Liam 2

The door had closed behind him, but Liam didn’t follow it. He stayed. Zipped up, flushed, still a little out of breath—but he didn’t say anything at first. He just leaned on the railing beside me, like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just fucked my tits with ten years of buildup behind it and finished all over the same skin he used to sneak glances at in study hall.

The guy with the camera was still in the corner. Still filming. Still slowly, quietly working his cock under his hoodie like it was a nervous habit.

I adjusted the weight of my chest on the railing, not bothering to cover up. The thick, half-dried mess in my cleavage stuck slightly when I moved—some of it his, some of it from others. I didn’t wipe it away.

Liam exhaled. “Well. That was… surreal.”

I glanced at him, one brow raised. “In a bad way?”

He shook his head, small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “No. Just... I used to lie awake thinking about that. And now I’m here. And you’re here. And... that’s a lot of tit to process.”

I snorted softly. “Tell me about it. They still surprise me sometimes.”

“I believe that,” he said, eyes drifting down again, more amused than hungry this time. “They’re like... their own weather system now.”

“Localized storms. All cleavage.”

We both chuckled. It was too easy. Too familiar.

Another guy stepped onto the balcony—college hoodie, half-lidded stare, cock already out like he’d been edging for his turn. Liam didn’t flinch. Neither did I. The guy looked between us—me, exposed and streaked; Liam, casually sipping from the drink he’d brought out with him—and didn’t say anything.

He just stepped forward. I lifted my tits for him like it was a handshake.

Liam sipped. “So… you just let them?”

I didn’t look at him. I was focused on positioning the soft weight around the new guy’s shaft, feeling him slide into the warm, sticky crease already full of other men’s mess.

“I don’t let anyone. I just stop saying no.”

He nodded slowly. “Does it ever… feel like too much?”

I glanced at him again. “Sometimes. But not tonight.”

The guy between my tits groaned and started thrusting faster. I squeezed harder, let him use the weight, felt his cock twitching against skin still flushed from Liam’s own orgasm.

Liam leaned in slightly. “Still smell like high school perfume. That vanilla one.”

“I ran out years ago. Guess I never really stopped being her.”

“Didn’t think you’d be this version of her.”

“Neither did I.”

The guy came—quick, sharp breaths, a moan half-buried in his throat—and painted another layer across the mess on my chest. He didn’t speak. Just zipped up and left.

I let the cum settle. Felt it drip. Didn’t clean up.

Liam offered me a sip of his drink. I took it.

“You staying out here all night?” he asked.

“Maybe.”

“I can stay with you.”

I looked at him. “You’re not freaked out?”

He shook his head. “No. I think I get it. Or at least… I’m trying to.”

Another guy approached. Liam stepped slightly to the side, gave him space. Didn’t even stop talking.

“You know I used to think I’d marry you?”

I laughed. “You and three other guys from chemistry.”

“Yeah, but I was the one who never tried anything.”

“And now you’re holding my drink while strangers use me.”

He looked at me again—eyes calm, no judgment. Just a trace of that old smile. “Guess we’re all growing up.”