Inspired by image 17 of the May contest.
Author’s note: This is intended to be an 8-part series. I would welcome any feedback about what you think is working, what you think I could do differently, or anything else!
———-
The next morning starts like any other Monday. At 5:30, my sunrise clock has already suffused the room with an orange glow. It begins to play birdsong and the burbling sounds of a forest brook. I’m awake already, but I let it play, enjoying the comfort of my bed.
The sheets are fresh and crisp; after Mark left yesterday, I stripped the soaked bedding and draped it over my desk chair to air it out. Fortunately, I have multiple spares. I’ve always hated stripping the bed, doing a load of laundry, and being forced to wait until everything is dry to remake it. Thanks to the boys, I change the sheets three to four times a week.
I stretch my arms over my head, feeling my camisole rise and expose my stomach. Immediately I remember how, just hours ago, my belly button was brimming with Mark’s semen.
“Not now,” I tell myself, knowing I’ll start to get wet if I let my mind wander. I swing my legs to the floor.
Today needs to be a productive day. Finishing Robertson’s paper is non-negotiable; it’s due tomorrow, April 14th. I’m still 200 words short and need to proofread everything when I’m done. I groan as I remember he’s demanded an annotated bibliography this time. I love him—he’s my favorite professor—but he’s testing that with this blasted paper.
I also need to finalize the paperwork for my summer internship at the statehouse; the semester ends in mid-May, but our house lease goes through the end of August. Assuming the last stages of the state’s background check go through without a hitch, I’ll be living here through the summer while I commute downtown from Monday to Thursday for the 10-week job. Fortunately, it’ll be paid, but $15 an hour in this day and age isn’t exactly something to revel about.
Yawning, I rub my eyes and head downstairs to get a glass of water. My first class on Mondays, Globalization in the Digital Age, isn’t until 11am, but I’m fastidious about routine, and I have a lot to do: at 6:00 I go for a four-mile run around the local lake, followed by 20 minutes of stretching; at 7:30 I make coffee and breakfast—usually oatmeal and fruit—and enjoy it over a book; by 8:30 I’m packing my bag and heading to the campus library to study until class.
Before I do any of that, though, the kitchen is always my first stop.
As I hit the landing on the second floor, preparing to turn onto the next flight down, the riser creaks loudly under my bare foot. I wince and freeze like a deer. One foot is on the landing and the other is still on the stair above. I’m completely exposed: silhouetted by the morning rays under the skylight, wearing nothing but my spaghetti-strap camisole and panties.
Mark and Jordan are almost never up at this time. Their doors are closed and the gaps underneath them dark as night. But Alex is a baseball player, or was a baseball player until a month ago when he left the team after his second concussion, and years of early practices have turned him into a morning lark.
Fuck, that was stupid. I’m not particularly horny right now. I’m also looking forward to my usual routine. The last thing I need is…
…Alex’s door creaks open, revealing a stripe of darkness. The pale circle of his face appears as he peeks out, curly locks framing a square jaw. He’s bleary eyed and tousle-haired, but he sees me immediately and gives me a lazy salute.
“Morning, Caroline. Knew I heard something,” he croaks.
I bite my lip. No, stop that, he likes that. “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you. I was just going for a glass of water.”
He steps onto the landing and walks toward the bathroom. “Nah, you didn’t wake me. My bladder did.”
“Alright, good. Well, good luck in there,” I say jokingly, making as if to head downstairs.
“Funny you say that,” he says, “I’m actually gonna have a little trouble here.”
I pause, back already turned, and close my eyes. Search deep within myself for the patience I think I’m going to need. “Why’s that, Alex? Forgot how to pee?”
“No, but it’s hard to do it with morning wood. No pun intended. had a late night, you know. You can help me get back to sleep faster.”
Slowly, I twist the balls of my feet on the polished wood, turning myself to face him again. He’s looking at me stoically, lips pressed in a flat line. I know from the tension in his cheeks that he’s suppressing a grin. “Is that so?”
“Yeah,” he says. “Lucky I crossed paths with you instead of one of the guys, huh?” Alex crosses his arms and leans against the wall. There’s a body length between us. Maybe less. I refuse to let him see my eyes drop, but we both know I can see the erection lifting his boxers.
