Chapter 1
What had I done to make my life become such a complicated tangle of men?
I stood there in the bathroom, undecided about what to do, for a full five minutes longer.
Maybe undecided wasn’t the right word, since that would mean that I was actually capable of forming a coherent thought, let alone several of them to choose from, and then actually making a decision.
I was not.
I was incapable of any rational thought, at present.
Right now, I was still struggling to process and cope with the latest crazy turn of events that had led me to this confusing moment in my life.
Standing here, alone, in an empty, white-tiled public restroom. Where I’d just had sex with one man and then been threatened, shoved up against a wall, fondled and kissed by another.
How many times had I even had sex today? I wondered. I was still sore from earlier in the day, when both of my lovers, Foster and Max, had stretched the walls of my greedy sex to capacity by shoving their cocks inside and fucking me at the same time.
I mean there was DP, and then there was vaginal DP…
I’d taken a dick in my pussy and one in my ass, at the same time, on numerous occasions over the course of the last few months. But I’d never had two in my kitty at once. Before today.
I was lucky I could even walk!
Foster was a big, big boy, and Max was only marginally smaller.
But it hadn’t ended there.
Later, I’d had sex with Max in public. Right here, in the venue’s crowded standing room, at Foster’s show -right in front of everyone.
Including the band…
I’d thought we were being covert and sneaky about it, and that everyone’s concentration had been focused on the stage.
I was wrong.
As it turns out, not only had Foster watched from his position right above us, while he played, but so had at least one of his other bandmates.
Pace.
What in the actual fuck was I supposed to do about this giant cluster mess?
Not only had Pace watched me get drilled from behind by Max, but he’d also been in the bathroom, hiding, when I went to use it during intermission –which was probably almost over by now, I reminded myself.
Pace had stayed hidden as I’d bumped into Foster and then bumped uglies with him.
Foster was so worked up from watching Max and I fuck, while unable to join in, that he’d practically attacked me where I stood, the first chance he got. He gave me the most frantic and mind bending jolly rogering ever, right here in this bathroom.
Which just about brings us up to speed...
Except for the part where Pace pushed me up against the wall, called me a dirty whore, kissed me senseless and threatened to expose me as a cheater.
Yeah. Except for that.
He’d easily and rather quickly worked out that Max, Foster and I were actually a thruple and now he wanted in on the action, or he would out us to the world.
The worst part, and the hardest for me to wrap my head around, was how Pace was able to ignite my libido and make me crave his cruel and wicked touch. The fact that he was willing to blackmail me for sex and that he had no qualms about ruining (or at least trying to ruin) my life, was flat out doing it for me.
In some twisted, backwater area of my brain, the idea of being coerced into having sex made me wet and needy. The fear, the thrill, the taboo wrongness of it all lit up my insides.
It was official.
I had officially become a sex crazed, perverted, deviant nymphomaniac.
I don’t believe in whores or sluts, or double standards when it comes to men and women and sex –not that I don’t believe that double standards exist, just that I don’t agree with them, on any level. I do, however, believe in will power, restraint and having standards.
It would appear that I no longer had any of those things.
I was legitimately in love with both Max and Foster –a love they fiercely returned for me and for each other.
I didn’t even fucking like Pace. He was a cocky, arrogant, entitled asshole, and a too pretty man-whore to boot.
He had bullied me and treated me with malevolence and cruelty. And damn it all if that didn’t just push some dark and twisty button inside of me, that I didn’t even know was there, and make me want to get bent over and used like a filthy little cum dumpster.
I was absolutely insatiable. I’d been fucked seventeen ways to Sunday today. I was sore and stretched and swollen and full of all sorts of bodily fluids –mine and other’s. Yet, still, I wanted more.
My gash was like a vacuum. A fucking empty pocket of space. A black hole that craved to swallow everything up inside of it.
My life was so viciously fucked.
I didn’t know what to do, but I did know that a search party was about to be mounted, if I failed to appear in the band’s backstage dressing room soon. If I didn’t show up to have a drink with my two lovers, and the band... including the dreaded Pace, within the next few moments someone would come looking.
It had definitely been more than fifteen minutes. Luckily rock stars weren’t known for their punctuality. They were known for their inability to adhere to schedules, and for spitting on anyone who tried to impose them, or any other form of authority, for that matter.
The fans would just have to suck it up while intermission dragged on longer than it was intended to. I did feel a little niggle of guilt for being the cause of that, but -damn it– I was having a major fucking life crisis here!
I hastily put myself to rights, once more, and exited the bathroom.
