A warm sensation spread through her ass.

The second guy pounded her ass.

No more fumbling around. The hole was open, wet—two loads and her own juices serving as lube. He knelt firmly, his hands around her hips, and thrust all the way to the hilt. Every thrust made a slapping sound. Her butt cheeks moved. Silke slid forward on his forearms and was pulled back again. Inside, it burned and tugged at the same time. The head of his cock slid along a spot that was still too new for this rhythm.

In front of her, the third guy was trying to pull himself together.

His cock lay on her tongue, hard, twitching, one beat away from tipping over. He had his teeth clenched. The bottle was somewhere. The math was dead. If he came now, he was out. If the guy in the back came, he’d get thirty minutes. Silke sucked anyway. Cheeks hollow. Eyes looking up. Saliva. The boy cursed through clenched teeth and pulled his hips back, just a centimeter, as if to create distance.

There was no distance in the back.

The second guy fucked like someone who’d heard the clock. Short. Deep. The wet sound with every thrust. Silke gasped around the shaft in front, and the sound made the third one tighter. He pressed his fist into his own thigh, breathed through his mouth, counted something. Silke took him all the way in again, on purpose, her lips at the base, and swallowed in anticipation, as if swallowing were already the end.

The second guy thrust forward and almost got stuck.

Warmth threatened. Not the release yet. Just that swelling in her ass, which Silke sensed immediately. She gagged at the front but pushed her hips back anyway, so the guy in the back wouldn’t have time to think. Two fronts. One body.

The third guy really pulled himself together.

He grabbed her hair, not to go deeper, but to slow the rhythm. Shorter thrusts into her mouth. The head of his cock on her lip instead of in her throat. Sweat on his forehead. His cock throbbed against her tongue but didn’t come. Not yet. Silke licked right under the edge—naughtily—and felt his knees go weak.

Behind her, the slapping grew faster.

The second man leaned over her back, his stomach pressed against her butt, and pounded her briefly, hard, the hole stretching wide around him. Silke came involuntarily, a spasm that tightened her ass and her mouth at the same time. The third man groaned as the spasm gripped his glans, and he almost pulled out. A thread of saliva held him in place.

“No,” he ground out. “Not now.”

Silke wouldn’t let him go.

The second man cursed and thrust four more times—five—his face buried in the nape of the woman who was holding another man’s cock in her mouth from the front. The LED was glowing. The camera captured both: the wet ring around the shaft in her ass, the glistening mouth around the shaft that wasn’t allowed to come.

The third one trembled.

Silke sucked.

The second one pounded.

And between their two rhythms, the only question left was who would give up first.

Then she no longer felt the warmth of friction. The other one. The second one thrust again, got stuck, came deep inside her—even before the third one came on her tongue. Silke felt every thrust inside her—warm, wet, final. She had lost. The cock in her mouth just twitched; it didn’t spurt. The one in her ass emptied itself.

The third man’s schadenfreude was simply too great.

He laughed loudly at her. Then that glance at the watch, that sentence that sounded like a receipt: “Gambling debts are debts of honor.” The second guy pulled out, slowly; the hole remained open, cum trickling out. He reached for his pants, his shirt, the door. Wordless. Done. Out.

The third guy looked at his watch.

Thirty minutes left. Until the penalty—which someone had placed in Peter’s name—expired. He was allowed to fuck her in the pussy and in the ass however he wanted and could. No more flipping. No more pulling out. The other two were done. He’d gotten his hands dirty before he came, and now the rest belonged to him.

Silke looked at Peter through the camera.

The LED was glowing. The lens. The man who could watch but couldn’t type, and the name above it, which was no longer his.

“Is this what you wanted?” Her voice was raspy. “Did you want me to lose like this?”

No reply in the chat. Just Zoom. The lens closer to her face, to her wet mouth, to the open asshole behind her.

The third man knelt behind her.

First, the pussy. It was slippery, used, the lips swollen. He slid inside without hesitation. Silke gasped into the floor. After the ass, the pussy felt almost wide—and yet still too much. He thrust, leisurely, as if he’d already divided the half-hour into sections in his head. Ten here. Ten there. Ten more.

The camera saw the wet shaft disappearing inside her.

Silke remained on her forearms. Winning would have meant: it’s over. Losing meant: debts of honor. Peter is watching. Peter sets the rules. Peter wanted punishment. Whether he wanted this—this math, this boy who had taken his time—the question hung on the lens.

“Thirty,” he said once. Not to her. To the clock.

Peter at home saw the face in the camera.