Switch perspective to the girl still not fucked

Megan's House, Westwood Heights, at 11:42 PM on Thursday October 31st, 2024

My name is Selena Reyes, and I am terrified.

Not of him — not exactly. Of myself. Of the fact that my fingers are between my thighs right now, rubbing slow circles over my clit through the thin fabric of my catwoman bodysuit, and I can't make myself stop. Of the fact that watching Megan get fucked raw — watching her beg for his cum — made my pussy clench so hard I nearly came without touching myself. Of the fact that when Brianna spread her legs for him and whispered cum inside me, I felt a jealous ache so sharp it made my chest hurt.

I've only had sex with one person. Diego. Junior year. Missionary. Three minutes, maybe four. He asked if I came and I lied and said yes because I didn't want to hurt his feelings. That's what sex is supposed to be like — awkward, forgettable, something you do because the other person wants to.

This isn't that. This is something else entirely.

Brianna is still on the bed, her blonde hair fanned across the pillow, her blue eyes glazed and distant, a stupid satisfied smile on her flushed face. Cum is leaking from between her thighs — thick, white, obscene — and she doesn't seem to care. She doesn't seem to care about anything. Megan is beside her, barely conscious, her red curls matted with sweat, her pirate costume destroyed, her pussy a swollen mess still dripping with the same thick seed.

And Trevor — Trevor — is standing now. His cock hangs heavy between his legs, still half-hard, glistening with the combined juices of my two best friends. He turns toward me and those amber eyes find mine with a precision that makes my stomach flip.

"Selena."

Just my name. Nothing else. And my hand freezes between my thighs.

"You've been very good," he says, stepping closer. His cock swings with each step — thick, veined, still dripping. "Watching. Waiting. I can see how badly you want it."

"I don't —" My voice comes out thin, reedy. A lie before I've even finished forming it. "I'm not — I've never —"

"I know." He stops three feet away. Close enough that I can smell him — sweat and sex and something underneath that makes my head swim. "You've never been properly fucked. You've never had a man take what he wants from you. You've never begged for someone to fill you up because you couldn't stand the emptiness anymore."

My breath is ragged. My nipples are hard enough to ache beneath the tight black latex of my costume. My pussy is soaking — I can feel it, slick and hot, my clit throbbing against my fingers.

"Stand up," he says.

I stand. My legs are shaking so badly I nearly stumble. He's taller than me — much taller — and when he steps close, his bare chest nearly touching my costume, I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes.

"Take it off," he says quietly. "The costume."

My hands are trembling as I reach for the zipper at the back of my neck. The latex peels away from my skin with a soft, sticky sound, revealing my brown shoulders, my small breasts with their dark nipples already painfully hard, my flat stomach. I push the suit down past my hips — my thick thighs, the dark thatch of hair between my legs, already wet and matted.

I'm naked in front of a stranger. A stranger whose cum is inside both my best friends. A stranger whose cock is inches from my body and getting harder by the second.

"Please," I whisper, and I don't even know what I'm asking for. "Please — I'm scared —"

"I know you are," he says, and his hand cups my chin, tilting my face up. His thumb traces my lower lip. "That's what makes this so good."

He kisses me. Soft at first — barely a brush of lips — and then deeper, his tongue sliding into my mouth, and something breaks inside me. Some wall I didn't know I'd built. I moan against his mouth and my hands find his chest, his shoulders, pulling him closer because I can't help myself, because the emptiness between my legs is screaming to be filled.

When he pulls back, his amber eyes are burning.

"Tell me what you want," he says.

I swallow. My throat is dry. My pussy is dripping down my inner thighs.

"I want you to —" The words catch. Die in my throat. Because saying them out loud makes them real. "I want you to fuck me."

"Without a condom?"

My whole body shudders. "Without a condom."

"And if I cum inside you?"

The fear is still there — a cold knot in my stomach. But it's smaller now. Drowned out by something hotter, something hungrier.

"Then cum inside me," I hear myself say. "Please. I want — I want to feel it. Like they did. Like Megan."

His smile is slow and devastating. He lifts me — effortlessly, like I weigh nothing — and carries me to the bed, laying me down between my two unconscious friends. Their bodies are warm against mine, their skin slick with cum and sweat, and the smell of sex fills my lungs as he positions himself between my spread thighs.

The head of his cock presses against my entrance. Bare. Hot. Enormous.

"This might hurt," he says.

And then he pushes inside me.