I roll my eyes. “I’ve got stuff to do, Alex. Seriously. I’ll get you later, but I don’t have time for this shit n—”
“So make it quick. We both know you can. Nobody does it like you do. Plus, I’m not really asking, am I?”
When he doesn’t wilt beneath my scowl, I sniff. “Fine. Lead the way.”
Alex gives his head a brief shake. “Ladies first.”
“Little bitch,” I mutter, and stride past him.
“There’s our girl,” he whispers, and as I pass, he squeezes one of my breasts and gives my ass a light spank. Despite myself, I feel a tiny rush at his word choice. Not my girl. Our girl. Maybe the fantasy I’ve somehow sold Mark on isn’t so far-fetched, after all.
Once we’re both in the room with the door closed, it’s dark, but not pitch black. “Come here,” I tell him.
Alex steps forward to meet me in the middle of the room. Before he can say anything, I’m on my knees, dragging his boxers to his ankles. My hands slide along his calves, up the backs of his knees, and by the time they find his hamstrings, his cock is in my mouth.
“Oh, shit,” he whispers. He sounds surprised, as if he thought I’d ease into it more.
When he hits the back of my throat, I gag silently, convulsing around him. It’s still early, and half asleep as I am, I’m not mentally prepared for this. I fight down the sensation and pull back, sucking him hard enough to cave my cheeks in. I move my hands up to his ass and squeeze it firmly.
His groans are quiet; neither of us wants to wake up the other guys, albeit for different reasons. “This is exactly what I needed. I didn’t get any yesterday or…fuck…the day before.”
“Mhm,” I say, too busy to form any real words. Poor thing. My head bobs back and forth, and I can hear the slurping noises from inside my own head as he slides in and out of my skull. I start to push and pull on his ass, encouraging him to match my rhythm with his hips.
He puts his hands over my ears, gently but deliberately, as if to say, You’re not going anywhere. “This is the best…best fucking feeling in the world. Getting my morning wood sucked off. Hell, yes. This is how every day should start. Keep sucking that cock, girl. As soon as…as soon as I saw those perky tits in that little tank, I wasn’t letting you go downstairs. And—fuck, your lips were made to wrap around dick—and then you turned around and I saw that perfect ass in those black panties…you sealed your own fate.”
I pull his cock to the side with one hand and use the other to massage his balls. He’s shaved them recently; the skin is perfectly smooth. “I sealed my fate at the beginning of the school year when I agreed to this. How many blowjobs do you think I’ve given you?”
“One too few. Always one too few. Use your hand on me while you suck me. Oh, shit, I like when you massage my balls. Yes, keep doing that, Caroline, my fucking beauty. You give better head than anyone else I’ve ever been with.”
He starts holding me more firmly, thrusting himself into my face. By now, each thrust punches past my uvula, so I’ve stopped trying to stay in control and focus purely on keeping the contents of my stomach where they are. Despite his praise of my talents, he’s turned this blowjob into a full-fledged facefuck; Alex is desperately horny, and I think he’s just as eager to reach the end as I am this time.
“I’m gonna bust,” he says. “You know what to do when I pull out.”
“Mm-mm,” I disagree and try to pull my head back, pushing on his thighs. I don’t want jizz all over me right now.
Alex fights me for a split second, but when it’s clear I’m trying to disengage, he lets me go. I’m half-successful at smothering a retch when his wet cock slides out of my face.
“What’s the matter?” He gasps. “I’m so cl—”
I grab his cock and squeeze it firmly so I don’t ruin his orgasm, but keep my hand still since I don’t want to push him over the edge yet. “Get on the bed. On your back. Now.”
He stumbles back as I push him, guiding him by his cock like it’s a joystick. When his legs bump against the bed, he climbs backward like a crab. I push him down and lie on my stomach between his legs, which are splayed widely; one knee rests against the wall and the other falls to the side.
I enjoy the sight for a second before diving back in. Alex has the lean physique of an athlete. He’s not quite as ripped as Jordan or as muscular as Mark, but he still has abs, well-developed legs, and, best of all, a big ass. I love a guy with an ass. Modern society is obsessed with women’s asses, but I don’t think most men realize just how bidirectional that preference is. A guy who obviously hits the squat rack is much more likely to find my mouth than one who doesn’t.
