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I stared at the message for a long time, phone warm in my hand, pulse already quickening between my legs, the little bud of my clit beginning to swell and pulse under the soft fabric of my pyjama bottoms until I had to press my thighs together. Nothing planned that year. No family nearby. The flat felt too quiet, too empty, the silence pressing in. And the idea of spending the morning with the two of them, alone, no interruptions, no excuses, made my stomach tighten and my cunt clench hard around nothing, the walls already feeling empty and greedy, the soft outer lips beginning to grow slick. I read the message three times. Then I typed back a simple Yes. I’ll be up around nine and set the phone down, already knowing I was going to prepare myself properly, thoroughly, as if this was the only chance I would ever get.

I got up at seven. The flat was cool enough that my nipples tightened the moment I left the bed. I turned the heating on and went straight to the shower. I took my time under the hot water, washing every inch of my skin with slow, deliberate strokes of the soapy cloth, lingering on the soft undersides of my breasts, the curve of my waist, the tops of my thighs. I shaved my legs carefully from ankle to the soft crease of my thigh, making sure the skin was completely smooth. I shaved under my arms until the skin was soft and bare. Then I sat on the closed toilet lid with one leg propped up on the edge of the bath and shaved my pussy with the same meticulous care, until the entire soft area was bare and hypersensitive, the pink of my inner lips and the tight little ring of my arsehole left completely exposed. I rinsed thoroughly under the spray, then stood with my feet apart and let my fingers drift between my legs, parting the smooth outer lips to find the already swollen bud of my clit. I rubbed it slowly in small circles, just enough to make myself wetter, just enough to make my knees weaken and my breath catch, the slickness increasing until it coated my fingers, I briefly pushed two fingers inside but resisted the urge to masturbate though I desperately want, needed to cum. I wanted to save that for them. I wanted them to be the ones who made me shake.

When I stepped out of the shower I dried myself carefully with a soft towel, paying special attention to the soft folds between my legs and the cleft of my arse, making sure every part of me was dry and smooth. Then I went to the fancy-dress box at the back of the wardrobe and pulled out the Little Red Riding Hood outfit I’d worn once to a party years earlier and not worn since. Red silky skirt, short enough that it barely covered the lower curves of my arse cheeks and would flash the soft cleft between them the moment I bent or sat or walked too quickly. White fishnet stockings that framed the soft flesh of my upper thighs and drew the eye straight to the bare skin above the stocking tops. Matching white lace suspender belt that sat low on my hips and dug gently into the soft flesh. A thong so thin the narrow strip of fabric disappeared between my already-damp outer lips, the material already beginning to cling to the slick seam of my cunt the moment I stepped into it. A thin white T-shirt that clung to my tits like a second skin, the dark circles of my areolas and the hard points of my nipples clearly visible through the fabric, the soft weight of my breasts moving freely underneath. A red silky waistcoat that nipped in at the waist and pushed my breasts up and together so that the soft upper curves were even more pronounced. I left the cloak. Instead I put my hair up in a high ponytail that swung when I moved, painted my nails a deep, wet red that matched the skirt, and stepped into four-inch red heels that forced my arse to tilt upward and made my legs look endless. Over everything I shrugged on my three-quarter-length trench coat, belting it tightly so that nothing showed. The surprise hidden, but I could already feel the cool air of the hallway kissing the bare skin of my arse cheeks through the thin fabric of the skirt and the wetness gathering between my thighs, coating the thin strip of the thong until it stuck to my folds like a second skin. Every step I took made the thong rub against my swollen clit.

Keys. Phone. I walked the two floors up. My heart was already thudding hard against my ribs. Every step made the thong shift against my swollen clit, the friction sending little sparks of pleasure through my cunt that made my breath catch. By the time I reached their door I was breathing a little too quickly and my nipples were so hard they ached against the thin T-shirt.

Matt opened the door in grey joggers and a black T-shirt, hair still damp from a shower, the faint scent of soap and clean male skin rolling off him in a way that made my mouth water. His eyes did a quick, thorough sweep of the coat and the way it sat on my body, then he grinned, slow and knowing, the kind of grin that said he already suspected what was underneath and liked what he was imagining.

