———-
The week breezes by. By Thursday, it’s the best week of the year so far, and I’m optimistic it’s going to keep raising the bar.
I still smile when I re-read my family chat. I dropped the good news on Tuesday—the State House officially completed the background check and sent me an email with the subject line Congratulations: Massachusetts State Government Summer Program Next Steps—and my dad reacted with his characteristic enthusiasm, his response consisting of all caps and half a dozen emojis. Both my sisters are excited for me, too, and they’re already trying to coordinate a summer visit.
On Wednesday, Professor Wells handed me our last accounting test of the year before finals (yes, I’m taking an accounting class even though I’m a poli sci major). He smiled at me when he saw my eyes light up at the 97 written in the corner in bold red marker. “Well done, Caroline.”
Maybe best of all, today is the day Jordan, Mark, and I agreed to have a more serious discussion about our first threesome. We all have classes throughout the day, and they’re busy after with the powerlifting club (Mark) and improv (Jordan), but we’re meeting at home at 8pm. I’m purposely avoiding the house until then. Alex is home, and if he spots me before he heads out for the evening, I don’t have a snowflake’s chance in hell of evading him unscathed. “Pussy is the best pregame,” he told me a couple weeks ago, which I’ll admit was, despite its crudeness, titillating at the time.
Jordan and Mark have left me alone since the conversation in the kitchen, and I’ve only given Alex one blowjob and one fuck since I took care of him on Monday morning. Normally, I’d fill a dry spell like this with my vibrator, but I haven’t touched it once. The delayed gratification, and my ballooning horniness, is delightfully torturous.
I’m hanging at a local bar with Ashley and a couple other girlfriends. It’s their weekly Thirsty Thursday special, so we’re sharing a cheap pitcher of beer and vegan nachos, watching the Red Sox lose to the Astros while we talk about our summer plans. I’m nursing my first pint and picking half-heartedly at the nachos, since tonight, of all nights, I really don’t want to be bloated.
My phone buzzes, and I see it’s an iMessage from Jordan in our new group chat: The Strongest Shape. Mark picked the name, but I’m more than okay with it. I smile every time I see it.
Mark
Alex wants us to take a couple shots w him. But he’s about to leave.
Mark
We’re pumped 😉
Jordan
Get back here girl. Let the weekend begin.
Heart pounding, I tell the girls I’m tired and want to head home, earning a chorus of tipsy protests. I laugh them off and slap a 10 on the table. “I need to recharge before the weekend,” I tell them. “The earlier I go home now, the later I’ll be able to stay out tomorrow.” They give me a cheer at that, clinking their glasses and earning a few interested glances from some of the guys at the bar. I leave them to it.
I’m not sure why I’m suddenly filled with so much nervous anticipation. After all, I’ve shared literally hundreds of orgasms with both of these guys. Pretty much the only sexual act I haven’t performed with either of them is anal, and we’ve already agreed that’s not on the table tonight.
So what is it? I wonder, spotting the roofline of the house as I round the corner onto Sedgewick Street. I’ve had threesomes before, one with Grace and one with a hot couple I met on Bumble, but both of those were with another girl and a guy. As much as I love sex—and despite my lofty claim to Mark that I’d even enjoy three dicks at once—the idea of being double-teamed is as intimidating as it is erotic. At the same time, there’s no one else I’d rather do this with than the two of them, and there’s no way I’m backing out.
I pull out my phone and ping The Strongest Shape.
Caroline
About to be back. All clear?
Mark
All clear, ma’am.
Jordan
Ready and waiting.
I find three shot glasses in the kitchen sink. The boys are waiting in the living room, which is separated from the kitchen by a swinging door. When I push in, they’re bullshitting in front of the TV, an open handle of Jose Cuervo sitting on the coffee table. Are they taking turns swigging from the bottle?
“Hey,” I say.
They both freeze momentarily. “Hey, beautiful,” Mark says.
The compliment sounds flippant and does nothing to smother my irritation, which increases like a flame under bellows when I notice their eyes. They’re lit up.
My lip curls in distaste. “You’re both drunk, aren’t you?”
“No,” Jordan says at the same time Mark says, “Yes.”
They look at each other and shrug. “Yes,” Jordan amends.
