Scandalized

The air in my room was thick and still, heavy with the scent of jasmine from the candle on my nightstand. It was a lie, that smell. A cover for the sweat and the salt and the want that was already pooling between my legs. Two days. Two days of listening to the wet, rhythmic slap of skin, the muffled cries, the low, guttural groans that bled through the thin walls of our apartment. Two days of knowing my turn was coming.

Margaux leaned against my doorframe, a slow smile spreading across her face. The afternoon sun cut a sharp line across the floor, catching the dust motes suspended in the air and glinting off the silver ring in her bottom lip. She was a predator in a thrifted band tee and ripped jeans, and I was the mouse who had already agreed to play.

“You ready, Beatie?” Her voice was a low purr, a vibration that hummed right through my ribs.

I nodded, my throat suddenly dry. My hands were sweaty, and I pressed them flat against my thighs, feeling the rough denim of my cutoffs. Ready was a strong word. Willing was more accurate. Terrified and curious and so fucking horny I could barely think straight. That was the truth.

Celeste sauntered in behind Margaux, a glass of red wine in her hand. She was all sharp angles and dark, knowing eyes. She took a slow sip, her gaze traveling over me like she was appraising a piece of art she was about to buy. “Leave the door open,” she said, not a suggestion. “And the blinds. I want the whole world to see what a good little slut you are.”

My stomach flipped. The blinds were wide open, a wall of glass looking out onto the street below. Anyone could see. Anyone. The thought should have horrified me. Instead, it sent a hot, electric current straight to my core.

Margaux stepped forward, her boots heavy on the hardwood. She grabbed my chin, tilting my face up to hers. “Words, Beatrice. I need to hear you say it.”

“I want this,” I whispered. “I want you both.”

“Louder.”

“I want you both.” My voice cracked, but it was stronger this time.

Celeste laughed, a dark, musical sound. “We know you do, sweet thing. We’ve known since the first night you moved in. The way you’d watch us from the kitchen. The way you’d linger in the hallway after your shower.”

I felt my face burn. They’d seen me. All those nights I’d stood in my towel, letting the air cool my damp skin, hoping one of them would knock. They’d seen.

Margaux pulled a silk scarf from her back pocket. Black, like a void. She held it up. “Turn around.”

I did. She wrapped the scarf around my wrists, pulling it tight, knotting it with a practiced efficiency. The silk was cool and smooth against my skin, a gentle restraint that promised more. She spun me back around and pushed me onto my bed. The old springs groaned in protest.

Celeste set her wine glass on my dresser. She knelt in front of me, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw, down my neck, over the swell of my chest. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m not scared.”

“I know. You’re shaking because you want it so bad you can’t hold still.” She was right. Of course she was right.

She pulled a strip of black cloth from her pocket, the same color as the scarf. A gag. My breath hitched. “Open.”

I opened my mouth. She tied the cloth behind my head, the knot snug against my hair. The fabric tasted of clean cotton and a faint hint of her perfume. Sandalwood and something floral. I couldn’t speak. I could only hum, and the sound was pathetic and desperate.

Margaux pushed my knees apart, settling herself between them. Her hands were rough, calloused from the guitar she played at night, the one that would drift through the vents and make me ache in ways I didn’t have words for. She ran her palms up my thighs, pushing the hem of my cutoffs higher.

“Look at you,” she murmured. “Soaked through your shorts already. And we haven’t even started.”

I bucked my hips, a plea I couldn’t voice. Celeste laughed again, that dark, knowing sound. She leaned over me, her lips brushing my ear. “You want to beg, don’t you? You want to tell us how badly you need this. But you can’t. Not yet.”

She pulled my shorts down, the denim scraping against my sensitive skin. My panties went with them, damp and ruined. The air hit my wetness, cool and shocking. I moaned, a high, keening sound that vibrated against the gag.

Margaux leaned in, her breath hot on my inner thigh. “God, you smell good. Like honey and salt.” She didn’t touch me. She just breathed, her mouth an inch away from where I needed her most. The anticipation was a wire pulled taut, humming with electricity.

Celeste’s fingers found my nipples through my thin t-shirt. She rolled them between her thumb and forefinger, a light, teasing pressure that made my back arch. “Sensitive,” she noted. “I like that.”

