Chapter 18: Surfer Gangbang
The door clicked shut, severing the strip of fluorescent light. The muffled sound of the tourist’s hurried footsteps retreated across the shop floor. In the returned darkness, Sterre’s soft noise crystallized into a clear, bright laugh.
“Holy shit,” she breathed, her body shaking beneath his.
Marc pushed himself up, his arms trembling. He felt raw, flayed open. The crude reality of their situation—the smell of sex, the chill of drying sweat, the fact that a stranger had just seen them—crashed down on him. He fumbled in the dark for his shorts, yanking them up.
“It’s not funny,” he said, his voice flat.
“It’s a little funny,” she said, sitting up. He heard her hop off the workbench, her own clothes rustling. “His face. Did you see his face?”
“No. I was a little busy.”
He found the door handle, pushed it open. The main shop was empty, the front door standing ajar. He walked over, closed it, locked it. He flipped the sign to ‘Closed’. He stood there, his forehead against the cool glass.
Sterre emerged from the storage room, looking disheveled and impossibly alive. She walked up behind him, wrapped her arms around his waist, and pressed her cheek between his shoulder blades. “Hey. He’s gone. It’s just us again.”
He turned. Her face was flushed, eyes sparkling with a defiant, post-coital glow. He saw no shame there. No regret. Just a hungry, triumphant energy. It scared him. It excited him. It hollowed him out.
“What are we doing, Sterre?” The question was a whisper.
Her smile didn’t waver, but it changed. It became a challenge. “We’re surviving.”
Two days later, the bungalow felt like a museum of a life he was no longer living. George’s lawyer had called. The papers were ready to sign. The finality of it sat in the room like a heavy, invisible fog.
Sterre had moved her few things in. A toothbrush by his sink. A vibrantly colored sarong draped over a chair. A faint, floral scent layered over the salt and wax. She was trying to fill the space George had left, and her efforts were both endearing and deeply unsettling.
That afternoon, the roar of Kai’s beaten-up truck pulling into the shell driveway broke the silence. Doors slammed. Laughter. Marc watched from the window as his friend Pim, another local shaper, tumbled out of the passenger side, a case of cheap beer swinging from his hand. Kai carried a six-pack of something more expensive.
“Marc! You dead in there?” Kai’s voice boomed.
Before Marc could answer, Sterre, who had been sunning herself on the deck, padded inside. She was gloriously, unabashedly naked, her skin glowing from the sun. She didn’t cover herself. She just walked past Marc towards the kitchen, her small breasts swaying, a faint smile on her lips as she met his gaze. “Company,” she said, as if announcing the weather.
“Jesus,” Marc muttered, grabbing a towel from the rail and tossing it to her.
She caught it, but didn’t wrap it around herself. She just held it, a prop, as she opened the front door.
“Well, hello there,” Pim said, his eyes widening as he took her in. He was a big guy, friendly, with a perpetual sunburn and a laugh that came too easily.
Kai’s reaction was more measured. He glanced from Sterre’s nakedness to Marc’s tense face standing behind her. A slow, knowing grin spread across his features. “Brought reinforcements,” Kai said, holding up the beer. “Figured you could use ’em.”
Sterre stepped back, letting them in. “Always room for more,” she said, her voice light, but her eyes held a darkness Marc recognized. It was the same look she’d given him in the storage room before she’d dropped to her knees. A look of deliberate, self-destructive provocation.
Pim was practically vibrating. He set the case down with a clatter. His eyes kept darting to Sterre, who had now, infuriatingly, draped the towel over one shoulder like a sash, doing nothing to conceal herself.
Kai popped the cap off a local IPA and handed it to Marc. “You look like hell, brother.”
Marc took the beer. “Feel like it.”
The easy camaraderie felt like a relic. Pim was already cracking jokes, his voice too loud in the high-ceilinged room. Kai kept glancing at Sterre, who had settled onto the wide, worn sofa, curling one leg beneath her, the towel now casually covering only her lap. She took a long pull from a bottle Pim had handed her.
“So,” Pim said, his gaze fixed on Sterre, “heard you’ve been holding down the fort.”