“Okay. Okaaay. Why the fuck are getting plastered now, of all times? How do you expect to do this?”
Mark taps Jordan on the shoulder with one hand, pointing at my face. “Dude, she’s doing that thing. I told you, didn’t I? When she’s mad. Her lips press together like that.”
Jordan squints at me stupidly. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess you’re right. Caroline, do you—”
“Shut up,” I snap. My arms cross over my chest. “Let me ask again. How do you expect to do this? This is supposed to be for all of us. You think I want to get with two sloppy drunks?”
Mark looks so affronted, I almost laugh. “Hey! We’re not sloppy. And we’re not drunk.”
“We’re tipsy,” Jordan says.
“Oh, nice contribution, dickhead,” I tell him. “I was excited to come home tonight. I’ve honestly been looking forward to this moment even more than I expected I would. But now, when I get here, after you both told me for days that you were down for this, you…get drunk? Glad you both see this the same way I do.”
“We’re excited Caroline, but don’t forget your place.” Mark’s expression is serious, almost vacant. I feel a faint chill, and I’m not sure it’s the good kind. “This part is meant to be fun, for all three of us. But, ultimately, you do what we tell you. Right now our interests happen to align with each other.”
Jordan shakes his head emphatically, but whether it’s to contradict Mark or in response to my last comment, I can’t tell. “Look, Caroline, it’s not like that. Please, believe me.”
“Tell me what it’s like, then.”
He takes a deep breath. “We both want to do this. Really, we do. And not just because we know it’s important to you.”
“Because we like the idea. We think it’s going to be amazing.” Mark’s stern expression has disappeared, replaced by one of solemnity. “I’ve been thinking about this all day. It’s been hard to focus on anything, to tell the truth.”
“But? Surely there’s a ‘but’ coming,” I say plaintively.
“But we’re fucking nervous!” Jordan says loudly. He gesticulates at himself and Mark. “We’ve never, you know…”
“We’ve never even seen each other naked,” Mark finishes. “Much less fucked a girl together. We do want you, babe, but we’re—”
“Not sure how this is going to impact our own friendship. Or if we’ll be comfortable with this once we, you know, start actually doing it. And I know you probably don’t want to hear it, but we’re not wasted. Tipsy, yes. But we purposefully only had a few shots so we can still get it up.”
Relief floods through me like a warm wave. Why didn’t I think of this before? Of course they’re nervous. For me, this is a new dynamic, but I already know both of them, intimately. For them, this is foreign territory, and I should have anticipated some ambivalence.
Sexuality is much less fluid for men than it is for women, at least in American society. Double standards are real. Mark said it the other day; for men, accumulating partners is admirable, while for women, it’s slutty. On the other hand, when two women hook up, it’s sexy and spontaneous. The next day, they can go back to their normal lives—where they’re straight. If two men hook up, or in this case, have a threesome together, their sexuality is dubious, at best. Only gay or bisexual men would do such a thing, surely.
Plus, just because Grace and I hook up doesn’t mean all friends are willing to cross that boundary. And I accepted long ago that I’m bisexual, even if 95% of my partners are men.
“You’re right. Sorry, I didn’t mean to be insensitive. I get it.” I uncross my arms and soften my expression. “We can take it slow, you know.”
“How exactly do we take a threesome slow?” Mark looks back and forth between us, perplexed.
“Leave that to me,” I say. “Just let me run upstairs quickly to get…changed.” This is fucking happening. I push back into the kitchen, head to the staircase, and nearly run up the first flight.
“Wait,” Jordan calls after me, “you want to do it here? In the living r…” but his voice fades away as I turn a corner.
“Getting changed” is more like “taking some clothes off.” I untuck my white button-down from the hem of my jeans, dropping it in the hamper. After a moment’s consideration. I unhook my bra and toss it on top of the shirt. My pants come off last. I stand in the middle of the room, naked except for my panties, looking at myself in the mirror. What should I wear?
It’s just the three of us in the house. Alex most likely won’t be back until close to midnight, if he comes back at all. Avery is more of a wildcard; I haven’t talked to him for close to a week because he’s been so busy with classes and Cindy. Sometimes they sleep at Cindy’s place, but she lives on campus in a three-room suite with five other girls. If her roommate is home tonight, they’ll be here.
