Page 7

W es kneels in front of me, cradling my face as he kisses me, his lips soft and sure. Behind me, Trick moves in sync, holding me tight against him. His mouth skims my neck, hands squeezing my breasts, fingers working their magic between my legs.

I arch my back, pressing my ass against his hardness, rolling my hips with desperate need.

Wes pulls back slightly, his eyes dark with desire. “You look so pretty when you grind against his hand,” he murmurs. His mouth descends to my nipple, teeth grazing as his fingers spread possessively across my throat.

In a fluid motion, Wes withdraws, giving Trick space to move. He hooks his hands beneath my legs, an arm sliding across my chest as he flips me effortlessly onto my back. He climbs over me, his weight pressing me into the mattress like a heavy, grounding force.

My breath catches as he plunges two fingers inside me, then withdraws to spread my arousal over my clit. I arch off the bed, hips rising, desperate to meet his mouth. He groans against my lips, the anticipation twisting my stomach in knots, teasing me with the promise of a kiss, that sweet torture of something just out of reach. But he doesn’t kiss me. Instead, he pulls the mask back down, and it takes every ounce of restraint not to tear it off his damn face. How fucking dare he?

I don’t even care that we can’t speak; his actions ignite something raw and primal in me. I’m pissed off, turned on, and craving release.

I hook my legs around his waist, my body begging for his worst, craving as much pain as I can take, both physically and mentally. Perhaps it’s because he’s a total stranger, and I know I’ll never see him—or either of them—again, that I feel so liberated. So fearless.

“Please,” I whimper as Trick curls his finger inside my cunt, hitting that sweet spot.

“Please what?” Wes chuckles, his low, sadistic tone only intensifying the ache between my legs. Standing at the foot of the bed, he holds the phone, capturing every desperate plea.

“Hurt me,” I plead, clawing at Trick’s shoulders, my voice trembling with need. “Fuck me. I want both of you inside me.”

Wes smirks, leaning in so his voice sends shivers down my spine. “Beg for it, pretty girl. Tell him exactly what you want.”

I grind my hips against Trick’s rock-hard cock, digging my heels into his back. “I want it rough. Hard. Make me bleed, make me scream.”

Wes's aura darkens, a palpable shift in the air as his voice lowers to a dangerous whisper. “How much does my dirty little slut want another man's cock inside her sweet, tight cunt?"

“I want it more than anything,” I gasp, my voice cracking with desperation.

"Beg harder, slut. Prove how much you want it.”

“I need you to fill me up, to fuck me so hard I can’t think. Please, I’m begging you. I’ll do anything. Just give me what I need. I’ll be your good little slut—just make me feel it.”

Both men exchange a silent look before Trick slides an arm behind my back. In one swift move, he flips us over, leaving me sprawled on top of him, our bodies flush against each other. The brush of my nipples against his chest sends a jolt of electricity straight to my pussy. I press my palms against his chest, pushing myself upright to straddle him, trapping him beneath me with my knees.

Kissing the dip between his pecs, I drag my fingernails over the thick, hard muscle of his chest. His breath hitches as I explore his nipples, circling the metal bars with my tongue and revelling in the way they respond just like mine when I’m turned on—bunched up, tight, and hard. I flick my tongue over the bud, dragging the metal between my teeth, biting the surrounding skin, pulling and sucking until it forms a glistening peak. His breaths become shallow, and he whines, actually whines, and I swear I’m going to explode from that sound alone.

Without wasting another second, I yank down his briefs, freeing his thick, hard cock. It bobs in front of me, and I can’t help but marvel at his size, his shape, and the blue-green veins that run along his thick shaft.

I lick my lips, tempted to taste him again, but the need to be filled overwhelms every other thought. I spit on his cock, lift my hips, and align my entrance with the tip. Slowly, I lower myself onto him, savouring the delicious stretch.

“Yes, baby, just like that. Get that tight little cunt nice and stretched," Wes growls from behind us, his voice dripping with lust. "How does he feel?”

“So fucking good,” I breathe, taking my time to adjust to his size before fully sinking down, grinding my clit against the dark hair at the base of his shaft. “Oh, my god.”

Wes climbs onto the bed behind me, the mattress dipping under his weight. I glance back and see him fisting his cock in one hand while holding my phone in the other. He sets the phone down briefly, freeing his hand to grab the back of my neck. Then he pushes me down, pressing my body flush against Trick’s. The slickness of my arousal and spit coats my clit as I grind against Trick’s pelvis.

“Please,” I whimper. I don’t know what for. Something. Anything .

Trick grips my hips, holding me steady as I writhe and ache for more. Just as the edge of my orgasm starts to build, he pulls out, and Wes takes his place with brutal force. His thrusts knock the breath from my lungs as my walls tighten around him. He feels different—perhaps it's the angle or the relentless way he fucks, as if he's determined to leave a mark inside me. What’s worse is that I'd welcome internal bruising with open arms... or should that be legs?

Once I get used to the feel of Wes, he withdraws, letting Trick drive into me again. This time, Trick’s thrusts match Wes’s—brutal, punishing, and bruising, just the way I like it. They take turns, tag-teaming my pussy: Wes behind me, his hands fisting my hair, while I grind my clit against Trick.

“You feel so fucking good, baby,” Wes breathes, his words brushing the shell of my ear and sending a shiver of excitement down my spine.

“Fuck... Oh, my god... I’m going to come,” I cry.

Stars explode behind my eyes as my body convulses. Every nerve tingles with pleasure, waves of ecstasy crashing over me as another orgasm tears through me, setting my body alight.

I bury my head into Trick’s chest, his heartbeat muffling my cries. I lose myself in the afterglow, waiting patiently for the climax to subside and my breath to return to normal.

