Punch Drunk Lust: A Cursed College Halloween Romp
Chapter 4
Humor Sex Story: Chapter 4 - Clark Griffin had three simple goals for tonight: survive wearing a twelve-dollar superhero suit with migrating foam abs, guard his mother’s heirloom crystal punch bowl, and avoid making eye contact with Tina Kowalski. Tina was the untouchable queen of high school Spanish—and was currently standing in his kitchen, dressed in a nurse costume that could cause heart failure. A filthy, laugh-out-loud college erotica novelette featuring the nerd-gets-the-smokin’-hot-girl and a cursed aphrodisiac.
Caution: This Humor Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Drunk/Drugged Demons Orgy
Clark shivered as he came awake.
The furnace had apparently given up sometime during the night.
The second thing to reach his barely functioning brain was the noise from last night.
That heavy wooden thud from the basement.
He’d planned to check it, but Tina took priority over whatever creepy stuff might be down there.
He forced his eyes open. Dawn slipped through the gaps around his curtains, exposing every horrible detail of his bedroom: the party wreckage, the costumes, and the cups. His ceiling fan would probably never spin correctly again.
Clark remained on his back, afraid that movement might kill him.
His head pounded in time with his heartbeat. His neck wouldn’t turn without sending a hot stab into his shoulder, and the swollen bump on his forehead throbbed where he headbutted the ceiling fan’s blade.
Fantastic.
If the Internet needed new content besides him being buck naked, he’d apparently volunteered. The headline wrote itself.
College Idiot Knocks Himself Out During Sex.
The clip would probably have dramatic captions, fake crowd noises, and several million views by lunchtime.
He tried to move his legs.
Something tightened around his knees.
For one panicked second, he wondered if the strange finger from the punch bowl had grown an entire body overnight and wrapped itself around him. Then he looked down and found the lower half of his Captain Justice costume twisted around his legs.
’Dumbass.’
The blue polyester pants were turned halfway inside out and looped around one ankle. His bare chest was covered in goosebumps. His left leg had gone numb beneath the sheet, partly because of the costume and partly because it was tangled with someone else’s calf.
A very attractive someone else’s calf.
Tina.
She lay curled on her side beside him, facing his chest. The sheet covered her from the shoulders down, though one bare leg had escaped near the foot of the bed. Dark hair spread over his single pillow, brushing his arm. Her face looked softer in sleep, her lips slightly parted, and her lashes made faint shadows against her cheeks.
Clark forgot about the cold for a second.
Tina was beautiful.
She was especially beautiful when her mouth tilted into that rare, dangerous smile that made a guy feel like he’d just been singled out.
But this version of her did something different to him.
There was no sharp look, no dry comment waiting to cut somebody down, no guarded tension pulling her shoulders tight.
Just Tina.
Warm skin, messy hair, and one hand tucked beneath her cheek.
And the memory of that skin under his hands.
Clark’s pulse quickened, and other parts of him also remembered.
His brain, running on a concussion, a hangover, and maybe four minutes of decent sleep, attempted to put the pieces together.
’Tina’s in my bed.’
He gave himself another second.
’Tina’s mostly naked in my bed.’
One more.
’Half the fucking internet saw us last night.’
His stomach rolled.
The phone sat on the nightstand.
Chad’s phone, to be exact. It was dead now, its screen dark beneath the pale window light. The battery had finally given out, taking the livestream with it.
Too late.
Clark remembered the viewer count climbing, remembered the comments racing up the screen too fast to read. Some people had known their names, while others had tagged friends. Thousands of strangers had watched the party spiral into total orgy chaos while Clark and Tina were the star attraction.
The bonus footage was that he’d headbutted the fan.
Because apparently public humiliation hadn’t been complete until he’d added physical comedy.
Had anyone recorded it?
That was a stupid question; of course someone had.
The Internet preserved everything: embarrassing videos, drunken mistakes, bad haircuts, and that one middle-school talent show where Clark had attempted a magic trick and accidentally set his sleeve on fire.
By now, clips of last night could be everywhere: Reddit, TikTok, group chats, and some weird adult site with a title he never wanted to read.
His stomach dipped again.
This was bad.
Actually, no: this was a total fucking disaster.
He closed his eyes and considered staying in bed until civilization collapsed. Unfortunately, the pounding in his skull made unconsciousness unlikely.
With a grimace, Clark planted his hands behind him and pushed himself upright.
His spine cracked three times.
The sound startled him enough to make him stop moving.
He was still alive.
The house was silent, and no one was in his bedroom besides Tina. Where was everyone?
Only a few hours earlier, the place had been packed with shouting, music, laughter, and enough sexual insanity to get them all banned from polite society. Now it looked like the aftermath of a frat party.
Red cups covered the carpet.
A plastic gladiator chest piece leaned against his desk chair. Marcus’s fur-trimmed loincloth had been abandoned near the closet. Purple glitter had been crushed into the rug, ensuring Clark would still be finding it after graduation. A plastic sword stuck out of his dying plant. Two dead phones lay near the bed, deserted by guests who’d escaped before sunrise.
Clark’s attention landed on his desk.
His superhero statue leaned dangerously close to the edge of its shelf.
His breath caught.
“No, no, no.”
He climbed halfway across the mattress and reached out. His fingertips nudged the resin figure back toward the center of its stand.
The statue settled.
No cracks, no missing pieces, no tiny broken cape.
If the statue had broken last night, something inside him would’ve broken with it.
A soft rustle came from the bed.
Clark turned.
Tina’s eyes were open.
For a second, neither of them moved. Her gaze traveled over his bare chest, his tangled costume, his morning wood, and the swollen lump on his forehead.
Then she shivered.
She yanked the sheet to her chin and scooted back against the wall.
“Are you okay?”
He cleared his throat.
“Physically, I mean. Well, emotionally too, obviously. I just don’t know how to ask both without sounding like I’m trying to talk you down from a ledge.”
A breath escaped her that was almost a laugh. Before she could answer, movement appeared in the doorway. Marcus hovered in the hall.
Well, technically, there wasn’t much of a doorway left. Marcus had thrown his shoulder into the door last night and busted the latch apart. What was left of the door now lay flat on the carpet, still partially attached to its bottom hinge.
Marcus looked awful. His normal golden-retriever enthusiasm had vanished, dark circles shadowed his eyes, his shoulders drooped, and he held two phones as if they were evidence of the debauchery from last night.
“Hey.”
Clark shifted closer to Tina without thinking, blocking as much of her as he could.
“What are you doing?”
Marcus winced.
“Leaving.”
“Good start.”
“I deserve that.”
He lifted the phones.
“I wiped mine. Chloe did hers, too, before she left. Pictures, videos, everything. I checked the backups: it’s all gone.”
Clark’s gaze slid toward Chad’s phone.
Marcus followed it and rubbed the back of his neck.
“That one’s dead, completely dead. We won’t know what’s on it until it charges.”
“And the stream?”
Marcus’s face reddened.
“I don’t know. People were recording; they had to be. Once it went live, we lost control of it.”
Tina went still beside Clark. Marcus looked at her and immediately dropped his gaze.
“I tried to get rid of whatever I could,” he said. “I know that doesn’t fix it, and I know I crossed a line.”
“A line?” Clark repeated.
“Several lines.” Marcus dragged a hand down his face. “Every line, probably.”
Clark wanted to yell at him. A few hours earlier, he might’ve tackled him. Now, he didn’t have the strength to cross the room without assistance.