“Morning, Lacy. Come in.”

He called over his shoulder without taking his eyes off me. “Luke, she’s here.”

Luke came out of the kitchen wiping his hands on a tea towel. He was in jeans and a navy jumper that stretched across his broad chest and thick arms, looking unfairly good for Christmas morning, solid, strong, the kind of build that promised he could hold a woman up against a wall and fuck her hard enough to make her see stars, the kind of thighs that could keep thrusting for a long time. He leaned in and kissed my cheek, warm and casual, but his hand lingered a second too long on my waist, fingers pressing into the soft flesh just above my hip, and when he pulled back his eyes dropped briefly to the belt of my coat.

“Give me your coat,” he said, voice low and a little rough already.

I stepped between them, the two of them close enough that I could feel the heat of their bodies on either side of me, the solid presence of them. I undid the belt of the trench with deliberate slowness, let it fall open just enough to give them a first glimpse of the red skirt and the white T-shirt, then slipped it off my shoulders and held it out to Luke.

Silence for half a second that felt much longer. Then both of them exhaled at the same time, low and rough, almost simultaneous, the sound thick with sudden hunger.

“Fucking hell,” Matt said softly, eyes locked on the short red skirt, the white fishnets framing the soft upper thighs, the way the thin white T-shirt stretched across the heavy curves of my tits, nipples already stiff and clearly outlined against the fabric. “Jesus Christ, Lacy. You came dressed like that.”

Luke’s gaze dragged from my heels up the fishnets, over the short red skirt that barely covered the lower curves of my arse, the waistcoat, the way the thin fabric of the T-shirt sat against my nipples. His eyes were darker than usual, the pupils blown. “You look stunning. Like a filthy little Christmas present that just begging to be unwrapped and used.”

I smiled, heat already pooling low and heavy in my belly, cunt pulsing so hard that I felt a fresh trickle of wetness slide down the inner lips and soak further into the thong until the fabric was plastered to me. “Christmas morning kiss?”

Matt didn’t need asking twice. He stepped in, one hand sliding to the small of my back, the other cupping the side of my neck, and kissed me properly. Full on the mouth, deep and hungry from the first second, as if he’d been thinking about this for a long time. I opened for him immediately, tasted coffee and mint and the faint clean scent of his skin, and pulled him harder against me so that the full length of his body pressed to mine. His tongue swept into my mouth, claiming, exploring, and I could feel him starting to harden against my hip, the thick shaft thickening fast under the soft fabric of his joggers, the head already beginning to push outward and press against me with insistent heat. I ground against it once, deliberately, rolling my hips so that the soft mound of my cunt pressed against the growing hardness, and felt the solid length pulse in response. A low sound rumbled in his chest, almost a growl.

When we broke apart Luke was right there, waiting, close enough that I could feel the heat of him. He kissed me slower, deeper, one hand cupping the side of my neck while the other settled possessively on my waist and then slid lower to rest on the curve of my arse over the thin fabric of the skirt, fingers digging in just enough to feel the soft flesh. He pressed closer and I felt the thick outline of his cock through his jeans, long, heavy, the head already pressing hard against the denim, the entire length of him solid and warm against my lower belly. Big. Solid. My cunt clenched hard around nothing, flooding the thin thong until I could feel the wet fabric sticking to my outer lips and the swollen bud of my clit with every tiny movement of my hips.

“Jesus,” I murmured against his mouth when he finally pulled back just enough to let me speak. “You’re both already hard. I can feel you.”

They both laughed, a little rough, a little strained, the sound thick with want and the effort of holding back.

“Have a seat,” Matt said, voice lower now, rough around the edges. “Drinks first. Before we do something stupid and skip straight to dessert and ruin the whole plan.”

I sat on the sofa. The skirt rode high on my thighs the moment I settled, the fishnets framing the soft, bare skin above the stockings, the edge of the white thong just visible if anyone looked closely enough, the wetness already darkening the fabric. Luke handed me a glass of something fizzy and alcoholic, champagne, or something close to it, and the bubbles tickled my tongue and the roof of my mouth. The Christmas tree in the corner was loaded with warm white lights and a pile of presents wrapped in deep red and gold paper. They started handing them over one by one, watching my face the whole time, their eyes dropping frequently to the way the skirt sat on my thighs, the way my nipples pressed against the thin T-shirt.

