I kiss Dennis a few times, our lips bumping together, trying to work around one another between snatched bouts of breath. I see he's sweating from his effort, and I lick some of the sweat off, tasting salt. He finishes inside, before pulling out.
“Feeling bloodless, yet?” George whispers, stroking my hands and arms with his bow, sending a tickling sensation through my skin. I flinch as he trails it along my ribcage and then ever so teasingly across my bundle of nerves, lightly circling it before removing the instrument, and inviting Peter over to send me into orgasm. George stretches me out again, pushing apart my folds to fully expose my nub and my wetness, and Peter pushes one finger into me.
“Don't forget,” George says, “Not all women can come just by the sensations inside. You need to stroke them here, but be soft about it. It's highly sensitive...”
Peter agrees and begins to softly finger me there instead, before George invites Dennis to kneel on the side of me as well. All three men are staring at my most intimate part, taking it in turns to finger me there, observing how I react and gasp and moan. My eyes flutter shut a few times, and I love having them all there. This must be what it's like for a guy, to look down and to see the woman playing with his erection, teasing it and admiring it. The fact that all three of them are pleasuring me at the same time is exactly the stuff of my wildest dreams, something I never would have thought possible before.
The fact they're so open with this to each other, willing to share, willing to talk – it's amazing. My arms are getting tingly at this point, and I'm feeling a little light headed as Peter digs his fingers into my core, and Dennis touches me on my sensitive organ, and the combined pressure from both of them tips me off into a roaring climax. Now I'm hypersensitive down there, but it doesn't stop George from fingering me again with that expert, tantalizing way he has, sometimes pressing, sometimes brushing the outside, and sometimes flicking, always taking care to make sure it's moist. He then presses his tongue against it.
Peter and Dennis watch as he licks me there, and my eyes lock with his. He has that devilish smirk upon his face, and doesn't break eye contact as he slowly and deliberately unfurls his tongue against me. No matter how sensitive I am down there, the tongue is the perfect balm to it, and is able to keep the pressure light and perfect.
I gasp again, shuddering as that warm, wet and raw nerve whips me up into another orgasm. Roaring darkness rushes into my brain, combined with the light headedness and tingling feeling that's going on inside me.
When I wake up, I realize that I actually fell unconscious for a brief moment. My hands are now untied and I'm lying on the floor. Dennis's face of worry creases over into one of relief, as does Peter's. The only person who doesn't appear in the least bit perturbed is George, who raises an eyebrow and delivers me again that impish grin.
“Looks like you enjoyed yourself there a little bit too much,” he says. He strokes my face. “But seriously, if you find yourself getting too light headed, we'll stop if you say so. My friends were out of their minds with worry. I had to explain to them that you actually blacked out from pleasure and dizziness.”
I blink a few times, now focusing fully. “Right,” I say. “Yeah. That's one way to say it.”
A pleasant ache still ripples through my body, and I smile, stretching languorously on the floor.
“Damn, I was so scared there.” Dennis flushes in that familiar, adorable way he has, his dark brown eyes full of concern. “I mean, we were treating you quite roughly there.”
“I enjoyed it.”
“She's a sub,” George explains then, and it gives words to the fetish inside me, when before I didn't really have a way to describe it. “She's strong, independent, and more than capable of anything she puts her mind to. But every now and then, she wants to be dominated. To be powerless and to get the kick out of that. It's a perfectly natural desire.” His dark eyes appraise me, before he grabs my panties, and helps me put them back on. The act feels oddly respectful, and I smile at him for doing so, even as the other guys now help to dress me back up. I shiver each time their hands brush across my body, wondering if at any moment, the dressing might stop, and the undressing instead will recommence, but it doesn't.
“Masochists like the element of torment behind it, but they don't actually want to be tormented in a negative way. It's entirely to lead to a positive outcome.”
“That's not true,” Dennis says then. “I heard some masochists really want to be punished.”
“Not me,” I say blithely. “I just like the dominating part.”
“You're right, Dennis,” George confirms. “But I think you'll also find those kind of individuals also may need professional help. Some people like to act out their self-loathing in that kind of environment, but it's not healthy. Anna here, as far as I can see, doesn't suffer from any kind of self-loathing.”
“Nope.”
We actually launch into a discussion after this, trying to warrant the merits of the idea of BDSM, wondering what makes people enjoy such activities, why we may be motivated to do it, and if the S and M part is actually bad, or a healthy and fun sexual habit.
It's odd in a way, to know what we've shared between each other, only to sit there afterwards and talk in a matter of fact way of what we like and don't like. Including the desires each of us has.
“I admit,” Dennis says, licking his lips nervously, “that I like the idea of being dominated as well. I really like it when I'm ordered around. If I'm made to... do things. I'm not sure if I like the idea of pain. I have some issues when I think I'm hurting Anna, but she keeps assuring me it's alright.”
“I understand,” I say, reaching to hold his hand fondly. “And I think it makes you a kind person. For me, I'd say my desires do verge on... some forms of sexual humiliation. I like the idea of being 'taken' against my will, although it's not really against my will. My favorite type of porn has been gangbangs, maybe some bondage.”
