Laid out in fashion*

Dinner was a strangely quiet affair. No-one quite having adjusted to the new visions they had of one another. Stacy was still dressed in her more-hole-than-material tights. She’d brought a change of clothes with her, in anticipation of such a need, but somehow putting them on seemed a little pointless now. She had cleaned up a little at least… had squeezed out most of Mark’s semen onto some toilet roll in the bathroom. Yet, sitting opposite Ms. Jay now, with her pussy still fully visible through the clear glass of the dining table. Somehow helped her keep track of what was real and what was not. The woman didn’t make reference to their earlier transgressions at all… not until after the dessert plates were being dutifully collected by Pete. She asked, quite casually, if the pair of them would be staying the night again? When all three half-panicked into a shrugged agreement, she openly chuckled. Asking further to that: “In one bed or three?”

So it was that, late that night, the three self-appointed members of the official ‘magic orgy club’ (Better name pending), found themselves staring up at the same dark ceiling. Mark and Peter had taken up their accustomed places: one on his own bed and one on a well-worn futon. But Stacy instead found herself on a spare mattress between them. A self-imposed exile to the centre of the room. She lay naked, on top of the covers. Letting the cool night air chase goosepimples across her skin. It had seemed right, to expose herself fully, having hidden very little from anyone all day.

Mark leered into vision from above, a camera in his hand.

“Another one for the online wank-bank!” He teased, as the flash enveloped her.

“...Why save it for later?” She asked, flatly. “I’m here right now.”

He raised an eyebrow down onto her… but then seemed to think over the words. She was right. Here and now. She was sprawled out in his own bedroom like the front cover of a porno mag. Like american beauty without conveniently placed rose-petals. This was where they had arrived to. Sheltered by the darkness and the strange ambivalence of his parent. Mark sat up and hung his legs off of his bed. From her low vantage and with flash-blinded eyes Stacy could barely make him out. Just a silhouette far above her. But she could hear his movements. His breathing. She knew his eyes were crawling over her nakedness, up and down, up and down. Caressing each inch with hungry attention. Stroking his manhood with a rhythm her body built in him. On her other side she heard another shadow join in on it, yet more eyes piercing through the veil. She shivered slightly… in the perfection of it all. This was what she had made of herself. A solid echo of those lonely thoughts in years worth of lukewarm bath water. She was a human wet-dream. An image of teen fantasy made soft, pink flesh. In the gloom of the night, to the gentle sound of skin upon skin, her mind slipped back into earlier dreams. She imagined lying so in the middle of her classroom, in the wide gymnasium, on the grass of the football field. With such a multitude of hungry eyes staring down. Of standing shafts being stroked. Of dark desires for her being aired. She closed her eyes and shivered again, drifting in and out of sordid reality and further dreams. One of her hands snaked down to slip a finger among her personal crevices… but it was too sweet a fantasy to ruin with just a short and shallow climax.

Stacy thought she felt their cum splashing across her face and chest… just before she fell into a deep slumber. But whether it was the leavings of two boys, or two hundred… She couldn't tell at all.