Night of Chaos: Being Sexually Assaulted After Getting Drunk

page views:1 Publication date:2023-03-23

Friday night, the darkness was intoxicating. Having escaped the banquet for clients, I was completely drunk. Facing this cold city and its frenzied neon lights, I felt so small and helpless. I sat in the passenger seat, glancing at K, who was driving. His white shirt collar was unbuttoned, and his sleeves were rolled up; he too had been forced to drink quite a bit. I thanked him in an alcohol-soaked voice for taking me home. He told me to rest and that we'd be there soon.

Entertaining clients is a grueling activity. The key is to smile obsequiously, to be extremely flirtatious, and to convey the word "servant" through body language. Forcing drinks is a means of demonstrating enslavement and subservience at banquets. Since you need something from someone, you drink the wine they offer, drinking to the point of grotesque behavior to show your submission. Especially for women, forcing them to drink further demonstrates a man's authority and sense of oppression. Bullying women is an extremely boring and pathetic act, very ungentlemanly and low-class. But in today's world, how many men still care about such things? In the information age, the pace and pressure of life are intensifying, while men's hearts are becoming increasingly lewd, and their genitals are shrinking. I flaunted my charm, welcoming the torment of alcohol with a smile. The "chief" client in front of me was thoroughly enjoying himself, pouring alcohol down my throat while groping me. Hands, legs, waist, and even my buttocks—he visited every part of me, yet he lacked the courage to make any real contact, only offering fleeting touches. So he could only stare at my neckline, relentlessly pouring alcohol into my mouth, as if this stimulating liquid were another penis entering my body, possessing me, tormenting me, to satisfy his lewd desires. What a pervert! He wore a lewd grin, shamelessly revealing his yellowed teeth. In my mind, I was already giving him a thousand middle fingers, but on my face, I maintained a charming and shy smile, letting him defile me at will. If there were a mirror at that moment, I would surely be disgusted with myself.

Barely enduring the torment until it ended, I ran to the bathroom, nearly vomiting up. My legs felt lightheaded as I struggled out of the restaurant. I saw the manager and the other company's chief executive exchanging farewells, shaking hands and embracing like longtime best friends. Another wave of nausea washed over me. I was definitely drunk; I found it difficult to even walk in my high heels, and the pencil skirt of my suit seemed to be deliberately hindering my legs, as if intentionally trying to embarrass me. I really wanted to give up and just sit down on the floor, but thankfully K came over and helped me up, offering to take me home, preventing further embarrassment. Once I was in K's car, my heart calmed down a little. Through the car window, I caught another glimpse of the chief executive's lewd, flushed, oily smiling face, like a huge, swollen, fat glans. I could almost smell the stench. Ugh, another wave of nausea.

The car sped through the night. Sitting in the alcohol-scented car, I closed my eyes, trying to balance my dizzy mind. I pulled out my vibrating phone, opened my eyes, and saw an apology text from my ex-boyfriend, which only fueled my inner bitterness and anger. A month ago, I finally discovered he had been cheating on me. If it weren't for my best friend's warning, I would still be a fool to be deceived. I had always been sincere with him, trying my best to be the perfect girlfriend in public, at home, and in bed, but he had already flushed my feelings down the toilet. I couldn't bear this deception; it felt like a swarm of cockroaches crawling into my heart and tearing it apart—disgusting and painful. I slapped him and resolutely left him. After that, he kept pestering me, trying to get my forgiveness. But a woman's heart is like glass; once shattered, it's hard to mend the cracks. He had the guts to cheat on me before, and now that I'd left, he's shamelessly trying to get back together. It's all so pointless; I never imagined he could be so unmanly. Receiving his text now added another layer of disgust to this painful night. I turned off my phone, unwilling to think about any of it anymore.

I turned to look at K, who was driving. He's a year younger than me, a colleague, but not in the same department. We often bumped into each other at the office. He always had a quiet smile, was thin, and liked to wear white shirts, which made him look very scholarly. I really liked his lips—thin, with a hint of white, forming a mischievous, sexy curve when he smiled, a beautiful sight against his white shirt. Sometimes, in my infatuation, I'd wonder what it would feel like to bite them, or if they were flavored with strawberries. We often bumped into each other at the office, chatted casually, and sometimes had coffee together during breaks. I'd chat with him while taking the opportunity to admire his lips, relieving some work stress. This time, our departments were collaborating, so we were both forced to drink by clients that night. He could hold his liquor better than me and wasn't a primary target, so he could still drive calmly. Luckily, he was there tonight, saving me in time. When he supported me, I gripped his arm tightly, feeling so secure, as if he were my lifeline. At this moment, I leaned back in the passenger seat, looking at his face from below. It was the first time I'd tried this angle, and I felt his profile was quite pleasing to the eye. Maybe I was really drunk. The alcohol in my system made me feel hot, and I was already sweating slightly. I adjusted to a more comfortable and languid position, unbuttoned two buttons on my shirt, and slightly opened the car window to let in some fresh air. I closed my eyes, enjoying the cool night air. I knew K could already see my view through my unbuttoned collar, but I didn't care at all. A feeling of depression, helplessness, loss, and loneliness clung to me, and the alcohol was making my rationality fade.