“You shouldn’t have,” I said, genuinely surprised, turning the first package over in my hands. “I didn’t bring anything.”

“We didn’t expect anything,” Matt replied, settling on the the sofa beside me so that his thigh pressed firmly against mine, the heat of him seeping through the fabric. “We asked you here. Wanted you here. That was the only gift we needed. Anything more is just… extras.”

First present: a good bottle of red wine, the kind that costs more than I’d usually spend on myself, the label elegant. Second: a black basque, matching thong, and sheer black stockings, still nestled in tissue paper inside a sleek black box. The basque was beautifully made, the cups structured to lift and push together, the lacing at the back designed to cinch the waist tightly, the whole thing designed to make a woman’s body look even more fuckable. “My exact size,” I said, turning it over in my hands, feeling the weight of the fabric, imagining how it would feel against my skin.

Luke shrugged, almost shy for a moment, but his eyes were dark and steady when they met mine. “Guessed. Thought about the way your tits would look pushed up in it more than I should have. Thought about how the thong would sit between those soft lips, how it would dig in and get soaked. Thought about it a lot, actually. Late at night. In the shower. In bed.”

“Good guess.” I held the basque up against myself, feeling the weight of their eyes on me, the way Matt’s gaze dropped to my tits and stayed there. “I’ve never owned one. I’ll put it on later. For both of you. So you can take it off again slowly and suck on these.” I let one hand trail over the soft curve of my breast through the thin T-shirt, pinching the nipple lightly between thumb and finger so that they could see it harden further, watching their throats work as they swallowed.

We ate. Proper Christmas lunch, turkey roasted to golden perfection, roast potatoes crisp on the outside and fluffy inside, pigs in blankets, stuffing, cranberry sauce, everything laid out on the table with care. They kept topping up my glass without asking, the champagne making everything feel warmer and looser. Conversation flowed easily. Work. The building and the neighbours. Stupid stories from their time at university that made us all laugh. But the air stayed charged the entire time, thick with the knowledge of what was coming, of what I was wearing under the coat that was now draped over a chair, of the wetness that kept building between my legs with every glance they sent my way, every time their eyes dropped to my tits or the way the skirt had ridden up. Every time one of them looked at me I felt it between my legs, hot, slick, insistent, the soft outer lips growing plumper, the inner ones slick with arousal. My nipples stayed tight under the thin T-shirt, the areolas puckered, the hard points clearly visible whenever I shifted or reached for something. The thong was soaked through long before the plates were cleared, the narrow strip of fabric dark and clinging to the puffy outer lips of my cunt, the wetness starting to trickle down the crease of my thighs and onto the seat of the chair beneath me. I could feel it cooling against my skin every time I moved, a constant reminder of how ready I was.

After the plates were cleared we moved back to the sofa. Soft lighting from the tree and a couple of lamps that cast warm pools of light. More drinks, the champagne replaced by something stronger. Luke suggested truth or dare with a lazy half-smile that didn’t quite hide the hunger underneath, the way his eyes kept returning to the short hem of my skirt. I should have known where it would lead.

The dares came thicker and filthier than the truths almost immediately. Take another shot of the whisky they’d poured into crystal glasses. Describe your last orgasm in detail, how I’d touched myself thinking about the two of them only a few nights earlier, two fingers buried knuckle-deep in my cunt while my other hand rubbed tight, wet circles over my swollen clit, imagining both of them stretching me open at the same time, one cock in my pussy and one in my arse, their voices telling me what a good slut I was. Show us your favourite pair of knickers (I was already wearing them, and they were ruined, the fabric dark and shiny with my wetness). Lift your skirt and show us what you’re wearing underneath.

I leaned back in the armchair, spread my legs wide without shame, and slowly drew the red skirt up over my thighs, higher and higher until the white thong was fully on display. The fabric was already soaked through, the thin material dark and clinging to my outer pussy lips, shiny and puffy with arousal, the narrow strip disappearing between the soft folds so that the outline of my swollen clit was clearly visible underneath, the little bud pressing against the wet cloth. Both of them stared, breathing harder, the front of Matt’s joggers tented thickly, the outline of his cock clear, Luke’s jeans stretched tight across the heavy outline of his cock, the head clearly defined.

