Lola the Coachella Slut

Author’s note: This story follows the events of several other stories I’ve written. It can be read as a standalone installment but makes some references to a few of my earlier stories.

If you don’t want to read any of my previous stories (boo), then here’s what you need to know in order to enjoy this one:

*

My name is Lola, and I’m a half-Asian girl with big tits and serious daddy issues. My dad is white, and we’ve been estranged since I was 18, so I mostly fuck older white guys as a way to fill the void he left in my life (or so my therapist says). I have major submissive tendencies that are triggered by aggressive, big-dick alpha males who act like they own me. I have a bad habit of putting myself in situations where these guys have the upper hand, and when that happens, I almost always end up with a huge cock (or two) buried inside me. At the same time, I also get off on being withholding, so I love to tempt and torment small-cock beta males who don’t deserve me.

I’m in my late-20s now, but this story takes place during my junior year of college.

Hugs,

Lola

***

I’ve often wondered how my relationships with men, and particularly white men, would be different if I were just Asian or just white rather than a mixed race hapa.

There are two sides to this question, of course: first, there’s the issue of whether I would act differently around white men if I weren’t mixed, but there’s also the matter of whether white men would treat me differently as a white girl or an Asian girl.

I think the second dimension of this question is easier to answer based on my observations of how white guys treat other girls. While there are certainly some white guys who specifically pursue Asian women, I think a lot of white guys tend to view Asian girls as unfamiliar, not very relatable, and maybe even a little bit weird. Even the most assimilated, native-born Asian Americans have to contend with stereotypes of the “perpetual foreigner” and the “inscrutable Oriental.”

So while most Asian girls in America are fetishized, sexualized, and assumed to be submissive in ways that definitely appeal to some white men, this is sometimes accompanied by the perception that Asian women are unknowable or unapproachable, which creates something of a culture barrier between white guys and Asian girls. In addition, while the white male-Asian female dyad is certainly among the most common mixed-race pairings in the U.S., the reality is that most Asian women end up with Asian guys. What this means is that a lot of white guys tend to assume (quite correctly) that the average Asian girl probably isn’t interested in them.

As a result, several of my Asian American girlfriends have actually found that they have to go out of their way to attract attention from white guys, because otherwise they tend to get ignored or overlooked.

But in my experience, being half-Asian changes this calculus completely, because white guys make a different set of assumptions about mixed race girls. Unlike my Asian girlfriends, white guys often see me as approachable, relatable, and familiar, which eliminates the culture barrier between us. Moreover, these guys seem to intuit that because I have a white parent, I must be open to the idea of mixed race coupling and having sex with non-Asian guys. Consequently, white guys tend to be seen as a much more natural and likely romantic partner than most of my Asian girlfriends.

But that doesn’t mean that they treat me the same way they would an ordinary white girl. Because although I am white enough to be relatable, my obviously Asian features also set me apart as exotic and mysterious. In this way, I occupy an in-between space, familiar enough to pursue yet different enough to stir the imagination. When white men look at me, they see something they recognize, but it’s not their mother, or their sister, or their daughter. Instead, they see an approachable vessel for their fantasies, a submissive Asian girl with an affinity for whiteness already bred into her bloodline.

Such is the double-bind of the half-white, half-Asian girl. If I were white, these men might see me as a true romantic partner. If I were Asian, they might be inclined to leave me alone. But instead, I am neither and both, a plaything caught halfway between love and neglect, an object of pure fantasy and disposable lust.

And yet there is still the other side of this coin left to ponder. Would I act differently around white men if I weren’t half-Asian? I’ve ask myself this question many times.

Would I feel such kinship with white men if I didn’t have a white father? Would I be so drawn in by their attention?

And would I have such strong submissive tendencies if I didn’t have a Korean mother? Would I still be so eager to please these men?

Did I become a slut because that’s what men see when they look at me? Or was it always my fate to feed their fantasies, an accident of birth and biology that bestowed upon me a body of sinful proportions and a brain that lights up under the influence of a dominant man?

I can never know the answers to these questions. I can only tell my stories and let you judge for yourself.

…

At the beginning of the first story I ever posted on this site, I wrote that most of my friends are aware of the way I am with men. Yet if you’ve read my subsequent stories, then you’ll know that in the beginning, I was mostly able to keep my slutty side a secret from the people in my life.

Yes, I fucked my boss at the country club job I worked at the summer after my senior year, an older married man named Magnus who lured me into a vulnerable position and exploited my submissive nature. I even let him photograph our encounter. But as far as I know, the only person who knew about this was another member of the country club who had conspired with my boss to manipulate me, only to be humiliated himself in his moment of triumph when Magnus claimed me all for his own. (See: Lola’s Summer at the Club.)

Yes, I became a share-slut for an ex-marine named Grant during my freshman year of college, letting him double-team with various friends at “parties” he hosted at his apartment. I even let him brand me with a tattoo, a small Roman numeral II on the inside of my wrist that signified my status as a two-cock slut. But Grant did a good job of protecting my identity from his friends, largely as a way to keep them from trying to fuck me without his permission. So while I developed quite the reputation within this group, I don’t think the details ever leaked beyond Grant’s tight circle of marine corps mates. (See: Lola’s First Boyfriend.)

Yes, my married college professor fucked me after a barbecue at his house, even though his wife and kids were at home. But Professor Daniels took me by force, so it wasn’t like he could tell anyone what had happened without risking his family, his career, and the likelihood of being charged with a crime. (See: Lola the College Cocktease.)

Yes, I let my boyfriend’s younger brother Jack fuck me in his brother’s bed, all while my boyfriend Justin was asleep in the other room. But my desire to keep our tryst a secret was what gave Jack the leverage he needed to get me into bed in the first place, so he knew that as soon as our secret got out, his hold on me would disappear. And even if Jack told his older brother about us, I knew Justin’s devout Mormon faith would keep him from taking revenge or shaming me publicly. (See: Lola and the Locked Door.)

So by the time I entered the spring of my junior year at USC, I had already built up quite the track record of falling prey to dominant, aggressive men. But despite years of being exploited by one alpha male after another, I’d managed to keep this side of me separate from the rest of my life. If you had asked my friends to describe me at that point, they would probably have talked about me as a strong tennis player and a good student, competitive and ambitious but still fun and easygoing. I doubt that any of them would have described me “slutty” or “promiscuous” or “a party girl.”

This story is when all that started to change.

