Stephan is slightly larger, but basically of the same demeanor as Pete. One day, he will be chief, I can tell, but he is not the next in line. Stephan is just going to have to wait his turn, and he knows the rules. He knows exactly what to do.
Trigger is a marvel. A gentle giant. I feel safest in his arms, even though he is at least twice my size. And once nude, he is startling to look at. He reminds me of the Hulk a little bit. I think it would hurt his feelings for me to say so. But it’s difficult to find another comparison. He’s huge, sculpted, strong.
“Just lie back, baby,” Pete murmurs, crawling up the side of the bed. The mattress creaks underneath their weights, making me wonder briefly if we are going to break the poor thing. It’s not made for four people, one of whom is basically a horse.
Obediently, I raise my arms over my head as Trigger gently pushes at my elbow. He drags his rough fingers from my jawline, down over my breasts, to my hips. I shiver with delight, finding it hard to stay so exposed but finding it even more impossible to hide.
“That’s perfect. Just like that,” Pete encourages me.
Closing my eyes, I just breathe deep and let it happen. I can feel them all around me, touching me, squeezing me. My breasts are each in a different man’s hand, being gently massaged at different intervals that somehow interlock, like a melody and harmony.
My breath hitches when I feel the warm, wet line of a tongue swirling over my toes. Hands brush the soles of my feet. Fingers drum against my heels, and the tongue goes back and forth between my toes, until my big toe is completely sucked into his mouth, sending jolts of electricity all the way up my legs.
But I can barely concentrate on that, because somebody’s hand is slowly sliding between my pussy lips. So much is happening at once, it’s hard to decide what is turning me on the most. I am becoming jelly, just a jumble of ever-increasing sensations of pleasure.
A curious finger swirls gently over my clit, not intruding, not demanding. Just exploring, then it withdraws.
With a mouth on my nipple, I feel hands sliding into my armpits. Someone is kissing my neck while someone else plunges a tongue into my navel. My whole body is bathed, adored, explored. Gentle fingers slap the underside of my right tit as bite marks trace a line up my other thigh. It’s all happening at once, like every ingredient of a recipe joyfully thrown into a vessel.
And then it begins to happen. How is it happening? But I feel it… The beginning of climax, like a lighthouse beam on the horizon. This shouldn’t be happening. What is doing it? The sucking at my nipple? No… My toes. No… Those sweet bites at the back of my knees? No… It’s the hot whispers against my neck.
But it’s happening. The light swings around again, beckoning me to follow it. I need to get there. I need to follow that light.
This is how it happens. My body gets unlocked. I have no control, just the urge to let myself be solved like a puzzle box. Let every inch of me be stroked and tickled and teased.
Here it is, the light. Growing brighter. I hear my breath quicken. I feel their bodies resting against me, rubbing their hardness against my hips and thighs, but not asking me for anything. I don’t have to do anything.
Except come.
That’s all I have to do. Follow the light, let it happen, and come and come and come.
Chapter 1
Olivia
The present day
Afternoons at my job take approximately six weeks. Each. After lunch, time slows down like caramel trying to run down a frozen driveway. Minutes turn into days. Each hour takes approximately one and one-fifth of a week. Between one and six p.m., I age six whole weeks.
The Country Gifte Shoppe was the only job that I could find. Here in picturesque St. Charles, Illinois, there are a lot of rich suburban kids available for every minimum-wage position. I tried the library, the old folks’ home, and every store up and down Main Street. I tried to get a waitress gig, but since the restaurants are all high-class, the waitresses are all high-class too. They didn’t want somebody with no experience. They only wanted career waitresses. Folks with training, who knew the differences between fine wines and could upsell by appealing to people’s tastes for the rare.
They are really nice restaurants. I can’t even imagine what kind of money they bring in tips.
I tried the smaller carryout places, dry cleaners, and the liquor store. I even tried McDonald’s, though I hate the smell of grease in my hair, which is thick and wavy, prone to flyaways and bushiness. But at that point, I was quickly running out of options and would have taken just about anything. Even frickin’ McDonald’s. But McDonald’s wasn’t hiring either.