K helped me upstairs to the apartment I shared with a woman. The room was dark; my roommate had probably gone out to have fun again, and I wouldn't see her again until Monday. I kicked off my high heels, rushed to the bathroom, pulled down my skirt, pantyhose, and underwear, and arrogantly sat down to pee—I'd been holding it in for quite a while. While I was doing all this, I completely ignored K's presence, didn't close the bathroom door, and didn't care whether he could see everything. Maybe the alcohol really made me lose my mind. I stood up and hastily pulled up my underwear and pantyhose, too lazy to bend down and put my skirt back on. I just walked out like that, letting the skirt slide down my legs and remain on the floor. At this point, I was only wearing black pantyhose, with my low-rise lace panties clearly visible through them; on top, I was wearing a white chiffon blouse, three buttons undone, revealing a seamless bra underneath. I wondered what K would think of me if he saw me like this. I buried my head in the sofa, only to find myself lying among a pile of clothes that had just been brought in, probably my roommate's. The soft fabric and the fragrant scent felt quite nice. Then I noticed a hair clip digging into the back of my head, pulling my hair painfully. How annoying! I ripped the hair clip off and threw it away, letting my hair fall loose, which felt much better. Suddenly, K helped me up, carrying a cup of hot water. I was quite touched, as I was still a bit overwhelmed with emotion; I hadn't expected him to be so considerate. The warmth of the water eased some of the alcohol's effects, and I felt my surroundings clearer. K asked if I still felt nauseous, and I said I was fine, just a little tired and wanted to sleep. With K's help, I went to the bedroom, lay down on the bed, and K covered me with the blanket, turned off the light, and told me to rest. I was very grateful to him; he gave me a gentle warmth, an emotion I had long lacked in my life. Suddenly, I felt a pang of sadness, an emptiness in my heart, and wanted to cry, but this subtle feeling was disrupted by the dizziness from the alcohol. I felt utterly exhausted, too weak to keep my eyes open, and just drifted off to sleep, not wanting to think about anything anymore.

In my hallucination, my brain, scrambled with alcohol, flashed fragmented scenes before my eyes—people I'd met before, people I'd never met before, all jumbled together, fragments of words intertwined. I felt like I was on a bus, a strange crowd jostling me, suffocating me, immobilizing me. Dozens of hands crawled over my body, tearing at me, kneading me, shrill laughter echoing in my ears… I jolted awake from the darkness; it was a dream. My head throbbed, and I felt strange sensations. Gradually, my senses returned, and I realized the strange sensations were from someone licking my genitals. In an instant, I was shocked and tense. I didn't remember where I was, nor why a tongue was wriggling between my labia. I opened my eyes, realizing I was in my own bed. I slightly raised my head, trying to look down. In the darkness, I saw what looked like K's head between my legs. I remembered being drugged that night, and K had taken me home. He helped me into bed, and after I fell asleep, he didn't leave but continued to "take care" of me. My body felt cool; my shirt was open, and my bra was undone, the front clasp undone. K had clearly thoroughly explored my breasts. Now his head was busy between my legs, and my underwear was obviously no longer on. I wanted to struggle, to kick him away and curse him as a pervert. But the strong alcohol was still coursing through my body; I was dizzy, tired, and my body felt heavy, unable to move. I felt helpless and ashamed, but the bitterness and depression imposed on me that night hadn't subsided. I didn't want to struggle anymore, didn't want to resist anymore. Life was so tiring, and the sensations coming from my lower body were real and pleasurable, combined with the dizziness from the alcohol, making it feel stimulating. I knew K wasn't a bad person. That night, I was drunk and disheveled, bringing a perfectly healthy young man into my bedroom; wasn't this situation just the natural progression? So, this was all my own doing. Since leaving that heartless ex-boyfriend who deceived me, I haven't felt loved or cared for. K's tongue reignited the desire within me, and it also gave me a sense of vengeful pleasure. Whom should I stand up for now? Gradually, I was taken over by desire and alcohol, abandoning any thought of resistance and accepting everything.