…

Soon after I succumb to Jack’s coercive advances and spent a long, dark night letting my boyfriend’s 19-year-old brother use my body over and over again, it became painfully clear that Justin and I had no future together. As much as it turned me on in the moment to cheat on my boyfriend in such a taboo manner, the guilt I felt when the dust had settled was overwhelming, and I knew I couldn’t go on as his girlfriend knowing what I had done. Moreover, I knew that as long as Justin and I continued dating, his brother Jack would be able to leverage the secret of my betrayal to fuck me whenever and however he wanted. The fantasy of cuckolding Justin and becoming a breeder slut-wife for his dominant younger brother may have made me cum during sex, but in the light of day, the reality of letting a sadistic, evil bastard like Jack control me at the expense of his gentle, caring older brother made my stomach turn.

Still, it took several weeks for me to work up the courage to break it off with Justin. I knew things weren’t going to work out between us, but he was the first serious boyfriend I’d ever had, the first guy who had seen me as more than just a hot piece of ass. Even without Jack’s lecherous interventions, we really weren’t a good fit, as I don’t think a conversion to Mormonism was ever really in the cards for me. Nevertheless, I cried when I finally told him that I couldn’t date him anymore, overcome by the sense that I was losing a great guy as well as the shame of what I’d done to doom our chances.

After we broke up, it took me a couple of months before I could begin thinking about guys again. This might seem like a long time for a relationship that lasted less than a year, but I was still just 21-years-old and grieving the loss of my first real boyfriend. And the manner in which I’d lost him didn’t help.

During this period of mourning, I began to wonder again whether I really was the slut that so many guys seemed to think I was. The evidence in favor of this conclusion seemed to be mounting. In the three years since losing my virginity as an 18-year-old, I’d had sex with something like 20 different guys, more than half of whom were friends of Grant’s that I’d taken two at a time. I’d fucked ex-marines, college guys, and guys with wives and children. I’d fucked guys my own age, older men, and now one who was younger than me. I’d fucked a lot of white guys and one Black guy. I’d taken facials, been tag-teamed, and given up my ass. I’d had two boyfriends and had cheated on them both.

That last part really stuck out in my mind. Tad had been an asshole and Justin had been a saint, but what they both had in common was the fact that I’d had sex with another man before breaking up with either of them. This really made me question whether I was even cut out for romantic relationships. It was one thing to be a slut, but did I have to hurt the people I cared about in the process? My dad had been a serial cheater and it had destroyed our family. Now I had become a serial cheater, and even if I hadn’t hurt anyone yet, it was only a matter of time.

So many of the alpha males I had fucked had encouraged me to just embrace becoming a slut. They’d acted like it was my destiny, written in the curves of my body and etched across the perversions of my mind. They acted as if the need to be used by men was buried deep inside me, and that they were merely excavating my own hidden desires with their huge, hard cocks.

Were they right? Did they know something about me that I didn’t? Was it futile for me to fight my urges? Was it pointless to deny the desires that bubbled up unbidden when a dominant man asserted control over me? I had cum countless times as these men conquered my body. Their depraved demands had driven me to orgasm over and over. They had broken dark, sacred taboos, and in doing so, shattered my resolve.

Maybe some girls are meant to have relationships, I thought, looking around at my girlfriends with their sweet, ordinary boyfriends. And perhaps other girls are built to serve a darker purpose.

These thoughts were swirling around in my brain as a much-anticipated date approached: Coachella.

Coachella is pretty famous, but for those that don’t know, it’s an annual music festival held in California in April. It takes place in a desert valley about two-and-half hours east of Los Angeles. Every year, tens of thousands of young people from around the world descend on Coachella to see their favorite musical acts, do drugs, and try to get laid, not necessarily in that order.

Tickets to Coachella are insanely hard to get unless you are super in the know, which pretty much describes my friend Elsie. If you’ve read all of my earlier stories, you might remember that Elsie was my freshman year roommate, a cute, petite, bubbly blonde girl from nearby Calabasas who was a coxswain on the USC crew team. Elsie and I got along pretty well, but we were both pretty competitive, so we developed something of a sibling rivalry pretty early in our friendship. This rivalry got a little heated when Tad, the guy Elsie was crushing on, asked me out instead of her. And it got a little more heated when Tad tried to rope me into a threesome with Elsie, who was a lot more into it than I was. In the end, Tad managed to get a drunken blowjob from Elsie, but it cost him our relationship, as his actions drove me into the waiting arms of Grant and his band of monster-cock marines.

Still, even after all that, my friendship with Elsie more or less recovered when we both agreed to blame Tad for what had happened. We never roomed together again after freshman year, but we remained friends, part of a larger group of girls who all lived in the same dorm that year.

Elsie had a great personality, so there were lots of reasons to be friends with her, but it didn’t hurt that her family was very wealthy and well-connected. She was always going off to do one fancy thing or another, and if you were in with her, she’d often find a way to bring you along for the ride. And that year, she’d somehow managed to score five general admission tickets to Coachella, which meant four of her friends would be along for a helluva ride.

I was honestly a little surprised that I got the invite. We’d always been good friends but never best friends. But I think it might have had something to do with how things had gone down with Tad during our freshman year. Ever since then, I think Elsie had felt kind of guilty towards me, because all she knew was that after she sucked Tad off, the two of us broke up. It wasn’t really her fault: Tad had led her to believe that I was into the idea, and by the time it turned out that I wasn’t, she was way to drunk realize. But she never found out about where I’d gone after leaving her alone with Tad, so I think she always assumed that she had betrayed me and ruined my relationship with Tad. The fact that I’d forgiven her so easily, having never really held her responsible in the first place, meant that she was always looking for ways to make it up to me.

When Elsie invited me to come with her to Coachella, it almost felt like serendipity. I’d been broken up with Justin for a couple of months and was finally ready to start enjoying what it meant to be single again. And for a newly-single, 21-year-old college girl who wants to start making up for lost time, there might not be a more perfect place in the entire world than Coachella.

In so many ways, Coachella creates an almost ideal environment for encouraging slutty behavior. For one thing, it brings together thousands of mostly young, mostly rich, mostly anonymous people, all of whom are there to have a good time and make wild memories. It also takes place in the desert, so it’s hot and dry and people tend to wear as little clothing as they possibly can. The entire thing takes place on a single massive site, so nobody has to drive anywhere, which means that everyone is constantly drinking or getting high. And the festival lasts for three days and two nights, which is plenty of time to get into trouble but not enough time to catch feelings.

The whole thing more or less feels like Halloween, spring break, and senior week all rolled into one sun-drunk weekend.