“Something like that,” Sterre said. She looked at Marc over the rim of her bottle. “Marc’s been… distracted.”
“I bet,” Pim chuckled.
The conversation was forced, stilted. Kai tried to steer it toward the swell forecast, but Pim’s attention was a laser beam on Sterre. She met his gaze, held it, took another slow drink. She was playing a game Marc didn’t know the rules to. He felt a hot coil of jealousy twist in his gut, mixed with a terrible, resigned understanding. This was her way of pulling him back from the edge he was clinging to. By jumping off her own cliff.
It happened quickly. One moment Pim was laughing at his own joke, the next he had crossed the room and was standing over Sterre. “You’re a fucking vision, you know that?”
Sterre didn’t look at Marc. She looked up at Pim, her blue eyes wide and empty. “Yeah?”
Pim reached down, his calloused hand closing around her bare ankle. He gave it a gentle squeeze. “Absolutely.”
Marc’s grip tightened on his beer bottle. “Pim.”
“It’s okay, Marc,” Sterre said softly, her eyes still on the bigger man. “I’m okay.” She shifted, letting the towel fall completely away.
That was all the invitation Pim needed. He sank to his knees in front of the couch, his hands sliding up her calves. He buried his face between her thighs without preamble, a guttural sound escaping him.
Sterre’s head fell back against the cushions. A sharp gasp, then a low moan. Her hand came up, fingers threading into Pim’s shaggy hair. She opened her legs wider.
Marc stood frozen. He saw Kai watching him, the earlier grin gone, replaced by a careful neutrality.
Pim was voracious, his mouth and tongue working over her with a clumsy, eager intensity. Sterre’s moans grew louder, less performative, more genuine. Her hips began to rock against his face. “Yeah,” she hissed. “Right there. Fuck, just like that.”
After a few minutes, Pim pulled back, his chin glistening. He was fumbling with his own shorts, his cock already thick and ruddy in his fist. He didn’t ask. He just pushed Sterre’s legs apart wider and guided himself to her entrance.
Marc saw her flinch, just for a second, as the broad head pressed against her. Then she relaxed, opening her eyes to look past Pim, directly at Marc. Her expression was a complex mix of defiance and despair.
Pim pushed inside.
He groaned, a deep, shuddering sound. “Oh, Christ. You’re so fucking tight.”
He began to move, hard and fast, his bulk jostling her with each thrust. The couch springs squeaked in protest. Sterre wrapped her legs around his waist, her face turned into the cushion. Her sounds were muffled, animalistic.
It lasted three strokes.
On the third, Pim froze, his entire body locking up. A strangled cry ripped from his throat. “Ah, fuck! I’m—shit!” He slammed into her one last, convulsive time and then collapsed, his weight pinning her to the couch as he shuddered, spilling inside her with a guttural groan of defeat.
Silence, except for his ragged panting.
Then Kai laughed. A single, sharp burst of sound. “Three fucking pumps, Pim? Seriously?”
Pim, red-faced, pushed himself off Sterre. He couldn’t meet anyone’s eyes as he hastily tucked himself away. “Shut up, man. It’s been a while.”
Sterre lay there, exposed, glistening. A thin trickle of Pim’s release seeped from between her thighs onto the woven fabric of the couch. She looked dazed, used. Then she focused on Kai. A slow, wicked smile touched her lips.
“Your turn,” she said, her voice hoarse.
Kai didn’t hesitate. He set his beer down and approached. He was calmer, more deliberate. He looked down at her, at the mess Pim had made of her. “You sure?”
“I’m sure.” She reached for him, pulling at the waistband of his boardshorts. “I want to feel it. All of it.”
Kai stepped out of his shorts. He was already hard. He knelt on the couch, positioning himself between her splayed legs. He used his fingers first, sliding them through the slick mixture of her arousal and Pim’s come, coating himself. He pushed two fingers inside her, crooking them. Sterre arched off the couch with a sharp cry.
“Someone’s eager,” Kai murmured, his eyes flicking to Marc. There was no malice there, just a cool assessment.