I had been out all day and hadn't showered yet; my private parts were probably a mess. Being tasted like this made me shy, but K seemed to enjoy it, like a perverted puppy, which made me want to laugh. I held back my expression, not wanting to interrupt him, afraid he would be at a loss, afraid this would turn into an awkward situation. The alcohol numbed my senses, making his vigorous stimulation seem less intense. I lay on the bed, half-drunk and half-awake, limbs spread wide, resting and enjoying the massage of my private parts. K clearly thought I was half-dead drunk, now an inflatable doll for him to play with as he pleased. I gradually felt my private parts becoming wet, blossoming, wanting more, deeper. After a series of intense licking, he left my private parts, leaving me in the emptiness of mid-air. I felt him undressing. I closed my eyes and heard his rapid breathing, imagining the boy frantically undressing, and a smile welled up inside me. Then, my legs were lifted and spread apart, and something hard pressed against my private parts, rubbing slightly before thrusting in. Just like that, drunk, on my own bed, I was taken by the man I had brought home. Although my body wasn't sensitive enough, the sudden penetration almost made me cry out. K began thrusting rapidly, and I could no longer remain calm. I struggled to open my eyes, still trying to appear reserved. I pretended to be angry, pushing him away with my hands, my legs kicking weakly. "What are you doing? Let me go, don't do this..." K was no longer his usual gentle self. He thrust in deeply, his penis like a nail firmly inserted into my private parts. He pounced on me, pinning me down with his body, pressing my arms to the bed with his hands, his head beside mine, licking my ear as he said, "Sis, you're so beautiful, I can't take it anymore, I love you so much, give it to me." His words melted my heart. These past few days had left my heart riddled with holes, and K, taking advantage of my drunkenness, had invaded my heart and my body.

Under the pressure of his body, under the teasing of his lips and tongue, I stopped moving, my arms stopped exerting force, and the walls of my private parts began to contract in waves, thirstily experiencing the long, thin object inserted inside me. K noticed the signals my body was giving him, understanding that I had acquiesced to him. He kissed my lips, beginning a passionate kiss, his lower body continuing to thrust. His tongue forcefully shoved into my mouth, frantically swirling around it, as if trying to reach my throat. A strong smell of alcohol rushed into my mouth, mixing with the alcohol in mine. I hadn't expected to actually have the chance to taste K's sexy, curvaceous lips, especially in such a disheveled state, and I couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. He pinned me down, his forceful thrusts filling both my mouth and mouth. The oppressive pleasure made me feel incredibly full, as if squeezing out all the emptiness and bitterness in my heart.

Just as I was about to suffocate, K lifted his upper body, supporting himself on either side of me, and his penis began to thrust even faster. I took a few deep breaths, opened my eyes, and in the dim light, I saw his face and his body. He was thin, with little muscle, his body all soft lines, and his skin seemed very fair; he definitely had a creamy, artistic vibe. But his penis was quite large. Although I hadn't seen it yet, my private parts had already truly felt its size, that full, swollen feeling was much better than with the previous sleazy man. K seemed inexperienced, his thrusts were a ferocious, rhythmic sprint, perhaps aided by the numbing effect of alcohol. He plowed me with boundless passion, each thrust reaching my depths, showing no concern about premature ejaculation. I was torn apart by his penetration, writhing on the bed, my bent legs swinging erratically with his thrusts. The pleasure from my genitals spread throughout my body, flooding my brain, and combined with the alcohol, made me even more dizzy. I realized I had begun to moan with undisguised pleasure; I was no longer being forced, but joyfully making love with K.

K flipped me over, making me lie face down on the bed. He ripped off my shirt and bra from behind, straddled me, pressing his hips against my buttocks, and inserted his thick penis into my vagina from behind. This position allowed for a less deep penetration, but my vaginal walls gripped even tighter. He maintained his aggressive rhythm, thrusting into me rapidly. With each thrust, my body lurched forward, and he continued his relentless assault. My head was already hanging over the edge of the bed, gripping the sheets tightly to keep from being thrown off. A wave of resentment washed over me. K, usually so shy, was so rough in bed, playing with me without any tenderness. He began thrusting downwards again, my buttocks slamming down, bouncing on the mattress, only to be slammed down again—he was using me like a trampoline. His glans first slammed against my inner walls, then slid under pressure across my most sensitive area, pushing deeper before withdrawing sharply, repeating the process… The intense stimulation made my whole body tremble. My body bounced up and down with each thrust, my head shaking violently. My lower abdomen was being squeezed hard, and the alcohol in my stomach churned, making me increasingly nauseous. I couldn't hold back any longer. I quickly bent my knees, lifted myself up, forcefully broke free of K, jumped off the bed, and ran to the bathroom, covering my mouth. Only then did I realize that I was still wearing pantyhose on one leg—the last piece of clothing I was wearing, even if it was semi-transparent…