In addition to me, Elsie had also invited her current roommate, a fellow crew girl named Willa; her boyfriend, Rick; and his best friend, Felix. I knew Willa a little bit from hanging out at Elsie’s off-campus apartment, but I hadn’t actually met either of the guys. That didn’t really bother me, though, since I was looking forward to spending the weekend surrounded by thousands of total strangers.

And so, on a sunny Friday morning in April, we all cut class, piled into two cars, and set out from Los Angeles for Coachella. The boys drove together in Rick’s car while Willa and I rode with Elsie.

Elsie and Willa were both very attractive, but physically, they couldn’t have been more different. While Elsie was tiny, blonde, and conventionally cute, Willa was a tall and strapping brunette, with the broad shoulders and lean frame of a rower. She seemed like the kind of girl who might intimidate certain guys, because although she had pretty face, nice teeth, flawless skin, and shiny, healthy brown hair, her body was kind of imposing and a bit masculine. Whereas playing tennis had toned my body to accentuate my soft, sensuous curves, crew had given Willa an Amazonian quality, her smallish breasts blending in with her surrounding musculature.

Almost as soon as we hit the city limits and started rolling on I-10, Willa reached into the glovebox and pulled out a little Altoids container.

“You ladies care for a mint?” she asked.

“I could probably freshen up,” Elsie said as she drove.

“Sure,” I added.

“Excellent,” Willa said, opening the tin. “Oh dear, I seem to have taken the wrong tin.”

Inside were two neatly-stacked rows of compact, tightly rolled joints.

“I guess it’ll have to do,” Elsie laughed. She rolled down the windows as Willa pulled a joint from the tin and lit the end.

She exhaled smoke out the window and passed the joint to Elsie, who coolly took a drag with one hand on the wheel before passing it back to me.

“Coach-elllllllllllla!” Willa yelled exuberantly as I pulled on the joint and handed it back to her.

As we cruised past the outskirts of LA, the joint moved in a circle between the front and back seats, and Willa started playing “Best I Ever Had” by Drake through the stereo.

“Yessssss,” I said, letting my head bob to the music as the high began to rise in my chest. “I love this song!”

“Okay babes, female bonding time,” Willa smiled, flicking the spent roach out the window. “Let’s go. The best you’ve ever had.”

“Wils, you’re such a perv,” Elsie laughed.

“Then I guess I’ll go first,” Willa chuckled. “So, you know, I was in Barcelona last semester…”

“Here we go,” Elsie said, rolling her eyes.

“European guys are just different,” Willa swooned. “I met this guy Marcos at a club, and from the moment he put his hands on my hips and we started dancing, I knew I was going to fuck him.”

“Mediterranean guys are too hairy,” Elsie said, sticking her tongue out.

“That’s cause they’re real men, not like the manscaped frat boys you go for,” Willa shot back.

“Rick isn’t in a frat,” Elsie corrected.

“Okay, whatever,” Willa said, reclining her seat back. “Doesn’t matter how hairy his chest is when he’s eating your pussy.” She threw her head back and put her hands between her legs, pretending to run her hands through a guy’s hair.

“Ewww, Wils!” Elsie shrieked in delight. “You’re so nasty!”

“Marcos had a nice dick, but he had a tongue that could read braille.”

“Wow,” I laughed. “He sounds pretty hot.”

“This girl gets it,” Willa said, gesturing at me then turning to Elsie. “Why can’t you be that sex positive?”

“I’m sex positive!” Elsie protested.

“Then tell us about the best you’ve ever had,” Willa pressed.

“Well, okay,” Elsie said, pursing her lips. “But you need to swear that this stays between us.”

“Coachella code,” Willa smiled, raising her right hand as if she were taking an oath.

“So… Rick is, like, really good,” Elsie said sheepishly.

“Slick Rick!” Willa crowed. “Give us the deets.”

“I dunno,” Elsie said, biting her lip. “You’re gonna see him in like two hours. Won’t it be weird?”

“Oh, come on,” Willa groaned. “Just tell us. Coachella code!”

“Is he big?” I asked from the back seat.

“Lola, eww, come on!” Elsie squealed.

“She’s asking the important questions!” Willa said, reaching back to high-five me. “C’mon, Els. What that dick do?”

“Oh my god, okay,” Elsie said, shaking her head. “He’s… he’s the biggest I’ve ever been with.”

“But like, how big?” I asked.

“I’ve never measured him, you slut,” Elsie teased. “But probably around… eight?”

“Eight inches!” Willa howled. “Rick’s got that pipe, huh?”

“I never really thought that it would make that big a difference because I’m so small,” Elsie said.

“But it does,” I replied knowingly.

“The first few times, it was kind of uncomfortable,” Elsie said, blushing. “But now, I’m like… really into it.”

“Big Dick Rick,” Willa whistled. “I see you, Els. Get it, girl!”

“Okay, enough,” Elsie said. “Lola, it’s your turn.”

“Let me think,” I said, leaning back in my seat.

As visions of the men I had been with drifted through the marijuana fog in my mind, it occurred to me that I had never been asked this question. There were many times that men had demanded during sex that I praise them as the best I’d ever had, but no one had ever asked me to give an honest answer.

“Seems like someone’s got a lot to choose from,” Willa said, slapping my knee.

“I am sex positive,” I said, smiling.

“This is gonna be good,” Willa laughed.

Who was the best I’d ever had? I hadn’t really even thought about it before, but it seemed like the answer had to be Grant. I’d had sex with him more times than anyone else, and I’d been willing to do things for him that I’d never done for anyone else, like fuck his friends and let him alter my appearance to his liking. I didn’t do those things out of love, so it must have been the sex that made me do it. But I knew that I had to be careful with how much I shared about Grant.

“There was this guy… freshman year, after I broke up with Tad,” I started. Elsie tensed up visibly at the mention of his name. “He just, like, got me. He understood things about me that I didn’t understand myself.”

“Go on,” Willa said.

“Yeah,” I continued. “He like… made me do things that I didn’t know I wanted to do. He pushed me outside my comfort zone, and he… he made me like it.”

“Damn, Lola,” Willa said, looking back at me. “That’s fuckin’ hot, huh?”

“I can’t explain it, but… it was like, I wasn’t sure what I wanted, but he was. He knew what he wanted, and that was really hot,” I sighed. “It was more than just his confidence. It was, like… a form of honesty, you know? He was totally honest with me about what he wanted to do with me, and that somehow made me want it, too.”

