Maggie 3.3 (Patreon)

Cole led the way and she followed. She was noticeably quiet, lost in thought about all the protocol when an engaged woman spent time in the private room of another man. She shook her head, fencing salacious thoughts away, wanting to say something, but the best she came up with was, “What games does he have?”

Cole spoke over his shoulder, saying, “I don’t know. I never play with him.”

“Oh,” she said, then back to a self-conscious quiet, canines pinching a lump of her slippery inner lining just below her bottom lip, making it tangy.

They climbed to the third floor, turned right, and made their way to Cole’s room. She saw Caitlin who she attended Literature study group with and suffered a tingle of fear. Like she’d been caught sneaking around. But Caitlin just said Hi, Maggie, Hi, Cole as she passed, face lit with a big, genuine smile. Maggie’s heart was pounding. Where did this guilt come from? Caitlin knew she was friends with Cole, she’d seen them together before. Even on this floor... Even near his dorm room.

Cole went ahead of her into his room. Past Cole’s shoulder she could see his roommate sitting on his bed, back up against the wall, reading a book.

“Satinder, buddy,” Cole boomed.

“Hey, Cole,” Satinder said, putting the textbook down on his thighs.

“Hey, Satinder,” Maggie said.

“Hi, Maggie. How’s Max?”

“He’s good. We all just had dinner together.”

Cole sat on Satinder’s bed, looked over his shoulder at him. Satinder looked at Cole with an eager urge to please. He had a boy-crush on Cole. That’s how she would describe it. Satinder would love to please Cole, just to be considered part of his world. Cole said, “Dude, we were going to play Xbox, me and Maggie… We get here and the Ole Miss Alabama game has the rec all jammed up.”

“Oh, hey,” Satinder said, “you can— You want to play here?” He sat straighter, inching closer to the edge of the bed.

“Yeah, man, that’d be great. You set it up for us?”

“Sure,” Satinder said, and got his sock feet on the floor, dropped to his knees, knee-walked to the mid-size flat screen near the foot of his bed. Satinder worked buttons and brought out controllers. Cole smiled at Maggie. She sat on Cole’s bed across from them.

Satinder said, “What do you want to play?”

“I don’t know. What do you got? Something two-player. Something head-to-head.”

“Mortal Kombat X?”

“Perfect,” Cole said, looking to Maggie, narrowed eyes settling on her. “I will kick the living shit out of her.”

As Satinder got it set up and the screen came to life with the menu for the game, Cole said, “You got somewhere quiet you want to go? It’s going to get noisy in here, I don’t want to disturb you.”

“Yeah,” Satinder said, his already sad eyes drooping a little in the corners.

“Cool, man. Cool.” Cole got up, came to his bed and sat next to Maggie, on the side nearer his pillows. As Satinder put his belongings together and slipped his books and laptop into his knapsack, Cole opened the drawer of his bedside stand. A flash of silver winked in his hands as he drew out a flat metal flask the size of a slim paperback. “Got this on Monday,” he said.

She said, “A hip flask?”

“Have fun,” Satinder said as he backed out of the room with his hand on the door lever.

“Thanks, Satinder,” she said to him as he closed the door.

“Thanks a lot, buddy,” Cole called after him. He unscrewed the cap and took a swig.

“What is it?”

“Whisky,” Cole said, and swiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He held the flask out to her.

She took it, sniffed the contents. It was fierce. She sipped, and it burned her throat going down. When she made to talk, a fire scorched within her. She lowered her head, wincing. “Oh shit, that’s terrible,” she said and laughed.

“Not as good as what your dad buys, I’m sure, but it’s not Thunderbird.”

“Oh wow,” she said, fanning her face.

“Have another sip.” He urged the flask to her mouth. “It gets easier.”

“It does?”

“It does. I swear.”

She took another sip and held it in her mouth. No burn, cool against her cheeks. She swallowed. The fire returned. “Ouch,” she said, covered her mouth and giggled.

Cole took the flask from her and tipped a healthy gulp of his own, closed it up and tossed it on his bed.

“Come on,” he said, and left the bed, settling in front of the TV, sitting cross-legged on the floor. He patted the space next to him. She hesitated on the bed, sitting with her elbows dug into her thighs. Cole stayed expectant yet confident, still patting the space next to him. He wore a black lacrosse sweatshirt, grey cotton pants and chukkas. He looked very good; his unshaved face and his strong features, then that thick but lustrous blonde hair. She sighed.