“Fuck,” Matt muttered, voice rough. “You’re dripping. Look at those pretty little lips. All shiny and open and ready. You’re soaked through.”

“Been like that since I walked in,” I said, voice husky. “Since the second I got your text, actually. My cunt’s been aching for hours. I almost touched myself in the shower this morning and decided to wait. I wanted you both to see it first.”

Luke’s voice was lower, rougher, almost a growl. “Touch yourself. Just for a minute. Show us how wet you are. Spread those lips open for us. Let us see everything.”

I slid two fingers down the front of the thong and rubbed slow, deliberate circles over my clit. The wet sound was embarrassingly loud in the quiet room, slick, sticky, filthy, the kind of sound that made both of them shift in their seats. I kept my eyes on them while I did it, Matt adjusting himself openly now, the thick shaft of his cock tenting the front of his joggers, the head clearly outlined and already leaking enough to leave a small dark spot on the grey fabric; Luke’s hand resting on his thigh, fingers tight, the heavy outline of his cock visible against the denim, twitching when I pushed the thong aside and showed them the slick pink of my inner lips, the little hole already glistening and slightly open, the soft outer lips puffy and shiny. I slid two fingers inside myself, fucking them slowly while they watched, the wet walls of my cunt gripping and sucking at my fingers with every stroke, the wet sound growing louder. My breath came faster. I could feel my clit throbbing under my thumb. I added a third finger for a moment, stretching myself, showing them how easily I took it, how wet I was.

When I finally stopped, fingers shiny and wet, Matt stood up and fetched a pack of cards from a drawer, voice tight with restraint.

“Strip poker. Rules are simple. Lose a hand, lose a piece of clothing. Last one naked wins… or loses, depending on how you look at it.”

We played. Hands came and went. Clothes came off piece by piece, the tension in the room climbing with every discarded item. I lost my waistcoat first, then the thin white T-shirt. My tits were out, heavy and full, nipples tight and dark from the constant attention, the soft undersides marked with faint blue veins that disappeared into the full curves, the weight of them shifting when I moved. Matt ended up in one sock and nothing else, his cock already half-hard and thick, the shaft veined, the head flushed a deep pink and leaking a clear bead of pre-cum from the slit that caught the light every time he shifted. Luke was down to boxers that did nothing to hide the heavy shape of him, the fabric tented obscenely. Then he lost the last hand.

He stood without hesitation, hooked his thumbs in the waistband, and pushed them down. His cock sprang free, long, heavy, the shaft thick enough that my fingers wouldn’t fully close around it if I tried, the head already glistening with pre-cum, the ridge of the corona pronounced and flared, the whole length of him darkening with blood. Thick veins ran along the underside and around the shaft. I couldn’t look away. My mouth watered. My cunt clenched hard enough that I felt another rush of wetness slide down my inner thighs and drip onto the chair beneath me.

“Holy fuck,” I whispered. “That’s… Christ. Look at the size of that head. Look how thick it is. I want that inside me.”

Matt grinned, stroking his own cock slowly, thumb spreading the pre-cum over the tip and down the shaft, making it shine. “One more dare. The last one.”

“Bring it on.”

“Strip naked. Completely. We all walk to the woods. And we both fuck you. Right there. Outside. One in that tight, dripping cunt, one in that tight little arse. Until you can’t take any more. Until you’re leaking both of us.”

I didn’t even hesitate. My cunt clenched hard at the thought, the empty walls fluttering, the tight ring of my arsehole twitching in anticipation. “Let’s do it.”

I stood, unclipped the suspender belt, rolled the fishnets down my legs slowly, feeling their eyes on every inch of newly bare skin, and stepped out of the soaked thong. Completely bare except for the red heels. They stared like they were starving, Matt’s cock twitching, the head shiny with pre-cum; Luke’s heavy and dark against his stomach, the shaft already fully hard and angled up toward his navel. The soft outer lips of my pussy were puffy and glistening; the tight ring of my arsehole was visible between the cheeks when I bent over to pick up my coat. I put the trench coat on, nothing whatsoever underneath, and they dressed quickly, eyes never leaving the way the coat hung open just enough to flash the curve of a breast or the soft triangle of bare cunt or the soft underside of an arse cheek every time I moved. We left the flat, the door clicking shut behind us.

