The House on Sedgewick Street Ch. 03

Author's Note:

This is an ongoing series. I recommend starting with part 1 so you have the full context of the story (note: this is the first part with a real group dynamic). Everything in this series is consensual, but there's still a fair amount of profanity and degradation, so please keep that in mind before you read.

I'd love to hear any thoughts or feedback in the comments. Most of all, thanks in advance for taking the time to read my writing. I hope you enjoy!

-M. R. Florence

*****

The rest of the morning is mostly uneventful. I hit four miles in 35:34, my best pace yet, and do my stretches outside in the sunshine. Unless it's the middle of winter, I stretch outside, partly because it's therapeutic, but also because it's the only way to be sure I'll get through the entire routine. Alex and Mark share some sort of preternatural instinct; every time I try stretching in the house, there's a fair chance one of them will barge into the room to find me holding downward dog, or the forward fold, or worst of all, the cow stretch, and then all bets are off.

I make it to my first class, Globalization, unscathed. Professor Hansen is a no-nonsense woman who used to serve on the Department of Energy's Nuclear Energy Advisory Committee. She's short and so petite that a strong gust might carry her away like a plastic shopping shopping bag, 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 containers 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. Thanks to those of you who chuckled at that, by the way. Now, nobody, nobody, talks about the humble shipping container. The shipping container didn't emerge until the 1950s, which in the scheme of things is like 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. 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?" I pry off the lid of my chana masala and pull my vegan Cobb salad toward me.

Ashley sniffs. "Don't play coy with me, Car. How'd it go last night?"

I consider for a second, mixing my salad thoroughly. Ashley knows I've hooked up with both Mark and Jordan before, but as far as she's concerned, those were one-time flings. If she ever finds out what really goes on in that house, I'm not sure how she'd react, and I don't much want to find out.

Hoping it's the right decision, I shrug and say, "Fine. We just chatted for a bit."

"Is that slang for 'fucked?'"

"Of course not," I lie. "C'mon Ash, what're you hoping I'll say?"

"Oh, I dunno." She flips her hair, lips pursed. A boy at the table next to us notices the flash of blond and turns to look at her more fully, but he averts his eyes when he realizes I've caught him in the act.

"Maybe," Ashley continues, "I'm hoping for something simple, like 'I have a reverse harem at my house and make glorious love to all my gorgeous housemates every single day of the week.'"

I lurch forward, sputtering, and a lettuce leaf flutters out of my mouth. I have to take a deep gulp of water to prevent myself from choking. What the fuck? I think, and if I wasn't in the middle of a coughing fit, I most likely would have shouted the words as well.

"Woah!" Ashley cries, alarmed. "Do I need to do the Heimlich?"

Eyes watering, I chuckle and wipe my mouth. "I'm good. But damn, Ash, gross. Where the hell did that come from?"

"Is it? Gross, I mean. That house is any girl's dream come true, unless she's a Mormon. Actually, it might be a dream come true especially for a Mormon. Four beautiful men all to herself."

"Avery is in a relationship," I point out.

"Okay, three hot men all to herself. You spent your day yesterday writing a paper. Just imagine what your day could have looked like instead."

Unprotected sex with two of my housemates in the evening, and surprise oral sex at 5:30 this morning with the third? Sudden, intense jealousy about the idea of those idiots getting other pussy on the side?

"Car?" Ashley's staring at me, nonplussed. "You alright?"

"Yeah." I shrug. "I'm just imagining."

"I'm telling you, you could make it happen if you wanted."

Now that I've had some time to stabilize, I find it easier to take a nonchalant tone. "I'm honestly trying not to think about guys too 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 on top of that, I can hardly think."

"B-O-R-I-N-G," she chants, before her expression sobers. "I get it, though. I'm starting to wish I'd majored in Finance. They all have internships locked in by now, and they'll probably be making 200 grand right after we graduate. Or the nursing school! Talk about job security."

"Yeah, that's true," I say, "but I don't think I could handle either of those. Being a nurse especially. That would be... challenging, to say the least."

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 at school (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. We hooked up weeks before they became exclusive, but technicalities won't matter to Cindy, and I know Avery won't go there.

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 face twists into a grimace of shock every time I tell her over FaceTime about my most recent escapades. I'm half-convinced her apparent disapproval is jealousy; we've hooked up with each other multiple times, and when I visited her at UCLA last year, we even had a threesome with her then boyfriend, Curtis.