Cole laughed. “What?”

“Should we... be alone in your room?”

His smile didn’t falter. “Would you have come to my room last week?”

“Yes.”

“So, Maggie, don’t let that be ruined.”

“I don’t want it to be ruined.”

“It’s something in our control. Just don’t think about it.”

“Sure,” she said. “Okay.” It was a warm feeling Cole gave her but she couldn’t help wonder what it would take to bring out that man that had dominated her on the day of her wedding planning. The bold one who stood on the altar with her where she would marry Max, and told her to go and take her panties off and put them in his pocket.

“Fuck it, right?” She got down on the floor next to Cole and she sat cross-legged, pulled her Weejuns off and slid them to the edge of the wall. Cole worked though the menus, picked a two-player head-to-head challenge and began scrolling through characters, looking at their digital mugshots and assessing who he would use to engage her in combat.

He landed on Kitana and selected the character without hesitation.

“So sad,” she said.

“Why?”

“Your culture’s propensity to appropriate mine with such easy vigor.”

Cole laughed, saying, “Hey, Maggie, you can pick the cool white dude if you want. I’d be honored, not offended.”

“Oh, I am,” she said, settling on Johnny Cage and locking her choice in. “I’m going to kick your skinny Japanese ass, hold you down and make you slap yourself in the face with your dumb fans.”

“They’re called sensu, whitey.”

She laughed and threw her head back, feeling like it was all falling back in place.

“You ready?”

She turned to him. “Hey, what did you think of my parents?”

“They were nice.” A smirk tugged one corner of his mouth.

“What did you think of my father? . . . Really think?”

“Your dad... seems like a no-nonsense asshole, if you don’t mind me saying. But like, he cuts throats, too. He’s not just hard-line discipline, he’s got a boner for success and winning.”

“Not bad. Pretty close,” she said, then murmured aside, “Actually, very close, like bullseye close.” Then she asked what he thought of her mother.

“Your mom is so hot.”

It stunned her. She looked at Cole’s profile as his gaze stayed fixed to the hopping fighters on the screen. He wasn’t joking. “What? . . . She’s hot?”

“Fuck, yes,” he said with enthusiasm.

She shook her head. “She’s so stern looking.”

“I like that. She looks like she might like it real rough.”

Her jaw dropped. She had never, ever, ever in her life heard anything like that. No one had dared refer to her mother in that manner. She never thought of her mother like that.

Cole turned and his expression had fallen, his eyes tinged with a worry. “What? . . . Oh, that make you mad? Sorry, Maggie... was that inappropriate?”

She couldn’t stop herself. She burst out in laughter. Honest, exuberant joy exploding from her at that crazy thought. The more she thought of it the more the laughter leapt from her. Her eyes went wet with tears. She pictured her mother in the hallway at The Poirot, pressed against the wall with Cole looming over her, sticking his hand down her panties and touching her—she believed—very-hairy snatch. She laughed harder. Pictured her mother powerless against Cole, nothing mean to say to him, nothing to use against him as he slid a finger inside her. A different Cole, not the boy-Cole next to her now, not the student—the man with the tie, the confident one who’d made her sex-sweat trickle down her legs. Now guffaws came. She was aware of Cole watching her and laughing along now too, but her vision was so warbled with tears she couldn’t make him out. Pictured her mother in the conservatory taking it up the ass with Cole’s big fat cock. Pictured her tight mouth forming O shapes as he pummeled her, heard imaginary gasps and cries tinged with her Chinese voice. Now she fell back on the floor, laughing so hard she couldn’t breathe, she fanned her face and tried gulping for air. “Oh, oh, my God,” she managed, then was racked with more laughter. She heard Cole laughing too, a good, honest belly laugh, enjoying that he’d got her so bad with such a ludicrous thought.

When it subsided, she wiped her tears away, finger digging into the hollows of her eyes and her belly still quivering with aftershocks.

Cole said, “You’re crazy.”

His voice was close, very close, and she blinked away the wet and moved her hands from her face. He was above her, his masculine face over hers. She giggled. “I’m picturing it. Oh, shit.” Her body was seized with more laughter, her stomach sore now.

