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Behind me, Rory just snorts. “Mouthy little slut,” he murmurs, and single-handedly captures the entire supply of oxygen in the room.
I can’t focus. My palms are solid on the desk but every nerve ending has melted into puddles.
Danny’s eyes have widened into bright brown beads. With shaky fingers, he finally pops open the button of his waistband and tugs down his zipper. The metallic sound rings around the room, an anticipatory call I answer with my spellbound gaze. Again, a burst of vibrations tickles my entrance, burning me hot and branding me Rory’s, but it ends just as quickly as before. I give a low growl as yet again I’m denied physical pleasure. Instead, I watch, hypnotized, as Danny’s boxers are revealed.
Black this time, with hot-pink stars. I hear the sarcastic comment dangling on the tip of Rory’s tongue, and even Danny glances over expecting the typical drawled measure of acid, but somehow Rory restrains himself. He takes it out on me instead, another electrifying buzz to my skin that makes my thighs tremble and my cunt clench desperately around air.
“You better hurry up,” Rory advises Danny. “I wanted the saint to strip nice and slow, notyou. No one cares about you.” It’s a lie, as my eyes linger longingly on the peak of Danny’s large, upright cock. Danny ignores Rory, instead focusing on me, and shares with me a soft, private smile. It seems to say,Yes, this is probably fucked up — but I love it. Don’t you?
With the lower half of his Lochkelvin uniform shucked off, his fingers tuck into the waistband of his boxers. Without preamble, he draws them straight down, and I can’t help the gasp trapped in my throat. Every single time. He’s shockingly, perfectly out of proportion. Even Rory says nothing as if trying and failing to formulate an adequate response. He sticks the toy against me hard enough that I’m wriggling against his palm, as I’m turned into a vessel for his pleasure, for all the things he cannot say, translated through my wild moans.
“Can you reach him with your mouth?” Rory asks, and I give a jerky nod. In front of me, Danny’s cock head grows glazed, as if sweetened. “Good. Don’t touch him.” The instruction, severely delivered, only makes Danny’s cock surge. The tip slopes against his belly, almost caressing his navel, leaving a damp spot craved by my tongue. “You’re so fucking wet, little saint,” Rory murmurs, a thumb dipping between my lips and gliding to my hole. He slides inside me, a thick knuckle stretching my walls. When he removes himself, I give a soft needy cry, but he soon replaces the beautiful burn with the toy — and this time it slants inside me.
It’s as if the world freezes. As small as it had seemed dancing around on the desk, the toy inside me is a whole different story. The entire universe is centered on the heat encircling my cunt, a hot spot of what feels like the impossible. Sweat springs across my bare-naked back as Rory eases the thick vibrating bulge into me. I grip the wood with clawed hands, staring wildly up at a lost Danny. My cries are dry, gulping sobs. This is birth in reverse. Despite breathing deep to counteract the irresistible pressure, every muscle has turned me as rigid as a plastic, poseable doll.
“Little saint,” Rory murmurs, the low rumble of his voice emerging from far away. A hand caresses my spine, though it feels as if it’s happening to someone else. Danny strokes my hair soothingly. “You’re doing so well. Such a good girl, taking it all. Every inch. I know you’re stretched and wide, but I’m telling you, my dear little saint, just how beautiful you look.” My mind hooks onto every shred of praise Rory gives me as vibrations fill my body. “Just a little more, and you’ll be filled more than you ever have been. Just a little more, and it’ll feel like Luke and Finlay are both inside you.”
I moan weakly at this image, my eyes falling shut as I let Rory and Danny calm the spiky tensions of my soul. I picture the toy replaced by Luke and Finlay, somehow both inside me, cocks caressing every hot untouched part of me — and each other. A threesome united by quivering, frail flesh. Finlay’s dark mutters as he falls deeper into me, Luke’s words of worship whispering across my skin.
The world screams around me, louder and louder, as my cunt flares with painful, prickling heat. My head rolls around my neck, held securely upright by Danny’s gentle hands. And then: nothing. Silence. The world, captured on a stilled breath. Even the noise of the vibrations ceases, stifled as they are inside me. My eyes flutter open. Awakened anew, I tilt my hips from side to side, testing out the toy embedded within. This… Yeah, I could cope with this. Wide, wet, wanton. Stretched beyond everything I’ve known. It had seemed so innocent in my palms, so tiny and non-threatening. But I’ve never felt as stretched as this. The sound of the vibrations may be muffled but the vibrations themselves are most definitely not: they pulse dangerously against all my secret, untouched flesh, tilted so deeply inside me that it feels close enough to kiss my lower abs.
“How are you?” Rory asks, checking in. His hand hasn’t left my spine. When I don’t answer, he adds, genuinely and without sarcasm, “Can you speak?”
I nod between Danny’s hands but it takes effort for my mouth to open. The buzz is overwhelming. “It’s…” A full minute must go by. I focus on Danny’s warm, stroking hands that keep the hair pinned from my face, which helps me to see.
It’s unlike anything I’ve known before and I surrender to the guilt-free explosions inside me.
