Bad, Very Bad Shifters- The Complete Mega Bundle

by Daniella Wright

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 snack 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 punishm
ents 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, before 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.

  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 h
is 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.