I vomited into the toilet, my private parts still contracting in waves of lingering nausea. It seemed my stomach was completely empty except for alcohol; this time it was all liquid. But after vomiting, I felt much more sober. I never expected being penetrated could have such a sobering effect. K followed, turned on the light, and asked how I was, if I felt unwell. I shook my head, indicating I was fine, then bent over the sink, turned on the tap, and rinsed my mouth with tap water. K took the opportunity to grab my buttocks and thrust his penis into my private parts again. This sudden intrusion made my legs go weak, and I collapsed onto the sink. My whole body was limp, and I could only let him do as he pleased. It seems I had assumed a perfect position for being penetrated from behind while rinsing my mouth. He leaned over my back, his hands reaching down from below, slightly lifting my upper body, while simultaneously grabbing my breasts and kneading them forcefully. His hips were also thrusting in and out violently, slapping against my buttocks with a loud slapping sound. K thrust even harder, not satisfied with reaching the deepest point, he wanted to push in even deeper, as if he wanted to penetrate my uterus, to penetrate my heart. I opened my eyes and saw this lewd scene in the mirror. K's fair hands had kneaded my breasts into various shapes, and his buttocks were rocking wildly back and forth behind me. Our skin glistened slightly under the light, I couldn't tell if it was sweat, saliva, alcohol, or... my own juices. In the mirror, I clearly had an expression of being lost in sex: eyes slightly open, brows slightly furrowed, mouth slightly open; lipstick smeared, leaving faint red marks around my mouth; a few strands of hair were also wet and stuck to my face. K was also admiring me being frantically fucked by him through the mirror. I felt a wave of shyness, but the visual and physical stimulation intensified my reaction, and I unknowingly reached orgasm. My vagina was convulsing, my head was spinning even more, it was a strange feeling, a dizzying satisfaction, I couldn't breathe, I couldn't scream, I forced my neck back, the light blinding me with white light. K released my breasts, gripped my waist, and increased the speed of his thrusts. My head was resting on the sink, my mouth agape, too weak to moan. The faucet was still running, the splashes hitting my face and getting into my mouth, cool and refreshing, bringing me back to my senses. I felt the intense stimulation in my vagina; I felt like I couldn't feel my body anymore, only my vagina remaining, being forcefully thrust into by a thick, hot rod…

Finally, K, panting, said, "Sis, I'm going to cum…" I begged him with my last bit of strength not to ejaculate inside me. He didn't answer, thrusting wildly a few more times before abruptly pulling out his penis, and a stream of hot liquid splattered onto my buttocks. I couldn't hold on any longer, sliding off the sink and sitting on the floor, unable to move. Every nerve in my body was in chaos, only my genitals trembling, expressing their pleasure and satisfaction, so clear, so intense. K helped me up, held me in his arms, and used tissues to wipe away the "traces" he had left on my body. Then he kissed me again, his tongue exploring my mouth, exploring my lips that had been filled with alcohol all night and had just vomited. His tongue scoured the saliva in my mouth, and everything seemed so sweet. K carried me back to the bedroom, placed me on the bed, took off my last pair of pantyhose, and covered me with the blanket. He lay down beside me, holding my naked body, his breath tickling my face. I felt completely exhausted, everything around me seemed to be spinning, and soon I lost consciousness and fell asleep. The next day,

K asked me to be his girlfriend. He had secretly liked me for a long time but never had the courage to say it, so he could only deliberately create "chance encounters" at the company every day. Last night, after the banquet, he found that I was missing and anxiously searched everywhere, afraid that someone would take advantage of me. When he saw me coming out of the bathroom, he quickly caught up with me, took me away, and sent me home. He hadn't originally planned anything, but in my home, my somewhat unrestrained behavior and disheveled, drunken state aroused him, and he, emboldened by alcohol, got into my bed. Looking at the red and purple marks he left on my body, I asked him why he was so rough. He said he was angry because he remembered how seductively I was being teased by a client. Hearing this, how could I blame him? His request put me in a dilemma. I knew he was sincere at that moment; I could feel his genuine feelings. But how long could this feeling last? K was a good guy; could he handle a woman like me? Besides, we worked together; this kind of relationship was destined to be troublesome. Looking into his eyes and at his lips, I was at a loss… Friday night, the night was hazy. Having escaped the client banquet, I was completely drunk. Facing this cold city and its frenzied neon lights, I felt so small and helpless. I sat in the passenger seat, glancing at K, who was driving. His white shirt collar was unbuttoned, sleeves rolled up; he'd also been forced to drink quite a bit. In a voice thick with alcohol, I thanked him for taking me home. He told me to rest, saying we'd be there soon.