Fuck it, I think. We have blankets. I pull a rolled-up tank from my dresser and worm into it. It leaves a strip of midriff bare, between my belly button and the hem of my panties, and my nipples throw shadows as they push against the thin cotton. I grab a couple fleece blankets from the closet, take a deep breath, and head back downstairs.
The guys are right where I left them. I have one of the blankets wrapped around myself like a robe. I toss the other onto the chaise in case we want it later. “Over, please,” I say, stepping around the coffee table and plopping myself between them. “Want to watch a movie?”
“Uh, sure,” Jordan says from my left. “What should we watch?”
“Whatever you guys want. I think Friday the 13th is on Netflix now. The 2009 one.” I nudge Mark with my knee. “Can I have that handle?”
He passes it to me. I take a swig and grimace while Jordan fiddles with the remote.
“You really want to put a slasher on right now?” Mark asks dubiously. “I know you’re freaky, but—”
“But you don’t like watching gratuitous sex scenes with super-hot, no-name actors who have magnificent tits and six packs?” We’ve watched the film at least four times as a household, and we always jeer and shriek with laughter when Trent (the jock) tells Bree (the bimbo) she has magnificent tits while she rides him wildly. This happens, of course, right before Jason Voorhees strikes the house.
“Oh, we are always down for that,” Jordan says. The Netflix Tadum blares from the TV. “I can’t believe they still haven’t released a new one. It’s 2026. Don’t they know what they’re doing to us?”
“The world needs more footage of hot college kids getting whacked while they’re banging,” I agree.
Mark raises a finger. “But only the annoying hot college kids.”
“Of course.” As the production company intros fade in and out of the screen, I stand up, shins touching the coffee table. I unwrap the blanket so I can drape it over all three of us. I’m not really thinking when I do it—I prefer being covered by a loose blanket during a movie—but when I whip the fabric away and shake it open in front of me, I sense rather than hear two sharp intakes of breath.
Of course, I think again, but in an entirely different context. My tank hugs me tightly, accentuating the narrowness of my waist. My ass is bare, jiggling right in front of their faces, and I’m bending forward as I open the blanket. I linger a little longer than I need to, letting them look their fill. It’s tantalizingly hot, the knowledge that both of them are ignoring the intro sequences of the movie.
I imagine them staring ravenously at the green lace of my panties, their eyes running along the hem, following its perimeter as it plunges down between my ass cheeks. From their level, they can even see the convexity of my vulva pressing against the fabric. A green hump, already damp with my arousal, that both of them long to press their faces against.
I want them intoxicated by the ripe musk of pussy.
When I sit back down, I let the blanket flutter over the three of us, acting like nothing is amiss. The tequila sloshes as I take another sip. Thunks as I plant the bottle back on the table. “This movie never disappoints,” I say casually.
I let the first few minutes of the movie pass uneventfully. When we meet Jared Padalecki’s character at the gas station—the pure-intentioned brother looking for his missing sister—my hands spider-crawl to the sides. Jordan and Mark stiffen visibly when they feel my nails on their legs, biting their skin through their shorts. I pause once I reach their upper thighs, and it’s as if electricity is pulsing into them through my fingertips.
The room is washed in the bluish light of the TV. We’re periodically illuminated and thrown into darkness depending on the scene. During a dark shot, I reach out and knead them both at once. Their cocks are stiff, flat against their bodies. Pointing inward, toward me: lust compasses indicating their true North.
“I think you both need to take off those shirts and shorts,” I say, eyes on the movie.
Mark starts fidgeting immediately, and in a few seconds he’s naked under the blanket, garments piled on the floor in front of the couch. My hand finds him easily. I let the nails trail along him lightly, making his cock swell.
Jordan hesitates for a moment, so I give him an encouraging squeeze. He looks at me, and I lick my lips. Take it off.
My body hums with a thrilling tension. I’m aroused, nervous, and overwhelmed, all at once. Strangely, absurdly, my mind flashes back to elementary school when Grayson Smith proudly proclaimed at recess that he could simultaneously tap his head with one hand and rub circles on his belly with the other. My brain wants to do two different things at once: rub the underside of Mark’s cock, which already throbs under my touch, and use a firmer, fisted grip on Jordan, whose erection is still only halfway there.
