by Laurel Adams
She said hoarsely, "Because I didn't want to get caught, and because I hadn't realized what I was doing."
Clayton laughed cruelly, "You masturbate accidentally Melanie? You're a bigger slut than we thought you were." With that, Brad turned up the dial and she started to squirm and murmur with surprise at the sensations. "That's going to feel very good, and it's going to bring you oh so close to the brink, and you're going to need an orgasm so bad that you're going to beg."
She shook her head in defiance, "No I won't."
"Yes you will. Whenever you get called a filthy name, I'll turn it up, and whenever you beg or say a dirty word, I'll turn it up even more for you."
Melanie glared as her hips arched against her will. "Fuck you!" she said, and then was rewarded with a strong burst of vibration that made her cry out.
"Not quite what I had in mind," Brad said, clearly on a mission to erase her image of him as a nice guy. "But you're at least on the right track. That's the kind of language that whores use."
A sheen of perspiration broke out over her forehead as she fought against the stimulation.
"That's very intense isn't it?" Clayton asked her and she admitted it. "Now, I know you'd like to study for your test and beat my score, am I right? So let's make the rules more explicit. You won't be going home until Brad makes you come, and you won't come until you beg for it."
Brad the ladybug up to medium, and watched her writhe against it, deny it, and then writhe against it again. "Someday you'll be well trained enough that either one of us will tell you to come and you'll do it on command. For today, we'll satisfy ourselves with not letting you come until we say so."
Clayton unzipped his pants, pulled them off, and his cock sprang free. It was as big, black, and glistening as she remembered it. She'd always hoped that he'd use it to open her up, roughly. But he'd always been tender and gentle. That was over now, thank god.
He got down on the ground next to her, starting to pull roughly on her nipples, until he felt her sliding into arousal under him, her hips now openly arching as she rubbed her pussy against the butterfly. "You're a beautiful cunt and a great cocksucker," said Clayton, getting himself wet between her lips, before sliding his cock between her legs. Brad turned up the vibrator for her pleasure for every bad name Clayton called her until she was shaking and whimpering and squirming all over the concrete underneath Clayton in abandon.
She was close and they both knew it.
Clayton grinned wide. "Just a little more is all you need Melanie, beg for it. If you beg me to fuck you, I will."
She shook her head no, over and over again, even as she began to beg, "Oh god, please!"
She was rewarded with the vibrator being turned off completely.
"Nooo noooo," she said furious.
"You didn't beg properly, Mel," Brad said, toying again with the remote. "I told you that you have to talk how a whore talks, and that you get rewarded for dirty words and for begging. This unspecified please shit isn't going to fly. You knew it wouldn't. But that's all right. I understand. You need to push your boundaries. All people being taken need to do that."
The two men exchanged a look, and Clayton's hands grasped her tight as he shoved into her. Melanie cried out with pleasure as the thickness of his tool stretched her. She might have climaxed right then and there, but Clayton grunted in her ear, "You're going to learn new boundaries, girl. There's a consequence for not doing what you're supposed to do. And you're going to get off on my cock…the cock you begged me to fuck you with."
Melanie stared at the wall, struggling to push him off, in the hopes he'd fuck her harder. "Why do you fight me even now? You know I'm going to win. Or is that it Melanie? Do you just need to be conquered over and over again and reminded of your place? I can do that," Clayton said, squeezing her nipples so hard she screamed.
He banged her hard into the floor, grinding her down, splitting her open, until finally, she whimpered. "All right, all right, I'll be good."
"Good, spread your legs wider so you can take it properly."
She did it; she spread her legs as far as she could and squealed as her breasts bounced. She loved the look of his black hands on her white skin, their contrast arousing her anew as he finally fucked her the way she always wanted him to. Hard. Really hard. "That's it baby. That's it. You can come if you beg us nicely. Say: Only sluts masturbate in public places."
Melanie closed her eyes, and repeated in a trembling voice, "Only sluts masturbate in public places."
Brad rewarded her by turning up the butterfly for a few seconds, which caused her to buck under her black lover. Clayton grunted as he stroked into her, asking, "And what do sluts need, Melanie?"
Melanie offered tentatively in a tiny voice, "To be fucked?"
The answer seemed to please Brad. "Sluts need to come Melanie, but sluts also need to be owned. You've fought us hard. You can give in. You don't have to struggle anymore Melanie. Anyone would crack by now... you can break. Let it go. Give it to us. You want to give it to us, and we'll take it. You don't have to fight so hard anymore. You must be exhausted. Just let it go. Do it," he said soothingly. "No one could blame you. You've fought so much harder than you had to. It's not your fault. You can't help it. You can give in now."
She let go at once, moaning openly, fucking Clayton back, whimpering and finally begging. "Please let me come, please fuck me and let me come like a slut on the floor please, please! Make me come. I need to. I'm so close."
Clayton rammed his huge cock all the way in. "Yeah, baby. Come on my cock, Melanie."
