Make Me

by Charlotte Stein

  What if I hadn’t left, without a goodbye?

  What if I’d gotten up off my seat, pushed through the crowd and gone through the door marked STAFF, to see what was on the other side?

  Chapter Three

  ‘Oh Maisie, come on. Give me a break,’ he says the second I uncover him, hiding in some storage room at the back of this place. I understand why, however. He looks like some wild, slightly insane version of himself. His hair is standing on end from what I can only imagine were a million hand-strokes through it, and somewhere along the way he’s lost his suit jacket.

  The one that Tyler probably picked out for him in some fancy shop. I can almost see the scenario in my mind’s eye: Brandon squirming inside material too expensive for him; Tyler straightening out the collar, in firm, sort of … brisk movements.

  Like the kind of movements he used on my body when I lay naked in front of him.

  ‘A break from what?’ I ask, but I’m not being fair here, and I know it. It’s obvious what he needs a breather from, all things considered. And by all things considered, I mean I rubbed my ass against his cock, while his best friend watched.

  ‘Just …’ he starts, only there’s no finish. His hands make frustrated patterns in the air, instead, before returning to that crazy hair.

  And then I’m just left to interpret this new form of sign language.

  Which I do. In the worst possible way I can.

  ‘You want me to not touch your cock?’ I say, only this time my faux-innocence has a little bonus on the end. It features the word ‘cock’, and the word ‘cock’ has rather unexpected side effects. It sends a bolt of heat, right through me. It strokes a slow, slick hand between my legs. And, best of all, it turns his face the colour of a ripe tomato – like he’s embarrassed, I think. I’ve backed him into a corner, and now our roles from before are near reversed.

  Though I’ve no idea how or when that happened.

  ‘Because I can stop touching it any time you like,’ I say, in a voice that doesn’t belong to me. It belongs to my aching, swollen cunt, and apparently she wants it to be low, soft, persuasive.

  ‘Did you … did you talk to Tyler about this?’ he asks, which almost gives me pause.

  I think of the strange way they’d operated before. How silent things had seemed. How unspoken. But then the feeling passes, and this is what I’m left with: the firm swell of Brandon’s cock beneath my palm.

  ‘No. Why?’

  ‘Oh, so you’re just … doing that. OK. OK. Do you … maybe think we should have a conversation first? Like, we could go to dinner and after dinner I could walk you home and then … Ohhhhh Jesus, really?’

  I can’t help drawing a red circle around several of the things he’s said: dinner, conversation, ohhhh Jesus. And I draw a circle around the actions that go with the words too: the way his hand snaps down to stop mine; the up-on-tiptoe move he makes, automatically, as though the feel of the heel of my palm against his stiff dick is more akin to being attacked with a cattle prod.

  But that’s fine. I want him to be zinged. I was zinged, five years ago – this feels like some sort of mad revenge. Or maybe it’s a mad reward for all of my waiting and wanting and running away. Now I get to fondle his solid prick through his trousers until he stops resisting and starts begging me for more.

  ‘Yeah, just like that,’ he tells me, because I’ve found the ridge around the head of his cock, and when I rub just so – back and forth with my thumb, through the material – he trembles for me. He bucks into my palm and puts a hand on my shoulder, more words spilling out of him, one after the other.

  ‘Kiss me,’ he says. ‘Kiss me.’

  But I don’t want to kiss. I want to finally and properly know what his cock looks like, and feels like, and, more importantly, tastes like. And since he seems intent on letting me do whatever the fuck I want, it’s not that hard to do. I just ease his stiff length out into the open, while he hums like someone set his internal motor going.

  ‘Are you really going to …’ he says.

  I have no idea why he is doubting. Anyone would want to suck a cock like his – so smooth and silky and stiff, with a curve to it that suggests just the right sort of angle for hitting all those good spots.

  And he’s practically dripping by this point, too. I rub the pad of my thumb over the head and I can feel all of that delicious pre-come sliding around in a way that makes us both moan – though he doesn’t break until I’m on my knees. He doesn’t give me the words, until I’ve got the head of his cock in my mouth and my tongue is working and working over that slippery slit.