Ashley 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 Ashley's story, 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, unlocking my phone.

MF: Hey sexy :) yesterday was incredible

MF: FYI I talked to Jordan. Not sure yet, but think he might be down.

My breath hitches, and I force down a smile so I don't rouse Ashley's curiosity. I swipe back to Messages and tap Jordan's name.

JW: So... Mark came to me today with an interesting proposal. Can we talk?

JW: Also, did you actually end up fucking him yesterday, too?

JW: Call me.

Impassive, I put my phone in my backpack. I'll deal with them 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 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, clacking away on his laptop, when I walk in. 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.

"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—"

"Yeah, 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. I'm still waiting on the background checks to be approved, but I think those are pretty much just procedure, so it should be in the bag."

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 a bit. "What's up, dude?"

"Yo." Jordan's eyes are narrowed slightly, and I'm pretty sure he's watching me look Mark up and down.

There's an awkward silence; Mark stands near the refrigerator, leaning against it casually. Jordan's hands are frozen on his laptop while his eyes dart 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.

I can't help it. I smirk, and that leads to a shit-eating grin, and before I know it, I'm giggling. Jordan looks at me in surprise, which only makes the moment funnier. Before I know it, I'm holding my stomach and leaning over my hand. All three of us start giggling like lunatics. When one of us seems to be recovering, we make eye contact, and our mirth redoubles. Mark nearly howls 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, and, currently, ruddy cheeks and a grimace from laughing too hard.

"Alright, alright," Jordan says, seeming to recover first. "Whoo. Alright. Let's talk."

Mark straightens and his smile recedes. "Yeah, let's talk about this."

They look at me expectantly. For a second, I resent them both for it. They want to have the conversation, but they want me to do the hard part. "Okaaay," I say. "You want me to talk first? Fine, I'll—"

"We want you to do other things, too," Jordan interrupts. 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 have a threesome with you? Seriously? I know we're friends, but—"

"Yes, Jordan, I want this," I snap. "And yes, since you want to know, I did have sex with both of you yesterday. One after the other. That's exactly what we all agreed to at the beginning of the semester. Don't you remember?"

"That doesn't mean I have to like it," Jordan mutters petulantly.

In that moment, I hate him a bit. "It would be convenient for you if the other guys stayed away from me, wouldn't it? If you could fuck me whenever and however you wanted, and know for a fact that the last cock I touched was yours every single time? Is that what you'd really like, Jordan?"

He doesn't say anything. With a scoff, I look at Mark and roll my eyes, as if to say, Can you believe this guy?

When nobody says anything, I shrug. "This was bound to get messy at some point or another. We were friends long before I started sleeping with any of you. I think we were bound to develop crushes at some point. I know I have. But crushes come and go. And, truthfully, I enjoy both of you. Thoroughly. So why shouldn't I also like the two of you together? Shouldn't you enjoy experiencing me together? You don't have to be sexually interested in each other, you know."

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.

I resolve to get it all over with at once. The difficult parts of this conversation, that is. "One other thing. 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 now. Jealousy radiates from them. The air nearly shimmers with it.

"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 that you haven't capitalized on the arrangement as much as the other guys have. I don't belong to you, not individually. I belong to all three of you, for however long this lasts."

"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 gave him a blowjob," I declare loudly. "Actually, it started off like a blowjob, but it turned into more of a facefuck. While both of you were nice and cozy in your beds. Go look at the jar in my room, guys. I'm going to need to swap it for a bucket to fit much more paper in it. We're going to need to bulk-order post-its from Amazon, for crying out loud."

Silence reigns again as they digest my words. Most likely, being men, they're succumbing to their lizard brains and picturing me and Alex in various states of undress. Good. Getting them used to the image, to the idea that I don't belong to any one of them in particular, is the only way this will ever work.

Surprisingly, Jordan breaks the silence first, looking down at his interlaced fingers. "Caroline's right. 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, 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. Just the three of you. The last time I was with someone else was in September. Avery, before he got with Grace," I clarify. "I know you're getting with other girls, though. I also know exclusivity wasn't part of the arrangement in either direction. You don't owe me anything as long as you use protection with outsiders and keep getting tested."