“Jesus,” Elsie whispered. “How come you never told me about him?”

“I guess some things are just more fun when they’re a secret,” I said.

“Okay, fair,” Willa said, nodding in agreement. “But what that dick do?”

We all burst out laughing as the car sped forward into the desert.

…

We arrived at Coachella on Friday afternoon, set up our tents, and immediately set about drinking and exploring the festival. The place was something to behold, with tan, beautiful people all around you, music and lights everywhere, and the background hum of euphoria that comes when youth and privilege and sex and drugs all collide.

Having established some rapport on the ride over, Willa no longer felt like a stranger to me, but I was still getting my bearings around Elsie’s boyfriend Rick and his friend Felix.

I will say that Elsie’s reservations about describing her sex life with Rick were not baseless. It was kind of weird to meet a guy and know very little about him except that he had an 8″ cock and was really good in bed. That information did make it hard not to look at him a little differently than I otherwise might have.

Not that Rick was hard to look at in the first place. Physically, he was pretty much my type: tall, athletic, and blonde, with shaggy surfer hair and a square jaw that was flecked with stubble. I shouldn’t have been surprised by this, since Elsie and I had both been interested in the same guy when we were freshmen, so it was always a good bet that her new boyfriend would be up my alley. However, while Tad had been perfectly adequate in the size department, I now knew that there was at least one big difference between him and Rick.

Felix was pretty cute in his own way. He was shorter and a little stocky, but with strong legs and bulging calves. He had darker features, thick eyebrows, and a Roman nose. Like the rest of us, Felix was a student at USC, but he was actually a French-Canadian born in Montreal. This detail seemed to be greatly of interest to Willa, which made me wonder whether her thing for European guys might extend to Quebecois.

After wandering around the festival for awhile, we returned to our campsite and began making plans for the evening. Elsie, of course, had things all mapped out.

“This girl I know from high school told me that some tech bro is throwing a huge party at one of the mansions on the edge of the festival grounds,” she said.

Elsie had gone to Harvard-Westlake, one of the most expensive and exclusive private high schools in LA.

“Man, I should’ve studied comp-sci,” Rick said, shaking his head. “I gotta get some of that Snapchat money.”

“Do you know where it is?” I asked. “Will we be able to get in?”

“I’m texting Madison to find out where it is,” Elsie said, tapping her phone. “She said it’s gonna be crazy, that this guy has, like, peacocks just walking around by the pool. It’s been blowing up on Insta all day.”

“But how are we gonna get in, Els?” I asked again.

“Maddy’s boyfriend knows one of the guys staying at the house,” she said without looking up. “I think they rushed the same frat at Berkeley or something.”

“Let my girl work her magic,” Willa said, reassuring me. “She got us here, didn’t she?”

And so, as night fell, we changed into our going out clothes and got ourselves ready. As I came out of the girls’ tent, I saw Rick and Felix leaning against the car, waiting for us to finish up.

Since I was the first girl out of the tent, there was nothing to distract either of the boys from looking me up and down, and I could tell that they liked what they saw.

My outfit wasn’t extraordinary by EDM festival or raver girl standards, but it didn’t leave much to the imagination. As a top, I was wearing a glittering, silver bikini-style top that was tied behind my back with strings, showing off my very large, perfectly soft breasts. I had copper bangles on upper arms, but otherwise, I was all glowing, golden skin from the waist up.

Below the waist, I had on a pair of spandex, neon-blue boy shorts that showed off my long, tan legs and framed my toned tennis buns. Underneath, I had on an almost non-existent g-string thong, which was the only thing I could wear with such tight shorts that wouldn’t show a panty line. I was wearing a pair of black Converse sneakers with no socks, and I had a Golden State Warriors fanny pack slung around waist, a free giveaway item that I’d gotten for attending a game as a kid growing up in the Bay Area.

To accent the sparkly bikini and my neon boy shorts, I’d had to turn my make-up game up a notch, going with a bold violet shade of lipstick, a silvery eyeshadow, and a glittery blush that matched my top. My long, wavy black hair was unadorned, falling down my back like a silken waterfall.

I enjoyed the feeling of four eyes drinking me in as I joined the two boys in waiting for Elsie and Willa to come out of the tent.

“I can’t believe Elsie never introduced us before this weekend,” Rick said, tagging a swig of beer. “You gotta tell me what she was like as a freshman.”

“Oh, I’ve got some stories,” I smiled.

“Well, now I’m intrigued,” he said.

“I don’t think I’m in the right headspace at the moment,” I giggled.

“Maybe this will help,” Felix said.

I looked down and saw that a little vial of white powder in his hand. He unscrewed the cap and tapped a small amount out onto the back of his hand.

“You want a bump?” he asked, raising his hand up towards my face. “We just did one.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for them?” I said, nodding my head towards the girls’ tent, where Elsie and Willa were still inside.

“There’s plenty,” Felix said, pocketing the vial. “And we have to find some way to pass the time, right?”

His mild French-Canadian accent made the suggestion seem almost dignified, as if snorting a line of cocaine was a very sophisticated thing to do.

“Is it safe?” I asked. “I’ve never done coke.”

“This is Coachella,” he smiled, and somehow, this felt like a very convincing argument.

I lowered my face to his hand, plugged one nostril like you see in the movies, and inhaled rapidly through my nose.

“Whoa,” I said, and as I stood up, a tingling feeling began to spread through my face. “That was intense.”

“Give it time,” Felix said, clapping me on the back. “The night is young.”

The next few minutes were something of a blur. Elsie and Willa eventually came out of the tent and we set off in search of this tech bro’s peacock party. The two girls may have done lines of cocaine themselves, but I wasn’t sure, because I was distracted by the fact that my entire nervous system was lighting up and my heart felt like it might explode out of my chest.

Eventually, however, we came to the gate of a lavish, lush property at the edge of the festival grounds. There was music pulsing from inside and people laughing, but it was impossible to see anything because the walls were too high.

Standing beside the gate were two large, Black men with shaved heads and black baseball caps, presumably hired bouncers or security. Unlike the sea of twenty-somethings that we’d seen all day, these men looked to be in their late-30s or early-40s. They wearing long pants and black wife-beater tank tops that showed off their muscular arms.

“Names,” one of them said gruffly as we approached.

“I’m Elsie,” she said, stepping out in front of our group. “My friend Madison knows Peter, and she said we could come in.”

“Nah,” he said, flatly.

“Well, wait, let me text Maddy,” Elsie said.