  And then he just lets it out.

  ‘God, yeah, give it to me, Maisie,’ he says, so I do. I eat at him hungrily, sloppily, until the entire head of his cock is as glossy as I am between my legs. And when that doesn’t seem like enough to sate either me or him, I use my hands. I rub his stiff length roughly, finishing each stroke with a lick or a suck that gets him gasping.

  He’s going to come soon, I can tell. I can feel it before he tells me – Oh, honey, you’re going to make me do it – in the tightness of his balls and the swell of his cock. And I want it, I really want it, over what I got last time: come striping my skin, almost independent of anything I had done.

  And I want to watch him, too, while he does it.

  Though in my defence, it’s hard not to crave something like that. He seems to have forgotten how to breathe, and every time I switch to something new – like a little flick over that sensitive spot, just under the head, or a squeeze of his impossibly tight balls – he tries to let some air out. Or let some air in. Or just do something, anything besides biting his lip and straining towards my hot, wet mouth.

  It’s an oddly arousing thing to observe. Like I’m seeing myself five years ago, caught between I really want to and I kind of shouldn’t – which of course makes me wonder why he is. Why is he letting me do this, after his odd reaction earlier? And in this storeroom, of all places, where anyone could walk in and find us. I mean it’s not as though the door’s locked, and even if it was there’s always someone who’ll have the key.

  Like Tyler, for instance.

  Tyler, who I’m barely aware of until Brandon jerks and tries to cover himself. Then afterwards I’m very aware of him, because not only is Brandon trying to pretend he didn’t know this might happen, but Tyler has his hand on the back of my head. I can feel it, even when I’d like to think it’s something else altogether. Maybe Brandon sprouted a third hand when I wasn’t looking and now he’s urging me to suck his cock, even as he tells me not to.

  ‘Oh my God no,’ he says, and I hear rather than see him clang back against the kegs. He’s trying to get away, I think, but in all honesty if he is, he’s not doing a very good job of it.

  Or is it just that Tyler’s now applying a bit of pressure? A very specific sort of pressure, I might add, that fills my mouth with cock even as Brandon succeeds in squirming backwards. And though I know I should stop if he wants me to, I find I can’t.

  It’s too arousing. Just as before, the excitement thrumming through my body takes over sense, and I do what he’s urging me to. I take as much of that still unbearably stiff prick into my mouth as I can and suck with all the enthusiasm I can muster and, when he actually speaks, my brain dissolves and disappears into my vagina.

  ‘Yeah, that good, baby?’ he asks. ‘Take that cock.’

  Lord, I don’t think I want to know what Brandon makes of that. I’ve got my eyes closed, now, because eyes closed is better, but I can feel him starting to really shake. It’s not even just a shake, in all honesty, it’s more like a prolonged and uncontrollable spasm, and he finishes each jerking motion with a sound.

  One that joins Tyler’s words in that slippery place between my legs.

  ‘How does she feel?’ Tyler asks, but I think he might have gone crazy. If his presence and his hand on my head weren’t enough, clue-wise, then his expectation that Brandon’s going to answer him surely is. Brandon can’t even
seem to push him away – though I think he wants to – and when I dare to look his expression is … I don’t know.

  Furious? Frustrated?

  At the very least it’s the kind of look that doesn’t go with: ‘Ohhh, she’s so hot. She sucks so hard.’

  Though it’s true. I do suck hard. It’s like I’m trying to lose myself in the feel and taste of him so I don’t have to think about anything else: Tyler’s insistence and Brandon’s reluctance; my own arousal in spite of both these things – or maybe because of them. Every time they say a word, my clit swells and orgasm threatens, even if the word is just: ‘Yeah.’

  Or: ‘God, I’m gonna come.’

  Though in all fairness to me, that last one’s a bit of no-brainer. I’m actually quite surprised I don’t come when I feel the first slick spurt of cream over my tongue. And I’m even more surprised after Tyler’s hand tightens in my hair, like a prompt.