My hands slide along the insides of his thighs, feeling his body hairs rub against my palms. They converge at his groin, where in the dim, bluish light of morning, his cock and balls glow like ivory. I don’t tease him. I lift him from his belly, spit a gob of saliva unceremoniously on his slit, and use my dominant hand to slick it all over him.
I start blowing him again, not quite deepthroating him, focusing on his head and the first third of his shaft so I can form a tight seal around him with my lips. The room is filled with the quiet sounds of fellatio: slurping, gasping, groaning. I fondle his balls with my free hand, but lightly—I know he doesn’t like the same intensity that Mark and Jordan do.
Alex props his head up on his pillow so he can watch me work. The interruption made him come down a little bit and he’s no longer on the verge of popping. I can tell by the stupid smile on his face that he’s in a glazed state of bliss.
This is why I love sex. This is why I love being at three horny men’s mercy, even though it’s sometimes inconvenient getting interrupted every few hours. Being naked with someone else, connecting our bodies, experiencing all the touches and sounds and smells we have to offer one another, it’s my escape from the drudgeries of life. We all need an escape. For some people, it’s drugs, or alcohol, or television, or video games. For me, it’s cock and pussy, and if you ask me, it’s far less of a vice than some of the others.
I’m at my peak when someone is writhing under me (or on top of me, or behind me). When I’m with a partner who looks at me in open-mouthed disbelief, like Alex is right now.
I raise my eyes and stare unblinkingly into his, hand corkscrewing around him. My head keeps bobbing. He keeps moaning. His expression fluctuates between wry grin and furrowed brow. When it contorts in a silent scream, I know he’s falling off the brink, and he knows I need no warning.
Alex’s head falls back over the pillow so he’s looking at the ceiling, hips starting to jerk. My own moan is muffled around him. His cock twitches in my mouth, swelling briefly with his first contraction, and a split second later, the first pulse of semen lands on the back of my tongue.
Straight from the source, it’s deliciously warm and thick. I swallow it, tongue lapping at his glans, hand pumping his shaft, just in time to receive the second. Alex moans quietly through the orgasm, the sound of a mind completely erased, and I know this is how his body likes it: constant suction that pulls his come straight from his body.
I gulp down every drop as soon as he gives it to me, as if his seed is a precious organism that can’t survive outside of total darkness. We lie this way for close to a minute, joined at my mouth, my hair trailing across his stomach.
Even after I’ve sucked him dry, I feel him twitching in my mouth. His orgasm isn’t over, just diminishing, and I won’t deny him those last three or four convulsions. I lessen the pressure, sparing him the sharp discomfort of direct stimulation when he’s vulnerable. Sensitive. Raw.
When he’s done, I lift my face away and lick his slit gently. Kiss him once, twice, thrice, and lay his cock back on his belly.
“That was…” he whispers, looking at me through half-closed eyes, “that was…”
“Shh, don’t talk, babe,” I say, stepping from the bed. I pull the sheet over him, then the blanket. He’s already half asleep again, apparently forgetting the entire reason he woke up in the first place was to relieve himself. I waste no time, easing myself from the room and closing the door ever so gently. My heart races. My panties are wet. My breath is tight.
“Fuck,” I whisper to myself. It takes all my self control to head downstairs rather than upstairs, back to my room, where my vibrator is plugged in, green light indicating a full charge.
Get it together, Caroline. You have shit to do, remember? I grit my teeth and force myself to tiptoe down the stairs. I hug the edge of the stairwell, stepping on the edges of the risers so the wood doesn’t creak, drifting like a succubus through the silent house.
———-
The rest of the morning is uneventful. I hit four miles in 35:34, which is my best pace yet, and do my stretches outside in the sunshine. Unless it’s the middle of winter, I always stretch outside, partly because it’s therapeutic, but also because it’s the only way to guarantee I get through the whole routine. Alex and Mark seem to share some sort of preternatural instinct; every time I stretch inside, there’s a solid chance one of them will barge into the room when I’m frozen in downward dog, or the forward fold, or the cow stretch, and then all bets are off.