The air outside was sharp and cold, the kind that bites at bare skin and makes every nerve stand up. My nipples peaked hard against the coat immediately, the fabric rubbing the sensitive tips with every step, sending little jolts straight down to my clit. The cool air kissed the wet folds of my pussy and the tight ring of my arsehole, making me shiver for reasons that had nothing to do with the temperature. We walked the short path to the edge of the trees that bordered the flats, the ground soft under my heels, the silence broken only by our breathing and the occasional distant sound of a car. About a hundred yards in, where the light was already fading into the grey of late afternoon and the trunks were thick enough to hide us from casual view, they stopped me.

Matt turned me and kissed me hard, deep, while Luke undid the belt of the coat and pushed it open. Cold air hit my skin like a slap, raising goosebumps across my tits and the soft skin of my belly and the tops of my thighs. Hands followed immediately, rough, greedy, sure. Matt’s mouth on my neck, biting, sucking, leaving marks that would last for days; Luke’s palms sliding up my ribs to cup my tits, thumbs rubbing the hard nipples in tight, insistent circles until I gasped and arched into him, the soft weight of my breasts filling his hands completely. One of Luke’s hands slid lower, between my legs, and two thick fingers parted my outer lips and found the soaked entrance of my cunt. He pushed them inside without warning, curling them against the front wall, and I moaned into Matt’s mouth, the sound swallowed by his kiss.

Luke backed against a thick tree trunk and pulled me to him. He lifted one of my legs high, lining the thick, flared head of his cock up against my dripping entrance, and pushed into my cunt in one slow, relentless, deep thrust. I was so wet he slid in easily, the head stretching the tight ring of my entrance wide, then the thick shaft following, the veins rubbing along my inner walls in a way that made my eyes roll back until he was buried to the hilt, the head pressing firmly against my cervix. He felt even bigger inside me than he had looked, the stretch intense, the walls of my cunt gripping and fluttering around every thick inch, the pressure almost too much and not enough at the same time. I could feel every ridge, every vein.

“Fuck, that feels so good,” he groaned against my mouth, voice strained. “Tight little cunt. Hot and wet and gripping me like it doesn’t want to let go. Been thinking about stretching this pussy for months. Dreamed about it. Woke up hard thinking about it.”

I wrapped both legs around his waist, heels digging into his lower back. He held my arse cheeks spread wide with both hands and started fucking me properly, hard, deep strokes that made wet, filthy sounds every time he bottomed out, the slap of his balls against the soft underside of my arse, the wet suck of my cunt around his shaft as it dragged almost all the way out and then slammed back in. Matt moved behind me. I felt the blunt, spit-slick head of his cock press against the tight ring of my arsehole. He pushed slow, steady, patient, one hand on my hip to hold me still. The burn was intense and perfect, the tight muscle stretching around the head, resisting for a long moment, then yielding, the thick shaft inching deeper and deeper until his hips were flush against my cheeks, his cock buried to the root in my arse, the head deep inside the hot, tight channel. I felt completely full, stretched beyond anything I’d experienced before.

They held me between them and started moving in a rhythm that was almost coordinated, the two of them finding a pace that worked. Luke thrusting up into my cunt, the thick shaft dragging along my g-spot with every stroke, the head kissing my cervix; Matt driving into my arse, the tight ring of muscle gripping the base of his cock, the friction intense. I was stuffed full, stretched around both of them, every nerve lit up and screaming, the thin wall between my holes rubbed raw and sensitive by the two thick shafts sliding past each other inside me. The double penetration was filthy and overwhelming and perfect. I came first, clenching hard around both of them, the walls of my cunt and the tight ring of my arse spasming in waves, crying out into Luke’s shoulder as pleasure ripped through me so hard my vision blurred at the edges, my clit throbbing untouched between us, wetness gushing around Luke’s cock.