She responded to his voice and her face crumpled with the strain of the waves of tense orgasm that flowed over her. She clamped down, her muscles clenched in an iron grip as she writhed under his hard body. She screeched as her climax ripped its way through her. "Fuck me, fuck me, please fuck your whore," she said, climaxing hard until it made her small.
Small, and clingy in his arms.
"Oh that was beautiful Melanie," Brad said. "The photos don't do you justice, but I got a video and the audio of you begging will be very useful."
He seemed surprised when she didn't react with anything but a small sob.
"Now you want come again don't you?" Clayton asked her, and seemed astonished that she admitted it right away. She didn't fight him at all, too dazed to know what he was doing, as he rolled onto his back, and made her straddle him.
Brad moved behind her, and she realized that he meant to fuck her too. "You wouldn't let me in your pussy before, Melanie, so now I'm going to spurt up your asshole and give you a load to take home."
Having already pulled down the raggedy panties that he'd cut a crotch hole in, and spread her ass cheeks. "We want you to feel impossibly full and used. Whores like two cocks in them at the same time, Melanie," he insisted and started to press into her ass, tight and compressed as it was.
She'd never had anal sex before, and it scared her. She pleaded and begged but he was too hard by now, but he had to have her, and he had to have her this way. His cock head popped past her sphincter and made her scream.
"Don't worry slut," he grunted as he sank into her tight asshole. "You'll get to come again. It won't hurt as much either if you do."
He turned the ladybug back on and Melanie felt her body respond.
"My god, I love your sweet ass," Brad said, and she felt both cocks deep inside her. "Sorry, slut. Whether or not you enjoyed it was beyond my comprehension for a second, as I was lost in the reverie of fucking your squirming struggling ass."
His strokes were slow and painful for her, but Melanie quickly realized that the toy was her salvation. If she could reach orgasm again, the searing pain would stop and so she pumped down onto the vibrating toy while he fucked her, and his rhythm increased. "That's it. Let it go. You're going to milk Clay's prick buried in your cunt. You're so tight and perfect; I'm going to take you in this hole every time we meet. With something. A plug. My cock. My fingers. Just know that your ass is going to be used every time y
ou see me, and now I'm going to claim it as mine."
With that, he grunted and let the zipper of his pants scratch her skin as he pumped spurt after spurt of gooey semen into her ass. The feel of the warm ejaculate sent her over the edge. And her screaming orgasm set Clay off.
They both held her by the hair while she screamed out in intense pleasure at how filled she was. And Clay filled her pussy with a load of cream that bathed her insides, pump after pump.
Afterward, she lay under her ex-boyfriends, almost faint and shaking. They carefully dressed her, rubbing her sore muscles and kissing her shoulders softly. Truthfully, they were so nice to her that she was half-afraid that she'd wake up in the morning and find out it was all a dream.
Thankfully, with their seed dripping out of her and the holes in her bra and panties, she had evidence that it was real. And the pictures, too. She was going to love looking at those.
"So, is that what you meant in your letter?" Clayton asked her, kissing her throat with a returned gentleness that only now seemed appropriate.
"Yeah," she said, pleased to her very core that he'd read it and actually decided to do something about it. Grateful that it was everything she could have asked for, and more. She hadn't even thought to involve another man, but being double-penetrated had given her the best orgasm of her life.
"You want some help studying now?" Clayton asked, chuckling a little bit.
Melanie was exhausted, but too happy to do anything but sass him. "Only if you can handle me getting a higher score than you on the test."
Clayton raised a brow, as if daring her to try. But Brad chuckled, "She doesn't just want to be our slut—she wants to be our Straight-A Student."
Melanie's body still throbbed with a deep and abiding gratification that made her leer lustfully at her ex-boyfriends. "I do. And I really want to get back together…with both of you."
DEAR READERS
Thank you for reading Their Straight-A Student!
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DISCLAIMER: The characters in this story engage in some risky behavior and make some questionable decisions; it should go without saying that this behavior is not to be encouraged in real life. But that's the beauty of fiction; they can do this, and we can enjoy thinking about them doing it, without anyone getting hurt.
In the meantime, please enjoy the following excerpt from Stranger Danger!
EXCERPT
STRANGER DANGER
Laurel Adams
~~~
Semen seeped into the crotch of my panties as I closed my eyes and tried to sleep on the midnight bus back to college. On that dark and chilly fall morning, my wetness was my naughty secret, a reminder of my marathon orgasm session with my boyfriend and our mad-dash fucking session before leaving to catch the last bus out. It'd been risky. I'd just barely pulled my jeans on when my parents came upstairs to help me with my bags.
But I loved risky sex. Going down on him in a movie theatre. Sexting in the middle of class. It made my boyfriend nervous, but I couldn't help myself. He was my high school sweetheart—a really nice guy—and I really tried to be a nice girl.
But it took effort.
As the nearly empty bus rumbled out of town, I could still feel my boyfriend's hands on me. I tried to ignore the buzz of arousal, but my mind kept replaying pictures in my head. Sex on the floor. Sex over the bathroom counter. Sex with me on top. Sex fully clothed, my jeans barely pulled down. The more the memories flickered in my mind the more intense the fluttering between my legs.
