Make Me

That being another agonising thumb-stroke over my clit.

‘Uhhhhhh,’ I say.

‘How about this?’ he asks, and then … oh God … then he slides a finger down through my slit to my ready and waiting hole.

It’s like silk, going in. Almost as good as a cock, because, like everything on Tyler, his fingers are massive. So thick and long and good, and even better when he adds a second one and pumps, slowly.

‘You want to know what she feels like?’ he asks, and for a moment I have no idea what he’s talking about. And then my brain catches up, and I realise he’s asking Brandon. That this is a thing, this talking around me, and though Brandon can’t say a word Tyler still knows he wants to hear all of this stuff.

‘Ohhh, so wet and hot. So tight, too – she can barely take my two fingers. Can you imagine how small she’d feel around your cock?’

Again, my brain takes a moment to catch up. And when it does, it’s not sure it wants to understand what Tyler is saying. My brain is apparently a prude, and hardly knows what to make of the fact that a) Tyler is aware that Brandon has a big cock, somehow and b) he doesn’t think my tiny pussy could take it.

However, my body more than makes up for my prudish brain. My body is rocking on Tyler’s fingers, and burying itself in Brandon’s body, and there are all of these sounds coming out of my mouth.

‘Just lick her,’ Brandon says, hoarsely, and the sounds get louder. I have to push my face against the turn of his throat just to get them under control, though it’s something of a lost cause once Tyler leans down to do as his friend is suggesting.

The first long, wet lick over my aching clit almost makes me clamp my legs back together. The pleasure is thick and jolting, almost like an orgasm but not quite. Tyler backs off immediately, as though he knows how close I am and wants to drag this all out just a little longer. Just a little more of me squirming and embarrassing myself every time he gives me a little flick of his tongue and a little twist of his fingers inside me.

‘Fuuuuccckk,’ Brandon groans, and I have to say I know exactly how he feels. By the time Tyler starts lashing his tongue back and forth over the tip of my clit – barely touching, oh, such a tease – I’m delirious.

So much so that I fail to comprehend why Brandon is in such a state, too.

Only when I feel him against my side, all slick and firm and insistent, do I get it. I can make out the intermittent press of his hand, as he shuttles it up and down his obviously bare and very hard cock, and then, after a second of hardly daring to, I glance down and see what Tyler was talking about.

He’s so big, so thick and solid and, fuck, it’s hot. I’ve never been a size queen, but then again I’ve never seen anything like Brandon’s cock, up close. I’m helpless in the face of it, and especially so when it’s all swollen at the tip and glossy with pre-come and, oh Lord, I can’t help urging him on. I can’t, I can’t.

‘Yeah,’ I tell him, and then other words stumble after it. ‘Fuck yourself. Come on me, that’s it. Come on me.’

I didn’t even know that’s what I wanted until the words burst out. But now that they’re out in the open, and we’re all busy buried in each other’s groins, I hardly think it matters. Brandon is going to spurt all over my belly and Tyler’s going to get me off with his mouth and his hands and then afterwards he’s probably going to come on me, too.

Or maybe I can be as daring as they seem to have been and take him in my mouth.

Would he like that? I can’t tell. But I can definitely tell how much I like the thought of doing it – of sucking him until he fills my mouth with come – because I’m getting really close. He’s stopped teasing and started lapping at me in earnest, fingers curling inside me so that they rub right up against that sensitive spot, and I can see my belly tightening. Can feel my thighs tensing and releasing, as pleasure builds at the base of my clit.

Though it isn’t Tyler’s expert sucking and fucking that pushes me over, I have to say. I mean, it feels good. And when he does this little curling thing with his tongue I nearly lose my mind. But even so, it’s still Brandon whispering in my ear that gets me there.

‘Are you gonna do it?’ he asks, then closely after it: ‘Tell me. I want to come when you do.’

I can feel him shuddering against me, hand working hard and mean on his slick cock, and something about that combination – his desire to hold off and his obvious intense need to come – makes my body sing. Makes me tell him: ‘Oh fuck yeah, now, I’m coming, I’m coming – do it.’

And then he does, just as my clit swells against Tyler’s tongue and pleasure unwinds inside me like a coil of electricity.

I don’t know whom I cling to. I only know that I go completely rigid and grunt like an animal, as my orgasm pulses on and on and Brandon spurts thickly against my side. He moans gutturally as he does, but it has absolutely nothing on the sounds I make.

Or the sounds Tyler makes when he kneels up and starts jerking his own cock over my still spread pussy.

I have absolutely no idea when he got it out, or whether or not he’s been similarly stroking himself all this time, but by God he’s far gone. His cock’s even slicker than Brandon’s, and somehow it’s bigger, too – with a swollen tip that looks fit to burst. A little pulsing aftershock goes through me to see it, and the pulse gets stronger when I see how copiously he’s leaking pre-come.