Then he replaced his fingers with his cock. He entered her with a smooth, controlled motion, deeper than Pim had managed. Sterre’s breath hitched. She wrapped her arms around Kai’s neck, pulling him down for a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss.
Marc watched, the beer bottle cold and forgotten in his hand. He watched Kai’s tattooed back muscles flex as he fucked her with a steady, deep rhythm. He watched Sterre’s face, contorted in a pleasure that seemed edged with pain. She was chasing something, trying to obliterate a feeling she couldn’t name. She was using them. She was using him, by making him watch.
“Yeah,” she moaned, her nails digging into Kai’s shoulders. “Fuck me. Fill me up, boys. I want to feel all of you leak out of me.”
The words were a punch to Marc’s solar plexus. They were meant for him.
Kai picked up the pace, his hips snapping harder, driving her into the cushions. The wet, rhythmic slap of skin on skin filled the sunlit room. Pim, having recovered some of his bravado, moved to kneel by Sterre’s head. He presented his semi-hard cock to her lips. Without opening her eyes, she took him into her mouth, sucking lazily as Kai pounded into her from below.
It was a raw, graphic tableau. The salt air coming through the windows, the smell of sex and sweat, the three bodies moving in a crude, mechanical union. Marc was a statue. He felt divorced from himself, watching a scene from someone else’s life.
Kai’s rhythm stuttered. He grunted, his body tightening. “Gonna come,” he warned, his voice strained.
“Inside,” Sterre gasped around Pim’s cock. “Do it.”
Kai drove into her one last, final time, burying himself to the hilt. He held there, his face a mask of strained ecstasy as he emptied into her. When he finally pulled out, he was glistening, coated with the combined evidence of both men.
Sterre pushed Pim’s softening cock from her mouth. She looked wrecked, beautiful, and utterly hollow. She turned her head, her blue eyes finding Marc’s across the room. They were clear and sharp and full of a terrible question.
They were clear and sharp and full of a terrible question.
The humid air in the bungalow thickened, heavy with the stench of spent lust and salt. Pim, still kneeling by the couch, watched the slick sheen on Sterre’s inner thighs. His breathing, which had slowed, hitched and deepened again. He looked down at his own cock, soft and wet from her mouth, and saw it twitch, thickening anew against his leg.
“Well, fuck me,” Pim muttered, almost to himself. He wrapped a rough hand around his shaft, pumping slowly as he stared at the mess Kai had just left behind. “Look at that.”
Kai had moved to the window, lighting a cigarette with steady hands. He exhaled a stream of smoke, his eyes on Marc. “You just gonna stand there?”
Marc didn’t answer. He was trapped in Sterre’s gaze, in the silent scream of her expression.
Pim’s erection returned fully, angry and dark. He shuffled closer on his knees, his free hand pushing Sterre’s leg wider. “My turn. For real this time.”
Before she could speak, he was angling himself at her entrance, his blunt head nudging through the slickness. He pushed in, a low groan tearing from his chest. “Christ, you’re still so fucking open.”
Sterre’s eyes finally slid shut. A single tear tracked through the sweat at her temple. Her body accepted him, but her face was turned away, pressed into the couch cushion.
Pim fucked her with a determined, grinding rhythm, a man trying to prove a point to himself. The couch frame knocked against the wall with each drive. He leaned over her, his sweat dripping onto her back. “Take it,” he grunted. “You wanted it, you take all of it.”
The front door, which no one had locked, swung open.
A young man stood silhouetted against the brilliant afternoon light. He was lean, wearing only board shorts, his skin a deep bronze. He blinked, taking in the scene: Kai smoking by the window, Marc frozen like a sentinel, Pim pounding into a girl on the couch.
“Uh,” the newcomer said. “Kai said there was beer.”
Kai smirked. “There is, Kev. Come on in. Party’s just getting warmed up.”
Kevin stepped inside, letting the door swing shut. He wasn’t much older than Sterre. His eyes adjusted, lingering on the coupling on the couch. There was no shock in his face, just a slow, interested assessment. He walked to the case, pulled out a bottle, and twisted the cap off on the edge of the counter.