Globalization is always an interesting class. Professor Hansen is a no-nonsense woman who used to serve on the Department of Energy’s Nuclear Energy Advisory Committee. She’s short, bordering on tiny, and is possibly the most petite person I’ve ever met, but when she lectures, her voice projects power and her eyes blaze with an energy that’s just as capable of transfixing students in terror as it is spotting contraband like cell phones and, God forbid, food.
“…shipping container literally transformed the entire logistical and economic structure of the world,” she’s saying. “You think the steam engine made waves? You and everyone else. Nobody, nobody, talks about the humble shipping container. The shipping container didn’t emerge until the 1950s, which in the scheme of things is yesterday. Ships have existed for centuries. Steamboats are a bit of a contentious topic, depending on which historian you ask, but they emerged as early as the 1700s. It wasn’t the ships themselves that enabled this impossibly complex network of…”
After class, I head to one of the campus’s two dining halls for lunch. My friend Ashley meets me near the Quad at 12:15 so we can walk over together.
“So, what about you?” she asks, as we’re setting our trays down at an empty table. She’s just finished telling me about a senior she hooked up with over the weekend.
“What about me, what?” I pry off the lid of my chana masala and pull my vegan Cobb salad toward me.
Ashley sniffs. “Any guy drama recently?”
Nothing much, no. Just unprotected sex with two of my housemates in the past 24 hours. Oh, and my third housemate sprung a surprise blowjob on me at 5:30 this morning, but I ended up thoroughly enjoying that, as always. Oh, and I really don’t want those idiots touching other girls, but I’m pretty sure they’re all getting side pussy, so I’ll have to figure out what to do about that.
“Not really,” I say, shrugging. I’m honestly not thinking about guys much these days. If I don’t lock this internship down for the summer, I’m not sure what I’m going to do. And I have so much fucking work to do on top of that I can hardly think.”
I only feel slightly guilty lying to Ashley. She and I have been friends since the beginning of sophomore year, but I tell nobody at school, and I mean nobody, about my dynamic with the boys. Somehow, they’ve kept their end of the bargain, too, and the only person outside the four of us who knows what happens in that house is Avery. He sure as hell isn’t spilling the beans, since Cindy doesn’t know he fucked me in September (which, I might add, was weeks before he ever hooked up with her) and there’s no way to separate that part of the narrative from the rest without flat-out lying.
The only soul I’ve told is Grace, my best friend from back home in Illinois. She goes to school in California and would never betray my trust, even if her countenance twists into a grimace of shock every time I tell her about my most recent escapades over FaceTime. I’m half-convinced her apparent disapproval is simple jealousy; we’ve hooked up ourselves on multiple occasions, and when I visited her at UCLA last year we even had a threesome with her then boyfriend, Curtis.
Ashley accepts my response without question, and the conversation soon moves on to other topics. I’m done with my salad and halfway through the chana masala when my phone vibrates. It’s a text from Mark. I decide to check it later, laughing at the story she’s in the middle of, but then my phone buzzes a second time, and then a third time.
Mark and Jordan are texting me simultaneously.
“Sorry, once sec,” I say to Ashley, unlocking my phone.
Mark
Hey sexy 😄 yesterday was incredible
Mark
FYI I talked to Jordan. Not sure yet, but think he might be down.
My breath hitches, and I have to force down my smile so I don’t arouse Ashley’s curiosity. I swipe back to Messages and tap Jordan’s name.
Jordan
So…Mark came to me today with an interesting proposal. Can we talk?
Jordan
Also, did you actually end up fucking him yesterday, too?
Jordan
Call me.
I stay impassive and put my phone back in my backpack. I need to deal with this later. When I’m alone and when I’ve finished this goddamned Medieval Lit paper.
———-
By the time I get home, I’m exhausted. It’s 4:07, the paper and bibliography are finally a thing of the past (I’m not confident it’s better than B+ material, but working on it has chewed me up so much I no longer care), and I’ve managed to submit everything the State House internship has requested of me.
Now all that’s left is some Spanish homework that’s due on Wednesday, which I’ll do before dinner. But first, my body demands a nap, and I intend to give it one. My eyes are drowsy with the late-afternoon warmth.