Wes’s voice cuts through the haze, dark with anticipation. “Well done, baby. Ready for more?”

A part of me wants to keep pushing, to embrace the intensity and prove my endurance. But as I try to focus, I realise just how exhausted I am. My pussy is sore, my legs feel like jelly. I want to cry from the sheer effort, but I also want to keep pushing through and do the hot girl shit. “I... I can’t. I can’t come again.”

“That’s not your decision to make,” Wes says, his tone firm. “You’re ours for the night, remember? Free use. Unless you’d rather tap out, we get to have you as we please. Just know that we’re not going to stop until we’ve had our fill.”

He’s right; free use was part of the agreement. I want them to use me, but physically, I’m drained.

Wes lowers his voice, a note of tenderness softening his intensity. “Don’t worry, baby. We’ll take care of you. If you need a break, just let us know. We’ll make sure you’re okay.”

Behind me, I feel the warm, wet trail of spit dripping slowly down my slit.

“Deep breaths, baby. We’re going to fuck you in this tight little cunt. Together.”

Trick enters me again, making me gasp as he buries himself to the hilt, while Wes teases my entrance with his fingers.

“It won’t fit,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Just relax. We’ll make it fit. You were made for us, dead girl,” Wes replies, his voice low and confident.

I manage a strained smile, muttering, “I’m glad someone in this room is feeling positive.”

A low chuckle escapes his mouth as he scissors two fingers inside me, stretching me slowly as he gradually forces his way in, filling me inch by inch. I feel like I’m being ripped apart, but the pain mingles with an undeniable pleasure. And it hurts so fucking good.

Embracing the burn, I breathe through the discomfort as Wes starts moving inside me. Trick stays still, his breathing in sync with mine. I watch his chest rise and fall while Wes’s cock slides against Trick’s inside me, sparking a fresh wave of need. It’s all I can do not to grind against them.

“That’s our good girl. Such a dirty little slut for us,” Wes says. The thought of their cocks rubbing together makes me wild with desire.

I focus on the euphoric intensity of his slow, deliberate thrusts as both men fill me completely, Wes’s words driving me closer to my release. “Our dirty.” Thrust . “Little.” Thrust . “Slut.”

He slows and then stops, anchoring his cock inside me, giving Trick the chance to drive into me from below. Trick pounds into me relentlessly, his thrusts deep and brutal, making my body convulse and clench with every motion.

My mind turns to jelly, every coherent thought completely fucked out of it. I’m a mindless, slutty little dead girl getting fucked raw and ragged just like I deserve. God, I hope they leave a mark.

“Don’t fight it, baby. Scream baby scream,” Wes says, his voice edged with a touch of madness.

On Wes's command, I rub my clit greedily against Trick, grinding my hips into his pelvis. And I scream. I scream until my throat feels raw, until my lungs are starved for air and my breath comes in shallow gasps.

My body is drenched in sweat, muscles tensed as pressure builds in my head.

My orgasm overwhelms me—intense, unstoppable, soul-shattering. Incoherent words tumble from my mouth as they continue their relentless pursuit. I’m lost somewhere between pure euphoria and a surreal, otherworldly state.

Trick shudders beneath me, his orgasm claiming him as I convulse again, another explosive climax tearing through me. Wes thrusts urgently, pushing me higher into this dizzying wave of bliss. I feel like I’m floating between dimensions, completely transcending reality.

Wes groans, his breathing shallow as his cock jerks and convulses while his hands grip my hair. We collapse into a tangled heap, my head nestled into Trick’s shoulder while Wes’s rests against the back of mine. I’m completely spent, too drained to even lift my head, let alone make a trip to the bathroom. I focus on my breathing, syncing with the rise and fall of their chests.

Wes’s lips brush against my neck. “You did so well, baby. We’re so proud of you.” He rolls to the edge of the bed, giving me enough space to slide between them. I’m left with the choice of staying on top of Trick’s warm, solid body or dealing with the cum-soaked sheets. Despite the warmth, I opt for the latter. I’ve never been one for cuddling, anyway. I roll off Trick and position myself between the two men who have, without a doubt, flipped my world—and all my expectations—upside down.

“You good?” Wes asks, breaking the charged silence.

“Better than good,” I reply.

Trick wraps his arm around me as I trace my fingernails along the planes of his stomach. Now that we’re satiated, I take a closer look at his tattoos. Angels, cherubs, winged creatures, and mythical beasts in shades of red, white, black, and turquoise hold me captive. His arm furthest from me is completely blacked out with white floral detailing, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s a cover-up or just a trend thing.

“Who got you smiling like that?” Wes’s mask looks almost comical now that I’ve fulfilled my depraved little fantasy. I didn’t even realise he was watching me.

“Who do you think?” I say, the blush creeping on my cheeks having nothing to do with the fact that I’m overheated, overstimulated, and worn out.

“Hey, Tatum. Trick or treat?” Wes's hands slowly slide to the bottom of his mask.

“Don’t,” I say, surprising myself with the abruptness. He freezes, fingers hooked on the mask's edge. I’m curious to see his face, but I’m not ready to confront the reality of their identities after what we've just done, after feeling so exposed. “Keep it on.”

“Playtime’s over, princess,” Wes says, his voice edged with something I can’t quite place without a facial expression.

“I think it’s better if I don’t know what either of you look like. You know, keep the fantasy alive and all that.” I try to sound playful, though I’m struggling to keep my composure as I swallow around the lump in my throat.

How do I tell them I don’t want the night to end? That seeing their faces would make this feel too real?

This was supposed to be a fantasy. One night. Then I could be satisfied and move on. But the longer the night goes on, the harder it becomes to accept that this might end.

Wes sighs. “As you wish. But it’s coming off the moment you fall asleep.”

Fair game.