All of me feels unzipped and ripped apart. To be so hyperaware of the usually locked chamber inside, of the thousand adjustments made to accommodate a foreign body brushing against tumbling inner velvet. The vibrations act against the joyous treasures of nature, the opposite of thick warm cocks jetting hot cum and broken male cries at the midnight hour. This is pleasure at its most utilitarian, outsourced, and without emotion, derived from plastic and yet more powerful than any man.
But explaining this to those men, men who will never know the intimacy and vulnerability of core-quivering sensation, is an impossible endeavor when words are already a scarce resource. So instead I answer Rory with a soft, wheedling, “Big.”
“Oh dear,” Rory says, though he sounds secretly delighted. “Looks like you’ve got competition, D-boy.”
“I don’t think I do,” Danny murmurs, hands framing my face as he stands beautifully naked before me. “Plastic can’t love.”
I stare up at him from beyond the heady haze of desire. Because this — this is the crux of it. Plastic can’t love, and while it offers violently pleasurable forces within me and drags out of me some of the deepest sensations I’ve ever known, it sacrifices too much for me to ever accept it as a replacement. Nothing compares to being wrapped inside arms and gifted whispered words of empowerment, of flushed heated skin as we make idols of ourselves at night. A toy is a toy, a facsimile, a recreation. And maybe it can be better than flesh in certain ways, but it can never replace the whole package.
“Perhaps. But if she keeps on making moans like that, she may be in danger of falling in love with plastic.”
“Not happening,” I manage to mutter, kissing Danny’s hands roughly, needing the grounding of real men instead of the disembodiment of a toy. I may not fall in love with plastic, but that doesn’t mean I can’t revel in one night of wickedness surrounded and encouraged by the men I love. I spread my knees apart, clenching my stomach to sense the ticklish pulsations of the toy. It’s driving me wild, making me buck furiously to catch the most spectacular angle. But with every new roll of my hips, each angle unleashes a fresh series of vibrations deep inside my core, and I roll my head in time with my hips as I lean into this delicate rhythm. My hair sticks to my back, as free and messy and untamed as me.
“Show my saint some love, then,” Rory murmurs, his low suggestive voice lined with mockery. “Go on. I can tell you, she’s so wet for your cock and only getting wetter. Practicallydrippingonto the desk. Fucking size queen.”
I shiver at this image. My slickness sliding onto my school desk because of Danny… How obscene. I hope Dr. Moncrieff never finds out what we used his class for tonight.
In front of me, my best friend gently strokes his thick-veined oversized cock while observing my face. His eyes are deep brown, soulful, and somehow mesmerizing enough that I’m able to ignore the huge length within his shuttling fist. The buzzing inside my body is so strong that even moving my eyes seems to take a monumental effort, and so they remain fixed and loving on Danny’s sweet, handsome face.
“I want you,” I murmur to him, redundantly. Behind me, Rory’s finger eases inside me, playing in the wet pools of my budding release, searching for the blunt edge of the toy. When he finds it, he strokes it in even deeper, coaxing it forward and taking me along for the ride, as it brushes up against all the delicate, trembling parts off-limits even to my late-night questing fingers. My eyes droop to Danny’s cock as chemicals spike. Rory’s fingers claim me with sweet brutality, a welcome assault, and my whole body feels as though it’s being turned inside-out.
I dwell on the image of two cocks inside me and pretend each blazing press of Rory’s slanted fingers is exactly that. “Stop wriggling,” he orders, and he may as well have asked me to stop living. “I want to bring the orgasm to you. Not you to it.” It’s an act of power:only I can lead you to your destruction — you don’t get to choose it. Slowly, my body ceases all my necessary, unconscious acts, and my gaze is captured on the thick pink pillar being stimulated by Danny’s palm. Unbidden, my mouth floods with slick, hot saliva, and I lower my head like a grazing beast until my lips hover above his slippery-wet crown.
Obviously, I know better than to do anything of my initiative. I pause, though Danny’s hips buck yearningly up at me, threads of pre-cum skimming my pouting lower lip. It takes every fiber of my being not to lick, not to suck, not to pick him and unstitch him. Against Danny’s leaping cockhead, I whisper, full of submissive want to the only man I’ll ever let control me, “May I?”
Rory’s answer comes in the form of sturdy, scissoring fingers. “If you can,” he says darkly, as my hole weeps around his stretching fingers, as every inch of me quivers for mercy. The toy is pushed up, up toward the very edge of my cunt, the innermost, most secret, and snug parts of me where not even my crooked fingers can stroke, where not even my lifted hips offer access. My eyes roll into the back of my head. My mouth lowers and brushes soft, trembling kisses onto Danny’s leaking slit.
“Holy fuck,” Danny whispers in relief, caressing my face, and a bolt of lust sparks deep and hot and dangerous in the pit of my juddering stomach.
This isn’t going to last. All of me is exposed and vulnerable and quaking. Danny’s cock is impossibly rigid against my mouth, seconds if not moments from erupting. And Rory’s fingers continue their confident, languid exploration of my drenched passage, urging the toy to ruin me.