“I think one of you is a tad nervous,” I tease. Mark’s cock twitches and lifts from his belly, so I seize the opportunity and wrap my hand around it in overhand grip. The blanket tents over his lap. Jordan looks over, clearly noticing, but I can’t see his face and am not sure whether he’s intrigued or disturbed by what he sees.
“I’m enjoying myself,” Mark says, opening his thighs more while still eyeing the TV. “J, how about you?”
Jordan lets out a small moan but doesn’t say anything, so I answer for him. “I think he’s enjoying himself, too. Isn’t he?” I lean over and nuzzle his neck. His shoulder comes up in a half-shrug, pinching my face and making me giggle. Jordan has always been ticklish.
“I want to know. How do both of my boys feel?” I ask. By now, I have them in the same overhand grip, my palms rubbing against the undersides of their cocks while my fingers fondle their balls. “Do you like knowing my hands are on both of your cocks at the same time?”
They look inward, eyes following my arms up to my bare shoulders, then to my chest, to my cleavage and the protrusions of my nipples against the tank. When they lean back slightly, I know they’re making brief eye contact behind my head, hopefully to give themselves the green light to keep going.
“You’re doing a good job, so far,” Jordan finally says.
Mark agrees. “But I think Jordan wants your mouth over there. Lie down across my lap.”
We both snap around to look at him. Did that just happen? I’m not sure who’s more surprised, me or Jordan, but I know my surprise is the good kind. I smirk at Mark. “Yes, sir.”
Before either of them can say anything, I stand up again and sweep the blanket away. They jerk in surprise, and Jordan actually starts lunging for the fabric as I whisk it away. “Uh, uh,” I say, folding it into a square and dropping it on the table. “We’re not hiding from this. You’re not hiding from this.”
I see them look at each other, their locker-room etiquette overpowered by reluctant curiosity. Neither of them has anything to be remotely ashamed about. They’re both fit, tall, and compared to average, well endowed. Even so, Jordan’s whispered “Holy shit, dude!” tells me he feels the same awe I did (possibly mixed with a splash of despair) the first time I laid eyes on Mark’s boner. Monstrous is an apt word for it.
“Don’t you worry about that,” I tell him, mounting the couch on my knees. “You both make me come, you know. Frequently.”
When I drop to all fours, my ass is right next to Mark’s face. We’ve all forgotten about the movie, which is currently showing the main characters walk through a grove of marijuana plants in the woods. I feel Mark’s breath on my left hip, and it sends a shiver through me.
I back up until my knees hit his thigh and my shins are across his legs, then drop into the prone position so my head falls into Jordan’s lap. “Don’t worry about Mark, babe,” I tell him.
“Yeah, don’t worry about me. I’m getting exactly what I wanted.” Mark’s hands are running up and down my hamstrings, stopping just shy of my ass. As he massages me, I bend my knees and pull my heels toward my butt, toes wiggling.
“You should take this off,” Jordan says, hooking a finger under my tank top’s shoulder strap. He lets the fabric snap back into place and starts pulling it up my back. I raise my arms obediently, and a moment later see a flash of white as the tank sails off the couch onto the floor.
“That’s more like it,” Mark says. I yelp in surprise as he slaps my ass cheek. “Look at that fucking jiggle. Has anyone ever told you how fine your ass is, Caroline?”
“She’s a little too busy to answer that now, I think.” Jordan guides my head with his right hand. His left holds his cock straight in the air, and I fall on it with open mouth. “She does have a fine ass, though,” he tells Mark. “I remind her about it every day.”
I can’t turn to see, but I feel Jordan lean toward the center of the couch. A moment later, there’s a hand on each of my ass cheeks. “Let’s spread her together,” Mark says. “Yeah, just like that. Fuck.” They’re squeezing me firmly, thumbs pressing into my flesh, separating me with enough force that I feel the stretch in my pussy and my asshole at the same time.
Jordan feels me moan. “You like that, huh? Just don’t stop sucking on this cock.” His hand snakes around me and squeezes my right breast. I can feel his fingers seeking my nipple and anticipate the pinch right before it happens.
