by Daryl Banner
And with her on all fours like my cute, minxy little pet, and Eric’s hand relentlessly massaging my shoulder, I realize I’m caught on the brink of one of my greatest sexual fantasies.
And I know I can fuck it all up with just a single wrong word.
This could all come crashing down. Do this carefully. Be smart, Dmitri …
“It was almost two years ago,” I tell her. “Valentine’s.”
“On this couch,” Eric points out. “Right here. Where we are now.”
The eagerness in Riley’s face is prickling with energy. I can still tell she’s drunk and looser than a teenage boy’s jerking sock, but the light is alive behind her eyes. I feel safe to say just about any kinky fantasy that comes to mind.
But the only one I utter is the truth: “Eric and I … had a thing.”
Riley’s face hardens at once, though it’s difficult to tell if it’s with surprise or horror. She looks at Eric, then back at me. “A … thing?”
“Yeah.”
“You two? The two of you? A thing?”
“Yep.”
The hardness in her glassy eyes is traded for curiosity. “What … kind of thing?”
“The kind involving lips,” I tell her. “And my dick.”
“And my lips,” Eric confirms with a flat-lipped smile of pride that makes the black teary lines on his face bend.
Riley’s mouth hangs as she digests the news. Then her whole face lightens and she fights back laughter, the drunken girl coming back out to play in an instant. “No,” she decides, shaking her head. “This is a little joke you two planned.”
“It’s not,” I tell her gently. “I’m bi.”
She stares between us awhile longer, then sits back on her heels and crosses her arms. “Alright. Prove it.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “Prove it?”
“Yeah.” She gestures at me. “Go ahead, D. Show me how bi you are.”
I’m at a total loss. It’s obvious what she wants me to do, but there’s no way I’m going to do it. “Riley, I’m not gonna—”
“I want to see it,” she says, her voice firmer. “You two have done it before, haven’t you? And on this couch, no less.”
The stronger her voice gets, the more her head sways, like she’s having a harder time keeping balance.
Eric gives me a nudge, which annoys me more than anything.
“It would be so hot,” Riley goes on, persistent as ever. “To see you kissing Eric. Oh, and his heart’s all broken too. He wants it. I can tell. It would be so hot to watch you two.” Riley licks her lips. “C’mon, baby. Don’t you want to do it for me?”
Eric’s hand is already stroking back and forth on my shoulders. When I turn to look at him, he’s got the unmistakable, greedy look in his eyes I remember from that same night when we crossed the line together. I swore I’d never cross that line again, not with Eric.
Then he brings his mouth to my cheek, giving me an encouraging smack of his lips.
I feel the warmth of his every breath.
The effect that has on me is a drug far more potent than what little bit of alcohol still courses through my system.
“Go on,” murmurs Riley so softly, her voice is just a slur of vowels. “Go on, baby.”
I look over at her. She relocates to the coffee table right in front of us, perhaps to get closer. Her breasts look so swollen and tight in that tiny wet white bra of hers.
She’s practically busting out of it.
Her lips pout as she watches excitedly.
“Someone just joined the party,” sings Eric as his hand grabs my crotch. I’m rock hard with anticipation.
I have no idea which is turning me on more—her breasts, that look on her face, or Eric’s hold on my manhood. I feel like such a toy for these two to play with. The sudden self-objectification has my heart racing and my breath stolen.
“Kiss me, bud,” whispers Eric as his face draws closer.
Riley watches, her eyes alight and unblinking.
She must want me to do this. This must be another option for her to fulfill her desire for some kind of reckless kink tonight: me being crazy and doing something with Eric in front of her.
Just when I’m about to voice another objection, Eric’s lips find mine, my eyes close, and all possible objections I have go out the door.
Eric’s lips are warm and firm, so much stronger than I remember. Or perhaps I’m just used to Riley, who kisses me sweeter and tastes of her strawberry lip balm.
I peek open an eye. Riley still watches us, but her hands have drifted to her breasts as she kneads them. Her eyes find mine and I watch her lips part, tufts of excited breath coming out.
