Fucked Raw in the Garage

Cole took my ass next, easing in despite my protests – a slow, searing breach that turned my pleas to whimpers. Travis kept thrusting below, pinning me between them. The pain twisted into something else – a jagged, electric rush – and I gave in, rocking back, chasing it. They traded off, relentless, filling me front and back until I was a trembling wreck, their releases painting me inside and out. I came again, raw and loud, claimed by the chaos.

Dawn crept in as I limped home, body bruised and singing. Daniel wasn’t there – probably still drunk somewhere. I crashed, spent, and when he staggered in later, he didn’t see the evidence – the scent of them, the marks. He’d learn soon enough, and when he did, he’d dive into the mess with me. That’s a tale for later, though.

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