  Swallow, I think, and then this hot shivery sensation just wriggles through my body. It gets a hold of my cunt and squeezes, and squeezes, until I nearly reach that state of perfect mindlessness. I hardly think of anything at all when I get that first taste of him, filling my mouth, and the feel of his cock swelling and jerking against my tongue.

  And the way he moans, too … Ohhhh yeah. Yeah, I wish I could frame that sound and hang it on my bedroom wall.

  As does Tyler, apparently.

  ‘Well, it seems you appreciated that,’ he says and, as he does, that hand disappears from the back of my head. I don’t know what I feel about that. It’s sort of like a relief, but sort of not – and I’m right to react that way.

  Because he follows up those words with this: ‘Why don’t you show her that appreciation with the kiss you were asking for earlier on?’

  I immediately wonder how he knows about that – he wasn’t even here when Brandon asked. But the wondering doesn’t lead anywhere good. It just makes me imagine him stood outside the door, listening for the very best moment to enter and encourage some filthily delicious things.

  Which is almost as bad for my libido as Brandon leaning down to obey. Oh God, he actually obeys. I don’t even have time to properly swallow or maybe turn my head – you know, out of politeness – before his lips are pressing wetly to mine. And though I think he tries to get away with something chaste, Tyler’s not having any of it.

  ‘What are you waiting for?’ he asks, like the dirtiest goad ever, all wrapped up in an innocent package. ‘Come on. Give her a real kiss.’

  He could be someone’s uncle at a wedding, encouraging a nervous groom. Even if Brandon doesn’t seem the least bit nervous now. He seems like he did before – all greedy and shaky and totally willing to fuck my mouth with his tongue. In fact, he goes one worse than that and kind of gropes one of my tits as he does it.

  Like he knows just what I need.

  I need him to be as dirty as he can possibly be in order to reach that higher state of who gives a fuck. I need to know he can taste his own come without flinching, and that he doesn’t give a shit what Tyler’s doing, or saying. Despite the fact that Tyler is saying, ‘Yeah, that’s good, right? The taste of yourself, in her mouth. Knowing that you’ve just fucked her there and filled her with your jizz.’

  Which even I find a little strong. And by strong I mean: my cunt clenches to hear him use that word, that one filthy word as though he’s not Tyler at all. He’s some dirty fucker who wants to push things as far as they will go – to the point where I find myself dancing between fear and anticipation. When Brandon breaks the kiss I turn my head and I can see how hard Tyler is. He’s thicker than Brandon, meatier, and it’s more obvious through his trousers. Especially when he cups the whole thing one-handed, as he looks down on me with that soft, sleepy gaze of his. It’s almost like a prompt – like earlier, in the bar. Him telling me Go on, go on and do it with his eyes, until I’m almost reckless, rather than the person I really am.

  But this time when I do as he’s suggested, he doesn’t react as I expect. My head’s full of him yanking up my dress and bending me over something, but apparently he is more chaste than I give him credit for. He even puts a hand out to stop me before I reach for the zipper on his trousers, and gives me an unbearably sweet, ‘Don’t I get a kiss, too?’

  Like the Hallmark version of what I’d thought of a moment earlier – one of them getting a turn, then the other, so as not to leave anyone out. They could probably write a really nice kids’ story about us: ‘My Two Boyfriends Like to Share’.

  Despite what Tyler adds, before I manage to climb to my feet.

  ‘Wait,’ he says, just as I’m halfway up. And, humiliatingly, I stay like that. He gives me the word and I just hover, half-crouched, waiting for him to give me further instructions.

  ‘Clean him, first. You know how much I abhor a mess, Maisie.’

  For a moment I can’t believe he’s serious. He wants me to … to basically suck Brandon’s cock until I’ve removed every trace of the glistening come I can still see all over it, and then once I’m done he wants me to … well.

  Let’s be honest, here – he wants to taste whatever I’ve cleaned up. I can see it in his face and actually hear it in his words, and even if I couldn’t it’s definitely in the gasp Brandon gives. The little aroused gasp, which makes his cock twitch and his face heat all over again.