Is this what you want? That’s what my eyes ask. Is this doing it for you?
Eric grabs my cheek with his free hand and steers my attention fully onto him as his tongue invades my mouth. He still massages my crotch with his other one, driving me crazy with every passing second. I don’t know how he manages to do it, but my already-hard cock gets harder and harder, almost uncomfortably so.
The kiss ends unexpectedly, and I turn to gage Riley’s reaction. What I find is her parted lips floating in front of mine, ready.
And then I’m Riley’s. She kisses me with enough force to rival Eric’s fervor. With his hand working the silken bulge in these Shakespearean pants and Riley sucking my lips sore, I feel like an electric current is racing between both of them somehow—Riley and Eric—and I’m just the plaything wire at their disposal.
Riley grips my shirt, pulling a fistful of it as she deepens the kiss. I groan in response as Eric seems to time her maneuver with one of his own: he slips his hand inside my silk pants and finds my swollen cock.
He squeezes.
I flex and grunt in response.
The two of them are working me over like a piece of meat. I feel like I’m succumbing to something, but I don’t know what to call it yet.
“You’re so hard,” whispers Eric.
I moan against Riley’s mouth for a response.
“Don’t you even think of coming,” Eric goes on, “until we let you.”
Riley pulls from my face and smiles crookedly. “You’re all ours to play with.”
“All ours,” Eric agrees, then starts to stroke my dick.
Before I can get a word out, Riley’s on my other side and pressing her breasts into my face. I groan, opening my mouth for them.
My hand slides up Riley’s smooth, supple body, starting at the base of her thigh, trickling up the soft wet fabric of her panties, trailing the length of her smooth torso, and ending at her bra. Realizing after a second that I’m not talented enough to unlatch it with just one hand, I bring my other around to assist.
Her bra gives way, sliding down her slender arms, and then her soft flesh envelopes me. With my eyes closed, I slowly kiss and lick and taste, savoring every bit my mouth can find.
Eric’s stroke stills, and then suddenly his mouth swallows my cock. I groan against Riley’s breasts, overwhelmed by the amount of pleasure I’m experiencing. Every inch of my skin explodes with sensitivity.
Riley grips the back of my head, keeping my face trapped against her breasts. I take it as a hint and maneuver my mouth toward her nipple, which my tongue quickly finds.
I give her nipple a teasing bite, which causes her to shudder. Then I slowly invite my hand between her legs. Is she wet from the pool or from living out her hottest fantasy? I move her thong aside to make room for my fingers to play all they want.
She bucks in response, gasping.
Eric’s pace increases suddenly, which is getting me close a lot faster than I think he realizes. Completely held prisoner by Riley’s breasts and my fingers down below, I have no way to tell him.
Apparently I don’t have to. Eric lifts off of my cock and says, “He’s getting close. I can feel him throbbing.”
Riley pulls away from me, out of breath, and says, “Not yet.”
“Not yet,” Eric agrees, then hooks a hand into my
pants and yanks me from the couch. I turn to glance at Riley for one fleeting second before Eric pushes me to the rug, his hunger turning him somewhat aggressive. I land on the floor with a grunt, then look up, impressed at Eric’s sudden take-charge energy. Riley joins his side, and the pair of them look like an evil-minded duo of dastardly deeds.
Except for the cereal boxes.
With a smirk, Eric slowly unbuttons his shirt and tosses it—and all the little cardboard brand name boxes—to the side. He and Riley share a look, and then Riley slips a finger into either side of her thong, slowly easing it down her long, smooth legs.
I’m convinced that they’re telepathic—some gay guy and gay-bestie superpower—and devising plans of what evil things they want to make me endure while I’m this horny and worked up. I’m just a toy for them to play with.
And I know I’ve said that before about how Eric treats me, but this time, I think I like it.
After kicking off the thong, Riley steps over me, a foot on either side of my head, then slowly squats down. My mouth is already open for her when her warm pussy covers my face, and when my tongue goes in, a whimper of delight comes out of her.
