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Chapter 1
Tristan
“Tristan. Tristan! Wake up.”
Through the haze of sleep and the throbbing headache I have courtesy of the very bad decisions I vaguely remember making last night, I’m distantly aware of the angry voice that hisses my name, demanding my attention.
All the whisky I downed yesterday has addled my brain to the point of near uselessness, making it impossible for me to recognize the voice’s owner. The throttled syllables of my name in combination with the strict tenor of the delivery let me know that whoever needs me is furious.
That’s not enough to wake me. I was in the middle of a particularly vivid dream consisting of me, a supermodel and some whipped cream, and I’m intent on seeing it through to what I’m sure will be a very satisfying finish.
I groan and turn away from the noise, dead set on going right back to sleep and ignoring the unwelcome interruption.
The first clue that something is wrong comes immediately. Instead of being cushioned against my memory foam mattress and cocooned within my one thousand plus thread count Egyptian cotton sheets, my shoulder hits a hard surface.
I crack open an eye and realize that I’m not where I should be. Instead of seeing my white walls, I find myself staring at baseboards and the start of a massive wall of windows through which I can see the skyline of a city I know well.
What am I doing waking up in an office building?
More importantly, what am I doing waking up on the fuckingfloorof said office building?
I’m suddenly awake as I try to piece together the fragments of memories I have from last night. I sit up, facing the windows, and immediately clutch my head in agony at the sudden head rush.
“Fuck,” I mumble, dropping my head into my hands and massaging my tender temples.
As I look down into my lap, I realize that I’m stark naked. The only reason my dick isn’t on display is because a creamy white leg is thrown between my thighs.
I follow it slowly up to its owner and find an equally naked blonde girl sprawled out to my left, still passed out.
Next to her, an older brunette with tanned skin. Her tits are bursting out of the cups of her bra, which makes sense. I don’t remember much but I do remember pushing it hastily to the side for quick and easy access to her massive breasts.
Memories flashback through my mind like a 1920s film, a veritable carousel of the bad decisions that I made last night.
Attending my father’s company’s annual start of summer party against my will, fueled by anger and resentment.
Tipping the bartender a healthy stack of hundred pound notes to hand me bottles instead of drinks.
The innocent blonde flirting with me from below fluttering lashes, the uninterrupted stares of the more knowledgeable brunette from across the room.
Grabbing them both with the plan of giving my father the ultimate ‘fuck you’ by fucking them in his office.
Being too drunk to make it to his office and settling for the boardroom with its floor to ceiling windows instead.
Eating out the brunette and doing a line off her pussy as the blonde sucked me off.
Finger fucking the blonde as the brunette offered me her body for my use.
Powering into each, one after the other, until they’d begged me to stop.
I don’t remember their names, I don’t know if I ever knew them.
I don’t care.
“Tristan,” the voice thunders again from behind me, and unfortunately, this time I do recognize it.
Fuck, I think,it’s time to face the music.
There’s no escaping the thrashing I’m about to receive.