She pinched. Hard. The pain shot through me, sharp and bright, and I squealed against the gag. It was a pig’s sound, a grunt of pure, animal response. She did it again, twisting this time, and I bucked so hard I nearly threw Margaux off balance.

“Easy, girl,” Margaux said, her voice a low growl. She pressed a hand flat against my stomach, pinning me to the bed. “You’ll get what you’re asking for. But first, you’re going to learn some patience.”

She slid a finger through my folds, not entering, just spreading my slickness around. I was so wet I could feel it dripping onto the sheets. She circled my clit once, twice, a featherlight touch that had me grinding against her hand.

“Please,” I tried to say, but it came out as a muffled, desperate “Mmph.”

Celeste pinched my other nipple, harder than before. The pain and pleasure tangled together, a knot I couldn’t untie. I was crying, I realized. Tears were leaking from the corners of my eyes, running down my temples into my hair. I didn’t care.

Margaux finally, *finally*, pushed a finger inside me. I screamed against the gag, the sound swallowed by the cloth. She was slow, deliberate, curling her finger to hit that spot that made my vision go white at the edges.

“That’s it,” she whispered. “Feel that? That’s just one finger. Imagine what it’ll feel like when I’m buried inside you.”

I couldn’t imagine. I could only feel. She added a second finger, stretching me, and I was so tight, so fucking tight, that it burned in the best possible way. My hips rocked against her hand, a rhythm I had no control over.

Celeste pulled my shirt up, exposing my breasts. She leaned down and took my left nipple into her mouth, sucking hard. The heat of her tongue, the pressure, the scrape of her teeth. I was lost. I was a creature of pure sensation, nothing but nerve endings and want.

Margaux fucked me with her fingers, a steady, punishing rhythm. “You’re close,” she said. “I can feel you clenching around me. But you don’t get to come. Not yet.”

She pulled her hand away. I groaned, a sound of pure frustration. My hips chased her, desperate for contact, but she was already standing, already unbuckling her belt.

Celeste released my nipple with a wet pop. She looked down at me, her eyes dark. “Time for the main event, I think.”

They both stripped. Slow, deliberate. A show for me, the bound and gagged girl on the bed. Margaux’s body was all muscle and ink, a map of tattoos that told stories I wanted to read with my tongue. Celeste was leaner, more angular, her skin pale and flawless.

And then I saw them.

The cocks. Huge, thick, veined. Margaux’s was uncut, the head a deep, angry red. Celeste’s was slightly longer, curved, with a prominent ridge that made my mouth water. They were real. They were so fucking real, and they were for me.

Margaux stroked herself, slow and deliberate. “You want this, Beatrice? Nod if you want this.”

I nodded frantically, my hair whipping across the pillow.

“Then beg.”

I couldn’t. The gag was still in place. I let out a frustrated sob, a sound that was pure desperation.

Celeste smiled. “Oh, right. I forgot.” She reached behind my head and untied the knot. The gag fell away, and I gasped, sucking in air.

“Please,” I said, my voice raw and hoarse. “Please, please, please.”

“Please what?” Margaux asked, her hand still working her shaft.

“Please fuck me. Please do whatever you want to me. I don’t care. Just please. I need it. I need you both.”

Celeste climbed onto the bed, positioning herself at my head. “Open your mouth.”

I did. She slid her cock past my lips, and I tasted the salt of her skin, the faint, clean taste of her. She was huge, and I had to stretch my jaw to take her. She held my head, guiding my rhythm. “That’s it. Take it all.”

Margaux moved between my legs. I felt the head of her cock press against my entrance, slick with my own wetness. She didn’t push. She just held it there, a promise and a threat.

“Look at me,” she said.

I looked up, my mouth full of Celeste, my eyes locked on Margaux’s. She was so beautiful, so powerful, standing over me like a goddess of sex and destruction.

“You’re going to remember this,” she said. “Every girl after me is going to feel the ghost of my cock inside you. You’re mine now, Beatrice. Say it.”

I couldn’t. Celeste was too deep, hitting the back of my throat. I made a sound, a gurgle of assent.

“Good enough,” Margaux said.

She pushed.

The pain was white hot, a tearing that stole my breath. I screamed around Celeste’s cock, my nails digging into the sheets. She was so big, so thick, forcing her way into my virgin cunt. I felt myself split open, felt the blood and the slick mix together.

