at that.
“Why wait? Why tease?” I wondered.
I looked down at the head of my cock pressing against her, slowly slipping into her, disappearing into warmth and wetness. She was so wet. I meant to start slowly, but I pushed myself all the way inside of her. My hands grabbed her thighs and then her hips, pulling myself deeper.
I was doing it, I was really fucking Caitlyn. It boggled my mind. Not only was I fucking her, I was fucking her to the hilt. I was pounding into her.
The mechanics of sex were always different. People fit together differently. Angles and curves and intensions. Somehow, in that anonymous position, I was fucking her hard and fast in a way that felt practiced. Like I had known her body for years.
I was so entranced I almost didn’t hear her. The music was pumping, but I caught a moan, then another. I watched her back arch, her tummy rise up, and then I felt her pussy contract, almost painfully around my cock. She was coming.
My mind short-circuited at that moment. I held on to her hips and pounded into her. I rode her orgasm out and raced towards my own. For a moment, some part of me remembered all the rules. I could come inside of her if I wanted. One of the reasons I wanted to be first. The dirtiness of the implications washed over me.
I could come inside of her, my crush, my pretty friend. I could shoot my come inside of her. I could picture it, pumping, gushing, squirting, and then it was happening.
My legs and arms tingled with the oncoming climax. I watched her body writhe as it hit me. I kept my eyes open, watching my cock go in and out of her. Watching as I came.
When I was done, I stood there, panting, gasping, shaking with the power of the orgasm. I was still inside of her, slowly slipping out.
I put my hands on her belly again, relishing the softness of her. I felt a rush of sadness, but I brushed it away. I leaned down and kissed her belly. I rested my cheek against it.
Finally, as the chaos of the room broke through my focus, I stood. I pulled up my boxers and jeans. For a moment I was glad of the crude obscenity of the Friday party. No need for grace or politeness or even civility.
I turned and left her there, dripping and shaking and blushing down her chest. I went to the little sink on the other end of the room and washed my hands and walked out into the evening air. I didn’t even say goodbye to David.
I went home to write out what happened. I tried to capture the memory as perfectly as I could because even as I left the warehouse, what happened seemed impossible.