Chapter 31: Day 9: Morning Routine
The stale beer and sweat smell of the apartment hallway hit me, sharp and unwelcome, as I left the sanctuary of my room. My chest felt heavy, not just from the E-cups straining against my thin tank top, but from the fucking task ahead. Getting Mark off early had been the plan. Get it over with, quick and dirty, before the day really started. But his door was locked. Tight. Probably passed out cold after a late one. Bastard. So much for my fucking schedule. Fine. If Mark wasn’t playing ball, I’d handle the others. On my terms. Control was an illusion, but I’d cling to it like a life raft.
David’s door was slightly ajar. Soft guitar music drifted out – something melancholic and introspective. Perfect. More his speed. He was hunched over his desk, textbooks spread out like a disaster zone, fingers tangled in his dark, messy hair. Glasses perched on his nose. The conflicted intellectual. He always looked like he was carrying the weight of the world. Right now, that weight was me.
I pushed the door open without knocking. He jumped, spinning in his chair, eyes wide behind the lenses. "Taylor!Hey. I, uh, wasn’t expecting..."
"Morning, David," I cut him off, my voice flat. I leaned against the doorframe, letting the posture emphasize the curve of my hip, the swell of my breasts under the worn cotton. A calculated move. His gaze flickered down, then snapped back to my face, a flush creeping up his neck. Good. Guilt made him pliable. "Just collecting my weekly dues. Since Mark’s… unavailable."
He swallowed hard. "Right. Yeah. The... the bet." He shifted uncomfortably. "Look, Taylor, are you sure? We don’t have to just… jump into it. Maybe we could talk? This whole situation is just... messed up."
I pushed off the doorframe and walked towards him. Slow. Deliberate. Seeing him squirm was the only satisfaction I could squeeze out of this. "Talking doesn't make the debt disappear, David. Rules are rules. And you agreed to this fucked-up game." I stopped right in front of him, close enough to smell the faint scent of his cheap soap and the lingering trace of old coffee. "So. Let's just get it over with. Like ripping off a Band-Aid."
He stared up at me, conflict warring in his eyes – guilt, lingering friendship, and that undeniable pull of attraction that made me want to vomit. He didn’t like this. But he was hard. I could see the outline straining against his sweatpants. Hypocrite. His hand trembled slightly as he reached out, hesitantly brushing my hip. "I just... I wish it wasn't like this. Forcing you."
I grabbed his wrist, guiding his hand firmly up to cup my breast over the tank top. "Don't pretend," I said, my voice low and harsh. "You want this. You've always wanted it, deep down, since this body showed up. Don't dress it up in guilt now. Just fucking take it." The words tasted like ash, but they worked. His hesitation shattered. His fingers squeezed, kneading the soft flesh, his thumb finding my nipple through the fabric, rubbing it into a tight peak. A traitorous jolt raced through me. Fuck.
He surged up, pulling me roughly onto his lap as he sat back in the chair. The vinyl creaked under our combined weight. His mouth crashed onto mine, hungry and desperate, his tongue pushing past my lips. It was messy, wet, all teeth and clumsy pressure. I kissed him back mechanically, focusing on the cool plastic of his glasses pressing against my cheekbone. His hands were everywhere now – yanking down the strap of my tank top, groping my bare breast, squeezing the flesh hard enough to make me gasp. He fumbled with the drawstring of his sweats, freeing his cock. It sprang up, thick and already slick at the tip. He didn't bother with my shorts or panties. Just shoved the thin cotton aside, his fingers plunging roughly into my cunt. I wasn't ready. It stung. "David, fuck, slow—" I started, but he was past listening. Lost in it.
