by Nikki Chase
I don’t usually like giving blowjobs. But I don’t know what it is—the hungry mouths all over my body or the throbbing of Ian’s cock on my tongue—I want him. I want his dick in my throat .
Ian slows down when my gag reflex kicks in. I look up at him as he pulls out of my mouth. “You can go deeper .”
“I will,” he says, giving me a crooked grin as his eyes darken .
Ian’s firm, but gentle and slow. He slides inside so deep he touches my tonsils. He pulls back when I struggle, even the slightest bit. Then, he pushes deeper until finally, my lips touch his balls .
My eyes fill with water and my throat burns, but I can’t get enough of this delicious torture. I inhale Ian’s scent, musky and salty and masculine .
At the same time, Hudson slides two digits inside me, hooking his fingers up to rub my pleasure spot. I gasp for air, and Ian quickly pulls out of me .
“You’re drenched, beautiful,” Hudson says. “Looks like you’re ready .”
My pussy feels empty when Hudson takes his fingers away, but I know he’s about to give me something even better .
Something hot and spongy rubs over my slick opening, and I thrust my hips forward, knowing Hudson’s about to fuck me the way I need to be fucked .
Hudson’s cock glides inside me in one smooth motion, stretching my muscles and filling me up to the brim. My moan turns into a whimper as Sandy bites on my throat, hard. “I’m next,” he whispers in my ear .
I feel Ian shift underneath me. He climbs up over me, facing away from his brothers. Straddling my head, his monster cock dangles just over my lips. I take him in greedily as Hudson starts pumping in and out of me .
I lose myself. I’ve never felt anything like this before. I don’t even know what to focus on .
Both Hudson and Ian are thrusting into me, using my body as I shudder in wicked pleasure underneath them .
Sandy tortures my tits, grabbing them, pulling on them, and biting them. He takes my hand and places it around his rock-hard cock. I try to slide my hand up and down, but all I can do is grab on for dear life .
My head spins .
This is too much .
I don’t know how much more I can take .
I start to lose control of my body, my stomach muscles and my legs quivering of their own volition .
“You’re so fucking tight, beautiful,” Hudson says as his movements grow frantic. I feel him get harder inside me, and I know he’s close. Punctuating his words with grunts, he fucks me harder and faster. “So. Fucking. Tight .”
I feel Hudson’s cock twitching in my pussy. Then, warmth floods my insides .
As Hudson climbs off me, Sandy takes his place. With Ian’s brawny thighs blocking my view, I can only guess based on the way the couch cushion dips under me .
Before I can catch my breath, Sandy enters me. “You feel so good,” he says as he twists my nipples—turns out he’s not done with them .
Sensitive and weak from the powerful orgasm the brothers have just given me, I can only lie there and take it as Hudson and Sandy fuck me .
I can no longer hear the laughing track from the TV, and I don’t even remember my own name .
All I know is I’m a woman, having the most intense sexual experience of my life. Before I can come down from one peak, my arousal builds up again and I reach another one. I’m just a trembling mass of orgasms, and I barely even realize it when Sandy comes in my pussy and Hudson comes in my throat .
I had no idea sex could feel this good. I don’t know if I’ll be able to enjoy normal, vanilla sex ever again. Hudson, Ian, and Sandy have probably ruined me for other men, and I couldn’t care less .
“You belong to us now, baby,” Ian whispers in my ear .
I can only nod in response, too weak to say a word .
Austin
Friday
“T hey made us show the toys to their brats. Cayden, Jayden, and Gayden or whatever. It took fucking forever to get any reaction out of these kids .”
“Who calls their kid Gayden?” Sandy asks from the backseat .
“That’s not the point.” The point is, I’m trying to talk about something other than Emma’s mom. I glance at her again, sitting beside me on the passenger’s seat. She’s so tense, poor thing .
Of course, I feel left out because my three brothers shared her last night, while Fraser and I had to deal with those fucking investors’ fucking kids .