Peter nods thoughtfully, stroking his chin, his blond hair tufting adorably around his strong jawed face. “I like being dominant, I think. My thrill comes out of the idea of being watched. So when I'm part of this with all of us... it's really exciting. Not sure if I'm into the whole masochist thing, but I can try, maybe.”
“For me,” George says, his voice silken, his dark blue eyes bright in interest, “I like being in total control. Knowing the other person is at my mercy. The power is intoxicating. Watching the reactions pleases me. I like to see fear as well, when I suggest pain, only to erase that fear when I make the person come.” He sighs then. “I know I shouldn't like to see the fear, because I'm not aiming to make the other person afraid of me. But there's something... intriguing about it.”
The fact a psychopath is talking about the joy of watching fear on someone's face should be alarming. But I think I understand what he's trying to say.
“It sounds more like you just enjoy power, in whatever form you get it. Maybe you'll abuse it a little, but you would never misuse it to the point where no one is happy, I think.”
“Hmm.” George shrugs. “Perhaps. I think I'll need to work on curbing it a little, though I'm unlikely to make it fully go away.”
The more we talk and open up about this, the closer I feel to them. I actually find myself intensely liking them as people, and it's so strange. Aren't humans meant to be monogamous?
When a rapid knocking alerts us to someone standing outside the music room door, we all bolt into action, hastily rearranging things and hoping the room doesn't smell too much like sex, when George finally takes off the jacket from the door and opens it.
He apologizes to the teacher, and says that he just wanted to give his friends a private session with the violin, and Peter, Dennis and I nod and smile and leave the room, under the angry glare of the teacher, with her severe gray hairbun and wrinkled face, which resembles a prune.
We laugh to ourselves, exhilarated that we got away.
We continue our talk after college ends for us in the library,
because virtually no one goes here anyway.
We continue meeting up often after that. Sometimes for sex sessions. Mostly so we can learn about one another.
I listen to Dennis talk about his games and nod and smile, telling him I'm willing to try more of them out with him if he wants. I like seeing the passion he feels for them. It's sweet. Anyone with that kind of passion deserves to at least have their voice heard.
I listen to Peter talk about his sports, and the nerve wracking pressure he always feels to perform well and not disappoint his teammates. He puts on a tough front because people are like wolves, always seeking to find out his weakness, and drag him under.
George, on the other hand, says that he finds music relaxing, and sometimes a good substitute for when he's alone with his thoughts. He's glad to feel as he does, as he sees the way neuropaths are often crippled by their emotions, and relishes in the clear headed thinking he indulges in. He admits he knew something was different about him from an early age.
“This is going to sound dumb,” I say, “but did you like, torture any animals?”
“No,” George says. “I was actually kinder to animals than most kids my age. They are simple creatures, far less complex than humans. You treat them nicely and with respect, and they reward you with boundless love. Between having a creature be afraid of me or in love with me, I know which one I'd pick every time.” He doesn't seem offended by the question. He's probably used to being asked it. “I was officially diagnosed when I was about eight, and my mother put me to therapists to help me better understand why I was different and to always consider the consequences of what I do. I bet they're glad how I turned out.”
“I'm sure,” I say. I think about my parents. How devastated must they be to see all of us here like this, to know that we actively share in deviant sexual activities together. I don't think they'd understand. But I don't like hiding it from them, either.
“I admit I like this arrangement,” I say to them, leaning over the table to take all of them in, as if they're the most important things in the world for me at that moment. “I don't know if it can work long term. I don't really have a guide book for this kind of thing. But I like you all. I actually want to come over and play games or hang out. Obviously I like the whole sex thing, too.”
“Me, too,” Dennis says. “I keep expecting myself to erupt in jealously or something, but I just look forward to having us all here together.”
“Same,” Peter nods. “I try not to think about it too deep, because let's be honest. This is fucking weird.”
We laugh. It's true.
“I think we can compliment each other well. We can be a positive influence to one another,” George admits. “And for me as well, something like music, or something like the thrill we get from this is one of the few ways I truly feel alive. Part of the world, and not just an observer. I wouldn't mind keeping this going and seeing how our lives pan out.” He leans back in his chair. “There's simply no point worrying about the future. We might break up. Anna might fall more intensely in love with one of us. Anything can happen. What's important is what we have right now, and that we enjoy it. That's what matters. So as long as we're all okay with this, I'm happy to keep things as they are.”
His words have a wisdom in them, a truth. I wouldn't say I'm in love with these guys. How can I be in love with people I've fantasized about for so long, and only really started getting to know them now?
It's extremely likely I will fall in love with one, or all of them. I'm already fond. I'm already excited at the possibility of sharing more intimate moments with them.
“It's a deal,” I say. “Let's try this out. Let's listen to each other's desires and find ways to act them out. Let's support one another. I like all of you. And I hope you like me too.”
“We do,” George says. “Though I'd like to hear more about you and your background as well. Have you as a friend, as well as someone to act out my desires with. Is this alright with you?”