“Shhh,” Celeste whispered, her hand in my hair. “Take it. Take it all.”

Margaux didn’t stop. She kept pushing, inch by inch, until she was fully seated inside me. I was full. So full I thought I might burst. The pain began to fade, replaced by a pressure so intense it was almost unbearable.

“Fuck,” Margaux breathed. “You’re so tight. So fucking tight.”

She started to move. Slow at first, a gentle rocking that sent waves of sensation through my body. Celeste matched her rhythm, fucking my mouth in time with the thrusts of Margaux’s hips. I was a bridge between them, a conduit for their pleasure.

The door was open. The blinds were open. Anyone could see. The mailman, the neighbor across the street, the kids playing on the sidewalk. The thought should have shamed me. Instead, it made me wetter, made me clench around Margaux’s cock.

“Look,” Celeste said, her voice strained. “Look at the window.”

I turned my head, my eyes finding the glass. The sun was lower now, casting long shadows across the room. I saw our reflection. Three bodies tangled together, a tableau of pure, raw sex. I saw my own face, slack with pleasure, my mouth stretched around Celeste’s shaft. I saw Margaux’s back, muscles flexing as she drove into me.

It was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

Margaux picked up the pace, her thrusts becoming harder, faster. The sound of her hips slapping against my wet skin filled the room. Celeste groaned, her grip on my hair tightening.

“I’m close,” she said. “I’m going to fill your mouth, Beatrice. You’re going to swallow every drop.”

I wanted it. I wanted all of it.

Margaux leaned over me, her face contorted with effort. “Me too. I’m going to breed you. I’m going to fill your tight little cunt with my cum until it’s dripping out of you.”

The words broke something in me. I came, a violent, shuddering orgasm that ripped through my body like a shockwave. I screamed, the sound muffled by Celeste’s cock. My vision went white. I felt my pussy clench and release, felt a gush of liquid soaking the sheets.

“That’s it,” Margaux growled. “Squirt for me. Let everyone see.”

I was still coming when she followed me. I felt her cock pulse, felt the hot flood of her cum filling me, spilling out around her shaft, soaking my thighs. At the same time, Celeste thrust deep into my throat, and I tasted the bitter, salty burst of her release. I swallowed, my throat working automatically, desperate to take it all.

They stayed inside me, breathing hard, their bodies slick with sweat. The room was quiet except for the sound of our ragged breaths. I felt hollowed out, emptied, and filled again.

Margaux pulled out slowly. I felt the loss like a physical ache. Her cum immediately began to leak out of me, a thick, white stream that ran down my ass and pooled on the sheets.

Celeste withdrew from my mouth, her cock glistening with my saliva. She collapsed beside me, her hand finding mine. “You did good, Beatie.”

I couldn’t speak. My throat was raw, my body was wrecked, and I was still trembling from the aftershocks of my orgasm. I just lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling the cum drip out of me.

Margaux stood up, pulling her jeans back on. She looked at the mess she had made of me, and she smiled. “I’m not done with you yet.”

My heart stuttered. “What?”

“Did you think that was it?” Celeste asked, propping herself up on an elbow. “We’ve got all night, sweetheart.”

Margaux grabbed my ankles, pulling me to the edge of the bed. She was already hard again, her cock slick with my fluids. “I want to hear you scream. I want the whole street to hear you scream.”

She pushed into me again, and I did scream. A raw, animal sound that tore out of my throat. She was relentless, a machine of pure, punishing pleasure. She fucked me hard, her hips slamming against mine, the sound wet and obscene.

Celeste knelt beside my head, her cock in her hand. “Open.”

I opened. I was theirs. Completely, utterly theirs. And I didn’t want it any other way.

The sun set, the room grew dark, and they kept going. They took turns, sometimes together, filling every hole, stretching every limit. I lost count of how many times I came. I lost track of time. All I knew was the rhythm of their bodies, the taste of their skin, the feeling of being completely, utterly used.

At some point, Margaux flipped me onto my stomach. She pulled my hips up, my face pressed into the pillow. She entered me from behind, a new angle, a new depth. Celeste crawled under me, her mouth finding my clit.

