A Condom Got Stuck Inside Of Me


“I think…I think it’s inside of you,” he muttered, as a look of horror fell upon his face.

“What do you mean, inside of me?” I blurted, feeling my own face mirror his in agony.

My heart started pounded and I could feel my vision clouding as the gravity of the situation fell upon me. Here I was laying on the cold tile of my boss’s guest bathroom. My ears started buzzing as I vaguely heard him confirm my fears before I passed out next to the automatic flush toilet that my dance teacher boss definitely couldn’t afford.

“The condom is stuck up inside of you.”

And blank.

So how is it that a respectable, innocent, nieve girl of nineteen found herself crying on a bathroom floor, Googling “how to get a condom out of my vagina?” The same why any bad bitch in training does. With a bottle of Bacardi, an offer from her old boss to dogsit, and a few close, horny friends.

You know. Respectable.

I came home for a weekend from college, eager to hang out with my boyfriend, catch up with a few people, and make some easy cash. As my boss gave me the security code for the doors, the amount of cupfuls to feed her ugly dog, and the emergency numbers to call, I was mentally texting my friends to come over.

The second she closed the door, it was on.

The party would consist of my boyfriend, one of my closest friends from high school, and my boyfriend’s best friend, Chris, who she happened to have a crush on. It was a small but especially rowdy group. The boys put the liquor on the table and we put the dog in her kennel (sure, my job was the watch/play with the bitch, but come on), ready to get this shit started. The second I had sent a “your pup is doing great” text to my boss, and pulled up my “just finished my first year at college, am I cool yet?” playlist, we were in business.

The next few hours were a mixture of drinking games, shameless flirting, and a little bit of foreplay to get to party going. By the time the sun had set, we were all sufficiently drunk and sufficiently turned on. We were in the middle of a sexually-charged game of truth or dare (which was, at this point, just an excuse for us to take off our clothes and touch each other). Things were heating up as I perched on my boyfriend’s lap, wearing only my neon green bra (oh to be nineteen) and some jean shorts.

As I was (unsurprisingly) dared to makeout with my friend, I planned my next move. My boyfriend and I were still in the early stages of sex, and I wanted to get real weird, real fast with him. As each sip of tequila made me more and more daring, I knew that I was ready to kick things up a notch.

I wink at her over the top of my drink, and peeled myself off of my boyfriends boner lap. As I crawled forward I saw Chris give my boyfriend a look of pure glee. I feel my mouth twist into a smirk as I put my lips against my friend’s ear.

“You want to hook up with Chris, right?”

I feel her nod against my neck, and I turn towards her immediately, planting my lips on hers. I feel her giggle against me before leaning into my lips, rubbing her tongue gently against mine.

I hear a chorus of boys sharply inhale their breaths, and I know we’re in business.

I slowly detangle myself from my best friend and haphazardly stand up. I glance at my audience, knowing what they all wanted. Time to shine. I reach for a nearby bottle of Dragonberry (never again) and take a hearty swing. Fuuuuck this shit burns. I tried to screw my face into a look of satisfaction to not give away my displeasure. Now’s my time to shine.

“It’s my turn now,” I purred, doing a little wiggle that I hope seemed seductive. “Chris. Truth or dare?”

Guess what he said?! Ten minutes later, the four of us were half naked, rolling around in bed, doing things that would instantly make my boss retract her letter of reccomendation. As I saw Chris’s hand slip down into my best friend’s underwear, I felt my breath hitch in my throat. Shit this was hot. A jolt shot to my pelvis as I grinded against my boyfriend’s mouth. I heard the unmistakable sound of a zipper being pulled, a murmur of consent, and the rustling on a condom.

I glanced up from the pillow, where I had been laying back while my boyfriend’s tongue had been trying to find my clitoris.

“Hey,” I whisper, trying to get his attention. He continued digging his tongue inside of me, taking the term “eating out” a little too literally. “Hey. Hey! Get a condom.”

Sure, the prospect of having a low key orgy on my boss’s bed while dogsitting (fuck, I haven’t checked on the dog in awhile), with my boyfriend, my best friend, and his best friend seemed pretty grimy. But when you’re in college, a handle of rum deep, and slutty ~aDvErTeRoUs~ you’re willing to do just about anything (or anyone, let’s be real).

My boyfriend reached over to his pants and pulled something gold out of the pocket. Honestly, that should have been my first hint that things were going to get weird. But instead, I laid back and eagerly waited to join in on the sex party. From my position in the middle of the bed I could see my best friend’s face (pretty damn close up) contorted into a look of pure ecstasy. I wonder what he’s packing, I thought, as I tried to casually take a peek at what Chris was working with.

