Page 4 of Screwged for Christmas

“Watch us come on you.”

“Three!”

“Two!”

My lover pumps faster before pulling out and fisting his swollen flesh. Stroking himself, he falls on me and licks me until I’m seeing stars.

“ONE!”

He pushes to his knees, my cum dripping from his chin and I look on through half closed eyes as both men masturbate their big cocks, coating my breasts and belly with their hot splashes of seed.

Whiskey Eyes strokes a thick finger over my throbbing clit and takes me on another ride. I clutch the sheets, thrashing from all the glorious torture. I scream through another bursting release relishing the feel of so many hands and tongues stroking, fucking and licking me until I don’t know up from down.

Explosions of unbearable pleasure rock me to the core and an uncontrollable hunger for more with them slams into me. Hell yes I want more, but reality starts punching through the dreamy fantasy bubble. Come morning I have to return to my regular life. But I don’t want to leave them and honestly I don’t think I can.

Shuddering and gasping, I cling to them. Hot bodies pin me to the bed.

“Christ, woman,” Whiskey Eyes murmurs as he slathers their mixed seed into my flesh. Another pulls my too skimpy top down, giving my nipples a hard tug through the material which only makes me horny all over again, damn it.

I arch into his hands and welcome more of their touch.

“When you get home, go straight to bed and don’t you dare wash us off of you. Not until morning. And when you do I want you to think of us. When you wash this pretty pussy, feel how tender you are, think of us.”

My name sits on the tip of my tongue and honestly, I’m so close to telling them who I am. But a false sense of rightness keeps my lips sealed and my mask firmly over three-fourths of my face.

You see I have a secret.

Two actually.

First, I’m the daughter of the Dean of Westmoore University though I’ve worked hard on keeping the fact under lock and keep. It helps he refuses to claim me as his kid.

And second—and dirtiest of all—my three professors just fucked me into a new year with all their students downstairs.

CHAPTER2

JEMMA

Cold wind whips around me and I can smell fresh snow on the way. There’s already a good foot on the ground, but January on the East Coast only means Mother Nature is just getting started with her wintery self.

Nightfall hits in a couple of hours and by then the temperatures will dip well below freezing. My already thin diner uniform with its lack of everything that would keep a body warm sucks for the cold. My winter coat helps buffer the sting, but it can only do so much for a tacky one-piece dress. I really need to talk to Krista, the owner of the diner and my boss, about her lack of foresight.

Any other day the coming storm would worry me to no end. What if I couldn’t get to class? What if they closed the library and I didn’t have the books I needed? But today for the first time in forever—I truly mean that—I don’t let the impending gloomy weather tamper the clouds I’m walking on.

It’s been two days sincethemand I’m still flying high. Who wouldn’t be? I plan on living here as long as I can.

The second my key slipped into the door that night my best friend and roommate, Brooklyn, was there ready for all the dirty details of how theoneparty I agreed to in my entire college career had gone. Lucky for me she had to bail due to work issues at a large corporation she clerked for. Some missing legal files that meant her job if she failed to find them. Which left me with an hour before midnight and a choice to make.

At first, I felt like crap being ditched. I had every intention of following her out, but before I could, I caught the eye of three men who worked hard to blend in with the mostly younger crowd with their jeans, dark masks and air of nonchalance. But unlike most people my age, I pride myself on noting smaller details other people mostly miss.

Like how Professor Warren Thurston always favors his right leg. Why I don’t know but the man has a notable walk I would recognize anywhere. And his amber-colored eyes are as unique as his ass in a pair of great jeans.

If you ever want to know something ask the quiet girl at the back of the room every time. They know things. Trust me on that fact because I’ve lived back there since kindergarten.

I stared shamelessly. The power of a mask is a wonderful thing.

Now Professor Daemon Preston, his tell is a little more subtle if you weren’t into people watching you would miss it completely. While I spend most of my hours studying computer coding and programming, I like to pride myself on knowing how to read people. Preston likes to stay quiet unless giving a class and rarely laughs at a joke. In the lecture room and school halls this fits in, but at a party of over two-hundred people, the small tell glares like a neon sign. As does his deep, gravelly voice. I’ve masturbated to it enough times I can pick his baritone out over terrible disco music any day of the week.

And Professor Erik Black. Lord, that man’s lips are in my dreams every time I close my eyes. I would recognize that man’s mouth anywhere. I’ve fantasized about him kissing me enough times for sure.

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