He guided his cock, thick and hot, to my entrance. Pushed. Hard. A sharp, tearing pain made me cry out. "God, you're tight," he groaned, burying his face in my neck, teeth scraping skin. He started thrusting, shallow at first, then deeper, pounding into me with a frantic urgency that rocked the cheap office chair. Each slam jolted through me, my tits bouncing heavily against his chest. The pain faded, replaced by a horrifying, unwanted slickness. My body was betraying me, responding to the brutal rhythm, a low heat coiling in my belly despite the revulsion churning in my mind. He grunted, animalistic, his fingers digging into the flesh of my ass, pulling me down onto him harder, deeper. "Fuck, Taylor... fuck yes..." His thrusts became erratic, his breath hot and ragged against my ear. I shut my eyes, trying to disappear, but the sensations were overwhelming – the slap of skin, the wet sounds of his cock pistoning inside me, the ache blooming into something perilously close to pleasure. He came with a choked shout, hips jerking, flooding me with thick, sticky warmth. He slumped against me, panting, sweaty forehead pressed to my collarbone. "Shit... Taylor..." he mumbled, sounding dazed and ashamed.
I pushed myself off him, my legs shaky. Cum trickled down my inner thigh, a warm, sticky humiliation. I yanked my shorts back into place, ignoring the mess. "One down," I stated, my voice cold and detached. "Don't look so fucking miserable, David. You got off." I turned and left without another word, pulling my tank top strap back up. The smell of sex and sweat clung to my skin.
Next. Chris. He was the wild card. Didn’t say much. Didn’t seem to care either way. Maybe it would be easier. His door was closed. I knocked, twice, sharp raps.
"Yo." His voice, deep and calm, came from inside.
I pushed the door open. Chris was lying on his bed, bare-chested, scrolling through his phone. Muscles rippled under smooth, dark skin. He glanced up, his expression unreadable. His room was sparse, clean. Posters of athletes on the walls, a pair of dumbbells by the bed, the faint smell of cocoa butter.
"Chris," I said, stepping inside and closing the door. "My turn."
He put his phone down slowly, his dark eyes assessing me. No guilt. No nervousness. Just... observation. "Right. The obligation." He swung his legs off the bed and stood. He was taller than David, broader. More imposing. He didn't touch me. Just stood there, waiting. The silence stretched, thick and heavy.
"Look," I said, forcing confidence I didn't feel. "Let's just make this quick. Like business." I reached for the button of my shorts.
He caught my wrist. Not roughly, but firmly. Stopping me. "Nah," he said, his voice low and steady. "Not like that." He released my wrist and walked past me, locking the bedroom door with a decisive click. The sound echoed in the quiet room. Then he turned back to me, his gaze intense. "If we're doing this? We do it proper."
He crossed the space between us in two strides. No hesitation. No awkward fumbling. His hands were on me – big, strong hands. One slid behind my head, tangling in my hair, pulling just enough to tilt my head back. The other gripped my ass, pulling me hard against him. I could feel the rigid length of his cock pressing against my stomach through his basketball shorts. His mouth covered mine. Not desperate like David’s, but possessive. Demanding. His tongue explored mine with a confident thoroughness that left me breathless. He tasted faintly of mint.
He broke the kiss, his eyes locked on mine. "Bed," he commanded, his voice a low rumble. It wasn't a suggestion.
He guided me backwards until my knees hit the mattress. Pushed me down. I landed with a soft whump on the neatly made bed. He didn’t crawl on top of me. He stood by the bedside, looking down at me, his expression unreadable again. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of my shorts and panties and pulled them down my legs in one smooth motion. Cool air hit my exposed cunt, still slick from David. Chris’s eyes lingered there for a long moment. Then he stripped off his shorts and boxers. His cock sprang free, thick and dark, already fully erect. Impressive. Intimidating.
"Spread your legs," he ordered, his voice still calm, almost detached.