“Don’t bother,” the other bouncer said. “Don’t matter.”

“Look, I don’t think you understand–”

“Oh, I understand just fine,” he said, cutting her off. “You ain’t on my list, so unless one of your friends is, then I don’t have time for it.”

“Okay, fine,” Elsie said, changing tactics but refusing to give up. “How much do you want to let us in? I’ll Venmo you right now.”

“Yo bruh, are you hearing this shit?” He turned to his friend. “This girl thinks we take Venmo!”

The two of them burst out laughing.

“I’ve got $200 cash,” she said, blushing but not giving in. “It’s yours if you let us in.”

“So, $200 for five people, including these two dudes?” The two men looked at each other, seeming to consider the offer.

“Deal?” Elsie asked hopefully.

“Girls can come in for $200,” the first man said. “It’s $1,000 for all five.”

“A thousand dollars?” Elsie gaped. “Are you serious?”

“C’mon, little rich girl like you,” he said. “Ain’t they got some ATMs around here?”

“Let’s just forget it, Elsie,” I said, stepping forward into the light.

“Well, hold on now,” the first man said, looking me up and down. “We ain’t take Venmo, but money ain’t the only kind of currency we accept.”

“What do you mean?” Elsie asked.

The bouncer turned to me.

“This your boyfriend?” he asked, pointing at Rick.

“No,” I replied.

“Him?” he said, pointing at Felix.

I shook my head.

“So you ain’t got no boyfriend?”

“Nope,” I said, my heart beginning to race as the cocaine coursed through my bloodstream.

“Okay, okay,” he said, rubbing his palms together. “So you single, huh?”

“Look like a bad bitch to me,” his friend added.

“So here’s what we can do,” the first man said, pulling out his phone. “Y’all want to come inside this party, right? And all I want is a picture of this fine bitch’s titties.”

“Lola, no way,” Elsie whispered, putting her hand on my arm in concern.

I took a deep breath. My heart was pounding in my chest, the tingling sensation flooding through my veins.

“I’ll let you look,” I said, trying to speak calmly, “but no pictures.”

“Lola!” Elsie hissed.

“Nah, nah, nah,” the man said, waving his huge Black hand. “Looks are cheap. But what’s that they say, bruh? A picture’s worth a thousand dollars.”

“That’s what they say,” his friend laughed, pulling out his phone.

I pursed my lips. There was something about his persistence, as well as the fact that he had made this offer to me and not to Elsie, that tugged at my ego. Did you hear that? I thought. My tits are worth a thousand dollars.

“Fine,” I said. “A picture, but I get to cover my face.”

“Hmm,” the man said with a lecherous smile. “Then it’s gotta be a video so I can see those titties bounce.”

“Gimme your hat,” I said, holding out my hand. “To cover my face.”

“Oh, here we go, bruh,” the other guard said. “Told you she a bad bitch!”

“Lola, you don’t have to,” Elsie whispered.

“It’s fine,” I said as the bouncer handed me his baseball cap. “It’s Coachella, right? And no one else will know it’s me.”

“That’s right, girl,” the first bouncer said. “Now cover that pretty face up and show us those big titties!”

As I lifted the man’s cap in front of my face, I noticed that Rick and Felix had quietly repositioned themselves to get a good look at what was about to happen.

Adrenaline inundated my brain as I moved the black baseball cap tightly in front of my face. Then, with the other hand, I grabbed my sparkly bikini top and pulled it, letting the two Black security guards (and Rick and Felix) feast their eyes on my huge, naked breasts.

Through the webbing of the cap, I saw the lights of two phones come on as both bouncers began to film me.

“Damn, this Asian bitch got some big ass titties, bruh!”

“Ayo, she bad as hell… bounce them titties for us, girl!”

Coarse as their compliments were, the praise of these two hulking, older Black men sent a shiver down my spine. Was I really letting them film me topless just to get into a party? But without thinking, I gave my hips a little wiggle, shaking my tits for their enjoyment.

“Yoooo, those is natural, fam!”

“Bet, yo, plastic don’t move like that.”

“That’s enough!” I heard Elsie cry.

Finally, I turned around, careful to keep my face hidden by the baseball cap. As I faced away from the two men, I repositioned my top.

“Are the cameras off?” I asked.

“Yes,” Elsie said softly.

I turned back around and handed the cap back to the security guard as his friend opened the gate for us.

“Listen, though,” the man said, lowering his voice as he took back the cap. “I got some molly if you want.”

“Yeah?” I asked, as Elsie and Willa walked through the gate.

“I got five tabs for you and your friends if you suck my dick right now.”

He nodded his head to indicate that he wanted me to follow him.

“Mmm, I don’t think so,” I said, stepping towards the gate.

“Alright,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “But come see me on the way out.”

My head still buzzing, I stepped inside the gate, followed by Rick and Felix.

“That… was… awesome,” I heard Rick say.

“Coachella, bro,” Felix said.

I smirked to myself as I heard the slapping sound of a high-five behind me.

…

The party inside was pretty wild, with a concert-quality sound stage, a world-famous DJ, and all the peacocks that we’d been promised. It was easily the most opulent, over-the-top party I’d ever been to, but nothing that happened inside gave me as much of an adrenaline rush as what I’d done to get us in.

By itself, showing my tits to a couple of strangers might seem kind of tame by my standards. After all, I’ve had sex with men that I barely knew, so why was it so thrilling to put on a little show like that?

In retrospect, I think it had to do with the fact that I had never put my body on display in such a public setting before. In private, I had given plenty of men free rein to do far more than just look, but I had never flaunted my body so openly before. Much of my slutty behavior stems from my twisted relationship with men and my competitive nature, but I also have something of a thrill-seeking personality, and the rush of exhibiting myself was both novel and heady.

The situation was made that much hotter because I wasn’t performing solely for strangers. If the two Black security guards had been my only audience, I would still have been turned on, but it was even more erotic because I was also around people who actually knew me. Up to that point, I’d done a good job keeping my slutty side a secret, but it was sort of delicious to let it infringe a little on my regular life, as if it were some kind of caged animal reaching out dangerously from between the bars.

The fact that this type of behavior could earn me a reputation that followed me back to campus made it extremely reckless, but this risk only added to the thrill. Also, we were at Coachella, after all, and that figured to give me some amount of cover. If a 21-year-old girl can’t get away with acting a little slutty at Coachella, then where can she?