If we’re going to do a focus group, then we should organize one—not just hand our toys to any kids within the target age range in proximity .
Those rich brats aren’t even our target market. Yes, we handcraft toys from real, natural materials. We use solid wood and chunky metal. These aren’t cheap toys .
At the same time, the fat kids from yesterday obviously spend more time on their tablets, eating sugar-laden snacks, than on their feet .
Eh, I don’t know. Maybe I’m just ranting for no good reason. Truth be told, I am ticked off about being away while my brothers and Emma were at home .
It’s not just about the sex, either. Even if I was home and Emma was doing the naughty with my brothers, there was no guarantee that I’d be invited to join in on the action .
But the way Hudson and Ian told the story over the phone last night, it seemed like Emma was in serious distress. I wanted to be there for her .
At least, I get to be here now. I want to bash the face of that bastard in. Someone like him, who takes advantage of someone else’s love and kindness for him, has no right to call himself a man .
“Seriously, I’m sure the kid’s name wasn’t Gayden,” Sandy says .
“Okay, his name wasn’t Gayden .”
“Not even gay parents would name their kid Gayden.” As if he hasn’t beaten the topic to death already, Sandy adds, “Not even abusive parents .”
Emma laughs, a musical sound that tinkles in my ears. “He has a point .”
A smile works its way across my face. I’d put up with Sandy’s pedantic ass if it means cheering Emma up .
No way I would’ve let her take the Greyhound home. That bus does nothing but depresses perfectly happy people. I don’t even want to think about Emma sitting beside some smelly backpacker in her cramped seat, pulling on her jacket to keep warm as she compulsively checks her phone .
As if on cue, Emma pulls out her phone and lets out yet another sigh .
“Still no reply?” I ask .
“Yeah,” Emma says. “My mom doesn’t always answer her phone right away, but I texted her last night and I still haven’t heard back from her. This isn’t normal .”
“Don’t worry. If anything’s wrong, we’ll find out soon enough,” I say through gritted teeth. Nothing grinds my gears more than guys like this Ted asshole .
* * *
E mma has barely taken her finger off the doorbell button when the door cracks open .
A woman pokes her cautious face through the gap. She’s too young to be Emma’s mom; she appears like she’s in her late thirties. Most glaringly, though, she’s wearing sunglasses, even though she’s indoors .
“Mom,” Emma says, eliminating any doubts as to who the woman is .
“Emma, what are you doing here?” she asks quickly, before Sandy or I could even squeak out a polite, “Hello, Mrs. Stevenson .”
I wonder if that’s even the correct way to address her, since Emma told us she’s divorced and isn’t married to her asshole of a long-term partner .
“I’m here to see you,” Emma says, sounding confused. “What’s with the sunglasses, Mom ?”
“Oh, um . . . It’s . . . I . . . The optometrist wants me to wear them. He says I have this condition . . . Sun sensitivity . . . Something like that.” She smiles weakly—or, at least, her lips curve up. With her dark sunglasses over her eyes, nobody can tell if she’s actually smiling .
“Can we come in?” Emma asks. “These are my bosses, by the way. Sandy and Austin .”
“Hi, Mrs. Stevenson,” Sandy greets her
. “It feels weird to be called a boss. I prefer to think of us as co-workers .”
“Please, call me Mary,” Emma’s mom says, her lips frozen in a parma-smile as she faces Sandy, then me. To Emma, she says, “This is not a good time, honey .”
“Not a good time for me to come in?” Emma asks .
“Well, the house is a mess. It’s not really appropriate for guests, especially when the guests are your bosses .”
Emma falls silent as she stares at her mom. The muscles of her neck tighten as she clenches her jaw. “I need to grab something from my room .”
“Just tell me what it is, and I’ll get it for you,” Mary says .
“Can I get it myself, please?” Emma insists .
“Really, honey, I can get it for you .”
