Chapter 10: Personal Time
The quiet of the apartment pressed in on her. Annie sat at the kitchen table, a sociology textbook open, a highlighter uncapped. The words blurred. Her body remembered. A phantom fullness, a deep, internal ache that was less pain and more a persistent echo. Between her legs felt different. Used. Known. She shifted in her chair and a faint, sore twinge made her breath catch.
It was distracting. Unprofessional. She tried to focus on a paragraph about social deviance, but her mind kept looping back to the hot flood, the shocking stretch, the look on Troy’s face. Her skin felt too tight. A restless, itchy energy hummed just beneath it.
She stood up abruptly, the chair legs scraping the linoleum. “I’m taking a shower,” she announced to the empty living room. It was a lie, and she knew it.
The bathroom air was still humid from the morning. The faded tropical fish on the curtain seemed to swim in the dull light. She locked the door, a habit, then immediately questioned it. The policy didn’t require locks. It encouraged the opposite. Her fingers hesitated on the bolt before she left it engaged. This was private. For now.
She didn’t undress. She just turned on the shower, the pipes groaning. She watched the spray hit the tiles, a steady, pounding stream. The memory wasn’t just in her mind; it was a physical craving, a need to replicate the pressure, the invasion, the utter fullness.
With a jerky motion, she pulled down her leggings and panties, stepping out of them. The cool air kissed her sensitive flesh. She didn’t wait for the water to warm. She climbed into the tub, the chill of the spray making her gasp, her nipples hardening instantly. She turned her back to it, reaching behind to angle the showerhead. It was an old, detachable model on a flexible hose.
She guided the hard, plastic nozzle between her legs. The water was lukewarm now, the pressure intense. She pressed it directly against her clit, and a jolt, electric and sharp, went straight up her spine. Her head fell back against the tiles with a thud.
“Oh, god,” she whispered to the dripping walls.
This was different from her fingers. This was impersonal, relentless. She worked the showerhead, the stream a blunt, pulsing mimicry of a tongue, then a cock. She thought of Troy’s eager thrusts. She pressed the nozzle harder, circling her swollen nub until her thighs trembled. But it wasn’t enough. The emptiness inside her was a tangible void.
Grunting with effort, she contorted herself, one hand braced on the wall, the other guiding the showerhead behind her. She probed the entrance to her pussy with the wet plastic. It was too broad, too unyielding. Frustration bubbled up in her throat. She needed to be filled.
Then she remembered. She shifted the nozzle lower, to the tight, furl of muscle between her cheeks, still tender from Abed’s thorough use. The water pressure was a sharp, pointed intrusion. She pushed, and the rigid tip breached her, just an inch. A cry tore from her lips, part pain, part triumph. It was a poor substitute, but it was something. She fucked herself with it in short, desperate jabs, the water streaming inside her, a shallow, pathetic imitation of that hot, liquid possession. The orgasm that hit her was sharp and mean, leaving her panting and unsatisfied, the hollow feeling even more pronounced.
She dropped the showerhead. It clattered against the tub. She was slick with water and her own arousal, her hair plastered to her face. She was so absorbed in her failure that she didn’t hear the door.
The lock clicked. The bolt she’d left engaged snapped back with a sound like a gunshot.
The shower curtain was yanked aside.
Troy and Abed stood there, frozen in the doorway. Troy’s eyes were wide, traveling from her flushed face to her splayed legs, to the showerhead still dribbling between her thighs. Abed’s gaze was analytical, taking in the scene: her discarded clothes, her posture, the raw need written on every line of her body.
“Annie?” Troy said, his voice hushed.
Heat flooded her cheeks, a scorching shame. She should cover herself. She should scream at them to get out. But the policy hung between them, a silent, powerful law. And beneath the shame, a darker, more compelling impulse roared to life: defiance. Let them see.
“The door was locked,” she stated, her voice surprisingly steady.
“The narrative implied an intervention was necessary,” Abed said, not moving. “The locked door is a classic trope for hidden desire. You were attempting a solo scene, but the props were inadequate.”
“It wasn’t enough,” she admitted, the truth wrenched from her. She looked directly at Troy. “I can still feel it. Where you were. It feels empty.”