Eric grabs a fistful of my pants and underwear, then gives one deft yank, freeing my swollen cock. I can’t see what he’s doing, but Riley can with the way she’s facing, and she gets a front row seat (literally) to Eric’s mouth as he descends on my cock again, swallowing every inch.
And this time, he doesn’t relent—up, down, up, down. It’s the best blow job I’ve ever received in my life.
Oral fixation, he called it? Thank God for oral fixations.
My hands free, I bring one to the back of Eric’s head, guiding him as he works me right back to the edge and keeps me there. My other hand reaches up to touch Riley’s body. She grips my hand, encouraged, and starts to gyrate her hips, rocking forward and backward. Just as I think Riley’s had enough, she picks up her pace, riding my mouth even harder.
Encouraged, I probe deeper, then pull my hand from hers to bring it down her body. She gasps when my fingers reach her clit.
Yeah, I’m doing all of this blindly. I don’t need sight to know what I’m doing to her, or to know what Eric’s doing to not-so-little me down below.
“Oh, Romeo,” cries out Riley suddenly, and I feel Eric fighting back a laugh as he shudders on my cock, but never stops sucking it. Or maybe he started to jerk off, if that rhythmic movement by my leg is any indication.
Suddenly Eric stops, coming off of my cock, and he slides his arms beneath my legs, lifting them up. I’m not sure what he’s doing until suddenly there’s something very wet at my asshole.
I’m seconds from protesting before the sensation of his tongue invading me down there sends me moaning against Riley’s pussy. It has the unintended-yet-pleasant effect of driving Riley crazy. She rides me even harder, pressing down against my face and smothering me in her warm, wet heaven.
I feel a hand on my cock—is it hers, or his?—and then it’s firmly jerked as Eric eats out my ass, licking and tonguing with such force, a shiver of ecstasy races up my body.
I’m totally trapped under the spell of these two sexually pent-up people, and I don’t ever want to be free.
I’m getting close. Too close. My mouth full of Riley, I just groan against her for a warning.
A warning no one hears.
Apparently Riley is standing on the same brink as me, because she lets out a cry that fills the whole apartment, her thighs squeeze so tightly that my face feels likely to burst, and then she comes all over my tongue.
Her taste fills me, and that’s just enough to throw me over the edge with her as I groan and spill all over my chest.
The orgasm never seems to end. I feel wave after wave rushing over my body, crashing from my face to my fingertips to my toes to my ass, which Eric still busily, hungrily devours.
Riley rolls off of me, spent, and my vision is restored to witness Eric coming up from between my legs, his hand still on my cock—ah, it was his hand—and he continues to jerk off heatedly. In seconds, he comes with a vocal sigh, moaning as he empties himself all over me. He shoots far, a rope of it landing on my chin, and then he falls back, expired and out of breath.
With Eric propped against the foot of the couch and Riley sprawled out on the floor next to me, the three of us say nothing as we catch our breath and enjoy the prickly, pleasant sensations of our bodies floating in the after-sex weightlessness.
I feel totally elated, a smile stretched over my face that can’t seem to fade. Fantasies are things I write. Romances are made of the stuff of imagination and wishes unfulfilled. Tonight was both a fantasy and a romance, and I never in a hundred years thought I would be able to truly experience it.
I turn my head toward Riley and find her already looking my way. Her eyes, which seem far more focused and thoughtful than they did earlier, watch me with a strange, distant curiosity.
Something about her detached stare sobers me right away.
Her eyes reveal a network of thoughts, both dark and light, that are now having a chance to weave together in her brain. Did she suspect I was bi, just like Sam did? Did she know all along that there was some little thing different about me, but could never put her finger on it?
And does she have fears now that she can never be enough for me? Does she think I need this sort of scenario every night to be happy? Does she see my sexuality as simply sexual greed, and not as the sexual identity it truly is?
Did she see how strongly I reacted to Eric’s touch? Did it scare her?