“It's more than alright,” I say, smiling. It's something I've wanted for a long time.
I stare at each of them, infused with excitement at the possibility of sharing my future with them. It's weird, sure, but I honestly think we can make it work. And I want to give it a try.
We can compliment one another. We can feed each other's dark desires. Just as long as we're open and honest to one another.
I make a sucking noise with my teeth and lips.
Now that little notion is sorted, I need to somehow explain all this to my mother and father, because I certainly won't be able to conceal this forever.
Or maybe I can just wait a little longer, and then cross that bridge together with my new friends and lovers.
I'm glad Peter caught me staring outside the music room, even though it made me explode in embarrassment at first – and that they noticed me staring at them. Obviously I need to improve my staring game, so people don't see me openly drooling at them, but it worked out for the best.
I kiss each of their lips in return, positive at the idea of beginning a new future with them.
You never know until you try, right?
Double Education
~Bonus Story~
A Steamy College Menage Erotica
“I’m all too aware of the tears streaming down my cheeks, and it feels as if my lips will bruise from the force of the kiss that had been forced upon me. I’ve never felt so violated in my life. Jason slackens his grip on the other basketball player, and the two of them approach me hesitantly.
I look between them, wanting to throw myself into one of their arms but unsure of who to pick. They seem to sense my unease, exchanging a glance. The decision is made for me as they step up on either side of me, forming an small and intimate group hug. I press my face against Ricky’s shoulder, and can feel Jason gently rubbing my back from behind me.
I choke out sobs, trying to find some small measure of comfort in their embrace. For a moment, I feel as if I can calm down, as if the world is slipping away all around us. Then, realizing what our position will look like to anyone who sees us, I abruptly shove away from them. Tears continue to spill down my cheeks, harder than before this time, and I sputter helplessly, keeping them both at an arm’s distance…”
* * *
CHAPTER ONE
I watch with as much apathy as I can muster as my father frets behind his office desk. His glasses slide down on his nose, and he wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead. I respond, appropriately in my opinion, by averting my eyes and chewing my my fingernails. It’s a dirty habit, one I detest but one of the few things I’ve been unable to break. I know why he’s called me in here, as it’s the same discussion we have before every home game at my college. I suppose a bit of background is in order.
My name is Jenny Parker. My father, Greg Parker, is the dean of education at the prestigious Columbia University. People would call me something of a daddy’s girl, I suppose, and it wouldn’t be awfully far from the truth. My father considers his position a very honorable one, and has been priming me for my enrollment in the university for some years. Though it’s been a year since I enrolled full time, and moved onto the dorms on campus, he stills feels it necessary to drag me into his office every so often. You may find yourself wondering why. Well…
Truth be told, my formative years were… interesting, to say the least. Most teens have a rebellious phase, but mine went beyond the typical punishment baiting. My hair was dyed, my nose pierced, and I had a way of attracting the worst of the worst when it came to bad boys. My dad was surprisingly lenient in the beginning, I suppose he just hoped I would get it out of my system. In a way he was right, but not entirely. Though my hair has returned to it’s natural honey blonde color, and my piercings have been removed (aside from a tasteful earring set), I still have a bit of a penchant for… well, jerks.
Which brings me to the next topic of conversation, that topic being the biggest jerk on campus: Jason Smith. He just so happens to be the star basketba
ll player as well, but that does little to help his attitude. Much like the boys from my early teenage years, he’s a foul mouthed, tattooed, and downright sleazeball of a guy. I might have found him enchanting when I was younger, but now I’m in college and have something to prove. I won’t let myself be swayed by cocky basketball players, no matter how devastatingly sexy they are. I’m going to get my degree, and do right by the prestigious history of my university.
It helps that my dad would kill me if I smeared his reputation…
Which brings you up to speed, mostly. Cue my dad’s angry rambling about stupid sexy basketball players.
I consider my father through only vaguely interested eyes as he fidgets, cursing the star basketball player with every breath he takes. Perhaps what bothers my father the most is that Jason refuses to conform. If he was your nice, well behaved young man, our dating would be great from a media standpoint. You know, if I wanted to date him. As it stands, he remains something of a forbidden fruit. Or, as my dad would likely refer to him, the forbidden fruitcake. The thought brings a grin to my face, and I smother a giggle as my father turns his angry gaze in my direction.
“What on earth is so funny, young lady?” He demands, and I keep my amusement internalized for the time being. I simply sit up in the chair across from him, folding my hands carefully in my lap.
“Nothing, daddy. Just remembered something one of the girls said,” I say casually, though frankly I have little to do with the other women on campus. Daddy dearest doesn’t need to know that however. He seems to accept my lie easily, grabbing his handkerchief and dabbing at the sweat gathered at his brow.
“You know how serious it is that we not incite any… unseemly scandals.” He mutters, and I roll my eyes good naturedly. It’s somewhat irritating that my father thinks I’m too dim to follow his direction, but I won’t fuel the fire by engaging in an argument with the old timer.
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