Jordan is sitting at the kitchen counter when I walk in, clacking away on his laptop. He’s wearing his reading glasses, staring intently at the screen as he works on some CS assignment. I like those glasses. One time I made him wear them while I sat on his face.
He looks up and frowns. “Hey.”
Shit, I’m in trouble. “Hey, J,” I say, dropping my backpack near the stairs and stretching. I enter the kitchen.
“Did you get my texts earlier?”
“Yeah. Sorry, I’ve had a day. I had to finish a pain-in-the-ass paper and then I spent the rest of the afternoon finalizing the internship stuff. You know, the—”
“Yes, I know. You’re working in Representative Wilson’s office for the summer, right? Is that locked in?”
I lick my lips. Leave it to Jordan to remember details like that, even if he’s only heard them once. “Good memory. And yeah, I think so. Technically, I’m still waiting on the background checks to be finished, but I think those are pretty much just procedure, so I think it’s in the bag.”
We both turn as the front door opens again. Mark walks in, wearing joggers and a bro tank. He’s damp with sweat and his arms are corded with veins. As he closes the door, he catches my eye and winks. “Hey, pretty thing.” I must be blocking his view of Jordan, because when he steps into the kitchen, his grin slackens. “What’s up, dude?”
“Yo.” Jordan’s eyes are narrowed slightly, and I’m pretty sure he was watching me look Mark up and down.
There’s an awkward silence; Mark stands near the refrigerator, leaning against it casually, while Jordan’s hands are frozen on his laptop, eyes darting from me to Mark and back again.
“So,” Mark finally says. “Wanna talk about it?” He looks at me, and I look at Jordan, who looks at Mark. Neither of us says anything, and Mark waits, brows raises expectantly.
I can’t help it. I smile, and the smile grows into a shit-eating grin, and the grin leads to a giggle. Jordan looks at me in surprise, which only makes the moment seem funnier somehow, and before I know it, I’m laughing audibly, holding my stomach and leaning over my hand. In moments, all three of us are giggling like lunatics. When one of us seems to be recovering, we make eye contact, and our mirth redoubles. Mark is nearly howling with laughter, leaning forward, butt pressed against the refrigerator. Jordan closes his laptop and drops his forehead onto it, pounding the counter with his fist.
And then there’s me, Caroline. I catch a glimpse of myself in the dining room mirror: shoulder-length, jet-black hair, petite figure (with, as the guys love reminding me, “perfect” B-cup breasts), and, currently, a grimace because my stomach hurts from laughing so hard.
“Alright, alright,” Jordan says, seeking to recover first. “Whoo. Shit. Alright, let’s talk.”
Mark straightens and his smile recedes. “Yeah, let’s talk about this.”
They look at me, mouths closed. I hate when people do this. “Okaaay,” I say. “You want me to talk first? Fine, I’ll—”
“We want you to do other things, too,” Jordan interrupts, and my teeth click as I close my jaw in surprise.
“But yes, we do want you to talk, now,” Mark adds.
I look back and forth, thrown off. “Fine. Like I was saying. Sorry I didn’t text you guys back. I was stressed out all day with the paper and the int—”
“What, you texted her, too?” Mark shoots at Jordan.
“I just wanted to make sure she wants this. I needed to hear—”
Mark scoffs. “Dude. You think it was my idea to get naked with you? Seriously? I know we’re friends, but—”
“Yes, Jordan, I want this,” I snap. I guess we’re all just shouting at each other now. “To answer your question, I did fuck you both yesterday. One after the other. And guess what? I’m going to keep doing it. Alex, too. Partly because that’s the arrangement, because I have no choice unless I want to start paying rent, which I don’t. Do you know the other reason?”
Neither of them says anything, and I raise my eyebrows at their bemused expressions. “The other reason I’m not going to stop is that I like it. I fucking love it. I enjoy all three of you. Thoroughly. And that isn’t going to change.”
They look at one another again. Perhaps it’s my imagination, or my subconscious engineering what it wants to see, but they exchange a barely perceptible nod. As if to give each other permission. Once again, a frisson whispers down my spine. This is actually happening.
“One other thing,” I add, resolving to get it all over with at once. “I saw Alex this morning. It was an accident, really. I was just going downstairs to get a glass of water before my run. He was leaving his room to go to the bathroom.”