I hesitated for a fraction of a second, then obeyed, hooking my knees over my elbows, exposing myself completely. The position felt shockingly vulnerable. He knelt on the bed, between my thighs. He didn't touch me with his hands. Just leaned forward, his gaze intense, studying me. Then he lowered his head. His tongue, broad and hot, licked a slow, deliberate stripe from my asshole all the way up to my clit. I gasped, my hips jerking involuntarily. He didn't pause. He began to eat me out with a focused intensity that was terrifying. Not teasing. Not exploratory. Like a man studying a complex piece of machinery he intended to master. His tongue delved deep inside me, then flicked relentlessly over my clit, his nose nudging against me. It was raw, wet, and impossibly skilled. Pleasure, sharp and undeniable, ripped through me, obliterating thought. My back arched off the bed. A low moan escaped my lips before I could stop it. "Oh fuck... Chris..."
He ignored my gasp, relentless. His fingers joined his tongue, two thick digits sliding easily into my soaked cunt, curling upwards. Finding that spot. Rubbing hard. The dual assault was overwhelming. My orgasm built with terrifying speed, a pressure coiling impossibly tight in my core. I was panting, my fingers twisting in the sheets. "Shit... I'm gonna...!" The climax hit like a truck, a violent, shuddering wave that left me gasping, my vision blurring at the edges, my body convulsing under his mouth.
He didn't stop. He kept licking, kept fingering me, riding out the aftershocks until the sensations tipped over into almost painful sensitivity. Only then did he pull back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. My own wetness glistened on his lips. He didn't say a word. Just positioned himself over me, his heavy cockhead nudging my swollen, sensitive entrance. He looked into my eyes, his expression still unreadable, but with a new heat in his gaze. "Hold on," he murmured, the only warning he gave before pushing inside me, deep and hard, in one smooth, powerful thrust.
He filled me completely, stretching me wider than David had. A low groan escaped him, primal and satisfied. He pulled back almost all the way, then slammed home again. And again. His rhythm was strong, steady, deep. Each stroke ground against my still-quivering clit, sending fresh tremors through my oversensitive body. He gripped my hips, fingers digging in, using his strength to fuck me with piston-like precision. The bedframe thudded rhythmically against the wall. There was no tenderness. No awkwardness. Just raw, physical demand. He watched me as he fucked me, his eyes dark pools taking in every flinch, every gasp, the way my tits bounced with each powerful drive of his hips. My head thrashed on the pillow. I couldn't help the sounds coming out of me now – choked moans, whimpers. My body was reacting violently, shamefully, caught between the deep ache of his size and the relentless friction sparking unwanted jolts of pleasure. "Fuck... so deep..." I heard myself whimper, the words torn from me.
He leaned down, bracing himself on his arms, his chest pressing against mine, his sweat mingling with mine. He captured my mouth again, his kiss rough, possessive, muffling my cries. His thrusts became shorter, harder, deeper. I could feel the tension coiling in him, the power in his muscles taut beneath his skin. He broke the kiss, pressing his forehead to mine, his breath hot and ragged. "Gonna cum," he growled, a deep vibration against my skin. He drove into me one last time, burying himself to the hilt, and held there. I felt him throb inside me, pulsing as he emptied himself, a low, guttural groan escaping his lips. Hot liquid flooded my core.
He stayed buried deep for a long moment, his weight pressing me into the mattress, his breath slowly steadying. Then he pulled out, the sudden emptiness almost shocking. He rolled off me, onto his back beside me on the bed. Silence descended, broken only by our ragged breathing and the faint thud of my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. The smell of sex – sweat, his cologne, my own arousal, his cum – was thick in the air.
I lay there, staring at the ceiling. Shaking. My body felt ravaged, used. But undeniably satisfied on a purely physical level, a truth that filled me with a fresh wave of self-loathing. Two down. Mark to go. The hollowness of my earlier victory over David felt pathetic now. I’d gotten it done. On my terms? Maybe. But the cost felt heavier, clinging to my skin, sinking into my bones. The silence stretched, the scent of two encounters mingling in the still air of Chris’s room, a pungent reminder of the cage I was locked in.