Pim was losing his rhythm, his thrusts becoming erratic. “Gonna… fuck…”
Sterre opened her eyes. She looked past Pim’s heaving shoulder and saw Kevin watching. She held his gaze as she reached back, her fingers digging into Pim’s hip. “Harder,” she whispered, but her voice was dead.
Pim came with a strangled yell, collapsing onto her back. He shuddered, pulsing inside her again.
Kevin took a long swig of his beer. He set the bottle down with a definitive click. “My turn.”
Pim slid off her, disengaged with a wet sound, and stumbled toward the bathroom. Kevin approached the couch. He unbuckled his boardshorts, letting them drop. His cock was already hard, curving thick and heavy against his stomach. It was visibly larger, a daunting piece of anatomy that made the prior exertions seem like child’s play.
Sterre stared at it. Her breath caught. For the first time, a flicker of something other than blank defiance crossed her face—a primal, calculating fear.
Kevin didn’t ask. He put a hand on her hip and flipped her onto her back. The movement was effortless. He wedged himself between her thighs, pushing them up toward her chest. He spat into his palm, slicked his length, and notched the broad, violet head against her swollen opening.
“This might sting,” he said, his voice casual.
He pushed.
Sterre’s mouth fell open in a silent gasp. Her body tensed, resisting the overwhelming intrusion. Kevin leaned his weight forward, relentless. He watched her face as he sank deeper, millimeter by impossible millimeter, stretching her to a breathtaking limit.
A ragged scream finally tore from her throat. “Fuck!”
“Yeah,” Kevin breathed, his own composure cracking for a second. “Holy shit, you’re tight.”
He began to move. Short, deep strokes at first, a brutal piston. Sterre clawed at the couch cushions, her knuckles white. Each thrust punched the air from her lungs in a sharp, choked cry. Kevin found a angle that made her whole body jolt. He settled into a punishing, steady rhythm, the wet slap of flesh absorbing all other sound in the room.
“You feel that?” he grunted, his hips driving forward, burying himself to the root. “You feel how deep that is?”
Sterre could only nod, her eyes wide and unseeing. Sensation overloaded her system, a terrifying current of pain and piercing pleasure. The world narrowed to the brutal fullness splitting her apart, to the raw friction of each stroke.
Kevin’s pace quickened. He was fucking her in earnest now, his body a machine of pure, focused intent. The couch scraped across the floor with every impact. Sterre’s screams melted into continuous, guttural moans. Her vision speckled, dark at the edges.
“Look at me,” Kevin commanded.
Her eyes, glassy, found his. He held her gaze as he hammered into her, his expression fierce, almost clinical. “You see ’em yet?” he asked, his breath hot. “You see those stars?”
She did. Pinpricks of white light exploded behind her eyes with each deep, grinding penetration. The room dissolved into a nebula of sensation, a roaring in her ears that was the ocean, or her own blood. Her body convulsed around him, a rippling, involuntary clamp that wasn’t pleasure, but a sheer neurological surrender.
Kevin saw it. His rhythm fractured. He drove into her one last, final time, his whole body locking as he emptied himself with a raw shout, filling her with a searing, impossible heat.
He stayed there, buried, for a long moment, both of them trembling.
Then he pulled out.
The sound was obscene. Sterre lay utterly still, wrecked and glistening, her body visibly used. She stared at the ceiling, tears now flowing freely, silently. She did not blink.
Kevin stepped back, pulling his shorts up. He retrieved his beer, took another sip. “Good beer,” he said to no one, and walked out the front door into the sun.
The silence he left behind was absolute. Kai stubbed out his cigarette. Pim emerged from the hallway, avoiding everyone’s eyes.
Marc finally moved. The bottle in his hand was sweating more than he was. He walked to the couch and looked down at Sterre. The question in her eyes was gone, replaced by a hollow, spent void. The smell of sex was overwhelming, a tangible presence in his home.
He reached down, his hand hovering over her bare shoulder. He did not touch her.
“Get up,” he said, his voice stripped bare. “Go shower.”