Kira arrives at the neon rave painted in fake clothes—thin neon straps over bare tits, illusory thong framing her dripping cunt. Ecstasy hits, paint fails, strangers grope, security fingers, gloryholes choke her throat, crowds surf her leaking holes, tents double-penetrate and golden-shower her branded body. By dawn she's a cum-flooded, piss-soaked, sharpie-slurred festival fuckpig, holes gaping, still begging for more ruin.
Finish up my swim, I noticed two young guys headed to the locker room. Looked like they were up to some mischief so I followed them in and I caught them doing some very gay things in their tiny little speedos.
I don't know when we started driving. A few miles out of the county town, we got on a bumpy mountain road. The car, which was full of passengers, kept shaking from side to side, and my mother had to try her best to keep her balance. Despite this, before going uphill, the sudden acceleration made my mother scream and sit on the person behind her. What was even more embarrassing was that she felt that the part between her legs just touched a hard object.