I was a raw nerve, a live wire. Every touch sent sparks through my body. They worked together, a perfect, cruel machine. Margaux fucked me deep and slow, while Celeste sucked and licked, bringing me to the edge again and again.

“Please,” I begged, my voice hoarse. “Please let me come.”

“Not yet,” Margaux said, her voice a low growl. “Not until we say.”

Celeste pulled her mouth away, looking up at me. “You’re so beautiful like this. Broken. Desperate.”

“I’ll do anything,” I sobbed. “Anything.”

“We know you will,” Margaux said. She reached around and pinched my nipple, hard. I squealed, my hips bucking. “That’s what makes you so much fun.”

She started to move faster, her breathing ragged. “I’m going to fill you again. I’m going to pump you so full of my cum that you’ll be leaking for days.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” I chanted, my mind gone, nothing left but need.

She came with a guttural roar, her cock pulsing inside me. I felt the hot flood, felt my own body respond, clamping down on her, trying to milk her dry. Celeste’s mouth was on me again, her tongue flicking over my clit, and I shattered, a scream tearing from my throat.

I collapsed, my body spent, my mind floating somewhere above the room. Margaux pulled out, and I felt the cum gush out of me, a warm, wet river. She slapped my ass, hard, the sound echoing in the quiet room.

“Good girl.”

Celeste crawled up beside me, her fingers tracing patterns on my back. “We’re not done yet, but we need a break. You’re going to be sore tomorrow.”

I laughed, a broken, breathless sound. “I’m sore now.”

“Good,” Margaux said, lighting a cigarette. She took a long drag, the smoke curling in the dim light. “That means we did it right.”

I lay there, my face in the pillow, feeling their cum drip down my thighs. The door was still open. The blinds were still open. Anyone could have seen. Anyone could have watched.

And I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything except the feeling of being completely, utterly owned.

Celeste’s hand found mine, her fingers intertwining with my own. “You’re one of us now, Beatrice. There’s no going back.”

I squeezed her hand. “I don’t want to go back.”

Margaux stubbed out her cigarette. She stood up, her body silhouetted against the window. “Good. Because we’re not done with you yet. Not by a long shot.”

She walked over to her bag, pulling out a thick, black strap-on. It was longer than her own cock, wider, with a curved tip that promised a new kind of torture.

“I’ve been saving this for a special occasion,” she said, buckling it around her hips. “And I think you’ve earned it.”

I looked at the thing, my stomach clenching with a mix of fear and anticipation. “Margaux, that’s huge.”

“I know.” She smiled, a predator’s smile. “Now get on your hands and knees. I want to watch you beg for it.”

I got on my hands and knees. My body was trembling, my muscles screaming in protest. But I got into position, my ass in the air, my head bowed.

“Please,” I whispered. “Please fuck me with that thing.”

“Louder.”

“Please fuck me with that huge cock. Please ruin me for anyone else. Please make me yours.”

Celeste knelt in front of me, her cock hard again. “Look at me while she does it.”

I looked up at her. She smiled, a soft, almost tender expression.

Margaux pressed the tip of the strap-on against my ass. I tensed, my breath catching. She didn’t push. She just held it there, letting me feel the pressure, the promise.

“Last chance to say no,” she said.

I shook my head. “I don’t want to say no. I want this. I want everything.”

“Good girl.”

She pushed. The pain was blinding, a white-hot fire that split me open. I screamed, my voice raw and broken. Celeste grabbed my hair, pulling my mouth onto her cock.

“Take it,” she said. “Take it all.”

I did. I took it all. I took every inch of that thick, black cock, felt it stretch me, fill me, own me. Margaux fucked me slow and deep, her hands gripping my hips, her breath hot on my back.

“That’s it,” she whispered. “That’s my good little slut.”

I was crying. I was moaning. I was lost in a sea of sensation, pain and pleasure tangled so tightly I couldn’t tell them apart. Celeste came in my mouth, and I swallowed, my throat working automatically.

Margaux fucked me until I couldn’t feel my legs. She fucked me until I was a sobbing, incoherent mess. She fucked me until the only word I could form was her name.

“Margaux. Margaux. Please. Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please don’t stop. Please never stop.”

She didn’t stop. She kept going, driving that huge cock into me, over and over, until I came so hard I blacked out for a second. When I came back, she was still inside me, still moving.