Of course, my vanity and competitive spirit also played a part in letting the two security guards film me topless. The fact that the guards had only propositioned me seemed like undeniable proof that I was hotter than Elsie. My body was worth $1,000 to them, while hers was worth nothing. These two men had passed judgment on our bodies and deemed mine to be superior.

That alone was something of a turn-on, especially given our history and the sibling rivalry dynamic between us. But it was even sweeter that it had happened in front of Elsie’s handsome, supposedly well-hung boyfriend. Maybe it’s cruel to be turned on by something like that, but we don’t get to decide what revs our engine.

And anyway, it’s not like I thought all of this through in the moment. I was coked up and horny and ready to show my tits, and that’s exactly what happened.

For her part, though, Elsie seemed to take it all in stride. Once we were inside the party, nobody said another word about the show I’d put on to get us in, and we all laughed and danced and drank together. For as turned on as I was, I managed to behave myself pretty well, flirting and dancing with a few random guys, letting them put their hands on me but leaving things there. It could have been that none of them were aggressive enough to trigger me, or maybe I’d done my slutty deed for the night and gotten it out of my system.

There was one moment, though, where I felt a flutter of temptation. When we were leaving the party several hours later, the same Black bouncer who had gotten me to show my tits earlier that night put his enormous hand on my shoulder as I walked by.

“Ayo, Sparkles, I know you’re not leaving without saying goodbye,” he said.

“Uhh, bye?” I replied, shrugging his hand off my shoulder.

“You wanna go make that molly now?” he smiled, gesturing again with his head that I should follow him.

Elsie grabbed my hand and tugged on it.

“I think I’m good,” I smiled, letting her lead me away with the rest of our group.

“Get at me when you done fuckin’ with these little white boys,” he called as we walked away.

Lying in my sleeping bag that night in the girls’ tent next to Elsie and Willa, I wondered what might have happened if Elsie hadn’t been there to grab my hand. I was grateful that she hadn’t left me the chance to make my own choice in that situation, or even worse, let the security guards make the choice for me.

But the twisted, fucked up part of my psyche couldn’t help but register that the guard had shown himself to be the most aggressive alpha male who pursued me that night, and I couldn’t stop myself from feeling like that status deserved to be rewarded.

Oh well, I thought, drifting off to sleep. A video of my tits would have to be reward enough.

…

The next day was really more of the same: drinking, dancing, listening to music, exploring the festival. The only thing that really changed were our outfits.

For Saturday, I swapped my EDM raver look for a cowgirl theme: calf-high brown leather cowboy boots, cutoff Daisy Dukes, and a soft suede vest with a western-style fringe. I topped off the look with a bright pink cowboy hat and a matching pink belt. The only holdover from the previous night was my trusty Golden State Warriors fanny pack.

I could tell from their wandering eyes that both Rick and Felix were big fans of this outfit. The suede vest, a thrift store find, was actually a boys’ size medium that had to have been part of a child’s Halloween costume at one point. On me, however, it served quite a different purpose, showing off my midriff and hugging my body almost like a corset. It was tight enough around my chest that it pushed my large boobs together, creating a deep ravine of cleavage without the need for a bra. A single plastic button held the vest in place as it wrapped around the generous swell of my breasts.

“Mornin, Miss Lola,” Rick said, pretending to tip his cap to me as I walked out of the girls tent. Elsie and Willa were taking their sweet time once again.

“Howdy, boys,” I said.

“Where are you riding off to today?” Felix asked.

“Not sure,” I said, sitting down on the hood of the car next to them. “I seem to have misplaced my horse.”

“I’ll give you a ride, Miss Lola,” Rick said, turning around as if offering me a piggyback ride.

“I dunno,” I said, tilting my hat back. “My trusty steed is quite the stallion.”

“Think you can handle a wild bronco?” he said, looking over his shoulders and stamping his feet in the dirt.

“You ain’t that wild,” I smiled, giving him a little kick in the butt. “From what I hear, my girl Elsie has already broken you in.”

Rick turned around to face me.

“I’d say it’s more like I’ve broken her in,” he said, running his hands through his blonde surfer hair.

“I heard my name,” Elsie said, emerging from the girls’ tent followed by Willa. “Did we keep you waiting?”

“Not at all,” Rick said, letting his eyes linger on me for just a second too long before turning to face Elsie. “Now let’s saddle up!”

We spent the next several hours moving from stage to stage, drinking and smoking weed and doing coke and listening to music. While my cowgirl outfit drew a lot of appreciative stares and some flirty hands, none of the guys I danced with were quite as assertive as they needed to be to draw me out. But there was one guy who had certainly piqued my interest: Rick.

I know that’s bad, but it really wasn’t my fault. He’d been flirting with me and eyeing my body up and down since we got to Coachella, and I happened to know that he was just my type in more ways than one. I knew I couldn’t flirt with him openly, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t have a little fun.

In practice, this meant that while I was off dancing with other guys, my eyes were often watching Rick as he danced with Elsie. Whenever Elsie caught my eye, I would look at her and smile, as if she was the one whose attention I was trying to get. But as soon as she was turned away, my eyes drifted upward to her tall, handsome boyfriend.

And when I felt his eyes on me, whoever I happened to be dancing with at the time reaped the benefit. As soon as Rick’s gaze turned my way, I was bending at the waist, arching my back, or dropping it low, backing my booty against the lucky guy behind me. Rick may have been dancing with Elsie, but I still wanted as much of his attention as I could get.

Finally, as darkness fell and the neon lights of Coachella lit up, I found someone who managed to briefly distract me from Elsie’s boyfriend.

Like Rick, he was tall and blonde, lean and muscular with a close-cropped, reddish beard. But what made him stand out even more was the fact that he was wearing a Chris Mullin basketball jersey, a throwback to the Run-TMC Warriors of the early ’90s.

“Hey!” I called, excitedly walking up to him. “Go Dubs!”

When he turned to look at me, I pointed enthusiastically at my Golden State Warriors fanny pack.

“Yooo,” he said, a smiling crossing his lips as he surveyed my body. “You from the Bay?”

“Yay Area, born and bred,” I replied. “You?”

“Transplant,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.

“Boo,” I said, making a pouty face. “So then why are you repping Chris Mullin?”

“Cause he and I have something in common,” he said, stepping in close next to me.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“We both know,” he said, leaning in close, “when to shoot our shot.”

With that, he wrapped his arm around my back, put his lips on mine, and slipped his tongue into my mouth.

