I hate humiliation where the woman is treated like shit, too. Hard to get aroused when you see she's crying or clearly not at ease.
I talk about the different desires we have, eliciting turn offs from the other two.
“For me, it has to be seeing teeth in a blowjob,” Peter says. “So I tend to avoid them in general. I don't like the idea of sticking it into something that has a lot of sharp edges, you know? You piss that girl off, and next thing you know, you're in the hospital getting it stitched back together.”
“Ew,” Dennis says, and I share a chuckle with George.
“For me,” Dennis then picks up the thread after Peter, “I suppose it's the idea of anal. The thought of anything going near my butthole makes me cringe. Like, that's my poop hole. It should only be for pooping, not for sticking things up there.”
All of them have varying tastes in what they don't like, but before I ask what they do, we arrive at the street back home. Disappointment tangs, but I try not to show it. I want to talk to them for longer, but I can't stay until my mother starts getting suspicious of where I am – since I'm never late back.
Still, I like the stark conversation we're having. I've never had this sort of thing before, with anyone I know. Tori tends to just whine about her boyfriends, but she's not so much a fan of talking about sexual desires. I couldn't have a conversation like this about fetishes or things we dislike. For Tori, I suspect she isn't fully aware of what she likes and doesn't. She just enjoys the image of having a man on her arm. She knows things she's expected to do during sex, and she complains to me if he's not meeting her needs, but I also think she could always communicate better with him as well. It's not like everyone is deliberately being assholes. Sometimes people need a little guidance.
I'm dropped off trying not to look completely dishevelled and as if I've just come out of an orgy. Mothers can sense things, and I need to put on my best game face to ensure that my secrets remain undetected. Though I've kept things benign for a long time. She wouldn't expect me to suddenly change my tune.
My mother greets me with a smile, and asks how it was at Tori's place, and I nod, saying it was fine, we did some homework, and Tori was having some boy troubles again. She accepts this without question, and I can't help the guilt and shame creep across my face when I head upstairs tp change. I'm still within time for my mother to not suspect anything, but it doesn't alter the fact I'm now officially deceiving her.
I don't feel like studying at all. I just want to lie in bed and picture everything that's happened again. I want to see them all there, not just figments of my imagination, but as real, living and breathing people who have actively participated in the one thing I've been craving for since I first started college.
Looks like I've well and truly changed thing up forever. And that's okay. A dormant part of me, the one that wants to be sexually active, to plunge headfirst into the game of lust and love has been awakened.
I do my best to catch up on the homework I do have, since I've missed out on a lot because of the conversation, and then the session at Peter's house.
It's hard to concentrate, of course, but I manage it all the same, glancing at my cellphone all the while, in case one of them calls. No one does, and I try not to let it get to me, or to start worrying needlessly about things that shouldn't need much thought. At the end of the day, we had a good time together. That's what is important.
I hope.
Chapter Four
There are no calls, but getting to sleep last night was pretty entertaining, to say the least. With the memory of what happened between us fresh, I spent a fair amount of the night revisiting the moments, remembering everything with a pleasant shudder in my body. The memories compared to my usual daydreams are full of vivid colors. All five of my senses are engaged, from the creak of the leather sofa, to the combined man sweat from the three of them, I've been nothing short of recollection material.
I went through the memories over and over again, not wanting to lose the freshness of them. All I want to do is indulge in the reams of hot, heavy sex. I want us to have more frank conversations where we unleash some of the secrets most people keep wrapped up in their minds. I want to be possessed, dominated, anything that can serve to heighten the sexual experience. I'm no longer satisfied with just masturbating alone, or watching something to help speed me along to that final destination.
One thing's for sure. I'm no longer dirty in mind but innocent in body. I've crossed the line. I made it to the place I've secretly wanted to be. I've been tempted to text them as well, though I'm not sure what I would say. Hey, nice sex we had seems a bit informal. I imagine it's the same for them as well, since I don't have a message from any of them.
It might even be a one time thing, though I hope it's not. I don't think I could stand going into college and seeing them completely avoid me, now that they've gotten their screw out of the way.
It didn't feel like just a one time thing. It felt like something we all shared, where all of us gave into the dark desires that exist within us. I think we all harbor those inside, really. Some fetishes are mild, some are not. Some people prefer safe, vanilla sex, others most certainly do not.
Interesting how a certified psychopath is able to guide us all to an orgasm, though. For someone who doesn't feel emotion the way we do, he seems to be able to observe and understand people and figure out what they want.
I find it terribly exciting, though I'm hoping that things are not about to be massively awkward at school. I think I can endure it if they start blabbing about me. I can either deny it or act accepting of it. People find it harder to torment someone if they don't care, after all.
I'm not sure how I can explain what happened to anyone else, though. My mother and father simply wouldn't comprehend. High school sweethearts, never cheated (as far as I know) and never deviated. I don't even know if they enjoy sex, because they never talk about it. I don't see any sex magazines, and I've never caught them in any compromising positions.