Mark is still playing with my ass, which Jordan has since abandoned (apparently, my head bobbing up and down in his lap is a sufficient distraction). He slaps me lightly, squeezes me, spreads me. At one point, he lowers his head and touches his ear to my upper thighs. “Holy shit. Holy shit.” There’s genuine amazement in his voice. “I can literally hear your pussy peeling open, Caroline. Every single time I spread you. How fucking wet are you right now?”
Jordan groans. I’m deepthroating him now. “I bet she’s soaked. How many times did she ask us for both our cocks at once?”
“You’re one gloriously cock-hungry little whore. And you’re all ours.” Mark pushes my panties to the side, and I can almost feel his eyes on my holes.
“Not all ours.” Jordan presses his back into the couch and rests one foot on the edge of the coffee table so he can push his hips higher. He forces my head down until I bottom out against his groin.
“Oh, yeah. Alex will be back at some point, I guess,” Mark says disinterestedly.
Jordan releases me, and I jerk upward, coughing. Spit trails out of my mouth, my eyes are tearing up, and my nose is running. I take a couple deep breaths, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. I’m determined not to show any weakness now. I’m not going to let them beat me at my own game.
I bow forward and take Jordan’s balls into my mouth. We’re positioned in such a way that I’m almost upside down, my nose buried between him and the couch. When he starts pulling on my hair, I let him lift me back up and deposit me on his cock again.
Mark has apparently grown tired of working around my underwear. There’s a swift ripping sound as he snaps the waistband. The wet fabric is wedged deeply in my crevices, and he peels it out of me. “You’re going to be a good girl and blow my friend while I finger you. And he’s going to tell me if he’s not satisfied with your performance. Do you understand? I said, do you understand?”
He spanks me, hard enough to make me flinch visibly. I come up just long enough to tell him I understand before Jordan pushes me down again. Mark probes my entrance briefly, slickening himself on me before his middle finger slips into my pussy as far as his knuckles allow. He hooks it down as he fingers me, pressing on my frontal wall. His thumb finds my clit, which is already swollen and sensitive, but he rubs light circles around it, not yet giving me the direct stimulation he knows I want.
I knew this would be hot, incredibly hot, but I’m still surprised by my own body’s response to the situation. It thrums from head to toe as if a low-voltage current runs through me. My touch, smell, even my hearing seem augmented, sharpened. My erogenous zones are so sensitive I’m almost afraid I won’t be able to tolerate having them touched: blood roars in my ears; my neck erupts in goosebumps when Jordan gathers my hair in his fist, brushing his knuckles against my ear; my nipples sear with the slightest friction against the couch; his elbow touching my back sends an army of invisible ants running in every direction; and cold fire seems to radiate from Mark’s fingers, igniting deep in my pussy and torching me from the inside out. My muscles clench around his fingers involuntarily, and it’s not just my pussy; everything in my pelvis seems to be tightening and relaxing, tightening and relaxing.
“I’m getting close,” Jordan says to no one in particular.
Yes. Let me take you over the edge. I redouble my efforts, using both my mouth and my hand on him now, racing myself, resisting the urge to come on Mark’s fingers.
“Don’t bust, yet, J,” Mark says to him. His knuckles are now slamming against my ass; he can sense the way I’m arching into him and knows I’m about to succumb to an orgasm.
“What? Why not?” Jordan gasps.
“Do you really wanna sit here, after you’ve nutted, and watch me fuck her? I know I wouldn’t.”
Fuck, I’m going going to come. Hearing them talk about me like I’m not in the room is objectifying and belittling, but the animal in my brain likes it. Loves being reduced to an instrument of sex.
“Fuck, you’re right.” Jordan pulls my head up, gently but firmly, and his cock flops out of my mouth. I reach for it stupidly, desperate to feel him twitching in my mouth, to swallow the warm load I know is just seconds away, but he deflects me and shimmies out of the way. “Not yet, Caroline, not yet.”
“I don’t think so,” Mark says, his voice feral, as I try to crawl away from him after Jordan. “You’re staying right here, on my lap, until you come like a good girl. That’s what we want from you right now.”
He grabs my legs and hauls me back until I’m lying across his lap, my ass sticking up in the air like I’m about to be spanked—which I am. His cock presses into my belly.
“You don’t have as much control here as you think you do,” he says. His hand lands on me with a loud smack. I wince, but say nothing, resting on my elbows and staring into the couch. “This might have been your idea, because you’re just too much of a slut for one cock at a time, but you’re not calling the shots. You’d better get used to that idea.”