I feel a sudden rush of pleasure at that word: outsiders. There might be other women, sure, but none of them are part of this household. None of them really matter, do they?

Mark clears his throat. "Anyway. Sounds like we're on the same page. All in favor, raise your right hand." He shoots his arm toward the ceiling.

Wow, I guess someone has really gotten on board with the idea.

I raise my hand, too, which just leaves 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. But we can't all have it both ways."

"Besides," Mark adds,"if you're participating in the act yourself, there's nothing to be jealous of, right?"

I incline my head. "Exactly. Imagination is our worst enemy. You won't have to imagine someone else with me if you're fucking me at the same time."

Jordan sighs and raises his hand. "I'm in. But one thing. I want to take this slowly. We wait to bring in Alex, if we do at all. Deal?"

"Thaaaat's my boy!" Mark trumpets. "Look at you, calling the shots."

"Deal," I say. "But that doesn't mean I'm going to start denying Alex when he approaches me."

"Fine. So, this is happening. When do we start?"

"Whenever we damn well please," Mark says. "We could take her right now if we wanted to. Bend her over the table and take turns going to town."

I turn back toward the foyer, heading for the stairs. "You could, but not now. I need a nap and a shower. I'm zonked. Please, don't follow me. I really need some time to myself."

They nod, which I catch in my peripheral vision. I sigh contentedly. All things considered, they're good to me—better than most guys in this situation would be, I'd bet. "I'll find you soon. Both of you."

*****

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 improving.

I re-read my family chat more than once. I dropped the news on Tuesday—the State House sent me an email with the subject line Congratulations: Massachusetts State Government Summer Program Next Steps—and my dad reacted with his characteristic enthusiasm. 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; I guess I'm into masochism). He saw my eyes light up at the 97 written in the corner and gave me a high five. "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), so 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.

"Your 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 kitchen conversation. 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; tonight, of all nights, I really don't want to be bloated.

My phone buzzes with 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 grin whenever I see it.

MF: Alex wants us to take a couple shots w him. But he's about to leave.

MF: We're pumped ;)

JW: 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 sleep, the later I'll 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 filled with so much nervous anticipation. After all, I've performed pretty much every possible intimate act with both of these guys.

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.

I pull out my phone and ping The Strongest Shape to confirm Alex is gone.

CS: About to be back. All clear?

MF: All clear, ma'am.

JW: 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, I find them 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."

They freeze. "Hey, beautiful," Mark says.

The compliment sounds flippant. My irritation flares like a flame under the bellows when I notice their eyes. "You're both drunk."

"No, we're not," Jordan says at the same time Mark says, "Just a bit."

They look at each other and shrug. "Fine, we are," Jordan concedes.

"Okay. Why are you getting plastered now, of all times? How do you expect to do... this?"

Mark taps Jordan's shoulder, 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 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 even more than I expected I would. After you both told me for days that you were down for this, you get drunk? Glad you 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, remember? 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 don't know. "Look, Caroline. This really means something to us, too. Please, believe me."

"Convince me."

He takes a deep breath. "We want to do this because it'll be fun. But also because we both care about you, and we know you want to do it with us. That makes it worth it even if we're a little uncomfortable with it."

"It's going to be amazing." Mark's sternness has disappeared, replaced by solemnity. "I've been thinking about this all day. It's been hard to focus on anything else, to tell the truth."

"But? Surely there's a 'but' coming," I say plaintively.

"But we're nervous!" Jordan says loudly. He gesticulates at Mark. "We've never, you know..."

"We've never even seen each other naked, much less fucked a girl together. We do want you, Car, 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. I know you don't want to hear it, but we're not wasted. We only had a few shots. We can still... perform. I'll tell you right now, if I can't, it's not because of the alcohol."

Relief floods through me. Why didn't I think of this before? Of course they're nervous. I'm a bit nervous myself, but I'm just getting two things, two people, whom I'm already familiar with, at the same time. For them, this is foreign territory, and I should have expected some ambivalence.

Mark said it the other day: Society looks more favorably on a promiscuous man than it does a promiscuous woman. When a man accumulates partners, it's (not for everyone, but for many) a source of pride. When a woman does the same, it's slutty. What does that make someone like me?

On the other hand, when two women hook up, it's an expression of spontaneity and eroticism. If two men hook up, or even have a threesome together, their sexuality will be forever dubious if word ever gets out.

