Chapter Seven
. . .
I hit him with my dick.
“What are you doing?” I whisper as I watch my meddling sister talk to the guys. “Haven’t you caused enough trouble? Stop talking.”
I squint because her fingers are crossed behind her back, so I can only imagine what total baloney she’s spewing. She’s probably telling them I’d like to be blindfolded for a human (them) taste test.
She’s not totally wrong.
The curtains snap closed before I let out a long exhale and lean back against the covered window.
“That’s better,” I say to myself.
I just need to close out the world and, well, take the edge off. Get back to thinking with a clear mind because it’s too fogged up with sex.
Honestly, this is on Moonbeam. This is all her fault.
How could she tell them I’m attracted to them? I mean, I am, but that’s beside the point. Because realistically, it’s a maybe that I could build enough bravery to take on one of them. But all three? At the same time?
I can barely remember my name when they look at me. I turn into a bumbling idiot, saying things like, “I have to pee.”
A foursome… I pause, cocking my head, still considering quartet or maybe cocktet? Anyway, a foursome is walking-on-the-moon kind of courage. I am not the Neil Armstrong of dick. There will be no planting of my flag on their moons.
Brooks’ ass filters into my mind.
And because I’m not completely unself-aware, it doesn’t get past me that just thinking about them makes my body warm with excitement.
My pussy is clearly off her rocker. I’m suffering from vaginal delusions of grandeur, or simply valusions. If that’s not a clinical term, it should be.
No, I suddenly think to myself, this is the remnants of my dream.
I’m all hot and bothered because when I was surrounded by them, it reminded me of…oof, I can’t even think about it again without feeling my cheeks blush. The things I did while slumbering last night are enough to get me put in the porn hall of fame.
Someone give me my golden cock.
My head’s nodding along with all my thoughts because a plan is forming. I grin, whispering conspiratorially. To whom? I have no idea, probably to the traitor downstairs.
“I just need to get them out of my system. Maybe a little quiet time. Just to myself.”
Thankfully, I’ve become quite a pro at working through a horny problem. So I push off the window and start the preparations.
A box of matches rattles as I swipe them off the dresser before opening the lid and striking one. I light the coconut-scented candle beside the bed before waving the scorched match, watching the smoke waft through the air.
Here we go.
It may seem silly, but self-care has become sacred to me, and I like treating myself. So I’ve developed an entire ritual.
There’s the candle, which romanticizes the vibe. No pun intended.
Next is my dirty little treasure trove.
I discard the match and make my way over to my suitcase. Truth is, I may have left a box full of toys at my old house for Poppy, but I kept my top three. The only helpers that ever got me where I needed to go—orgasmville.
I stare down before plucking all three out of my bag and gingerly taking them back to the bed, where I lay them out in order of importance.
There’s a tiny yellow thing called a lemon that’s for my clit; it resembles its name. As well as the almighty standard: a bright neon pink dildo equipped with a thrusting motion. I paid extra for that. And my newest purchase, vibrating anal beads for when I want something friskier.
Like I said, I take my self-care very seriously.
My shoulders do a little shimmy before I pivot and head over to the door, dimming the lights. This is step three—setting the mood. I head to the nightstand next, where my phone is, to play some music.
There’s a lot that goes on to get me to a place where I can relax enough to let myself go. It’s like having a ten-step skincare system that delivers a very healthy glow at the end.
I scroll through my playlists until I see “Afternoon Delight.” It’s not full of classic fuck-tunes as would be expected. In fact, it’s a lot more like elevator music for the mind, something to play in the background to let me wander into my own fantasyland.
With one tap, “Blister in the Sun” by the Violent Femmes flows from the speaker before I place my phone back on the nightstand and head to the bathroom to get the lube.
Lube is essential. I never leave home without it. Figuratively. There are plenty of places I go without it, like the grocery store, for example, but some girls are slip and slides and others the Tin Man. And there’s nothing worse than dry fucking yourself.
I grab it and head back to the bed before I slip into my sheets, scooting down until the blanket is under my chin. A quiet exhale leaves me before I reach for the appetizer of the meal, my lemon.
But first, lube. It goes on everything.
The cool liquid gives me a shiver as it spreads over my clit. I swallow, trying to let my brain quiet and my body grow heavy. But the buzz makes me smile wider before I put it in place and close my eyes.
To help me relax, I go over the order. First, I use the lemon to get me revved up. Then come the big guns. And if I need more because my orgasm is stubborn, the beads bring it home.
