It depends on what you mean by “good.”

Mark woke. His mouth felt bone dry, and he had a headache. He opened his eyes to a dark room. He smelled bacon and eggs, and for a moment, he thought he was home and that his mother was making breakfast. He then reminded himself that his mother hadn’t cooked him breakfast in a decade.

As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he recognized the bed as well as the beanbag chair that he was half lying on. He stood up. He felt basically okay. He clenched his butt. No soreness. He was wearing clothes, and they were his clothes. He checked, and even the underwear was his. Maybe the night before had been a dream.

He opened the door slightly and saw Kiara and Allison. They were cooking and didn’t notice him. He shut the door and turned on the light. A moment later, he saw a small pile on the bed. The pile contained last night’s cut up shirt and boxer shorts as well as a clean dildo and a half-used tube of lubricant. All he could remember was the look in Allison’s eye as she heartily fucked him with the dildo, how she’d slid her pussy along his cock, how he’d had to watch them cum over and over while he was gripped by some weird combination of total passivity, sexual excitement, and the relentlessly hard cock. Oh God, this is humiliating.

Mark looked for a way to climb out without being seen, but the windows were too narrow, and there was no door.

He squared his shoulders and walked into the living room.