Smack.
Smack.
I look up and see Jordan watching us from the edge of the couch. His face is twisted by a shutter reel of emotions: hunger, horror, excitement, angst. The true barometer of his thoughts, his cock, is rigid as ever.
“You like this, baby?” I coo. “Watching another man punish me like—” another blow lands on my smarting behind, and I can’t help it this time. I cry out softly before I regain my composure. “I think you’ve always been…you’ve always been turned on by the idea.” Smack. “Now you get to live it.”
He crawls forward until we’re face to face. “You think that’s going to get under my skin, don’t you, Caroline? We’ll see how you feel after we’re done fucking you. You’re just communal pussy. Nothing more.”
“I think you should make her come,” Mark tells him. He’s fingering me again, his free hand pressing on my lower back to keep me in place while he builds me back up. “I know you want to eat this. And I want to watch her slobber on my cock for a while.”
“No…please make me come. Now,” I call over my shoulder. “Don’t stop. I’m right there. I’m going to…”
Mark’s fingers slip out of me, and I let out a cry of frustration. My temples are starting to sweat. I can feel the flush of my skin; I’m overheated, incredibly turned on and understimulated, yearning for that last bit of attention that Mark refuses to give me.
On the screen, two people are screaming, running around a dilapidated cabin as a machete spears up through the floorboards like a stalagmite. I can no longer remember the character’s names, and I no longer care.
Jordan watches Mark stand up and dump me stomach-first on the couch. “You want to come?” He asks. He’s touching himself. Stretching his balls with one hand and jerking himself off with the other.
“Yes,” I moan. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I want to come, damn it!” I yell. My arm snakes under me. Surreptitiously, or so I think.
“If you start touching yourself, we’re going to tie you up,” Mark says austerely. “Do you want us to edge you all night? Trust me, we will.”
“God!” I yell. “Please, please, Jordan, make me come. I need an orgasm right now. I’ll do whatever you want.”
As I say this, they walk around the coffee table, swapping places, hardly looking at each other. Their eyes are on me. The characters are still screaming from the TV as Jason does his best to dismember them.
“Whatever I want?” Jordan says from behind me.
“Yes, baby, whatever you want.”
Mark falls onto the couch next to me. “He wants you to blow me. Don’t you, J?”
“Never thought I’d say it, but yeah. I do. Get to work, Caroline. Until his dick is in your mouth, you’re not getting anything from me.”
I crawl forward onto Mark. “Come here,” I say, reaching for him.
His hand snaps out and grabs my wrist before I can touch him. “If you want it, come and get it.”
What the fuck? I lunge forward, but he’s too strong for me, I move an inch before coming to a halt again. My mouth is less than a foot from his cock. When he’s scrunched up like he is on the couch, it looks even more massive than usual, nearly reaching his sternum. “Stop, Mark,” I tell him.
“Stop what? We’re not forcing you to do anything, are we?”
When I don’t answer, Jordan says, “Answer the question. Are we forcing you to do anything you don’t want to do?”
“No,” I growl. “And fuck you both.”
Mark laughs. “Maybe you will. But not before you suck our cocks like a good girl. Not until you have an orgasm for us like the dirty slut we all know you are.”
“I’m trying! Fuck!” I lunge again, but I’m no match for his strength. I don’t care that I’m playing into their hands. Never in my life have I been so ravenous, even though I’m no longer sure exactly what I’m ravenous for. Yes, I want to come. Yes, I want Jordan’s fingers, and his tongue. Yes, I want Mark’s cock in my mouth, and not just because it’s the gateway to everything else (if they keep their word).
“This is delicious,” Mark says, finally releasing me. Immediately, I reach out, pick him up, and put my lips around him. “I’ve never seen a girl so eager to have a dick in her mouth. Even you, Caroline.” He groans contentedly. “J, give her what she wants. She’s doing what she does best again. And Caroline, I expect you to deepthroat me. I saw the way you handled my friend just now, and it’s only fair I get the same treatment.”