Emma pauses. Her teeth aren’t gritted, but they may as well have been. She’s like a compressed Slinky, ready to spring. “I’ve changed my mind. Can I just see you without the sunglasses ?”
Mary laughs nervously. It sounds as fake as her smile looks. “You’re being rather strange today .”
“No, you are. What did Ted do to you?” she asks directly .
“Nothing,” Mary answers in a voice that’s just a touch too breezy. “I don’t know why you’d ask something like that .”
“Mary, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to use the restroom, please. We’ve had a long journey,” I say .
“Oh.” Mary hesitates. She turns to look over her shoulder. It’s probably safe to assume she’s saying something to Ted. When she turns back around, she says, smiling, “Of course. Come on in .”
Sandy
T hat’s . . . actually a great idea. Austin’s used to getting his way, but it’s often done in an aggressive way .
This trick, though, lets us inside the house without making us seem pushy. After all, even if the house is so messy it looks like it’s been ransacked, the bathroom should still work .
As Mary pulls the door open, my heart races. I wonder if this Ted guy is inside. Judging by the way Mary looked over her shoulder to check if it was okay to allow us inside, he probably is. If he’s home, I’ll probably have to hold Austin back from punching him in the face .
It’s not that I don’t believe violence solves problems. It evidently does. We wouldn’t have been able to end World War II without good old violence .
But there’s the sanctioned kind of violence and the illegal kind. We could get into legal trouble if Austin started throwing his fists around. That’s not going to look good for Mary if she needs help from the police to get away from Ted .
“Thank you,” I tell her as we enter the house in single file .
Mary nods. Inside the house, her sunglasses look even more ridiculous. There are windows through which sunlight streams in, but not enough to warrant her wearing those .
When we were outside, it was hard to see what she’s hiding under those sunglasses. But now, I can see her from a few different angles. She’s also a good bit shorter than me, which allows me to see the tops of her eyelids .
Just as I expected, her skin has turned purple. Damn it. I didn’t want to be right about what’s going on. But then again, I’m seldom wrong .
“You can take a seat here,” Mary says, gesturing at some couches in the living room, before she disappears down the hallway to show Austin the bathroom .
As Emma and I sit down, we take a look around us .
There’s no Ted. I’m almost 90% sure he’s home, though. Coward. He’s probably hiding behind one of the closed doors in this house .
“Anything look out of place?” I ask .
Emma shakes her head. She doesn’t say anything, but the slight frown in her forehead tells me she’s worried .
I would be, too, if I were her .
The house looks perfectly fine. No excessive clutter. Not even dust on the shelves .
There’s no reason why Mary should’ve felt embarrassed about letting us in .
Except . . . Except the reason has nothing to do with cleanliness at all. It’s probably about Ted. And he was probably the person who’d inflicted that wound on her eye .
“I need to get her out of here,” Emma whispers nervously .
“Don’t be rash,” I say .
She stares at me like I’ve sprouted horns and grown a tail, too. “I can’t just leave her here, alone, with that . . . monster .”
“I agree with you. She needs to leave this place, and she probably needs to end her relationship,” I say calmly. “All I’m saying is, we need to think this through .”
“Did you see the bruise on her eye?” Emma asks, disbelief shining in her big, blue eyes .
She may seem like an innocent, harmless girl, but she’s a fighter. She’ll do whatever it takes to protect the ones she loves .
“I did,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “But Emma, I’ve been doing some reading . . . about . . . leaving an abusive relationship .”
I pause, letting the words sink in .
What Ted’s done to Mary—it’s obviously abuse. But giving it a name can be a confrontational experience, to say the least .
It can be difficult for victims of abuse to see themselves as such. It can even feel like they’re being abused all over again, like someone’s snatched away the control they’ve regained over their own lives again .
“You have?” Emma asks .
“Yes. It takes time, and a lot of planning,” I say. “Your mom probably knows, on some level, that what Ted’s doing is not okay .