At college, everything seems as usual, apart from the floaty feeling inside me which is decidedly less than normal. If any of my teachers notice me drifting off, they don't comment on it at least. I'm usually the one who answers about fifty percent of all questions, but by pretending to look as if I'm frantically scribbling down notes, I get away with it, especially in the big lecture auditoriums. My best friend is seated next to me though in one of my lessons, and she definitely notices something's up with my behaviour.
“Anna, you look like you're away with the fairies there,” Tori says, giving me a wide smile. I try to recollect whose she's dating now, because if there's one way to deflect any personal inquiries into my mindstate, it's to bring up hers.
“I'm just a little tired. I wanted to get ahead of my work but I stayed up too late. How's it with you and Brad?”
Tori's pretty face scrunches up, and her expression falls slightly. Uh oh. Maybe not a great idea to talk about Brad. “Oh, everything's okay with us so far. I mean, he's doing kind of a dickish thing to me at the moment. He takes at least two hours to respond to texts. I've even seen him on his phone, he can easily message me anytime.”
Hmm. I can imagine Tori spamming Brad's inbox, especially when she starts getting paranoid, as she's prone to do when she thinks something isn't going well. I notice how she feeds her insecurities onto other people. I also know if I point this out, she'll be hurt that I've put her down instead of built her up. So, instead, I soothe her and tell her I'm sure he'll be fine, in the meanwhile considering the fact that she would be so much better off talking to Brad in an environment like that I shared with Peter, Dennis and George.
I think everyone could do with that kind of honesty, truly.
Life might be easier for all of us.
I have a study period at around one in the afternoon, and I plan to use it to seek out the guys rather than study. I can do without it. I've caught up enough to not panic about all my deadlines.
When it hits one, I sna
ck on cookies before checking out the library. They're not there, but I don't get far from it before I bump into Dennis, who is distracted. When he looks at me, a smile spreads over his face.
This is encouraging. I smile back at him. “Hey, Dennis.” I glance around the corridor to make sure no one is listening in, then lean in to say, “I really enjoyed last night. Hope you did as well.”
He flushes a little, but nods, before saying, “I'm meeting up with the others in the music room. Wanna come?”
“Always,” I say, prompting a laugh. “I certainly wouldn't mind another one of those... gaming sessions.” We start walking towards the music block together.
“I'm sorry again if I might have hurt you. George can be quite... pushy,” Dennis admits.
“It's okay. I enjoyed him ordering us around. I would have been so much more nervous!”
“I know, right?” He grins. “I mean, we've talked about this stuff before. But you never know how it would play out in person. Like if we get jealous or whatever. I get so worried about those details.”
“Don't,” I say, resting a friendly hand upon his slender shoulder. “Worrying makes your head explode.”
I want to talk to him as well about shame and how you shouldn't feel it. Except I know that I do a little, but the reward for me is worth more than the other emotions locked inside. It is a strange beast to feel, the shame and the pleasure, the guilt and the addiction to keep experiencing it anyway. It's not a destructive kind of addiction, but it is something I need to watch out for. Too much of anything is bad, after all. Even things you might think are good. I hope that my worry I could become addicted will be enough to stave it off and restrict myself when needed.
Still chatting earnestly, we make it outside the music block. When I walk in behind Dennis, George and Peter greet me in various states of enthusiasm. Peter gives a wave and actually bounds over to hug me, whilst George observes me again with that wicked curve of his lips. The dominant one of the friends, calculating the mood.
Another shiver of arousal slips through me. Dear God, I'm never going to let my body rest at this rate. All I have to do is just think about yesterday, and I'm already on fire, longing to be touched again. How can anything top that kind of experience?
“How did you sleep?” George asks, watching my reaction to his question.
“Wonderfully,” I reply, stretching like a cat. “Never been that satisfied for a long time.”
“Were you ashamed?” He doesn't ask this with malice. He seems genuinely curious in my answer. I consider him for a moment before I respond.
“A little. But not enough to stop me from wanting to do it again. Like, I used to imagine shit like this, but I never knew why I did. Just an over-active mind, I guess.”
“Hmm.” George purses his lips, his dark blue eyes contemplative. “You wouldn't be wrong to feel shame. Most people do if they give into their desires as such. But the shame is only in your mind. If none of us feel ashamed, or feel that what we did is wrong, then it's not. It's healthy to at least talk about it if something is bothering you, though.”
“I know,” Dennis sighs then. “You gave me enough of the lecture last night.”
“He has a point though, man,” Peter says. “If everyone's on board with it and happy, then why should it matter? Anna's totally cool with it. She's admitted as much.”
I smile at the three of them as they have their candid discussion. I can see how their friendship works. Dennis is the shyer one, but with a fantastic mind and moral sense, burdened by the flares of desire he holds within. Peter is the outgoing one, the up for anything guy, who has a real fondness for the people he's close friends with, outside his semi circle of sports fans. George, on the other hand, is the one who seems to urge them to live their lives, to stop people in their tracks if they start abusing themselves. In a way, he is an odd guardian with a heavy darkness that he controls perfectly.
I blink as George walks off during Peter's statement to get out a key from his pocket and lock the music room from the inside. He then takes off his jacket and drapes it over the door window, using tacks from the wall to pin it.
“There,” he declares, pretending to dust off his hands. Then, he turns to face them. “I wonder which of us have dreamed about doing the nasty in a school or college environment?”