It’s all down his working fist and, as I watch, a bead of it wells in the slit to join the rest of the mess. It makes me want to lean forwards and lick, to take him in my mouth just as I had imagined, but the moment I get up the balls to actually do it his entire body jerks, and that impossible swollen head swells even further, and a burst of fluid erupts from the tip.

Unlike Brandon, he isn’t exactly quiet about it.

‘Ohhhhh fuuccck yeah, ohhhh, Jesus, I’m coming, I’m coming. Baby, you’re so fucking hot, ohhhh yeah. Oh yeah that’s it, that’s it, spread yourself. Spread it, let me come on your clit.’

Which I do, gladly. I do it before he even mentions it, eager to feel that hot wet liquid against my still aching bud. And once he’s finished coating me in his copious spend, I can’t resist rubbing it into my swollen lips and over the sensitive tip of my clit – though I swear I don’t mean to turn it into a masturbatory session in front of my best friends. I just don’t want it to stop once I’ve started, my second orgasm welling up in me as easy as anything.

And I guess it’s this that I remember afterwards. Two sets of heated eyes on me, as I circle my clit frantically. Both of them murmuring encouragement through that same unsettling silence we started this whole thing in.

And then finally the pleasure – the most intense pleasure of my entire life – courtesy of an experience we never repeat again.

There are lots of things that go through my head when I enter the bar. But my head tries to bypass all of them, for some reason, and just focus on the most inane of the lot: I shouldn’t have brought this potted plant. It’s a stupid, stupid gift to give two old friends when they’ve done something as monumental as create this beautiful, incredible place.

It’s dark, but I can make out all the little touches that are uniquely them – a gaudy jukebox crouched in the corner, amidst leather so thick and luxurious I can smell it, before I’ve even managed to perch my ridiculous gift on the bar. There are framed pictures of obscure movies that scream Brandon; dark mahogany that reminds me of Tyler.

It’s as though someone smushed them together and somehow made a watering hole, and not only because of the décor. There’s a workbench by the door marked STAFF, as sloppy as anything I ever saw Brandon around. And over the back of one the seats by the skating-rink-slick bar there’s a suit jacket.

It smells of Tyler – of Scotch and cigars and that stuff he used to wear that cost more than the gross domestic capital of Brazil. Though of course once I realise this, I have to also accept that I just smelled his clothes.

Five years, and I just smelled his clothes. Lord only knows what I’ll do when I see either or both of them. Blurt out something embarrassing about threesomes, most likely, and then never dare to show my face around them again.

Like I did last time.

‘Maisie!’ someone cries from the front door I definitely shouldn’t have put my back to. I can’t let either of them catch me unawares ever again, and yet somehow I’ve already done just that.

Brandon is on me before I’ve even worked up the wherewithal to turn around. And he doesn’t do anything half-hearted, either, like pat me on the arm or offer me an awkward smile. He actually loops one arm around my shoulders from behind, in a way that’s so reminiscent of The Thing We Did I almost gasp. It’s like having a bucket of cold water dumped over my head – if a dumped bucket of cold water was one of my kinks, and having it done left my vagina in a quivering state of arousal.

‘I can’t believe you came,’ Brandon says, but I understand where he’s coming from. I can’t believe it, either. I spent all day yesterday thinking about what a bad idea this was, and now I’m here I know one thing with a deathly certainty: it’s a hundred times worse than my wildest imaginings. My entire body has clenched so hard I can’t even turn around and greet him properly, and the feeling gets stronger when he finally makes his way to my front.

He looks exactly as I remember, right down to the backwards baseball cap and the hunched shoulders and, oh, that kinking-sideways grin. ‘It’s like you’re a robot from the future who’s trying to simulate a smile,’ I used to tell him.

Back when I dared to do things like that.

Now I just stand here and stare at his stupidly handsome face, head full of ridiculous thoughts like: Were his arms really that big before? And, Oh Lord, you could cut your finger on that jawline of his.

Because you could, you really could. Up this close he’s almost unbearably handsome, and apparently I’m not responding to that very well. The clenched feeling has gone, but it’s been replaced by a prickling under my arms and a heavy sensation low down in my gut, like maybe he punched me when I wasn’t looking.

I want to double over, quick, before this staring contest gets any weirder.

‘It’s totally awesome to see you,’ he says, but as he does so he puts both hands in his pockets. Those shoulders bunch together even more tightly, and even if I didn’t know him I’d understand what that means.

It isn’t totally awesome to see me, at all. I’m a relic of his odd threesome-having past, thrown up on the beach of this bar. This place that now looks more and more like a cocoon they’ve both wrapped themselves in so that they don’t have to face the kind of people they once were.

Brandon – goofy and too sweet. Tyler … oh God, Tyler.

I’m wrong, I’m wrong about Tyler. He can face himself.

When he emerges from behind the staff door he looks so eminently confident in who he is, so flawless and be-suited, that for a moment I can’t look directly at him. I have to gaze somewhere just north of his right shoulder and hope for the best.