  Which is yet another response I’ll have to file away for later head-discussion. Seriously, what’s going on here? And why on earth am I just doing it all? Because I totally am. I barely hesitate over his words. I can’t – they’re too casual and too exciting and besides, they mostly mean I get to taste Brandon’s cock again.

  And then I get to stand up on legs that won’t hold me and feel Tyler sliding a steadying hand around my waist. Just like that – so smooth and confident and knowing. He gets that I can’t keep this up on my own. He understands how raw I’m feeling and how aroused.

  And he wants to reward me with some support, before he takes my mouth.

  Because, oh, he does. He doesn’t kiss like Brandon, a little hesitant, a lot greedy. He kisses like my mouth is my pussy, and he wants me to feel every last drop of pleasure he can possibly squeeze out of it. His mouth works over mine, firm and sure, that thick slippery tongue of his finding sensitive spots I didn’t even know existed.

  My upper lip is a fist of nerve endings, apparently, and they all fire at once when he pulls back a little and catches it with this little spiky lick. And the way he holds me … that hand on my waist, the other on the back of my head. I could almost go to sleep in his arms, they’re so solid. He’s such a … a professional.

  Though, of course, underneath this veneer is the suggestion he made a second ago: that he’s not just kissing me in a romantic end-of-the-movie sort of way.

  He’s kissing me so he can taste Brandon’s come. And he’s doing it so thoroughly that I don’t think I’m mad to suspect that’s the main reason for his behaviour. I mean, maybe there’s something between them that I don’t know about. Maybe Tyler has a Big Secret he’s afraid of sharing.

  Or maybe he just really, really wants to slide that hand down over my ass, as he groans heavily into my mouth. Yeah, maybe there’s that – though I swear I still suspect something. I do. There could be some unresolved tension here, some issues that he doesn’t feel he can talk about.

  And then he starts fondling my left breast, and after that I’m not sure what I suspect any more. That I’m out of my depth maybe? That I don’t know anything about anything? All of these things are true, and remain so when he finally breaks away.

  He’s still hard, I note. So I guess kissing girls doesn’t exactly put him off. Plus, once he’s caught his breath, he turns to a frankly dazed Brandon and hands him a set of keys. Tells him to take me upstairs, as though this is a completely different type of movie to the one I’ve just been contemplating. I was thinking Guys Get It On 4.

  He’s apparently thinking Slave Girls of the Sultan’s Harem.

  With him being t
he sultan, naturally.

  And though that thought should make me bolt, I know, I find I can’t. Not again. Not like last time. I’m just not the same person; I’m not willing to live with those regrets; I’m not the kind of girl who can abandon someone twice. And most importantly, of course: I’m so aroused I could die.

  Chapter Four

  I wake up the sound of whispering, but it’s not the first thing I concentrate on. Mostly I just get a blast of how the fuck did I fall asleep, followed by a flick book of memories. Brandon being awkward, showing me around the Spartan little place above the bar, one or both of them apparently owns; bare wooden boards, no curtains on the broad, cold windows; nothing in the fridge, nothing on any available surface.

  Nothing to be said.

  And then he’d shown me the bed parked in some corner behind a sliding door, and somehow I’d sat down on it. Maybe I’d hoped he was going to join me, in a second – or at least, my vagina had hoped he might. But I guess when he didn’t I simply passed out from sheer arousal overload.

  It feels like that’s what happened. I’m still in my clothes for a start. And sometime in the middle of the night my make-up has slid halfway down my face, so I don’t think I’m wildly off base.

  However, I am focusing on the wrong thing entirely. Nobody cares if my mascara has made comedy telescope circles around my eyes. People aren’t interested in my shoes, which seem to have disappeared in the middle of the night.

  No, mostly everyone just wants to know what the fuck the men behind me are talking about, at what looks like a bleary six thirty in the morning. And I appease these people. I do. I have to – they’re banging on some big gong inside me, marked Your two old friends are talking about you. Stop checking whether you still have your panties on!

  ‘I think she’s awake.’