Dining with clients is hard work; the skill lies in fawning, obsequiousness, and using body language to convey the word "servant." Forcing them to drink is a means of demonstrating enslavement and subservience at banquets. Since you need their help, you drink what they offer, until you're completely pathetic, to show your submission. Especially for women, it further emphasizes male authority and dominance. Bullying women is an extremely boring and pathetic act, very ungentlemanly and low-class. But in today's world, how many men still care about such things? In the information age, the pace and pressure of life are intensifying, while men's hearts are becoming increasingly depraved, their genitals shrinking. I flaunted my charm, welcoming the torment of alcohol with a smile. The "chief" of this client was thoroughly enjoying himself, pouring alcohol down my throat while groping me. His hands, legs, waist, and even my buttocks were all touched, yet he lacked the courage to make any real contact, only making fleeting, suggestive touches. He could only stare at my collar, relentlessly forcing me to drink, as if this stimulating liquid were another penis entering my body, possessing me, torturing me to satisfy his lewd desires—what a pervert! He wore a lewd grin, shamelessly revealing his yellowed teeth. In my mind, I was already giving him a thousand middle fingers, but on my face, I wore a charming, shy smile, letting him defile me at will. If there had been a mirror, I would have been disgusted with myself.

Barely enduring this torment until it ended, I ran to the restroom, nearly vomiting. My legs felt light as I struggled out of the restaurant, seeing the manager and the client's "chief" exchanging farewells, shaking hands and embracing, like longtime gay friends. Another wave of nausea washed over me. I was indeed drunk. I found it difficult to even walk in my high heels, and the pencil skirt of my suit was maliciously hindering my legs, as if deliberately trying to embarrass me. I really wanted to give up and just sit on the ground, but thankfully K came over in time to help me up, saying he would take me home, preventing me from making a fool of myself. Once I got into K's car, my heart calmed down a little. Through the car window, I caught another glimpse of the CEO's lewd, flushed, oily smiling face, like a huge, swollen, fat glans, making me feel as if I could smell its stench. Ugh, another wave of nausea

washed over me. The car sped through the night. Sitting in the alcohol-scented car, I closed my eyes, trying to balance my dizzy brain. I pulled out my vibrating phone, opened my eyes, and saw an apology text from my ex-boyfriend, which only fueled my inner bitterness and anger. A month ago, I finally discovered he had been cheating on me. If it weren't for my best friend's warning, I would still be a fool to have been deceived. I've always been sincere with him, trying my best to be the perfect girlfriend—in public, at home, and in bed—but he's already flushed my feelings down the toilet. This deception is unbearable; it feels like a swarm of cockroaches crawling into my heart and tearing it apart, disgusting and painful. I slapped him and resolutely left him. After that, he kept pestering me, trying to get my forgiveness. But a woman's heart is like glass; once shattered, it's hard to mend the cracks. He had the nerve to cheat on me before, and now that I've left, he's shamelessly trying to get back together. It's all so pointless; I never imagined he could be so unmanly. Receiving his text now adds another layer of disgust to this painful night. I turned off my phone, unwilling to think about any of it anymore.

I turned to look at K, who was driving. He's a year younger than me, a colleague, but not in the same department. We often bumped into each other at the office. He always had a quiet smile, was thin, and liked to wear white shirts, which made him look very scholarly. I really liked his lips—thin, with a hint of white, forming a mischievous, sexy curve when he smiled, a beautiful sight against his white shirt. Sometimes, in my infatuation, I'd wonder what it would feel like to bite them, or if they were flavored with strawberries. We often bumped into each other at the office, chatted casually, and sometimes had coffee together during breaks. I'd chat with him while taking the opportunity to admire his lips, relieving some work stress. This time, our departments were collaborating, so we were both forced to drink by clients that night. He could hold his liquor better than me and wasn't a primary target, so he could still drive calmly. Luckily, he was there tonight, saving me in time. When he supported me, I gripped his arm tightly, feeling so secure, as if he were my lifeline. At this moment, I leaned back in the passenger seat, looking at his face from below. It was the first time I'd tried this angle, and I felt his profile was quite pleasing to the eye. Maybe I was really drunk. The alcohol in my system made me feel hot, and I was already sweating slightly. I adjusted to a more comfortable and languid position, unbuttoned two buttons on my shirt, and slightly opened the car window to let in some fresh air. I closed my eyes, enjoying the cool night air. I knew K could already see my view through my unbuttoned collar, but I didn't care at all. A feeling of depression, helplessness, loss, and loneliness clung to me, and the alcohol was making my rationality fade.