Jordan doesn’t say anything, but the couch shifts under his weight. He hooks his fingers under my hip bones and pulls gently. I keep my mouth fastened around Mark, but lift my butt obediently, and a thin throw pillow slides under my hips. It’s just thick enough to prop my ass in the air. He’s making you more accessible, I think to myself, and a rush of anticipatory warmth floods my pussy. I’m so wet I wouldn’t be surprised if I’m literally dripping on the couch.
I let my mouth and tongue relax around Mark for a moment. My salivary glands, stimulated by the presence of the foreign object in my mouth, go into overdrive, and drool pools behind my teeth, flooding my mouth. It follows gravity’s influence, oozing from the corners of my lips as if from an overflow valve, running down Mark’s cock in rivulets. The blowjob becomes audible to all three of us; when the movie volume drops, the room is filled with that distinctly wet glucking sound as my head rises and falls.
A knee pushes my thighs apart. I expect to feel Jordan’s fingers slide into me, but instead I feel something larger, softer, and warmer push against my ass. The pressure is everywhere: against my cheeks, against my asshole, against my vulva.
Jordan is pressing his face between my ass cheeks while he spreads them apart with his hands. The tip of his nose is literally touching my asshole—I’m suddenly grateful I showered and cleaned myself thoroughly before I left for the bar—his tongue lapping my pussy. He wastes no time, alternating between licking me with broad, wet strokes and tongue-fucking the first half-inch of my slit, which is all his tongue can reach. Every time he pushes his tongue in, he flexes his neck to push in deeper, and the stubble on his chin grinds, agonizingly, against my clit.
I almost black out under the influence of it all. The physical stimulation, the belittlement, the alcohol, the exertion of giving a blowjob for 15 minutes straight (and counting), the emotional whiplash, and now, the jarring contradiction between how impersonal this whole session is and the sheer intimacy of what we’re doing to each other.
Not wanting to give Mark another reason to scold me, I force my head down as far as I can, but when my body revolts against me, threatening to eject the contents of my stomach, I still have two inches of his shaft left. I gag and lurch upwards, coughing. The whimper that escapes me is pitiful, even to me.
“Shh, it’s okay,” Mark cajoles, petting my head. “You can stop now. You just rest here, Caroline. Let Jordan do his thing.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear.
“But you haven’t…haven’t come yet,” I say between pants. I’m resting my cheek on his thigh, my nose nearly touching his balls.
“I will later. You just relax now. Your only job is to focus on coming.”
It doesn’t take long. The tequila must be emboldening Jordan to new heights, because every once in a while he gives me one long lick from front to back. His starts on my clit, pressing firmly, making me moan loudly from atop Mark’s leg. He swipes his tongue upward across my pussy, but doesn’t stop there, and his licks travel over a part of me that feels like it should be forbidden. Occasionally, he stops there, fluttering his tongue around in circles, pressing it against the tight muscle until he’s on the verge of breaking through, pushing into a part of me no man’s (or woman’s) tongue has ever reached.
“I’m getting close.” I don’t think Jordan can hear me, but I can’t find the strength to say it more loudly.
“She’s about to come,” Mark says, still stroking my hair.
Jordan’s face pulls away, and suddenly his fingers are inside me, thrusting in and out, pressing down against the ridges of my g-spot. I gasp as it carries me over the edge. For better or worse, it’s the most intense orgasm I’ve ever had. I moan gibberish into Mark’s lap, my mind blank, my world reduced to that spike of pleasure between my legs; Jordan fingers me faster and faster, and the intensity of the orgasm grows and grows until I’m twitching like a fish out of water, completely incoherent, lost in a state of ecstacy so great I’m not sure if I’m experiencing pleasure or pain.
Eventually it stops. Jordan lays his head on my ass like it’s a pillow. I lie there, prone and silent, dead to the world. Friday the 13th is still playing, and I assume in that brief spell of inactivity the boys are watching as Jason sends a double-headed ax cartwheeling into Chewie’s back.
Mark is still hard. It occurs to me that, despite their cruel words, they’re deferring to me, letting me decide if we keep going or call it quits now.
Neither of them has come, yet.
I’m not letting this end until all of us have finished at least once, but I need to play my cards right. I don’t have the energy to have sex unless I’m in a submissive position. The solution that occurs to me is simple.
I turn and call over my shoulder. “Fuck me, Jordan. Now.” I push myself away from Mark’s lap and ease back onto my knees, creasing at the hips and pushing my ass up. It’s the perfect position for both of the things I have in mind.