I wanted to come again. Needed to.
Biting my lower lip, I looked around me. The bus was quiet; I was one of only a handful of passengers and none of them were seated near me. The only ones I could see were sleeping. It seemed safe enough to bring myself off.
I knew what I was about to do was lewd, risky and highly inappropriate, but, that only made me want it more. With my wool coat draped over me, I carefully unbuttoned my jeans and slid my hand into my panties. I was so hot and sticky that I let out a soft hiss of relief at my own touch—too soft to be heard, I hoped. My clit was engorged and slippery, and I shifted in my seat to allow my hand more room. I smeared the slickness of my boyfriend's cum all over my pussy lips and let my fingers circle and pinch at the hood.
I was close, so close. Just a little bit more and I'd go over the edge.
It felt so good that when the bus pulled into the next station, I didn't stop. I felt the lurch of the brakes, but didn't stop. Heard the hiss of the door, and stifled a moan. It wasn't until a shadow fell across my seat that I grew still.
Fuck. A new passenger had gotten on the bus. Peeking through my lowered eyelashes, I could see that it was a man, older than I was. He had a backpack and a philosophy book in one hand. And though there were plenty of empty seats the bastard just had to take the seat across the aisle from me.
He'd ruined my naughty adventure. I hated him. And his stupid philosophy book, too.
He threw his bag into the seat, took off a pair of black rimmed glasses, then closed his eyes. He wasn't bad looking for a killjoy and an older guy. You just think so because you're horny. And I was impossibly horny.
I'd been so close to coming that every part of me was throbbing with need. The temptation to finger myself was more than I could stand. I was eighteen—that age you think you can get away with everything—and once the bus was on the road again, quiet and dark, I decided to risk it.
I admit, there was an added thrill to my fingers trailing lazy circles over my clit with a stranger so close. But hidden by my coat and rubbing ever so slowly, I began to relax into the knowledge I was going to get away with it. The stranger across the aisle would never know. It would be my filthy little secret. And I was loving every moment. It felt so good, and yet, it was torture. My pulse was quickening, and I tried to steady my breathing. But with only the slightest of movements on my part, I might hover here in arousal indefinitely.
Then the stranger's eyes opened, and in the shadows, he looked over my way. My heart stopped. I saw him through half-lidded eyes, and I thought his gaze lingered just a moment too long. I grew perfectly still, and pretended to be asleep. I listened to the whir of the wheels of the bus, the coughs of an old man from the back, and the cries of a baby from somewhere toward the front of the bus while we traveled.
Finally, he looked away.
We were on the highway now, and the streetlights flashed by at regular intervals. I still wanted desperately to come, and that was evidenced by the fact that my slickness, combined with my boyfriend's semen, had now soaked through my jeans, leaving a wet spot between my legs. It made me desperate.
Maybe it was this desperation that clouded my already shaky judgment.
I started rubbing faster, harder, needing more intense contact. I could hear my heartbeat racing, but I was purposefully keeping my breathing steady, or trying to. The bus was now abnormally quiet, and though a light mist of perspiration dotted the back of my neck under the strain of trying to come so perfectly still and quiet. I was close, oh, so close again.
But so was the stranger. I don't know what made me open my eyes. But when I did, the stranger was staring right at me through the semi-darkness. I froze. I casually closed my eyes again for a moment or two, and then opened them just in case it had been a mistake.
It wasn't.
He had the most intense stare I'd ever seen. Not vacant. No, it spoke volumes.
He knew I was masturbating.
I was caught!
And before I could even turn away, he was out of his seat and slid into the one next to me. I actually yelped with surprise, not knowing what he was going to do. I made all the blatantly prejudiced evaluations one makes about s
trangers in times of crisis. I came up with the fact that he was a clean cut guy who read philosophy books, so I didn't think he would attack me. Instead of screaming, I just froze in shock and embarrassment.
"Don't stop." His voice was rich and urgent in my ear even as the waft of warm breath from his whisper caressed my neck. He smelled of some sort of clean cologne and his manly cheek pressed against mine.
My heart was in my throat, and I was so embarrassed I thought I could just shrink up and die in that seat. A lump rose in my throat. The pain of embarrassment was palpable, and I felt tears well up to sting my eyes. "Leave me alone!" The vehemence in my whisper should have driven him away. And for a moment—just for a moment—he looked like he might apologize for scaring me and return to his seat.
But then something seemed to snap in him. He grabbed my left hand, the one that wasn't inside my panties hidden beneath my coat, and gripped it so tightly that I yelped with pain.
Then he silenced my yelp by putting a finger over my lips.
Now I was more than embarrassed; I was afraid. Desperately afraid. I was terrified. I violently tried to yank my hand back from his, but impossibly—he kissed it. "Don't fight me."
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LAUREL ADAMS writes hot, dark, sexually transgressive tales. With her bite-sized serial stories, she likes to push boundaries and leave her readers tingling and titillated.
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