Troy swallowed hard. His Adam’s apple bobbed. He was already hard, a visible bulge straining against his sweatpants. “We… we can fix that.”
“The showerhead is a poor antagonist,” Abed continued, stepping fully into the room. Steam fogged his glasses. “It lacks character motivation. It’s just a tool.”
“Then be better tools,” Annie snapped, the control in her voice cracking. She turned off the water. The sudden silence was deafening. She didn’t move to cover herself. She stayed spread open against the tiles, water dripping from her fingertips, her cunt glistening and exposed. “You made the mess. You clean it up. You fill the empty space. Right now.”
It was a command, not a request. It shattered the last pretense.
Troy was pulling his clothes off before she finished speaking, his sweatpants and boxers a tangled heap on the floor. His cock sprang free, fully erect, curving upward and leaking. Abed was slower, more deliberate, folding his pants neatly over the toilet lid before standing naked beside his friend.
“How?” Troy asked, his voice thick.
“However I say,” Annie breathed. She pushed away from the wall, stepping out of the tub onto the bath mat. Water pooled around her feet. “On your back. Troy. On the floor.”
He didn’t hesitate. He lay down on the damp linoleum, his cock pointing toward the ceiling like a fleshy exclamation point. Annie stared at it, at him, this beautiful, goofy boy laid out for her. Her pussy clenched, aching.
She straddled him, her knees on the hard floor. She didn’t guide him. She hovered over the tip, her wet folds brushing his swollen head, smearing pre-cum. She looked down at his wide, trusting eyes. “You don’t move. You just lie there and take it. You’re my… my fucking dildo. You understand?”
He nodded, a quick, eager jerk of his head.
She sank down onto him in one slow, excruciating glide. The feeling of being stretched, filled by his familiar, thick heat made her vision blur. She was so wet he slid in effortlessly, seating himself to the hilt inside her. A guttural moan escaped her. Troy’s hands flew to her hips, but she slapped them away. “No. Don’t touch. You’re just a thing.”
She began to ride him, a slow, grinding rise and fall, using him like a tool, just as she’d accused the showerhead of being. His cock rubbed perfectly against every raw, hungry place inside her. She threw her head back, her wet hair slapping against her back.
“Abed,” she gasped, her rhythm faltering.
He was there, kneeling behind her. She felt his hands on her shoulders, steadying her. “Direct me,” he said, his mouth close to her ear.
“My ass,” she panted, driving down onto Troy. “Now. I want to feel… I want to feel that stretch again. I want to be completely full.”
Abed’s fingers, slick with the water and her own moisture, found her other hole. He pressed two inside without ceremony, scissoring them, preparing her with a brutal efficiency that made her cry out. Troy groaned beneath her, his whole body trembling with the effort of staying still.
When Abed replaced his fingers with the blunt head of his cock, Annie sobbed. “Yes. Do it. Fucking wreck me.”
He pushed. The burn was exquisite, a fiery, tearing fullness that completed her. She was impossibly speared, Troy’s cock buried in her cunt, Abed’s pushing deep into her ass. She was the connector, the living junction between them. She was full in a way the showerhead could never achieve.
“Move,” she begged, her command crumbling into a plea. “Please, move.”
Abed set the pace, pulling almost all the way out of her ass and then slamming back in, his hips slapping against her cheeks. The force drove her down onto Troy, who finally broke, his hips bucking up to meet her downward plunge. The rhythm was chaotic, punishing. She was a pivot point for their thrusts, slammed onto one cock as the other retreated, then impaled from behind as the other filled her.
The sounds were obscene. The wet slap of skin, Troy’s choked groans, Abed’s measured grunts, her own high, broken whimpers. “Fuck, yes, right there, you’re so deep, you’re filling me up, don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop!”
The slamming of the front door was a distant, irrelevant thing. A thud in another universe. The frantic jangle of keys, the call of “Hello? Guys?” existed only as faint radio static beneath the roaring blood in Annie’s ears.