Two pairs of eyes lance through me. Jordan, unsurprisingly, looks displeased again, but even Mark is frowning at me now. Jealousy radiates from them. The air nearly shimmers with it.
“You’d better get used to hearing stuff like this, you know. You guys created this dynamic in the first place. You”—I point at Mark—“made that cute little joke back in September when I complained about how little money I was saving. I’m sure we can all come to some agreement, or some shit like that. And you”—this time I point at Jordan, who blinks stupidly—“agreed to the plan. It’s not my fault, or Mark’s fault, or Alex’s fault, that you haven’t capitalized on the arrangement as much as the other guys have. You can both have me. You know that. But I don’t belong to either of you. Get used to it.”
“What were you saying about Alex?” Mark asks.
“We don’t need to know.” Jordan waves his hand dismissively. “It’s between her and—”
“I got on my knees and sucked his cock,” I declare loudly. “Actually, it started off like a blowjob, but it turned into more of a facefuck, really, until I moved it to the bed. While both of you were nice and cozy in your beds, dreaming sweet dreams about what you did with me yesterday, I was swallowing Alex’s jizz. And you know what? This same dynamic has existed for eight months. Look at the fucking jar, guys. I’m going to need to swap it for a bucket to fit all those paper slips. We’re going to need to bulk-order post-its from Amazon, for crying out loud.”
Silence reigns again, and both boys look elsewhere. I don’t doubt they’re mulling over what I said. Most likely, they’re succumbing to their lizard brains, picturing me and Alex in various states of undress. Good. That’s exactly what I want, because getting them used to it is the only way this will ever work.
Surprisingly, Jordan speaks again first, looking down at his interlaced fingers. “Caroline’s right.” Mark rolls his eyes, but bites his tongue. “We can’t have it both ways. I can’t have it both ways. I’m not gonna lie and say I like the idea of, you know, other guys getting with her, but—”
“She’s not fucking ‘other’ guys, you know,” Mark says quietly. “Just us.”
Jordan’s head snaps up. “What? You’re not…you haven’t…”
I shake my head. “Nope. I told Mark this yesterday. Just the three of you. The last time I fucked someone else was in September. Avery, before he got with Grace,” I specify, when Jordan looks at me questioningly. “And I know you guys are tapping other girls. I also know exclusivity wasn’t part of what we agreed to, so you don’t owe me anything, as long as you use protection with them and keep getting tested.”
Mark clears his throat. “Anyway. Sounds like we’re all on the same page, right? Are we doing this? All in favor, raise your right hand.” He shoots his arm toward the ceiling.
Wow, I guess someone has really gotten on board with this idea.
I raise my hand, too, and we both look at Jordan. “I get it, babe,” I say softly. “You don’t love the idea of me alone with someone else. I can’t say I don’t feel the same about you. And Mark. Alex, too. But this is how we roll. We’re in too deep now.”
“Besides,” Mark says, hand still raised, “we can’t really be jealous of something we’re participating in, can we?”
I incline my head toward him. “Exactly. Imagination is our worst enemy. You won’t have to imagine someone else fucking me if you’re fucking me at the same time, will you? You’ll be a participant. Nothing to be jealous about, then.”
Jordan sighs and raises his hand. “I’m in. But one thing first. I want to take this slowly. We wait to bring in Alex, if we do at all. And you’re still house property. Group sessions and one-on-one sessions aren’t mutually exclusive. We can each still take you whenever we want.”
“Thaaaat’s my boy!” Mark trumpets. “Look at you, calling the shots. By the way,” he turns to me, “he’s right. The original agreement still stands. You’re free to use at any time. At least until next month. And if Jordan’s upping the ante, I guess you’re about to start getting banged even more than you’re used to.”
“Of course.” I give both of them a sultry smile. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“So, this is happening. When do we start?” Jordan asks.
I turn back toward the foyer, heading for my backpack and the stairs. “Soon,” I tell them. “But not now. Right now, I just need a nap and a shower. I’m zonked. Please, don’t follow me. I really need a minute to myself.”
They both nod, which I catch in my peripheral vision, and I sigh contentedly. All things considered, they’re good to me. I turn back. “I’ll find you. I promise.
“Both of you.”
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