Megan’s World

Last weekend Megan and I went to the big DIY store on the industrial estate for paint, rawl plugs and a new spirit level. We spent nearly an hour inside arguing over shades of white before pushing the trolley back out into the grey afternoon.

Halfway across the car park we passed a white transit van with its rear doors wide open. Three men in paint-spattered overalls sat on the edge of the cargo bay, boots dangling, sharing crisps and energy drinks.

The driver looked up as we walked past.“Hello Megan.”

I recognised the voice and the face straight away, he’d been at one of our parties a couple of months earlier but I couldn’t place his name. Megan clearly didn’t recognise him at all. She still smiled brightly, the way she does when she wants to keep things rolling.“Hi,” she said, warm and easy, pretending she knew exactly who he was.

He turned to the two lads beside him and jerked a thumb at us. “This is Megan and her bloke. They had the party I told you about. the one where everyone ends up fucking this beauty.”

The dark-haired one grinned. The stocky one with the shaved head looked Megan up and down like he was already picturing it. The driver, still nameless, hopped down and wiped his hands on his thighs.“We’re just finished a kitchen job. Fancy a seat? We’re not in a rush.”

Megan glanced at me.“Go on,” I said. “I’ll grab us a coffee from the café over there. Take your time.”

She brushed her fingers against mine once, then stepped straight up into the van. The cargo space was a mess of work gear: paint tins stacked two and three high along both sides, roller trays, brushes in old jam jars, and a thick, filthy pile of dust sheets heaped in the middle of the floor, stained with dried emulsion, plaster dust and God-knows-what else.

The doors stayed open to the car park. Anyone walking past could have watched every second if they’d bothered to look. The driver sat her down on the pile of dirty sheets. The dark-haired lad dropped to one knee beside her; the stocky one stayed near the open doors, already rubbing the bulge in his overalls while he kept half an eye on the tarmac.

I walked away toward the café. Behind me I heard the driver say, “Jeans off, love” and the soft rustle of denim as Megan obeyed.

Inside the café I ordered two flat whites and took the window seat that gave me a clear view of the van. I could see the open doors, the movement of bodies on that heap of sheets, the way the whole vehicle rocked hard every few seconds.

Inside the van there was no teasing and no slow build. The driver yanked Megan’s jeans and knickers straight down and off one leg the moment she sat on the dusty pile. He pushed her thighs wide, spat on his fingers and shoved two of them into her cunt, fingering her roughly while the dark-haired one pulled her blouse open, shoved her bra up and sucked hard on her nipples.

The sheets under her were gritty with dried paint and plaster; every time she shifted, little clouds of dust rose around her bare arse. Megan was already wet; the wet sounds of his fingers working in and out of her were loud even over the car-park noise.“Fuck, she’s soaked,” the driver said. He pulled his cock out—thick, already hard—and pushed the head against her entrance. “Remember this one from the party?” He thrust in to the hilt in one go. Megan gasped and clutched at a paint tin for balance. He fucked her hard and deep on the filthy sheets, the metal floor banging under them, while the dark-haired lad fed his cock into her open mouth. She took it, gagging a little when he pushed too far, spit running down her chin onto the dusty fabric beneath her.

The stocky one got impatient. He climbed fully into the van, pulled her off the driver’s cock, flipped her onto all fours on the pile of sheets and shoved straight into her cunt from behind. The driver moved round and pushed back into her mouth at the same time. They used her like that, one cock slamming her cunt, the other fucking her throat, while the dark-haired one reached underneath and rubbed her clit hard.

Paint tins rattled against each other with every thrust. Megan came first, shaking and moaning around the cock in her mouth, cunt clenching, knees grinding into the gritty dust sheets. The stocky one groaned, buried himself deep and came hard inside her, pulsing load after load into her cunt. He stayed there a few seconds, grinding, then pulled out; thick cum immediately started leaking down her inner thighs onto the dirty sheets. The driver took his place at once, sliding back into her cum-slick hole and fucking her through the aftershocks. He lasted another minute before he slammed in deep and came inside her too, adding his load to the first.

When he pulled out, more cum spilled out of her, dripping onto the stained fabric between her knees. The dark-haired one finished last, stroking himself and painting her open mouth and tongue; she swallowed what she could and let the rest run down her chin.

They wiped her down roughly with a cleaner corner of one of the dust sheets, helped her pull her jeans back up (the fabric catching on the sticky mess still leaking out of her) and buttoned her blouse as best they could. Her makeup was ruined, hair full of plaster dust, cum still drying on her face and between her legs. She looked thoroughly used and still half-dazed with it.

I timed it carefully. When I walked back with the two cardboard cups the three men were sitting more or less as before, only flushed and grinning. Megan was perched on the edge of the van between them, cheeks pink, lips swollen, a small wet patch already showing at the crotch of her jeans. She took the coffee from me, fingers brushing mine.“Thanks,” she said, voice rough from the cock that had been in her throat.

The driver grinned at me. “Told the lads who you were. Two of us came inside her—hope that’s all right. Good to see you both again. Next party, yeah?”“Maybe,” I answered.We said our goodbyes. The transit doors slammed shut. Megan and I walked the rest of the way to our car in silence. Once we were inside she leaned across, kissed me hard—tasting of other men’s cum—and whispered, “I’m still leaking. Next time you stay and watch properly.”I started the engine. The DIY bags sat forgotten in the boot. We drove home with the windows cracked, the cool air doing nothing to settle the heat still thick between us, or the slow trickle of cum she could feel soaking into her knickers the whole way.

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