Just like that, I was making out with a total stranger, and my only thought was, Finally. I’d been horny since my encounter with the security guard the night before and waiting for a guy to make a strong move on me. This is Coachella, I thought. There’s gotta be at least one guy here with a big enough dick to think that he can fuck me.

Sure enough, we’d only been making out for a minute or two before Mr. Mullin lined up his next shot. My hands were wrapped around his neck, but that clearly wasn’t where he wanted them, because he grabbed one of my hands and moved it down between his legs, where I could feel his hardness growing as we continued making out.

This scored him some points for brazenness, though I still couldn’t tell if he was big enough to meet my size queen standards. But I knew how to find out. As he kissed me, I began to rub him through his shorts, urging his cock towards full mast. As I touched him, he groaned approvingly.

Suddenly, he broke the kiss and grabbed my hips, spinning me around and pulling my ass backwards against the bulge in his shorts. He snaked a hand around my chest and began pawing at my big, braless tits through the flimsy fabric of my tiny suede vest.

As he rubbed his bulge against my ass and squeezed my tits, I turned over my shoulder to look up at him.

“How big are you?” I whispered, closing my eyes.

“Big enough,” he grunted, his voice husky with lust.

“But how big?” I asked again, continuing to let him maul my body.

But just then, before he could answer, I felt the pressure on the front of my boobs release as the button holding my vest in place finally gave way. I don’t know if Chris Mullin deliberately pulled it off or whether he popped it off accidentally, but the end result was the same: the two sides of the vest flew open, leaving my big, soft tits completely exposed.

“Ohhhh shit–” I cried in surprise.

Instinctively, I moved to bring the two halves of my vest together to cover my chest, but as I tried to move my arms, Mr. Mullin yanked down on the collar of my vest, pulling it midway down my back. Now, the armholes were down around my elbows, pinning my arms back and pulling my shoulder blades together, forcing my naked tits to jut lewdly forward.

“Whoa, hey, wait–” I panted, panic rising in my chest.

With one hand, Mr. Mullin continued to gather the fabric of the vest behind my back, further restricting my arm movements. With the other, he began to cup one of my tits, rolling my nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

“Slow–slow down,” I panted, squirming against the fabric restricting my arms.

“Fuck, great tits,” a voice said.

I was so preoccupied by trying to free my arms from the vest and the hand mauling my right breast that I didn’t realize that someone else was standing right in front of me. But as the voice spoke, I became aware that another guy in a backwards baseball cap was right there, gawking openly at my huge, bare breasts.

“What–” I murmured in confusion.

Before I could say another word, the guy in the backwards cap put his hands on my waist, lowered his face to my chest, and began sucking on my exposed left breast.

“Ohhhh god, wait–wait,” I moaned, realizing that I was now topless and sandwiched between two strange men, both of whom were helping themselves to the ample pleasures of my chest.

“Yeah, slut,” Chris Mullin whispered in my ear. “You like that?”

“Ohh fuck, ohh fuck, ohhhh–”

As the guy in front of me continued to lick and suck on my left tit, I felt his hands move from hips to the bright pink belt that was fastened around my waist. My adrenaline was surging wildly amid all the drugs I’d taken, and I couldn’t be certain whether I was aroused, afraid, or both.

“Jesus–Jesus, ohh–wait–”

He unbuckled my belt as I squirmed helplessly against the restricting fabric of the vest.

“Ohhhh god, ohhhh–not–don’t…”

I felt his hands on the zipper of my cutoff jeans, and then–

“Hey! What the fuck?!”

Suddenly, I registered a familiar voice just beyond the two men.

“Get the fuck off her!”

Instantly, the guy in front of me fell backwards, his hands falling away from my belt as he released my breast from his mouth. A moment later, I realized that he hadn’t fallen, but had in fact been tossed to the ground.

Rick was standing over him, flush with anger.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he said, turning to look at the guy behind me.

“Have a taste,” Chris Mullin replied, continuing to squeeze my nipple. “This slut loves it.”

A look of rage flashed across Rick’s face, and his fist flew past my shoulder, striking Chris Mullin in the face. Reeling from the blow, Mr. Mullin fell backwards onto the ground, holding onto my vest to arrest his fall. But the cheap, flimsy material tore as he fell, ripping my top completely in half.

“Whoa, that was… wow,” I panted, attempting to cover my tits with my hands as the tattered remains of my vest fell to the ground.

As I came to my senses, I looked around to see that a circle of people had formed around us, all of whom were leering at my topless body.

“Show us your pussy!” someone yelled from the crowd.

Wordlessly, Rick pulled his t-shirt over his head and handed it to me.

“Put this on,” he said sternly. “Let’s go.”

In a daze, I removed my pink cowboy hat, took his shirt, and pulled it quickly over my head.

“C’mon,” Rick said, taking me by the hand and leading me out of the circle.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“Back to the tent,” he said.

“Where’s Elsie?”

“With Willa and Felix,” he said, leading me onward. “She saw you go off with that guy and she was worried something would happen, so she asked me to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” I said, pulling on his hand. “Let’s just go meet up with them.”

“No,” Rick said flatly. “You need to chill out for a bit.”

“Don’t tell me what I need,” I whined, yanking my hand away. “You’re not my dad.”

Rick turned to face me. Since I was wearing his t-shirt, he was shirtless, and his smooth, muscular chest shone in the reflected neon lights.

“No, I’m not,” he said. “But you’re going to do what I tell you to do right now. Understand?”

There was something in his authoritative tone that broke through my resistance. He reached out his hand.

I sighed, and then I took it, letting him lead me back to the tent in silence. No one else was around when we arrived.

Finally, Rick spoke.

“You know, you could at least say thank you.”

“For what?” I shot back.

“Oh, okay, so you liked that, huh?” He narrowed his eyes. “What they were doing to you back there?”

“Maybe,” I said defiantly, kicking off my cowboy boots at the entrance of the tent.

“What happened last night, that was one thing. You’re hot and you like to show off your body, I get it.” Then, he shook his head. “But that shit back there… that was stupid, and dangerous.”

“So I guess I’m just a stupid slut to you,” I pouted, unzipping the front of the girls’ tent and climbing inside.

“I don’t care if you like sex, Lola,” he said, crouching by the entrance of the tent. “I fucking love sex. But that shit you pulled back there could’ve gotten you hurt.”

“Okay,” I said. “I get your point.”

“Yeah?” Rick asked hopefully.

“Yeah,” I nodded, cracking a slight smile. “Actually, it was kind of hot that you kicked their asses to rescue me. I’ve never had a guy fight for me like that.”

