And before I have even completed the thought, you have been lifted in my arms and deposited gently among the soft pillows on the bed, my lips touching your mouth, your cheek, your neck, one hand cradling your head, the other running down your body. I can feel the towel fall away, and moan against your chest as your hand closes around the firm shaft of my cock. Then you moan back as my kiss reaches your nipple, lips closing around the hardening nub, pulling it into my mouth as my tongue draws slow circles around it. I descend the slope of one breast to climb the other, my hips starting to shift back and forth to the rhythm of your hand’s gentle stroking, and bring your other nipple to fullness with the same treatment. My lips return to yours as my hand finishes its tour of your lower back, slips around the curve of your ass, and discovers the damp entrance of your pussy. Your mouth opens to mine with a gasp as my fingers slip between the silken lips, brushing lightly against where you. It was awful. But little pieces of the journey came back slowly, snatches of flashes of memories; I wasn't sure if I'd dreamed them or if they were real. I remembered stumbling around in the rain. I remembered taking a piss in my bathroom. I remembered fumbling with my keys in the door. I remembered the couple having sex on the couch at Charlotte's, and standing there in the bathroom, and-Oh yeah. Oh shit. Charlotte. I remembered her being in bed with a whole bunch of guys, or at least seeing a whole bunch of naked guys surrounding her while she fucked a couple of them. I got hot acid in the pit of my stomach at that thought. It hit suddenly, and it burned. I tensed. I felt nauseous. I dropped my head to the pillow again, closing my eyes like a dying man. Had Charlotte really fucked a whole roomful of guys?Ouch. The memory hurt worse than the hangover. It was vague, a mere blur of flesh, lots of flesh, but it was enough. Charlotte had been fucking a roomful of guys. I remembered it..
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