Chapter 23

Saturday September 7 The Rusty Anchor smelled like spilled beer, old cigarette smoke that had soaked into the wood years ago, and the faint metallic tang of desperation that every good dive bar carries after midnight. Saturday night meant the place was alive. Jukebox pumping Lynyrd Skynyrd, pool balls cracking like gunshots, laughter cutting through the low hum of conversation. Dim lights hung from chains, throwing long shadows across sticky floors and scarred tables. The crowd was the usual mix: blue-collar guys in faded work shirts nursing longnecks, young professionals loosening their ties, a few women who’d come looking for trouble and a few more who’d already found it.

Holly and Beth walked in like they owned the place. It had been nearly a week since everyone returned home after the Labor Day weekend orgy and they were on the prowl for a new adventure. For Holly it was the first time she had used her new fake ID and so far so good.

Holly wore a black dress that looked painted on, sleeveless, low-cut, hem riding high enough that every step showed a flash of thigh. The fabric caught the light and clung to her curves like it was trying to remember them. Beth had gone red, a tight top that left her midriff bare and showed off the thin silver chain of her collar, paired with a short pleated skirt that flipped up when she moved. Neither one of them wore a bra or panties, just skin and intent. They looked like sisters who’d grown up sharing secrets and clothes, and tonight they were sharing something darker.

They claimed a high-top near the bar, close enough to the action but with a clear view of the room. Holly slid onto a stool; Beth stayed standing, one hip cocked, scanning the crowd like a predator picking lunch.

The bartender, a woman in her mid-thirties with short dark hair, a sleeve of ink running up her left arm, and a nose ring that caught the light, leaned across the scarred wood and set two tequila shots in front of them without being asked. She had the kind of easy confidence that said she’d seen everything twice and wasn’t impressed. Yet.

“On the house,” she said, voice low and smoky. “I’m Riley and you two look like you’re looking for some fun.”

Holly picked up her shot, licked the salt off her wrist, and met the bartender’s eyes. “Holly & Beth and we are always looking for fun.”

Beth laughed, soft and dirty, and clinked her glass against Holly’s. They threw back the tequila in unison, the burn sharp and welcome. Beth set her empty glass down first.

“I’ve got an idea that I want to run past you and then if you like it, we can run it by your mom as well,” she said, leaning in so only Holly could hear. “Been thinking about your gangbang fantasy.”

Holly raised an eyebrow. “I’m listening.”

Beth’s voice dropped lower. “We hold a subscriber contest. Ten winners. All-expenses-paid trip to someplace that is relatively easy for everyone to get to, like Atlanta. Fly them in Saturday morning. Debbie and you host them at an Airbnb, nice place, big bed, lots of cameras. While the cabin would be perfect for this, I don’t think we should reveal to anyone other than your closest friends where your house or cabin are located.”

“Agreed.”

“Anyway, the winners will be treated to a private DebbieDoesHolly show Saturday afternoon, tease, strip, toys, the works. No filming of this. It will truly be a private show just for the winners. Then Saturday night ... the main event. Gangbang Holly. Ten guys, no limits. You take them all, mouth, pussy, ass, wherever they want. Then on Sunday morning or afternoon, another round. Only this time they get to gangbang your mom. Or if she doesn’t want all ten, I’ll volunteer the use of any or all of my three holes,” she said with a laugh.

Holly’s breath caught. She felt the heat rise in her cheeks, between her legs. “That’s fucking brilliant. How would we pick the winners?”

Beth ticked them off on her fingers. “Must be a subscriber as of September 15th. That gives everyone a week to sign up if they haven’t already. Deadline to submit a video would be a week later on September 22nd. They must agree to being a participant in a ten-man gangbang, to appear on camera because we are definitely putting the full video on the site and they must produce a STD test within three days of the event, results sent to us. Submit a one-minute video or less explaining why they should be picked. Longer than a minute, disqualified. We pick the ten winners on October 5th. Event’s the last weekend in October, the 25th and 26th.”

Holly stared at her for a long beat. Then she smiled, slow, wicked, the kind of smile that promised trouble.

“I love it,” she said. “Love it so much I’m already wet thinking about it.”

Beth leaned forward on her elbows, the high-top table pressing into her ribs, voice low enough that only Holly could hear over the jukebox and bar chatter.

“Okay,” she said, “let’s nail this down so we don’t fuck it up later. We’re doing this right.”

Holly nodded, licking a last trace of salt and tequila from her lower lip. “Keep going.”

“First, promotion. We announce it on the private subscriber feed only as well as X, Reddit, etc. Subscribers get a special video drop: you and Debbie, naked on the bed, explaining the contest. We keep it hot but clear. ‘Ten lucky guys. All expenses paid. One weekend. One purpose: wreck Holly and or Debbie depending on if she wants in.’”