“That’s surprising,” he said, “since you are definitely worth fighting over.”

“Aww,” I smiled. “You’re sweet. Thank you.”

Rick stared at me silently for a few seconds, remaining in his crouch just outside the tent. He had a slight crease in his brow, as if he were deep in thought or concentrating hard.

“You know,” he said slowly. “If you really want to thank me, there is something you can do.”

My ears perked up and a shiver of anticipation ran down my spine.

“What’s that, Rick?”

He paused, then he licked his lips.

“Give me back my shirt.”

I tilted my head, eyeing him carefully. I could hear my heart beginning to beat faster against the quiet night of our deserted campground, the sounds of the festival suddenly distant.

“Are you sure you want it back?”

“Yes,” he said, biting his lip and nodding his head. “I’m very sure.”

Kneeling on my sleeping bag, I put my hands on the ground and began to crawl on all fours slowly towards the mouth of the tent.

“How badly do you want it back?” I whispered.

“Bad,” he said, taking a deep breath. “So fucking bad.”

“What would you do,” I whispered, crawling towards him, “to get it back?”

“Whatever it takes,” he said.

“Oh really?” I smiled. Now, I was right in front of him, down on all fours. “Don’t you have another shirt somewhere around here?”

“I need this one,” he said, staring back at me.

“Well then,” I whispered, sitting upright on my knees. “Come and get it.”

For a single second, a stillness hung in the air, as if the words had left my lips but hadn’t reached Rick’s ears. Then, he climbed inside the tent, zipping the flap behind him.

I knelt there motionless as Rick reached towards me, grabbed the hem of his shirt, and began to peel it up my body. As it moved up my chest, I lifted my arms, allowing him to pull it over my head.

Now, we were facing each other, shirtless and on our knees, my ripe, full tits and his smooth, strong chest just inches apart. His eyes were transfixed on my breasts.

I reached out and took hold of his wrists.

“It made you angry, didn’t it?” I whispered, slowly lifting his hands towards my chest. “Watching me with those two guys.”

“Yes,” he breathed.

“Why?” I asked softly. “Tell me why, Rick.”

“Because–because you should be mine,” he whispered.

“But I’m not yours, Rick,” I purred, holding his hands just inches from my bare breasts. “You have a girlfriend, remember?”

“This doesn’t concern her,” he growled hungrily, his fingers twitching eagerly. “You’re mine whether she likes it or not.”

I leaned forward, putting my lips against his ear.

“Did Elsie really ask you to check up on me?”

He shook his head ever so slightly.

“She doesn’t know where you are, does she?”

“No,” he muttered.

“So you saw me with that boy,” I whispered, licking his earlobe with my tongue. “And you followed me, didn’t you?”

He nodded.

“And then, you beat him up,” I breathed, flicking my tongue inside his ear. “Why?”

“To prove that… to show that you’re mine.”

“I am, aren’t I?” I mused, as if this were all very obvious. “I belong to you now, don’t I, Rick?”

“Yes,” he said, his voice low but emphatic.

At last, I moved his hands forward those final aching inches, letting the tips of his fingers touch down on the soft, supple flesh of my breasts.

“Then claim me,” I whispered.

As if my words had dissolved the force field between us, Rick moved on me, a low guttural sound rumbling up from deep inside his throat. His hands began to knead and squeeze my naked tits as his mouth moved to envelope my nipple.

“Mmmmm, ohhh–yesss,” I sighed, feeling the warmth of his body as it pressed against mine.

With the strength of a gentle giant, Rick lifted me up and set me down on my back before climbing on top of me to remount his assault on my breasts.

“Ohhh Rick,” I mewled, cradling his head in my hands as he licked and sucked my nipples voraciously. “I–I need to know…”

He grunted in response, his mouth fully occupied by my tits as he gorged himself on their supple flesh.

“When–mmmhmm–when did you know?” A shiver spread through me as I felt his teeth gently graze against my nipple. “That you had to have me…”

“Last night,” he grunted, briefly unlatching from one nipple to lick the other. He moved one of his hands to my waist and began fiddling with my belt.

“You liked the show I put on, didn’t you?” I breathed, electricity crackling through my body.

He finally detached from my tits to look up at me, leaving them slick with saliva. His other hand moved to my waist and finished unbuckling my belt.

“I couldn’t–I didn’t get it,” he panted, shaking his head. “You’re too hot to be such a fucking slut for those guys.”

“The show wasn’t for them, Rick,” I said, wiggling my hips as he unbuttoned my Daisy Dukes. “It was for you.”

In retrospect, it’s hard to know whether this was totally true or not. The manner in which the two Black security guards had propositioned me did appeal to my baser instincts. But would that have been enough to get me topless if Rick and his big, bad dick weren’t also there to enjoy my performance? I can’t say for sure, but I do know from experience that having a verified big dick alpha male around certainly influences my behavior in slutty ways.

“Ohhhhhhh fuck,” Rick groaned, breathing in sharply as he tugged down my cutoffs to reveal a bright pink g-string thong, the same color as my hat and belt. “Jesus, Lola, your body is unreal…”

“Elsie told me,” I whispered, lifting my legs so he could pull my shorts off. “She told me about you.”

Now, he was kneeling over me, tall and ripped and shirtless as I lay before him, my ripe young body covered only by a tiny, flimsy thong.

“What did she say?” he said, standing up. The roof of the tent was too low for him to stand at his full height, but even so, he towered over me.

“She said,” I whispered slowly, rising to my knees. “That her boyfriend… has a very… very… big cock.”

As I knelt in front of him, all but completely naked, he unbuttoned his shorts and unzipped the fly.

“She really shouldn’t have done that,” he said, shaking his head softly.

“No, baby,” I said, reaching for his thighs. “She shouldn’t have.”

As I took hold of his shorts and began to pull them down, Rick reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

“No pictures,” I purred softly, as he stepped out of his shorts. I could see his impressive bulge clearly now through his gray boxer briefs. “This needs to stay our little Coachella secret.”

“That’s not what this is for,” he replied. Then, I saw him tap the screen a few times before bringing the phone to his ear.

I lifted my fingers to his waist, grazing them slowly over his bulge, cupping and feeling its weight.

“Hey babe,” he said into the phone, loud and cheerful. Then, he looked down at me. “Where are you?”

On the other end, I could hear Elsie’s tiny voice.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

A heady, electric surge shot through me. This was a new kind of taboo that we were breaking. I’d had sex with married men before, but they were always the ones who had taken the initiative and coerced me into submission.