“But at the same time, she likely sees this situation as temporary. She knows she can’t spend forever with this guy, but this is not the right time to leave for some reason,” I say, repeating the things I’ve read online .
“What I’m going to say next may be difficult for you to accept,” I continue. “But she’s the only one who can decide if it’s time to leave. You can’t make that decision for her .”
“Why?” Emma challenges .
“Think about it. If you manage to get her away today but she still feels like she’s supposed to be here, she’ll just come back here on her own when you let your guard down. Then, Ted’s treatment of her may get worse because she’s already left him once. He may grow more controlling,” I say .
Emma nods as she bites on her bottom lip. I don’t envy her. She has some difficult choices to make .
I’m glad she trusts me enough to take my viewpoints into consideration, though .
When Mary joins us in the living room, she brings out three coffee mugs of steaming, hot chocolate on a tray. “Have a drink,” she says, placing the mugs on the coffee table. “So, how’s the big city, Emma ?”
Emma seems distracted as she starts to tell her mom about her life in San Francisco .
She speaks of her friend, Piper, who gave her a place to stay for a few days while she was looking for work. She talks about how she found Fraser’s job ad and got hired. She recounts stories about her work—the spreadsheets, the boxes of toys she packs, the designs of toys we produce in-house .
But, what she doesn’t talk about is the thing that occupies her mind the most. Emma asks about the bruise over her eye, and Mary tells her it’s because she fell—no mention of how that relates to whatever the optometrist told her about sun sensitivity .
Still, Emma doesn’t prod further, knowing Ted’s in the house and probably listening in on our conversation .
Emma makes no mention of the number of times she checks her phone, looking for the tiniest hints that her mom is okay. She also doesn’t show Mary the pictures she’s stored on her phone, of Ted with another woman at the music festival .
I don’t know if we’re doing the right thing. We’re not making things any better for Mary. But at the very least, we’re not making things worse either .
Hudson
“I t’s your day off, right? You don’t have to sit here and help me .”
“It’s really no trouble,” Emma says. “It helps keep my mind off . . . things .”
&
nbsp; “That’s great. I appreciate the extra pair of hands, especially when they’re attached to someone so beautiful.” My lips curl up into a teasing smile .
Emma giggles as her fingers attach eyes and noses to the little wooden men I designed .
It’s a fulfilling, rewarding feeling to see tiny, little hands of kids manipulate my toys. But in the hands of Emma, particularly when she’s helping me craft them like this, it’s magical .
Austin and Sandy filled me in, on what happened yesterday, while Emma was locked up in her room, working through what must’ve been incredibly complex emotions .
I want to ask her if she’s decided on her next plan of action. Maybe I can help her weigh the pros and cons .
At the same time, I don’t want to remind her of something unpleasant, when she’s basically just told me she doesn’t want to think about it .
“I notice you make a lot of these guys,” Emma says as she pastes an orange, oval bit of wood on the wooden man’s face. “I’m guessing they’re popular ?”
“Yeah. Those gorillas—” I point at the open boxes of wooden animals “—sell pretty quickly, too .”
“You make all these things by hand ?”
“Yeah. That’s the best way to make them. It feels a lot more personal.” I chuckle. “I don’t know what I’ll do if we get funding and expand. I’ll have to teach someone to make these, too. I probably won’t have time to work on them myself .”
Emma nods. “But that also means you’ll be able to come up with new designs, right ?”
“That’s true.” The more types of toys we make, the more expensive the raw materials get. “I do have a few ideas I want to work on. Bigger toys. Weirder ones .”
“Like what ?”
“Well, all I have are the ideas right now. Between band stuff and actually making these toys, I don’t have the time to create prototypes .”
“That’s what I’m here for. To give you guys extra time.” Emma gives me a sweet smile .
What a strange girl. She’s the one with a serious problem right now, and yet she’s worrying about my stifled creativity. On top of that, she’s genuinely interested in my work .