Is it a lot? Maybe? Am I uptight? Probably.
But coming has always been hard for me. Pleasure never comes easy. So having a plan makes me feel better.
I think I spent so many years hearing that my body was broken that, somehow, even though I knew deep down that it wasn’t true, the idea became so internalized that I couldn’t relax enough to concentrate. Or maybe I concentrate too hard, which makes it hard to relax.
Either way, without my ritual, I end up screwed and not in a good way.
Currently, however, the song is doing its job and helping me zone out as I let my mind wander. One deep, calming breath follows another as I try to replace my thoughts with more lustful ones.
And let’s be honest, after yoga, it shouldn’t be too difficult.
I squeeze my eyes closed a little tighter, trying to focus on the feelings that stirred inside me as I picture the gleam of sunshine on Brody’s pecs as his arm muscles strained and rippled.
My clit pulses to life, and I smile.
“There it is.”
But as quickly as it begins, it wanes.
I grimace and press my lips together as I try to visualize something even more sexy, like Wells kissing my neck as I run my hands down his abs.
My body warms again as I let out a breathy exhale, but just when I want to move my hips, my body cools again.
What the hell?
I spread my legs a bit, getting serious. A vision of me on my stomach comes to life in my mind. Brooks is taking me from behind. He ruts into me, cupping my breast as his cock fills me.
But again, the sensations stir, all the nerves in my clit begging for more contact until a wall comes down, leaving me frustrated.
“What do you want?” I snap, my eyes springing open.
But no sooner do I say it than the answer presents itself as clear as day, like a dirty Pinterest board of sex. I’m staring straight at a framed banner on the wall that reads: Bliss Babes Wellness.
BBW…Brody, Brooks, and Wells.
My eyes slowly close again because I get it, and I’m not arguing with myself. I said I needed them out of my system. So I might as well fuck them right out.
I lick my lips as my chest begins to rise faster because my imagination goes wild. I’m back in the fantasy from my dream.
“I’m gonna make you come so hard you’ll forget your name,” Brody growls.
“Please,” I beg as his hand closes around my throat.
My billowing white nightgown falls as their lips descend upon me, their hands roaming, before someone touches me between my legs.
“Do you want that, Margot?” Wells presses.
I nod, but Wells tsks, “Use your words.”
“Yes,” I breathe heavily. “I want Brooks to put his fingers inside me.”
Brooks slips two fingers inside my pussy. “Let’s get you ready for us.”
“Oh god…” I moan.
The build is already brimming. It never happens this fast. My hips move as the lemon pulses and sucks my clit. Fuck. I can almost feel Brooks fingering me.
“Yes.” I breathe out harder. “I want more.”
“Yeah, baby, that’s it,” Brody groans. “I want my cock inside you. So I can fill you with my cum.”
“Yes. I want that too,” I say inside my mind before “Come inside, Wells” falls from my lips with a whispered “me” at the end.
Oh fuck, it’s time. I need the big guns.
My free hand shoots out from underneath the blanket as I blindly search for the pink dildo. I’m panting as I feel around.
Vividly, the fantasy gets filthier as a whine pulls from me. I’m getting so close.
Brooks is suddenly inside me as Brody fills me from behind. And Wells? He’s looking down at me, ready to feed me his cock.
Where is that dildo! I’m smacking my hand on the bed, waving it around, trying like hell to find it because I’ll never come without that neon cock.
My body shudders like it’s begging to be sent over the edge, but it’s a tease because I’m dangerously close to skipping it.
Ugh. No. My orgasm’s right there.
Where the fuck is it?
I squeeze my eyes closed tighter because I feel my body starting to pull away. Even though my fantasy feels so real. They’re fucking me faster and faster as Wells teases the tip of his cock over my lips.
“Where do you want my cum, Margot?”
I’m panting, my body growing rigid. Even my toes are curled as I begin to hold on to hope and chant, “Inside, inside, inside…” Oh god, please happen. “Wells…come inside—”
“Margot?”
The sound of the door closing precedes me saying, “—my mouth!”
Two things happen almost simultaneously: my eyes spring open, and I scream bloody murder.
Because the actual Wells is standing in my room. Staring back at me.
Time stops.
Full fucking stops.
Only the shattering of my dignity and Oasis fill the room.
Actually, not true. The sound of buzzing is also bouncing off the walls.
Because the lemon is still on.