K helped me upstairs to the apartment I shared with a woman. The room was dark; my roommate had probably gone out to have fun again, and I wouldn't see her again until Monday. I kicked off my high heels, rushed to the bathroom, pulled down my skirt, pantyhose, and underwear, and arrogantly sat down to pee—I'd been holding it in for quite a while. While I was doing all this, I completely ignored K's presence, didn't close the bathroom door, and didn't care whether he could see everything. Maybe the alcohol really made me lose my mind. I stood up and hastily pulled up my underwear and pantyhose, too lazy to bend down and put my skirt back on. I just walked out like that, letting the skirt slide down my legs and remain on the floor. At this point, I was only wearing black pantyhose, with my low-rise lace panties clearly visible through them; on top, I was wearing a white chiffon blouse, three buttons undone, revealing a seamless bra underneath. I wondered what K would think of me if he saw me like this. I buried my head in the sofa, only to find myself lying among a pile of clothes that had just been brought in, probably my roommate's. The soft fabric and the fragrant scent felt quite nice. Then I noticed a hair clip digging into the back of my head, pulling my hair painfully. How annoying! I ripped the hair clip off and threw it away, letting my hair fall loose, which felt much better. Suddenly, K helped me up, carrying a cup of hot water. I was quite touched, as I was still emotionally distraught; I hadn't expected him to be so considerate. The warmth of the water eased some of the alcohol's effects, and I felt my surroundings become clearer. K asked if I still felt nauseous, and I said I was fine, just a little tired and wanted to sleep. With K's help, I went to the bedroom, lay down on the bed, and K covered me with the blanket, turned off the light, and told me to rest. I was very grateful to him; he gave me a gentle warmth, an emotion I had long lacked in my life. Suddenly, I felt a pang of sadness, an emptiness in my heart, and wanted to cry, but this subtle feeling was disrupted by the dizziness of the alcohol. I felt utterly exhausted, too weak to keep my eyes open, and simply drifted off to sleep, not wanting to think about anything anymore.

In my hazy state, my mind was confused by the alcohol; fragmented scenes flashed before my eyes—people I'd met before, people I hadn't met before—fragmented pieces, scattered fragments of words, all intertwined. I felt like I was on a bus again, a strange crowd jostling me, making it hard to breathe and immobilize me. Dozens of hands crawled over my body, tearing at me, kneading me, shrill laughter echoing in my ears… I jolted awake from the darkness; it was a dream. My head throbbed, and I felt strange sensations. Gradually, my senses returned, and I realized the strange sensations were from someone licking my genitals. In an instant, I was shocked and tense. I didn't remember where I was, nor did I understand why a tongue was wriggling between my labia. I opened my eyes, realizing I was in my own bed. I slightly raised my head, trying to look down. In the darkness, I saw what looked like K's head between my legs. I remembered that I had been drugged that night, and K had taken me home. He had helped me into bed, and after I fell asleep, he hadn't left but had continued to "take care" of me. My body felt cool; my shirt was open, and my bra was undone, the front clasp undone. K had clearly thoroughly explored my breasts. Now his head was busy between my legs, and my underwear was obviously no longer on. I wanted to struggle, to kick him away and curse him as a pervert. But the strong alcohol was still coursing through my body; I was dizzy, tired, and my body felt heavy, unable to move. I felt helpless and ashamed, but the bitterness and depression imposed on me that night hadn't subsided. I didn't want to struggle anymore, didn't want to resist anymore. Life was so tiring, and the sensations coming from my lower body were real and pleasurable, combined with the dizziness from the alcohol, making it feel stimulating. I knew K wasn't a bad person. That night, I was drunk and disheveled, bringing a perfectly healthy young man into my bedroom; wasn't this situation just the natural progression? So, this was all my own doing. Since leaving that heartless ex-boyfriend who deceived me, I haven't felt loved or cared for. K's tongue reignited the desire within me, and it also gave me a sense of vengeful pleasure. Whom should I stand up for now? Gradually, I was taken over by desire and alcohol, abandoning any thought of resistance and accepting everything.

