Justin
Yeah, I went to Red Bull Club tonight.
But nah—I didn't go for action.
Not this time.
I just needed to clear my head. Drown out the noise. The demons. The voices.
Tonight was Friday Special, and Fridays always had the best shows.
I stepped inside, the heavy bass of the music vibrating through my chest, the dim red glow washing over the bodies moving in shadows. Masks. Secrets. No names. Just how I liked it.
I paid for my usual spot—where the rough shit happened. Not the soft, slow, vanilla crap. That wasn't me. Never had been.
And no, I wasn't into BDSM either. The whips, the leashes, the bindings? That shit didn't do it for me. Too controlled. Too methodical.
I liked it raw. Hard. Unfiltered.
I liked it raw. Hard. Unapologetic.
I leaned back, drink in hand, watching as a guy pounded into a supple blonde bitch against the pole. Hard. No mercy. Just pure, primal fucking.
The guy behind her was relentless, pounding into her with enough force to send her tits bouncing in perfect rhythm. No love. No tenderness. Just pure, physical need., her moans swallowed up by the bass-heavy music.
I let it distract me. For a while.
I let myself sink into the scene, muscles relaxing, the heavy bass from the speakers vibrating through my chest. My fingers curled around my drink, my mind blissfully empty for the first time all day—
Then a waitress appeared at my side, breaking the trance.
"Celeste wants to see you at the counter," she said.
I sighed, finishing my drink before getting up. Celeste knew better than to waste my time.
She was already smirking when I reached her counter, twirling a stirrer in her cocktail.
"You must've really fucked her good, huh?" Celeste mused, arching a brow. "She came looking for you again."
I didn't say anything, just waited for her to get to the point.
Celeste leaned forward, lips curving. "Pretty Cat wants another round. Said she wants to forget again. Wants to be fucked so hard she can't think."
A slow smirk tugged at my lips.
Yeah. That fuck had been good.
Not just because Pretty Cat was tight, wet, and eager—but because she looked familiar.
Too familiar.
Soft brown eyes. Brunette waves. A body that fit just right.
And yeah, I knew damn well who she reminded me of.
That's why it had been so fucking easy to imagine I was banging someone else that night.
Maybe that's why I went harder. Rougher. Kept pushing until she was wrecked and spent, gasping for air, nails clawing at my back.
And now? She wanted it again. Explicitly requested me.
I glanced at Celeste, tapping my fingers against the counter.
Why not?
Fridays were when the voices got loud. The nightmares crept in. The demons clawed at my head.
I usually drowned them in alcohol. Or I fucked them away.
Tonight?
I knew exactly how I'd be spending my Friday.
Celeste smirked as she slid a key across the counter. Same room.
"It's unoccupied," she said, wiping the condensation off her glass. "I'll let Pretty Cat know you agreed."
I nodded, taking the key without a word.
No talking. No names. Just rough, hard, masked fucking.
Those were the rules.
Fine by me.
It made it easier to pretend.
To fantasize.
It kept things clean. Anonymous. Easier to pretend.
I didn't give a damn who Pretty Cat was. Not really.
I wasn't here for her.
I was here for the illusion.
Because tonight? I wasn't fucking her.
I was fucking someone else in my mind.
Tonight, in that room, behind that mask, she'd be someone else but mine.
I pushed open the heavy door, stepping inside. Dim lighting. Red silk sheets. A full-length mirror across the bed.
A place built for sin.
My blood was already running hot. My cock was already hard.
And when Pretty Cat walked in, masked and ready, I barely glanced at her face.
Because tonight?
I wasn't fucking her.
I was fucking the girl in my head.
And I was going to make her feel it in the morning.
I wanted her ruined. Wrecked. So sore she'd feel me for days. So fucked out she wouldn't be able to walk without remembering me.
I pulled her toward me, making her straddle my lap. She wore nothing but black lace—a tease, a temptation—and my patience was already running thin.
With one swift motion, I unclasped her bra, letting it slip away, her bare skin grazing against mine. My gaze devoured her, my hunger sharpening as I took her in—flawless, perfect.
Her soft curves pressed against my chest.
Fuck.
She was perfect.
I took my time, drinking in the sight of her, before leaning in and taking what I wanted.
My mouth found her, my tongue teasing, my teeth scraping. She let out a breathless moan, her body arching into me, grinding against me, desperate for more.
My hands roamed lower, gripping her ass—firm, round, exactly how I liked it. I squeezed, fingers trailing down until I found her already wet, ready.
Good.
Because I was already throbbing, the friction of her movements pushing me closer to the edge.
I stood her up, quick, impatient. Shoved down my pants, her gaze locked on me—lust darkening her eyes.
Rolling on protection, I grabbed her hips, pushing her panties aside. She guided me in slowly, but—fuck that.
I didn't do slow. I didn't do soft.
I slammed her down onto me, filling her in one fluid motion.
A sharp gasp—a cry—as I stretched her completely.
I let her settle just long enough for her to catch her breath. Just long enough for her to feel every inch of me.
Then I grabbed her hips, lifted her, and slammed her down onto me again.
Hard.
She cried out, nails digging into my shoulders.
And we were just getting started.
I closed my eyes.
Pictured her.
Imagined it was her body against mine. Her voice gasping for breath. Her legs wrapped around me, holding me in place.
It was her cunt I was buried in. Her body taking every ruthless thrust.
The thought alone sent a dark rush of heat through me, and I slammed into her harder.
Pounded into her like I could break the illusion—like I could make it real.
And fuck, for a moment, it almost was.