He steps between us as if threading a web, smiling enigmatically. “Who hasn't thought about the hot teacher, approaching them after class with some flimsy excuse, only to then have them possess you in the classroom, or you them? Who hasn't enjoyed the thrilling thought of doing something with a real danger of perhaps being caught? Like outside, in a park – in a place where people are likely to go past sooner or later.” He tucks his hands into his jean pockets, puffing out his chest slightly. There's an air of confidence about him which radiates across the room, drawing us all in. “Who doesn't want that additional excitement in their lives?”
Immediately, my mind starts flashing through the same kind of scenarios he's provoked. Yes, I have thought about doing it in public. I have felt my heart beat faster, like a vibrating alarm at the notion sheer strangers might be spying on me as I do it. Or what about that fantasy where you do it in plain sight, without making a noise, and hoping no one catches on to what's really happening?
Just like what happened in the car, where anyone could turn to look. If you got caught, embarrassment might cripple you – so it adds to the tension and the excitement, makes your heart rumble that much faster. It's risk and reward.
My eyes widen as George fishes out some rope from his backpack. “Always be prepared,” he says, with a wink.
“For what?” I quip. “Apprehending a terrorist suspect?” The fact he actually has rope in his backpack suggests some planning beforehand. It's more cord than rope, actually, the kind you use for climbing or for securing items to your bag for trekking.
“In a way.”
He holds out the rope and orders me to strip, and again, his two friends stare at his abrupt boldness. I feel like they shouldn't be surprised, really, but they gape as I quite willingly, though I'm trembling at the same time – strip down to nothing, leaving my curved, pale body exposed to the room, and my nipples are already hardening at the thought of what's about to transpire between us. Again. All three men devour me with their eyes, admiring my body, taking it in with care. Being the center of attention like this serves to already make me wet. I feel a tiny sliver of wetness drip onto my thigh, and I try to remain still, and act like I didn't notice this happen. God, though. My heart;s racing, wondering what's about to transpire.
George promptly ties my hands in front of me with a deft knot, before looping my hands where I presume a guitar is supposed to hang by its neck. He secures me as best as able, but I think I can wriggle out with a little effort. However, I don't, because the idea of being strung up naked is sending all sorts of exotic thoughts floating through my brain. Jolts of arousal continue to lick up and down the length of my body. My limbs actively tremble, and my legs struggle to support my weight. At this rate, my heart's going to lunge out of my chest. I anticipate what he'll do next, what devious plans he has for me.
“If you move from this spot,” George whispers, “I'll have to punish you.”
I inhale sharply, taking in the musky scent of him. Those words send a dark thrill inside. His voice dips low, sultry, luring me into his web. “I have a feeling you're quite the one for pain and pleasure,” he says, grabbing his violin bow and trailing it over my heated flesh. He lightly taps me on the side of my thigh, before starting the show. If any of us disobey him, we will be punished, and if I'm honest, I'm sure we're all wondering what type of punishments George has in store for us.
This time, contrary to how it started last time, George takes the lead. His face is full of determination and purpose. His blue eyes glint like ice chips, cold but aroused at the same time. He has condom packets ready, and he doesn't bother taking off his top, instead peeling off his boxers, placing on the condom, bef
ore pushing himself inside me without much foreplay at all. I gasp at the roughness of it, how I'm treated as he takes me, giving quick, hard thrusts into my body, his hands seizing my body tight. His lightly haired chest brushes against my breasts, and the power he puts into his thrusts makes me gasp each time. He's so deep, and I feel scratch marks along my skin, making me wince, but also making me hopelessly soaked. I'm alarmed and pleasantry surprised at the same time, because I wasn't completely sure if I liked the idea of pain being incoporated into sex, but like this, mild with the slight hint of pain, which is rapidly soothed over by the never relenting pleasure – I find myself intoxicated by the contrasting sensations. He keeps up this manner before he orgasms, biting into my neck as he does so, pinching my breasts. Still dazed from this, and I feel my arms starting to numb slightly, Peter takes me next in the same fashion, with that rough brutality, that delicious feel of being overpowered. He puts more force into it, lifting me up with each thrust, creating an audible thumping sound against the wall which surely anyone who might be in the next room might hear. I fight to keep my screams of delight under wraps, and I love the way his muscles bulge and flex around me. He has such glorious arms, such strength in them. The coiled power you see in them makes you believe he's perfectly capable of killing someone with one punch, but he has perfect control of his power, and I know he would never bring any of us to harm. I think it's the mix of power and control that's so exhilarating. I'm still panting from this one when Dennis takes me next. I urge him to go harder, to go faster, and he does so, getting into the mood. My breasts ache to be touched, and I yearn for more of this roughness. It ignites every inch of my brain, and I moan as Dennis presses into me. I notice he's less willing to hurt me than George is, and he focuses entirely on increasing the pleasure and tactile contact of our bodies. I like how I can detect their different personalities in the same act. No matter what we do, we can't hide ourselves through this. We're exposed and raw, everything laid out on a plate for others to experience.
Sold To The Dragon Princes: The Novel Page 115
