Chapter 1: Taken in Both Holes at the Frat House
The air in Steve’s fraternity bedroom tasted like stale beer and cheap cologne. A bassline thumped up through the floorboards, a distant heartbeat from the party below. I kicked a discarded t-shirt under the bed and laughed, running a hand over the faded band poster plastered to the wall. The room was chaos—a testament to four guys who didn’t give a shit about decor.
“Quiet night in?” Steve’s voice was a warm vibration behind me.
His hands settled on my hips, turning me around. He’d been at football practice before the party, and that clean, sweaty scent of his skin was better than any cologne. His dark hair was still damp, curling slightly. I tipped my head up to look at him. Three weeks apart felt like a stupidly long time.
“Missed you,” I said, the simple truth feeling huge in my throat.
“Yeah?” He grinned, that slow, confident smile that made my stomach flip. “Prove it.”
His mouth met mine, not gentle but insistent. All the pent-up feeling from weeks of texting, of late-night calls where his voice was the only thing holding me together, poured into that kiss. He backed me up until my legs hit the edge of his rumpled mattress, a mess of navy sheets. He broke the kiss, his breathing already uneven.
“Tell me what you want, Kathy.”
I loved this game. The out-loud admission. It peeled away everything polite.
“You,” I said, my fingers working the button on his jeans. “Inside me. Start there.”
He scoffed, a soft, affectionate sound, pushing my hands away to do it himself. “Too easy. You flew across two states. That deserves a… better welcome.”
He knelt, his hands sliding my jeans and underwear down my legs in one rough pull. The cool air hit my skin, then the heat of his breath. His mouth was on me before I could say another word, his tongue a relentless, knowing pressure. I gasped, my hands fisting in his sheets. The distant party music blurred into a meaningless hum, the only rhythm now the one his tongue was building low in my core.
“Steve…”
He didn’t let up, his hands holding my thighs apart, anchoring me. Pleasure coiled, tight and insistent. My hips jerked against his mouth. I came with a choked cry, my back arching off the bed, the orgasm sharp and surprising, wringing a wave of intense, liquid heat from me. He watched me ride it out, his chin glistening, a look of pure ownership on his face.
He stood, finally shucking his own jeans and boxers. His cock stood thick and heavy against his stomach. My mouth watered. I wanted to taste myself on him. I sat up to reach for him, but he shook his head.
“On your knees. Face the wall.”
A fresh thrill sparked in my veins. I moved, the coarse frat-house carpet scratching my knees. I heard the click of the lube bottle behind me, the wet sound of him slicking himself. He wasn’t gentle when he positioned me, one hand firm on my back, pushing my shoulders down so my ass was raised, my cheek pressed to the scratchy weave of a blanket.
“You asked for it,” he reminded me, his voice low. He’d been stretching me with fingers for weeks over video chat, teasing the idea. The real thing was different. The blunt, broad head of his cock pressed against my other opening, a demand my body was only just learning to meet.
“Relax,” he muttered, more to himself than to me. He was breathing hard.
I tried. I exhaled, pushing back against the pressure. There was a burn, a deep, impossible stretch as he began to push inside. A sound tore from my throat—half pain, half want. He stopped, buried just an inch in that impossibly tight heat.
“Fuck, Kathy,” he groaned, his hands trembling where they gripped my hips.
He pulled out almost all the way, then pushed back in, a little deeper this time. The burn was subsiding, replaced by a profound, full feeling that left me gasping. He set a slow, deliberate rhythm, each thrust a little deeper, my body yielding to him. I was whimpering, a continuous stream of sound lost in the blanket. It was overwhelming, almost too much, but I didn’t want him to stop. I was craving that too-much feeling.
“Now the fun part,” he gritted out, his thrusts pausing.
I heard him fumble in the nightstand drawer. A low buzz filled the room, a sound that instantly made my clit ache. He’d bought this toy for me last Christmas—a sleek, powerful vibrator.
He didn’t guide it to my clit. I felt the smooth, buzzing head nudge against my slick, neglected opening below. My pussy was dripping, desperate. With one hard, final push, he seated himself fully in my ass, a deep, filling invasion that made me cry out. At the same moment, he pressed the vibrator into my pussy.
The effect was instantaneous and brutal.
Double penetration. The vibrator thrummed inside my front channel, its vibrations echoing into the heart of me, amplified by the unyielding thickness of him in my ass. Every nerve I had was suddenly screaming, lit up, connected to a live wire. The fullness was absolute, beyond anything I’d ever felt. I was completely occupied, stretched, and vibrating. A raw, guttural noise ripped from my lungs.
“Come,” Steve commanded, his voice strained with the effort of holding still.
I didn’t have a choice. It wasn’t a wave; it was a detonation. My body locked around them both, a violent, shuddering convulsion that had nothing to do with grace or control. My vision whited out. I screamed into the blanket, the sound muffled but savage as the orgasm tore through me, wave after shocking wave, my muscles milking the toy and his cock in frantic, helpless pulses. Steve cursed above me, a stream of filth, his hips stuttering as my contraction pulled his own release from him. I felt the hot rush deep inside as he came.
We collapsed. He pulled out carefully, the vibrator clicking off. I rolled onto my side, boneless, my body humming with aftershocks. The smell of sex and sweat was dense in the room. Steve flopped down beside me, his chest heaving.
We lay there for a long time, just breathing. The party downstairs seemed a thousand miles away. He finally stirred, propping himself up on an elbow to look down at me. He brushed my sweaty, blonde hair from my forehead, his touch surprisingly tender.
“That was…” I started, but words failed.
“A start,” he finished, his grin returning. “We’ve got all weekend.”
I laughed, a weak, happy sound, and curled into his side. My body felt used and perfect. As my heartbeat slowed, I noticed something. The chaotic room. The thumping bass. But on his cluttered desk, amid the textbooks and empty cans, sat a small, velvet box. It wasn’t there last time.
I didn’t ask. I just filed it away, a secret thrill nestled beside the ache deep in my core. The weekend, I knew, had only just begun.