Holly’s thighs pressed together under the table. “Wreck me how?”

Beth’s grin turned feral. “No condoms. No pulling out unless they want to paint your face or tits. Every hole is open, mouth, pussy, ass, hands, wherever they can fit. You take all ten, back to back to back, as many times as they can go. We film the whole thing, multi-camera, close-ups, POV shots. We could get some quotes from a production company on filming it for us so that we don’t have to lug all the cameras and equipment with us. The footage goes on the site as a six-to-eight-part series. Subscribers get lifetime access. The ten winners get a digital copy too, but no redistribution rights.”

Holly exhaled slowly. “Safety?”

“Mandatory. Every guy submits a recent STD panel, full panel, not just the basics. Results dated no more than three days before the event. We verify them ourselves. If anything’s positive or missing, disqualified. No exceptions. We also require a signed consent form, covers filming, physical acts, no-revocation clause once they arrive. We can figure out a safe word and either hire a couple of dudes as security guards or maybe even take Willie and T-bone with us as security. Anyone breaks the rules, they’re out the door, no questions asked.”

“In addition, each winner gets a $500 ‘appearance fee’ on top of the trip, wired after they leave. Keeps it legal, keeps them happy. You’ll spend some money up front, but the revenue from having all these videos as PPV items on the site will make a shit load more than what you spend. Up to you, but you could price it the same way that you did the videos of Jenna’s party and we know how well those sold. I bet you’ll make a killing.”

“Holy shit you weren’t kidding when you said you’ve been thinking about this. All of that is fucking brilliant. I’m in. 100%. We talk to mom about it in the morning, I’ve got other plans for tonight,” Holly said with a wicked grin.

“I’ve seen that look before. Besides trying to find a couple of guys to take home and fuck the shit out of what are you thinking?”

“A little challenge,” Holly whispered, “to spice it up a little bit. Before we leave the bar tonight, we try to get three loads each. Face, mouth, pussy. Different guy for each. First one to complete the trifecta wins.”

Beth’s eyes glittered. “Oh you dirty slut. I love it. You’re on!”

They clinked their empty shot glasses like it was a blood oath. Then Holly slid off her stool, dress riding high enough to show the curve of her ass and walked toward the pool tables with purpose.

Beth watched her go, then turned to the bar, already scanning for her first mark.

The night was young, the bar was loud, and neither of them planned to leave until they’d won.

Holly crossed the bar like she owned the floorboards, hips swaying just enough to make the black dress ride higher with each step. The shy grad student was easy to spot: early twenties, wire-rimmed glasses slipping down his nose, button-down tucked neatly into khakis, nursing a craft IPA like it might bite him. He looked up when she leaned against the bar beside him, close enough that her perfume, something sweet and dark, cut through the haze of spilled beer.

“Mind if I watch?” she asked, nodding at the dartboard he’d been staring at like it owed him money.

He blinked, adjusted his glasses. “Uh ... sure. I’m terrible at this.”

Holly smiled, slow and deliberate. “I like terrible. Means there’s room for improvement.”

She let her fingers brush his forearm when she reached for a dart, light, accidental-on-purpose. He swallowed hard. She lined up her shot, then deliberately let the dart slip from her fingers. It clattered to the floor between them.

“Oops,” she said, voice sweet and unconvincing.

Holly bent at the waist to pick it up, slow, deliberate, knees straight, back arched just enough to make the short black dress ride up the backs of her thighs. The hem lifted higher, higher, until it cleared the curve of her ass and revealed she wasn’t wearing anything underneath. For a brief, deliberate second, she gave him a clear view of her bare pussy, smooth, already glistening under the low bar lights.

She lingered there a heartbeat longer than necessary, then straightened with the dart in her hand, and completely missed the board. The dart ricocheted off the wall and fell harmlessly to the floor. She turned to face him with an innocent smile.

“Guess I should pick that up,” she said, stepping close enough that her breasts brushed his arm. “Or ... maybe you’d rather watch me play something else.”

He stared, mouth slightly open, pulse visible in his throat.

Holly leaned in, lips near his ear, voice a warm whisper. “I’m better at other games. Want to see?”

He nodded before his brain caught up.

The unisex bathroom was down a narrow hallway, single stall, lock that actually worked. Holly pushed him inside first, flipped the bolt, then dropped to her knees on the cold tile without preamble. The floor was filthy; she didn’t care. His khakis were already tented. She tugged the zipper down, freed him, average length, average girth, already leaking, and took him straight to the back of her throat in one smooth motion.