They didn’t stop. They fucked me through it, harder, deeper, using me, filling me, the cold air and the risk of being seen only making every sensation sharper and hotter. Matt’s hand found my clit and rubbed roughly, two fingers circling the swollen, slippery nub while his cock kept pounding into my arse. Another orgasm tore through me almost immediately, stronger than the first. My whole body shook, cunt and arse clamping down on them in rhythmic pulses, wetness gushing around Luke’s cock and dripping down onto the forest floor in messy splatters that seemed to steamed slightly in the cold air.

“Take it,” Matt growled in my ear, voice rough and broken. “Take both our cocks like a good slut. Look at you, arse and cunt stretched open for us out here where anyone could walk past. Feel how deep we are. Feel how full you are. You’re taking us so well.”

“Yes… fuck… harder… fill me… stretch me… use me… please… don’t stop…”

Luke came first, burying himself as deep as he could go and flooding my cunt with thick, hot pulses of cum, the jets coating my inner walls, some of it forced back out around his shaft as he kept thrusting through the orgasm, the wet sounds growing even filthier. Matt followed seconds later, grinding into my arse and emptying himself with a low, guttural sound that vibrated against my back, cock pulsing deep inside the tight channel, thick ropes of cum pumping into me until I could feel the pressure of it, the heat. When they finally pulled out, slow and careful, cum leaked from both holes in thick, warm trails, white and sticky, running down my inner thighs, coating the soft outer lips of my cunt and the still-stretched, slightly gaping ring of my arsehole. I could feel it cooling on my skin as we straightened the coat around me and walked back, every step making more of it trickle out and down my legs, the mess obvious if anyone had looked closely.

Back at the flat they invited me to use the shower while they cleaned up a little and poured more drinks. I took my time under the hot water. Washed carefully, fingers sliding through the residual cum still leaking from my cunt and the tender, slightly gaping ring of my arse, rinsing it away even as more kept seeping out, the water running milky down my thighs. I dried off thoroughly, then brushed my hair until it was damp and loose around my shoulders. I put on the new black basque, the matching thong, the sheer black hold-up stockings, and the red heels. Nothing else. The basque pushed my tits up high and tight, the cups barely containing the soft weight of them, the nipples already stiff again against the structured fabric, the lacing at the back pulled tight enough to cinch my waist. The thong was already damp again from the fresh wetness seeping out of me the moment I stepped into it.

When I walked back into the living room both of them stopped talking mid-sentence. Matt was in fresh joggers, Luke in jeans again, both of them clearly still half-hard from watching me walk away earlier.

“Holy fuck,” Luke said, voice thick with renewed hunger. “You’re gorgeous. And very fuckable. Look at those tits pushed up like that. The way that thong digs between those puffy lips. You’re still leaking, aren’t you? I can see it.”

I smiled, slow and filthy, and reached down to stroke the front of Matt’s joggers, feeling the thick shaft already hardening again under my palm, the head swelling and pressing against the fabric. “Then let’s find out how fuckable I am. Again. And again.”

We didn’t make it to the bedroom straight away. Matt bent me over the back of the sofa with almost no warning, yanked the thong aside so that the soft outer lips of my cunt were fully exposed and still shiny with residual cum, and fucked my already-used, cum-slick hole hard, the thick head of his cock stretching the entrance again, the shaft sliding through the mess of earlier cum and fresh wetness with loud, filthy, wet sounds that filled the room. Luke knelt on the sofa in front of me and fed me his half-hard cock. I opened my mouth and sucked him until he was rigid again, tasting the salt of his earlier load mixed with the tang of my own cunt, spit running down my chin as he pushed deeper into my throat, the head bumping the back of it and making me gag wetly, the sound loud and filthy. Then they switched without speaking. Luke took my arse this time, slower at first, then deeper, the tight ring of muscle stretching around the thick head, the shaft burying deep while Matt held my head with both hands and fucked my mouth properly, the wet sounds of cock in throat and cock in arse filling the room in a filthy rhythm. Spit ran down my chin and dripped onto the cushions of the sofa. Tears pricked my eyes when he pushed too far and held himself there for a long moment. I loved it, loved the way they used every hole without asking, the way the thick shafts stretched me open and filled me until I couldn’t think of anything else but the next thrust.