"You're right. 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 slowly?" Mark asks, 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..." His voice fades 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 save my panties, looking at myself in the mirror. What should I wear?

It's just the three of us in the house. Alex 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, I just don't know when.

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. "I know you're freaky, but—"

"You don't like watching gratuitous sex scenes with super-hot, no-name actresses with magnificent tits?" We've watched the film at least four times, 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. I think we're safe."

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.

My tank hugs me tightly, accentuating the narrowness of my waist. I'm bending forward as I open the blanket, pushing my ass toward their faces. 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 sequence of the movie. I imagine them staring ravenously at the green lace of my panties, eyes running along the hem, following its perimeter as it plunges between my ass cheeks. They can even see the convexity of my flesh under the fabric; a green hump, damp with arousal, that both of them want to press their faces against.

When I sit back down, I let the blanket flutter over the three of us and pretend nothing is amiss. The tequila sloshes as I take another sip. Thunks as I plant the bottle on the table. "This movie never disappoints," I say casually.

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 sideways. Jordan and Mark stiffen visibly when they feel my nails on their legs. I pause when I reach their upper thighs. They sit rigidly, like 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. During a dark shot, I reach out and put my hands on their crotches. Their cocks are stiff, flat against their bodies. Pointing inward, toward me: lust compasses indicating true North.

"I think you 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 his length, making his cock swell.

Jordan hesitates, 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 an elementary school recess when Grayson Smith proclaimed 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, too: rub the underside of Mark's cock and use a firmer, fisted grip on Jordan, who's still only halfway there.

"I think one of you is nervous," I tease. Mark's cock twitches and lifts from his belly, so I seize the opportunity and wrap my hand around it in an overhand grip. The blanket tents over his lap. Jordan looks over, clearly noticing, but I'm not sure whether he's intrigued or disturbed by what he sees.

"I'm enjoying myself," Mark says, opening his thighs more while eyeing the TV. "I like this more than I thought I would. J, how about you?"

Jordan 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. He's always been ticklish.

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 I'm handling your cocks at the same time?"

Their eyes follow my arms up to my bare shoulders, then to my chest, the bumps of my nipples under the cotton. When they lean back slightly, I know they're making eye contact behind me.

"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."

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. Don't have to tell me twice."

I won't fully appreciate it until later, but this is the moment when the tides turn. This is the moment when they wrestle the steering wheel away from me. I'm now a passenger, not the driver, being taken where they choose.

Before either of them can say anything, I stand up and sweep the blanket away. They jerk in surprise, and Jordan actually lunges for it. "I don't think so," 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."

Their locker-room etiquette fails under the weight of curiosity. Neither of them has anything to be remotely ashamed about; they're fit, tall, and well endowed. Even so, Jordan's whispered "Holy shit, dude!" betrays the same awe (and maybe a hint of despair) I felt the first time I saw Mark naked.

"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 forgotten about the movie, which is currently showing the main characters walk through a grove of marijuana plants in the woods. Mark's breath washes over my left hip and sends a shiver through me.

I drop into a prone position so my head falls toward Jordan's lap. "Don't worry about Mark," I tell him. "I'm about to make you feel good."

"Yeah, don't worry about me. I'm getting exactly what I want." Mark's hands run up and down my legs, stopping just shy of my ass.

"You should take this off." Jordan hooks a finger under my shoulder strap. He lets the fabric snap back into place. 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. "Look at that 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. I remind her about it every day when I bend her over."

Mark pushes a finger into me, dimpling the flesh. "This freckle is one of my favorites. On her right ass cheek. Have you ever noticed it bouncing around when you're fucking her from behind?"

"Of course." Jordan leans toward the center of the couch, one hand entwined in my hair so I don't pull away from him. A moment later, there's a hand on each of my ass cheeks.

"Let's spread her together," Mark says. "Yeah, just like that." They're squeezing me, thumbs pressing into my flesh, peeling me open and holding me there.

Jordan feels me moan. "You like that, huh? Just don't stop sucking this cock." His hand snakes around me and squeezes my right breast. His fingers seek the nipple and I anticipate the pinch right before it happens.

Mark is still playing with my ass, slapping, squeezing, pulling. At one point, he lowers his head and touches his ear to my upper thighs. "Wow. Wow." There's genuine amazement in his voice. "I can literally hear your pussy peeling open, Caroline. How 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. "You woke something up in us, Car."

