John doesn’t control my life anymore. I finally know who I am.
Purge is already stroking his cock, and I hope they’re thinking what I’m thinking.
Purge catches my ogle and says, “Let us all come inside of you, each one of us in turn. Keep him on the phone long enough for that. You don’t have to tell him what we’re doing. This is for you.”
Shifting my gaze to each of them in turn, I stop on Tank. “Answer the call.”
The tension in his face could be etched in stone until those words are out of my mouth. He taps the button. Winger picks up his thrusts. Tank positions the phone at my ear, and I try to grab it with my free hand, but he shakes his head.
Winger occupies my hand by holding it to his lips, kissing me. “Keep touching us,” he whispers.
So I do.
I stroke his lips, his jaw, and I say, “Hey, John,” best I can, in my heavily sex-addled voice.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“What does it matter to...” I gasp. Winger’s cock swells. His jaw is clenched and I suspect he’s about to come.
“It’s none of your business, what I’m doing,” I say quickly.
Winger groans through his release. I can tell he’s trying to be quiet, but not quiet enough.
The warmth of his seed fills me as John asks, “Are you with someone?”
“Like I said, it’s none of your business.” The distraction of the conversation is enough to keep me from orgasming but something I’ve learned in my limited sex life is that it’s not all about the orgasm. The ride can be pretty fucking incredible…no pun intended.
Winger pulls out and makes room for Purge. I’m stretched, and full, once again. He thrusts hard and fast, causing me to shift back and forth. In a microsecond of a pause, he rips the satin sheet out from under me. With increased friction between my ass and the counter, he grips my hips and pumps me with the wildest look of abandon.
I swear he is going to split me in two.
I don’t know what John’s saying anymore.
I try to pull myself back into the moment, and John is fishing, “You sound…?”
“I’m exercising.”
A smirk cracks through Purge’s intense expression, a split second before his jaw falls slack. His body breaks rhythm, and he growls his release.
Holding up two fingers, he pulls out, drags his fingers through the mess between my legs, and whispers, “Two loads of baby sauce.”
Winger wastes no time taking hold of the phone as Tank fills me. My confidence goes up increasingly with each minute. I can’t believe they’re coming so fast. My orgasm winds tighter, but Tank beats me to it. He comes undone inside of me, slides out, then drops to his knees and nuzzles his face in my sex.
As if rehearsed, the guys each hold up three fingers, and Tank says, “Your turn.”
“You don’t exercise,” John says. “Put me on video. I don’t believe you.”
The thrill of the chase. The risk of getting caught. The build-up before the release. I almost don’t want to climax. Almost, but the craziness of the situation is enough to let me enjoy it.
“No video. I’m pretty sure I’m the definition of a hot mess right now.”
He tries to send a video call through, and I shake my head furiously at Winger. He and Purge are quietly laughing and I know they want to accept the call.
I don’t think they would show John what’s actually happening, but John’s an asshole, and he will be an asshole for the rest of his life. No need to stoop to his level when I have something this incredible to enjoy.
The amount of control I have and the confidence my guys have given me feed into my building orgasm.
Maybe I won’t stoop to his level, but I’m not opposed to bending.