Mark looks at me questioningly. I wink at him and gesture him toward me with a finger. Come over here, now.
Surprisingly, I don’t need to tell Jordan twice. He sits up, gives me a long lick to get me wet again, and then holds my hips as he kneels behind me. By the time he guides himself into me, I’m already sucking Mark off again, pumping his shaft with my hand.
“Damn, girl, you really are a glutton for punishment, aren’t you?” Mark says. When I ignore him, he grunts and settles back into the couch to watch the show.
Jordan is kneeling on his right leg, but his left is planted on the cushion between my ribs and the back of the couch. It’s only through sheer determination that I stay focused enough to keep Mark groaning. Jordan’s body smacks against my backside with every thrust; my ass shakes with the impact, and although I’m not close to coming again, I’m still basking in the first orgasm’s glow, and every stroke feels glorious.
I attack Mark’s cock mercilessly. I’m unexpectedly exhausted; if he doesn’t finish soon, my stamina is going to run out. I spit on him and slip my hand up and down his length, focusing most of the friction on his sensitive underside while I keep his head immersed in the wet warmth of my mouth. Jordan starts to moan himself, fucking me faster and faster as he approaches his climax.
That’s the thing with orgasms. Sometimes they’re elusive. Sometimes they come when beckoned. Sometimes they lurk in the shadows, unseen and unexpected until they swoop down and overtake us without warning.
And sometimes, the best of times, they overlap perfectly.
Mark stiffens and grabs my hair. “Holy shit. I’m coming. I’m coming right now.”
Jordan spanks me, hard, but instead of withdrawing his hand, he keeps it on me and squeezes. “Me too. Me too. Oh, I’m there.”
“On her back,” Mark says. “Come on her back.”
I have time for the briefest flash of anger—of indignant rage—as they yank my victory out from under my nose. They pull themselves out of me at the same time, and in a motion that’s so smooth I’d swear they’ve practiced it, they grab my legs and shoulders and stretch me out until I’m once again lying facedown, prone and defenseless.
They finish themselves with their hands, and warm come lands on my shoulders, my ass, my back. Some even falls into my hair. It’s impossible to tell whose is whose; all I know is I’m covered in tendrils of the stuff, which quickly become pools.
I wonder if they’re watching each other. I wonder if they’re enjoying seeing jizz spurt from each other’s cocks. I wonder if they’re going to help me clean myself up.
“I’ve never seen so much come on one girl,” Mark says.
Jordan exhales loudly. “Me neither. It looks good on you, Caroline.”
“Can one of you get me a towel?” I ask.
There’s a pause in which the only sound is the movie. Mark eventually says, “I don’t think so. I like the idea of watching you scamper upstairs with jizz dripping down your back. And I don’t think I’m the only one.”
I don’t argue. If this turns them on, so be it. This is exactly what I asked for, after all, even if I’m not in the mood.
I’m halfway up the stairs, clutching one of the blankets to my chest, hoping I can reach my room before the come drips far enough to leave a trail on the wood behind me, when I hear the front door open. Alex.
I don’t think the boys are dressed yet. Not my problem. I laugh dryly to myself when I picture them huddling next to each other on the couch, trying their best to hide under the same blanket in case Alex wanders into the living room. My laughter evaporates when the cold trickle of liquefying semen hits my lower back, where it quickly finds the channel between my ass cheeks.
By the time I get to my room, my chest is tight, my eyes are burning, and anger swells in my bosom. I’m angry at them, but for what, I’m not sure. I’m even angrier at myself. For thinking I had control. For thinking this would feel…what? Romantic? Fulfilling?
I take a hot shower and scrub myself thoroughly. By the time I towel off, Jordan’s words still reverberate in my mind. You’re just communal pussy. Nothing more.
I’ve heard it before. I’ve liked it before. The appeal of being spoken to that way is, for the first time, intertwined with something else. Something darker. Something I wish wasn’t there.
What if he actually meant it?
If it wasn’t for the rent payment looming ahead in two weeks, I think I might consider calling this whole arrangement off. Let my junior year conclude with some semblance of normality.
It’s a good thing, in this moment, that I don’t know what’s in store for me this coming weekend.
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