“That’s three,” she said. “I want five more.”

I lost count. I lost myself. The night stretched on, endless and perfect. They took turns, sometimes together, using every part of me. I was a toy, a vessel, a thing to be filled and filled and filled.

When the first gray light of dawn began to creep through the blinds, they finally stopped. Margaux pulled out of me, and I collapsed onto the ruined sheets. I was covered in sweat and cum and tears. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t speak.

Celeste lay down beside me, pulling me into her arms. “Sleep,” she said. “We’ll start again tonight.”

I closed my eyes. I felt Margaux climb into bed on my other side, her body warm against my back. I felt their arms around me, their breath on my neck.

I was theirs. Completely, utterly theirs.

And I had never felt more alive.

I slept like the dead. No dreams, no thoughts, just a black void of total exhaustion. When I woke, the light was different. Harsher. Midday sun slicing through the blinds, painting stripes across the wreckage of the bed.

I was alone.

The sheets were cold beside me. I reached out, my fingers finding nothing but stained fabric. My body screamed when I moved. Every muscle, every joint, every hole. I felt like I’d been taken apart and put back together by someone who didn’t quite remember the original design.

Voices drifted up from downstairs. Laughter. The clink of glasses.

I sat up slowly, my head spinning. The cum had dried on my thighs, a crust that flaked when I moved. I looked like a disaster. I felt like one too.

A glass of water sat on the nightstand. A note beside it, written in Margaux’s sharp, angular handwriting.

*Shower. Eat. You’re going to need your strength.*

I drank the water in one long gulp, then shuffled to the bathroom. The mirror showed me a stranger. Hair a tangled mess. Eyes too bright, too wide. Bruises blooming on my hips where Margaux’s hands had gripped me. Bite marks on my neck, my breasts, my thighs.

I looked claimed. I looked owned.

I looked happy.

The hot water was a baptism. I stood under it, letting it wash away the evidence of the night, watching it swirl down the drain. I was tender everywhere. Even the water felt like too much. But underneath the soreness, underneath the aches, there was a hum. A low, steady vibration in my bones.

I was theirs.

I dried off, wrapped myself in a towel, and walked downstairs. The smell of coffee and bacon hit me before I reached the kitchen. Margaux stood at the stove, naked except for an apron. Celeste sat at the table, also naked, scrolling through her phone.

They looked up when I entered. Margaux’s eyes traveled down my body, a slow, possessive inventory.

“Look who’s alive,” she said.

“Barely,” I croaked.

Celeste patted the chair beside her. “Sit. You need to eat.”

I sat. Margaux slid a plate in front of me. Eggs, bacon, toast. I wasn’t hungry, but I ate anyway. Every bite felt like an act of obedience. Every swallow a confirmation.

“We talked,” Celeste said, setting her phone down. “About you.”

My fork froze halfway to my mouth. “What about me?”

Margaux leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “We want you to stay. For a while. A week. A month. As long as you want.”

I put the fork down. “I have a job. An apartment.”

“Call in sick. Sublet the apartment.” Margaux’s voice was flat. Uncompromising. “Or don’t. It’s your choice.”

Celeste reached over, her hand covering mine. “But we want you to know the offer’s there. No pressure. No expectations.”

I looked at them. Margaux, hard and dangerous, a wolf in human skin. Celeste, softer but no less intense, a quiet fire that burned just as hot.

I thought about my empty apartment. My boring job. My lonely bed.

“I’ll need to make some calls,” I said.

Margaux smiled. It was the first real smile I’d seen from her. It transformed her face, made her almost human.

“Good,” she said. “Because I’m not done breaking you in yet.”

I felt it in my gut. A flutter. A spark. The promise of more.

I picked up my fork and finished my breakfast.

I called my boss. Quit. No notice, no explanation. The silence on the other end was satisfying. I hung up, feeling lighter. Margaux watched me from the doorway, a cigarette dangling from her lips. “That’s my girl,” she said. “Now come here. I want to taste myself on your tongue.” I went.

I crossed the room, my bare feet silent on the hardwood. Margaux’s hand found my jaw, tilting my face up. Her kiss was rough, demanding, tasting of smoke and coffee. She bit my lower lip, drawing blood, then licked it clean.