I was pulled out of my drunken trance of watching my best friend get it on by my boyfriend, muttering obscenities under his breath.

“What’s wrong?” I hissed, annoyed that I did not yet have a penis inside of me.

“I can’t…do it.” He panted, hunched over his penis with a limp, unrolled condom in his hand.

I looked from the sad piece of plastic to his sad, flaccid penis. Shit. From the sounds of the couple beside us, our chance to have awkward sex next to our friends was quickly becoming more and more unobtainable. I knew I had two choices: make a scene about my incompetent boyfriend being unable to get it up, or go in another room and try to get some.

“Hey babe. Let’s go,” I hissed, opting for option two.

I grabbed my pathetic excuse for a boyfriend by the hand and pulled him into the hallway.

“I’m sorry,” he slurred, still holding the limp condom in his palm.

“It’s fine it’s fine,” I shot back, pushing him into the next room.

One quick feel around made me realize that we were in the adjacent bathroom. Fuck. I guess we hadn’t been in the hallway after all. But the thought of going back into the bedroom where my stupid best friend was having orgasm after orgasm was too much for me. So I pulled my boyfriend down to the floor and decided to settle for some less-than-classy bathroom sex.

His boozy lips fell on my neck as my tenseness about the situation unraveled. His hand swept over my body and I felt my knees buckle in excitement. He might have a performance-induced whiskey dick, but he usually knew how to deliver one hell of an orgasm. I reached for his pants again and pulled out yet another gold condom.

“Magnum?” I asked, trying to not hint at his less-than-large penis.

“Chris bought them,” he muttered, avoiding eye contact as he slipped it on.

And for the next few minutes, I forgot about everything. The fact that I hadn’t taken the dog out in the last few (okay, four) hours, the fact that my boyfriend couldn’t get it up when surrounded my our friends and the fact that my friend in the next room was making a noise I didn’t know could be physically emitted from a human. None of it mattered because I was drunk, I was hot, and my boyfriend was looking at me like he was the luckiest guy in the world.

Or at least like a guy who had his dick inside of a girl. Same thing.

It wasn’t until he pulled out, rolled off of me, and panted for a few minutes that things went to shit. After fifteen minutes of mediocre sex, an attempt to slip a finger of the back door (I declined), a request to slip a finger up his back door (I once again declined), we got there. Thank God. I smiled, feeling like I had given a decent performance when he sat up in panic.

I watch him look around us, frantically feeling the ground.

“What’s wrong?” I asked hesitantly, thinking about the birth control pill I kept forgetting to take.

And that’s when he threw it at me. It seemed that the condom had slipped off mid-sex. But it hadn’t slipped behinth us or rolled across the tile. No. Thanks to my vacuum like vagina, the condom was now, almost surely sucked up inside of me, sperms and all.

That’s about when I passed out.

When I came to, we frantically pulled out our phones, trying to find a solution. Go to the hospital? Too expensive. Put your own hand up there and find it? Ugh, I just had my nails done. Have you partner put his/her hands up there to retrieve it?


Once glance at each other and we knew what we had to do. I cried quietly to myself as I accept the fact that my boyfriend was about to become my gyno. I laid back on the cool floor, and put a towl over my face in an attempt to hide the shame. I felt the familiar feeling of my boyfriend’s hand slip inside of me.

This time, however, it didn’t feel sexy. It felt like God was punishing me for, well, everything.

He grunted as he pushed his hand farther and farther, and I felt tears prick my eyes as I imaged just how far his penis must have retracted inside his body in reaction to this disgusting nightmare.

“I think…I think I feel it” he sputtered, as his fingered hooked onto something.

I felt something slide out of me, and braced myself for what was about to happen.

“Watch — ” I started. But too late. The condom that had been suctioned inside of my body slapped out of me and managed to squirt a disturbing mixture of fluids into my gynecologist’s boyfriend’s face.

“Out. Watch out,” I finished lamely. Staring in horror at the juices running down the fact that was just making me (fake) scream in pleasure.

I don’t want to go pointing fingers. Who’s to say who’s fault it was? Maybe it was mine, for having an extra suction-y vagina. Maybe it was Chris’s, for getting extra-large condoms when neither of those boys was even close extra large. Or maybe it was my boyfriend’s for not being able to notice when my vag started eating the plastic around his penis. It doesn’t matter now. Three months later when we broke up, I didn’t blame it on this incident, but it was in the back of my mind, begging me to cut the ties.

Because honestly? Once your boyfriend turns into your gyno, you just can’t go back.

Image via source goes here

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