Eventually we moved to Luke’s bed. The sheets were already messy. They stripped the basque off me between rounds so they could suck and bite my tits, leave dark marks on the soft undersides, tongue the hard nipples until I was squirming and begging, then put it back on because they liked the way the cups pushed the soft weight of my breasts up and together and made them look even fuller, the nipples still wet from their mouths. They took turns and then took me together again and again, one thick cock buried to the hilt in my cunt, the other sliding deep into my throat until my eyes watered and spit ran down over my chin; then one in my arse while I rode the other, the thick shafts rubbing against each other through the thin wall separating my holes, the dual stimulation almost too much, making me cum in shaking waves; every position they could think of; every combination; both of them watching with dark, hungry eyes while I spread my legs wide, used two fingers to open my outer lips and show them the mess of cum still leaking from my cunt in slow, thick trails, and told them exactly how their cum had felt flooding me earlier in the woods, how it had cooled and thickened on my thighs on the walk back, how I’d wanted to drop to my knees right there among the trees and clean every drop from their cocks with my tongue until they were hard again.

The dirty talk never stopped. It got filthier as the hours passed, their voices rough and low.

“Look at that pretty cunt stretched around my cock. See how it’s gripping my shaft, how the lips are all puffy and shiny. So fucking wet and open. Taking us both like you were made for it. Like this is what your body was built for. Look at the way it’s stretched.”

“Swallow it. All of it. Good girl. Taste yourself on me. Feel it hit the back of your throat. Don’t spill a drop. Take it deeper.”

“Tell us how much you like being used by both of us. Tell us how many times you’ve touched this cunt thinking about our cocks stretching it open. Tell us how it feels when we fill both holes at once and you can’t do anything but take it. Tell us you want more.”

I told them. In detail. Between moans and gasps and the wet, filthy sounds of three bodies moving together, the slap of balls against arse, the wet suck of cunt around cock, the wet gurgle of throat around the other. I told them I’d fantasised about this for months, ever since that first day with the chocolate cake. That every time I’d bumped into them in the stairwell I’d gone home and locked the door and touched myself until I came hard enough to see stars, two fingers buried deep in my cunt, the other hand circling my swollen clit, imagining their cocks filling me at the same time, one stretching my arse while the other pounded my pussy, their cum leaking out of me afterward in thick trails. That the idea of their thick cum dripping down my legs in public, coating the soft lips of my cunt and the tight ring of my arsehole where anyone might see, made me wetter than anything else I’d ever thought about. That I wanted them to use me until I couldn’t walk straight, until every hole was sore and open and still leaking their cum hours later, until I could feel them every time I moved for days.

We fucked until my voice was hoarse from moaning and begging and sucking. Until my thighs trembled so hard I could barely keep them wrapped around whoever was inside me. Until the basque was twisted and damp with sweat and cum and spit. Until the sheets were completely ruined with the wet mess of three bodies, sweat, spit, cum from both of them, the slick evidence of how many times I’d come. Sometime in the early hours, when the sky outside the window was just beginning to lighten, we finally collapsed, me in the middle of the bed, their hands still on me, possessive, lazy, satisfied, one hand cupping my cum-slick cunt, fingers resting against the still-swollen outer lips and the tender, slightly gaping entrance, the another resting heavy on my breast, thumb brushing the sensitive nipple every so often as if to remind himself it was there.

I lay there listening to their breathing even out into the deep rhythm of sleep, feeling the pleasant, deep ache between my legs, the tender stretch in my cunt, the residual burn in my arse, the way both holes still felt open and used, and the slow, inevitable trickle of fresh cum still leaking from both of them, and thought, with absolute certainty: this is a Christmas I will never forget.

And I already knew, as sleep finally pulled me under, that I’d be back for more. That this was only the beginning. That next time I wouldn’t wait for an invitation.

Lacy XXX ;0p

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Profile for John Day, incl. 13 stories Email: Johndayuk@protonmail.com Add this author to your favorite author list Add this story to your favorite story list Send this story to me through email

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