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 won't 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 back on his cock.

Mark is tired of working around my underwear. There's a swift ripping sound as he snaps the waistband. The wet fabric, wedged deeply in my crevices, peels out of me like a tree root out of soil. "You're going to be a good girl and blow my friend while I finger you. He's going to tell me if he's not satisfied with your performance, and if that's the case, we're going to punish you. Do you understand?"

I have my hands and my mouth full, so I don't answer him.

"I said, do you understand?"

He spanks me. Hard enough to make me flinch. I come up just long enough to tell him I understand—and think, What the hell is happening?—before Jordan pushes me down again. Mark probes my entrance, slickening his fingertip before his sinks into me as far as his knuckles allow. He pushes down as he fingers me, pressing on my frontal wall. His thumb finds my swollen clit.

My body thrums from head to toe like a low-voltage current runs through it. My touch, smell, even my hearing seem sharper than usual. This combination of horniness and nerves is a potent brew: blood roars in my ears; my neck erupts in goosebumps when Jordan brushes his knuckles against my ear; my nipples sear with the slightest friction against the couch; cold fire radiates from Mark's fingers.

"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 finish 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.

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, 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 growls as I try to crawl after Jordan. "You're staying right here, on my lap, until you come like a good girl."

He hauls me back until I'm lying across his lap, my ass sticking 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." 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 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 turned on by the idea." Smack. "You've always wanted to be my cuck."

He crawls forward until we're face to face. "You think that's going to get under my skin, don't you? We'll see how you feel after we're done with your pussy. Your communal pussy."

"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. "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 groan with frustration. My temples are starting to sweat; I'm overheated, incredibly turned on, yearning for that last bit of attention that Mark refuses to give me.

On the screen, two people scream, 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.

Mark stands and dumps me onto the couch. "You want to come?" He's touching himself.

"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 try masturbating, we're going to tie you up," Mark says austerely. "Do you want us to edge you all night? Trust me, we will."

"Fine!" I yell. "Please, please, Jordan, make me come. Now. I'll do whatever you want."

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, behind me now.

"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. You're not getting anything from me until you put some more work in."

I crawl 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. 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 say. "And fuck you both."

Mark laughs. "Maybe you will. Fuck us both tonight, I mean. But blow me like a good girl. Not until you have an orgasm for us like the dirty slut we all know you are."

"I'm trying!" I lunge again and hardly move. 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 apparent gateway to everything else.

"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 for it. Even you, Caroline. J, give her what she wants. 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."

I keep my mouth fastened around Mark, but lift my butt as Jordan slides a throw pillow 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 let my mouth and tongue relax around Mark for a moment. My salivary glands go into overdrive, pooling drool behind my teeth. It follows gravity's influence, oozing from the corners of my lips. 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. 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. When my body revolts against me, threatening to eject the contents of my stomach, I still have two inches of his shaft left. I lurch upwards, coughing.

"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. He swipes his tongue upward across my pussy, but doesn't stop there, and his licks travel over a part of me that feels 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.

"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 so he can finger me. 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 rests his head on my ass like it's a pillow. I lie there, dead to the world. Friday the 13th is still playing, and I assume in that brief spell of inactivity the boys are watching Jason send a double-headed ax cartwheeling into Chewie's back.

Mark is still hard. It occurs to me that, despite their cruel words, despite their roughness, 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.

I call over my shoulder. "Fuck me, Jordan." I push away from Mark's lap and ease back onto my knees, ass in the air. 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.

By the time Jordan guides himself into me, I'm already sucking Mark off again.

"You really are a glutton for punishment, aren't you?" Mark says. When I ignore him, he settles back into the couch to watch the show.

Jordan kneels on his right leg and plants his left foot between my ribs and the back of the couch. His body smacks against my backside with every thrust. Although I'm not close to coming again, I'm still basking in the first orgasm's glow. Every stroke feels glorious.

If Mark 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 suck on the head of his cock. Jordan starts to moan himself, fucking me faster and faster as he approaches his climax.

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.

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.

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. "Can one of you get me a towel?"

For a few seconds, the only sounds in the room are from 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."

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 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 come 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. Communal pussy.

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 I don't know what's in store for me this coming weekend.