Britta Perry stopped in the living room, a reusable grocery bag dropping from her hand. A carton of ethical oat milk thumped onto the rug. The screaming wasn’t of pain. It was a raw, guttural, and unmistakably pleasurable sound, tearing from the bathroom down the hall. It was followed by a deep, male groan of release, and another voice, flat and factual, saying, “I’m approaching climax.”
“What the actual fuck?” Britta whispered.
She moved down the hall, her boots heavy on the floorboards. The bathroom door was wide open. Steam billowed out into the cooler hallway, carrying a thick, humid smell of sex and sweat and body wash. The scene inside was a lurid painting, framed by the doorway.
Annie was on the floor, straddling Troy, her body gleamed with a sheen of water and sweat. Her head was thrown back, her mouth a perfect ‘O’ of shattered composure. Troy was beneath her, his hands now gripping her hips hard enough to leave marks, his body arching off the linoleum. And Abed was behind her, his movements a precise, driving pistoning, his eyes fixed on the point where his body disappeared into hers.
They were a single, shuddering organism. They hadn’t heard her. They were gone.
“OH MY GOD!” Britta screamed.
The effect was instantaneous and brutal. Annie’s eyes flew open, locking onto Britta’s horrified face. A violent, involuntary clench seized her body, milking the cocks inside her. Troy shouted, his release triggered by the shock and the sudden, tight pressure. She felt the hot, familiar pulse of his cum flooding her. Abed followed a second later, his thrusts stuttering to a halt as he emptied himself into her ass with a sharp, quiet gasp.
The silence that followed was absolute and terrible. The only sounds were their ragged, overlapping breaths and the steady drip-drip from the showerhead still dangling in the tub.
Britta stood frozen, her face a mask of utter revulsion and disbelief. “What… what are you…? Is this a… a thing?” she stammered, her voice rising. “Are you being exploited? Annie, blink twice if you need help!”
Annie slowly, carefully, lifted herself off Troy. A thick trickle of fluid immediately leaked out of her onto his stomach. She didn’t try to cover herself. She just knelt there on the damp, filthy floor, looking at Britta with a expression of eerie, post-coital calm. “No, Britta. I don’t need help.”
“This is insane! This is… this is degrading!” Britta yelled, gesturing wildly at the three of them. “You’re letting them… both of them… in the bathroom? On the floor?”
Troy pulled his soft cock out with a wet sound, scrambling to sit up. “It’s not degrading! It’s the policy! She has a policy!”
“A policy?” Britta shrieked. “What does that even mean? Abed, explain this! Use your film words or whatever!”
Abed withdrew from Annie with clinical neatness. He stood, looking from Britta’s apocalyptic anger to Annie’s defiant nakedness. “It’s an interpersonal agreement governing somatic exploration,” he said, wiping himself with a hand towel. “Annie establishes the rules and permissions. We operate within her framework. Your entrance functioned as a classic third-act disruption, exposing the secret world to normative society.”
Britta stared, her mouth opening and closing. She looked at Annie, really looked at her. The high color in her cheeks, the glint in her eyes that wasn’t shame, but something like power. The way she sat amidst the physical evidence of their use, not as a victim, but as a queen surveying her messy domain.
“You… you like this?” Britta asked, her voice dropping to a horrified whisper.
Annie reached for the towel Abed offered. She stood, her legs slightly unsteady, and wrapped the terrycloth around herself. It was a gesture, not of modesty, but of transition. The scene was over. “It’s complicated,” she said, her voice low but clear. “And it’s private. It’s my complicated, private thing.”
It’s my complicated, private thing.”
Britta didn’t move from the doorway. Her arms were crossed, a barricade of judgment. The steam thinned, revealing the gritty details: Troy’s cum drying on his stomach, the slick patch on the floor between Annie’s feet, Abed calmly rinsing himself at the sink.
“Private?” Britta spat the word. “I just saw a… a human sandwich. How is that even physically possible? Your… your body isn’t a clown car, Annie. How were you taking them both in your pussy at the same time? That’s not a thing!”
Annie tightened the towel around her chest. A strange, defiant smile touched her lips. It wasn’t joyful. It was a baring of teeth. Troy opened his mouth, but Annie cut him off, her voice cool and clarifying.