I had been out all day and hadn't showered yet; my private parts were probably a mess. Being tasted like this made me shy, but K seemed to enjoy it, like a perverted puppy, which made me want to laugh. I held back my expression, not wanting to interrupt him, afraid he would be at a loss, afraid this would turn into an awkward situation. The alcohol numbed my senses, making his vigorous stimulation seem less intense. I lay on the bed, half-drunk and half-awake, limbs spread wide, resting and enjoying the massage of my private parts. K clearly thought I was half-dead drunk, now an inflatable doll for him to play with as he pleased. I gradually felt my private parts becoming wet, blossoming, wanting more, deeper. After a series of intense licking, he left my private parts, leaving me in the emptiness of mid-air. I felt him undressing. I closed my eyes and heard his rapid breathing, imagining the boy frantically undressing, and a smile welled up inside me. Then, my legs were lifted and spread apart, and something hard pressed against my private parts, rubbing slightly before thrusting in. Just like that, drunk, on my own bed, I was taken by the man I had brought home. Although my body wasn't sensitive enough, the sudden penetration almost made me cry out. K began thrusting rapidly, and I could no longer remain calm. I struggled to open my eyes, still trying to appear reserved. I pretended to be angry, pushing him away with my hands, my legs kicking weakly. "What are you doing? Let me go, don't do this..." K was no longer his usual gentle self. He thrust in deeply, his penis like a nail firmly inserted into my private parts. He pounced on me, pinning me down with his body, pressing my arms to the bed with his hands, his head beside mine, licking my ear as he said, "Sis, you're so beautiful, I can't take it anymore, I love you so much, give it to me." His words melted my heart. These past few days had left my heart riddled with holes, and K, taking advantage of my drunkenness, barged into my heart and my body.

Under the pressure of his body and the teasing of his lips and tongue, I stopped moving, my arms gave way, and the walls of my vagina began to contract in waves, thirstily experiencing the long, thin object inserted inside me. K noticed the signals my body was giving him and understood that I had acquiesced to him. He kissed my lips, kissing me passionately, while his lower body continued to thrust. His tongue forcefully entered my mouth, frantically swirling around it, as if trying to reach my throat. A strong smell of alcohol rushed into my mouth, mixing with the smell of alcohol in mine. I hadn't expected to actually have the chance to taste K's sexy, curvaceous lips, especially in such a disheveled state, and I couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. I was pinned down by him, both my mouths being forcefully penetrated by him. This oppressive pleasure made me feel incredibly full, as if squeezing out all the emptiness and bitterness in my heart. Just

as I was about to suffocate, K lifted his upper body, supporting himself on either side of me, and his penis began to thrust even faster. I took a few deep breaths, opened my eyes, and saw his face and body in the dim light. He was thin, with little muscle, his body all soft lines, and his skin seemed very fair; he definitely had that "pretty boy" look. But his thing was huge. Although I hadn't seen it yet, my private parts had already truly felt its size. That feeling of being swollen and filled was much better than with the previous sleazy guy. K didn't seem to have much experience; it was just a rhythmic, fierce thrusting. Perhaps the alcohol was also numbing him. He was passionately plunging into me, each thrust reaching deep inside, without any concern about premature ejaculation. I was being fucked all over, twisting and turning on the bed, my bent legs swinging helplessly with his thrusts. The pleasure from my private parts spread throughout my body, flooding my brain, and along with the alcohol, made me even more dizzy. I realized I had begun to moan with pleasure without any restraint. I was no longer being forced; I was making love joyfully with K.

K flipped me over, making me lie face down on the bed. He ripped off my shirt and bra from behind, straddled me, pressed his hips against my buttocks, and thrust his thick penis into my vagina from behind. This position didn't allow for as deep penetration, but my vaginal walls gripped even tighter. He maintained his aggressive rhythm, thrusting into me rapidly. With each thrust, my body jerked forward, and he moved forward again, continuing his powerful assault. My head was already hanging over the edge of the bed, and I could only grip the sheets tightly to avoid being thrown off. A wave of resentment washed over me; K, usually a bit shy, was so rough in bed, playing with me without any tenderness. He started thrusting down hard again, my buttocks were slammed down, bounced up by the mattress, and then slammed down again—he was using me as his trampoline. His glans first slammed against the walls of my vagina, then slid under pressure across my most sensitive area, pushing deeper before suddenly pulling back, repeating the process… The intense stimulation made my whole body tremble. My body bounced up and down as he thrust into me, my head shaking violently. My lower abdomen was being squeezed heavily, and I felt the alcohol in my stomach churning again, making me increasingly nauseous. I couldn't hold it in any longer. I quickly bent my legs, lifted myself up, forcefully broke free from K, jumped off the bed, covered my mouth, and ran to the bathroom. Only then did I realize that I was still wearing pantyhose on one leg—the last piece of clothing I was wearing, albeit a semi-transparent one…