Do I scare her?
Still watching her, my smile begins to fade away. Then it is gone completely. I realize what I see in Riley’s eyes isn’t curiosity, relief, or even fear; it’s the beginning of the end.
Chapter 24
Sam
– Two Months Later –
It’s an unseasonably warm January.
Not that I ever notice. My skin is always cold. Poor circulation or something. Either that or I’m dead, and this whole college experience I’ve had is a complex post-death hallucination as the last tendrils of my life spark and sputter out of my stiff, cold fingers.
That was too dark, wasn’t it?
I think Dmitri’s twisted writing is influencing me.
“There you are.”
I look up from my book, which is actually an exciting sci-fi Dmitri recommended to me over the winter break. “I was just getting to the good part,” I say with a smirk up at him.
He smiles, showing his bright, perfect teeth. Then he nods at a spot on the grass under the tree I’m leaned against. “This spot taken?”
“Other than by grass?”
Dmitri snorts, then plops down next to me and leans back, propped up by his elbows. He gives his green Converse-wearing feet a wiggle and asks, “Like my new shoes?”
“They’re cute. I like green.”
“I know you do.”
“Christmas present?”
“Mom thought I’d like them. Sorry, I mean Santa.” He clenches his eyes in mock pain, wincing. “Did I just ruin Christmas for you?”
“Totally,” I deadpan. “Do you mean the elves aren’t real either?”
“Nope.”
“The flying reindeer? The magic sleigh?”
“All just fiction.”
“Oh well. I’ll tell my mom the façade is officially destroyed and she can stop pretending to eat the cookies and drink the milk.” I give the bag of spicy Cheetos at my side a nudge. “Go ahead and help yourself, Christmas-and-childhood-dreams demolisher.”
He gasps at my snack of choice. “Cheetos?? While reading a book?? Oh, those poor, innocent pages!”
“No, no, no.” I lift my book with my right hand. “Book hand.” I give the orange-tipped fingers of my left a wiggle. “Snack hand. I’d never dare to ruin a perfectly good book.”
He grins when he notices the cover. “Ah. You took my suggestion.”
“I needed a break from theory. Plus, I was t
ired of rereading all of Victoria’s plays. She has a whole library of scripts. Did you know that? I was able to read the whole second act of Our Town that I missed, finally.”
“Oh, right. You missed that act because of me.”
“Well, partially.” I press my lips together, suppressing a smirk.
He nods knowingly. “And how is Tomas? Still giving blow jobs to a particular woodwind?”
I smirk and bite my lip, then let the book drop into my lap. Dmitri and I haven’t really talked much at all over the past few months. Being his friend was a lot easier when I was in a relationship with someone, because I didn’t have to deal with listening to him talk about his annoyingly cute and perfect girlfriend. Now, I have nothing to shield me from what he might say, if anything.
“Something wrong?” he asks, his tone turning serious.
“No. It’s actually something that’s … gone quite right,” I assure him. After taking a second to breathe and properly steel myself, I turn to face Dmitri. “Tomas and I broke up, like, back in September.”
The look on Dmitri’s face is beyond shocked. The whites of his eyes flash and his nostrils flare with surprise.
“May I assist in picking your jaw up off the grass?” I offer.
“September??” he blurts out.
“I didn’t really bother to tell anyone. Oddly, Victoria kinda thought we were already split up because I hardly ever talked about him anyway. Dessie is so busy with her big production in New York that I don’t think I can really tell her until maybe February or so. I don’t want her thinking I’m a wreck because of it and get worried. I’m not. I’m just—”
“But you didn’t think to tell me?”
I wince, averting my gaze. “Sorry. I … was emotionally drained after Tomas and … and whatever we had. I couldn’t bring myself to talk to anyone. I didn’t even tell my mom until I went home for winter break.”
Dmitri takes it all in with a gentle nod followed by a slow, long sigh he lets out over the grass. Some of his breath tickles my arm, casting goosebumps down its length.