“He wasn’t in my pussy, Britta.” She let the statement hang. “Troy was in my pussy. Abed was in my ass.”
The color drained from Britta’s face. Her eyes darted to Abed, then back to Annie’s unflinching gaze. Her nose wrinkled as if she’d smelled something rotten. “Your… You let him… in your ass? While Troy was…? Jesus Christ, Annie! That’s… that’s disgusting! That’s not sex, that’s… I don’t even know what that is!”
“It’s efficiency,” Abed stated, turning from the sink. Water droplets clung to his torso. “Dual-access utilization. The previous session involved a liquid exchange component. This was a follow-up focused on structural fullness.”
“Shut up, Abed!” Britta yelled, pressing her palms to her temples. “You’re talking about her like she’s a… a utility shed! Annie, listen to yourself! This is your ‘policy’? Letting them use any hole they want? This is what you needed a policy for?”
The anger that flashed in Annie’s eyes was sudden and hot. It burned away the last of her post-coital haze. She dropped the towel. It puddled at her feet. She stood naked in the middle of the bathroom, soiled and splendid, all her meticulous control channeled into this raw display.
“You don’t get it,” Annie said, her voice low and dangerous. “You never get it. You think it’s about them taking. It’s about me allowing. It’s about me wanting. I wanted to feel that full. I wanted to feel that used. I wanted them to look at me the way you’re looking at me right now—like I’m a terrifying, amazing mystery you can’t solve.”
Britta took a step back, genuinely startled. Annie advanced, her body a testament to the act. She grabbed Britta’s wrist. Her grip was surprisingly strong. “You want to understand the how? Fine.”
She pulled a stunned Britta into the bathroom, past a wide-eyed Troy, and pushed her down until she was kneeling on the damp mat. Annie looked over her shoulder at the boys. “Again. Now. Show her.”
Troy was hard again, achingly fast. Abed’s expression flickered with understanding. This was a new directive. An audience. A demonstration.
Annie turned her back to Britta, bending over, placing her hands on her knees. She presented herself to the boys, and to Britta’s horrified, fascinated eyes. The evidence of their last round was still there, glistening. “Troy. Here.” She reached back and spread herself open for him. “Abed. There. Do it exactly like before.”
Troy didn’t need telling twice. He stepped up, his cock nudging through her slick folds, and pushed in with a single, smooth stroke that made Annie gasp. He filled her, his hands gripping her hips. Britta watched, frozen, her protest dying in her throat as she saw the intimate mechanics, the way Annie’s body stretched to accept him.
Before Britta could speak, Abed moved. He pressed the head of his cock against the tight, darker pucker just below. Annie was loose and ready from earlier. He leaned his weight into it. Britta saw the resistance, the momentary tightness, then the slow, inevitable yield as the head popped past the ring of muscle and sank inside.
“Oh my god,” Britta whispered, her hand flying to her mouth.
Annie’s face was a mask of strained ecstasy. “See?” she panted, the word directed at the floor, at Britta. “It’s just… anatomy. It’s just… capacity.”
Then they moved. Troy fucked her with deep, rolling pulls that made her breasts sway. Abed’s thrusts were shorter, sharper, a precise piston that jolted her whole body forward onto Troy’s cock. The wet, slapping sounds filled the small room, a rhythmic, obscene music. Annie’s moans were ragged, unfiltered.
“You see what I can take?” Annie cried, her voice breaking on a thrust. “You see what I want?”
Britta couldn’t look away. Her disgust was tangled up with a horrified, voyeuristic awe. She saw the raw power in Annie’s surrender, the absolute authority in her depravity. This wasn’t a victim. This was a conductor.
Annie’s orgasm built like a storm, undeniable. “Don’t stop! Fuck me! Use me! Fill me up you filthy fucking animals!” Her words were a manifesto. Her body clamped down, a series of violent spasms that made Troy shout. He came, pulsing inside her cunt. The convulsions milked Abed, who followed with a sharp groan, his own release adding to the hot mess pooling inside her.
They stayed like that, joined, panting. Finally, they pulled out. A thick, pearlescent stream of their combined spend leaked from Annie’s well-used holes and dripped onto the bath mat between Britta’s knees.