I vomited into the toilet, my private parts still contracting with lingering pleasure. It seemed there was nothing left in my stomach besides alcohol; this time, it was all liquid. However, after vomiting, I felt much more sober. I never expected that being penetrated could have a sobering effect. K followed, turned on the light, and asked how I was doing, if I felt unwell. I shook my head at him, indicating I was fine, then bent over at the sink, turned on the tap, and rinsed my mouth with tap water. K took the opportunity to grab my buttocks and thrust his penis into my vagina again. This sudden intrusion made my legs go weak, and I collapsed completely onto the sink. My whole body was limp, and I could only let him do as he pleased. It seems I had assumed a perfect position for being penetrated from behind while rinsing my mouth. He leaned over my back, his hands reaching down from below, slightly lifting my upper body, while simultaneously grabbing my breasts and kneading them forcefully. His lower body was also thrusting in and out fiercely, his hips slapping against my buttocks with a loud slapping sound. K fucked even harder, not satisfied with reaching the deepest point, he wanted to push in even deeper, as if he wanted to penetrate my uterus, to penetrate my heart. I opened my eyes and saw this lewd scene in the mirror. K's fair hands had already kneaded my breasts into various shapes, while his buttocks were wildly rocking back and forth behind me. Our skin glistened slightly under the light, a mixture of sweat, saliva, alcohol, or... vaginal fluid, I couldn't tell. In the mirror, I clearly wore an expression of ecstasy: eyes slightly open, brows slightly furrowed, mouth slightly agape; lipstick smeared, leaving faint red marks around my lips; a few strands of hair were damp and stuck to my face. K was also admiring himself through the mirror as he frantically fucked me. A wave of shyness washed over me, but the visual and physical stimulation intensified my reaction, and I unknowingly reached orgasm. My vagina convulsed, my head spinning even more—a strange feeling, a dizzying satisfaction. I couldn't breathe, couldn't scream, and strained to tilt my head back, the light blinding me. K released my breasts, gripped my waist, and increased the speed of his thrusts. My head rested on the sink, my mouth agape, but I no longer had the strength to moan. The tap was still running, the splashing water hitting my face and getting into my mouth, cool and refreshing, making me a little more awake. Then I felt the intense stimulation in my vagina. I felt like I couldn't feel my body anymore; the whole world was just my vagina, being forcefully thrust into by a thick, hot rod…

Finally, K, panting, said to me, "Sis, I'm going to cum…" I used my last bit of strength to beg him not to cum inside. He didn't answer, thrusting wildly a few more times before abruptly pulling out his penis, and a stream of hot liquid splattered onto my buttocks. I couldn't hold on any longer and slid off the sink, sitting on the floor, unable to move. All my nerves were in chaos; only my genitals were still trembling, expressing their pleasure and satisfaction, so clear, so intense. K helped me up, held me in his arms, and used toilet paper to wipe away the "traces" he had left on me. Then he kissed me, his tongue exploring my mouth, exploring my mouth that had been filled with alcohol all night and had just vomited. His tongue explored the saliva in my mouth, making everything seem so sweet. K carried me back to the bedroom, placed me on the bed, took off my last pair of pantyhose, and covered me with the blanket. He lay down beside me, embracing my naked body, his breath tickling my face. I felt utterly exhausted, everything around me still seemed to be spinning, and I quickly lost consciousness and fell asleep.

The next day, K asked me to be his girlfriend. He had secretly liked me for a long time but never had the courage to confess, so he deliberately created "chance encounters" at the company every day. Last night, after the banquet, he realized I was missing and frantically searched everywhere, fearing someone might take advantage of me. When he saw me come out of the bathroom, he quickly caught up with me, took me away, and sent me home. He hadn't originally planned anything, but at my house, my somewhat unrestrained behavior and disheveled, drunken state aroused his desire, and he, emboldened by alcohol, got into my bed. Looking at the red and purple marks he had left on my body, I asked him why he had been so rough. He said he was a little angry because he remembered how I had been flirtatiously teased by a client. After hearing that, how could I blame him? His request put me in a dilemma. I knew he was sincere at that moment; I could feel his genuine feelings. But how long could this feeling last? K was a good guy; could he handle a woman like me? Besides, we worked together. This kind of relationship was destined to be troublesome. Looking into his eyes and at his lips, I was at a loss…

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Night of Chaos: Being Sexually Assaulted After Getting Drunk

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