Cole said, “Maggie’s got the giggles.”

“I do,” she said, looking up into his eyes. They weren’t face to face, more side to side. His eyes darted over hers.

He put a hand on her cheek, his thumb brushing away a wet streak that she felt plop into her ear canal. He said, “Max is so lucky. You’re going to be as beautiful as she is when you’re fifty. Just as beautiful as you are now.”

She whispered, “You think I’m beautiful?”

“Inside and out.”

A tremble passed through her jaw and she was sure it was visible. He looked into her eyes and she didn’t look away. This was way too wrong. This wasn’t dirty, this was just plain bad. A smile pulled her cheeks up, and she laughed again. “So, you ready to get your ass kicked?”

“You sound confident.”

She sat up, still wiping her face and sniffing. The controller was in her lap and she scooped it out. “Oh, I’m ready.”

Cole watched her from the side, and she could sense a confidence, see it in his posture.

He said, “Stakes, then?”

“Stakes? Like what?”

He shrugged, but his face was still turned to her. “I don’t know. . . . Strip Mortal Kombat?”

She chuckled, “Strip Mortal Kombat?”

Cole smirked and cocked an eyebrow. “One clothing item per round.”

“I don’t know…”

“It’s innocent.” His head was cocked, his smirk morphing to a devious smile that narrowed his eyes.

She inhaled. Exhaled. “Fine. I’m going to win, anyway.”

“Then you don’t mind a challenge reward?”

She turned to face him again. “Reward?”

“Like a dare. Loser performs a dare.”

“What is this... high school? Not that I played strip anything in high school. It just seems a little juvenile.”

“It’s fun. Can’t have fun when you’re twenty? Believe me, we’re not that mature. We’re about to play strip Xbox.”

“That was your idea!”

“You like it. Dare me.”

She sucked her lower lip into her mouth, smiled, bit it. This was bad, but it was fun. Maybe something like this would be somewhere in the middle. Fun and friendly and playful, but an acceptable level of nudity and hanky-panky. They were friends, they had been intimate, there was nothing between them other than friendship, and quite frankly, the idea of playing strip games with him right now was exciting. She didn’t want him to see her naked—and the arousal from the danger startled her. Put a fear in her like she imagined maybe Max would get when he watched her. Knowing she didn’t want to Cole to see her naked under these unflattering dorm room lights, but the naughtiness of it so alluring she wanted to submit to his dumb game. And if she won, she would see him naked. And she liked that. That was just as exciting. Taboo in its way, but somehow even more prominent. She hummed, letting her lip plop out. “When I win, you’ll be naked. So... you have to streak. Like from here, across this floor, down the stairs, across the fourth floor, up the stairs, and back here.” She drew the imaginary route in the air with her forefinger.

“Sweet,” he said.

“Sweet? You better take this seriously. What’s your dare?”

“Uh... mine’s for the greater good.”

“What?”

He said, “You stiffened up on me.”

She frowned, her head angling back. “When?”

“In the music room.”

Now she bristled. A flush of warmth worked from her head, her ears, across her face and down her neck to her collar. “Stiffened? Stiffened how?”

“Anal,” he said, casual.

She tilted her head back, mouth open like she was laughing, but she was silent. “Cole, your”—she leaned closer and whispered—“your dick is too big.”

“You can take it. I want you to relax. So, my dare? . . . You have to lay with me and let yourself relax on it.”

“No, we can’t do that. What about Max? We can’t have sex without him. We can’t.”

Cole’s eyebrows went up in supportive calm. “I think you tightened up because Max was there. We can’t make it work if he’s making you tense. I’m not saying we have anal sex, honestly. I just want you to... accommodate me. Get used to me.”

“Why?” She laughed, the laugh becoming a girlish giggle.

“I can do amazing things to you, to your ass. I don’t want you to miss out.” That confident, narrow-eyed smile was back.

She imagined future couplings. “We’re not having sex?” She showed him a speculative expression, looking for confirmation.

“I swear. I’m training you.”

She squinted. “Breaking me in?”

“You’ve got a tight virgin asshole.”

“You’re gross.”

“You don’t think I’m gross.”

“No.” She laughed, looking at his merry but serious face. She sighed, looked up at the ceiling, looked down at Johnny Cage, hopping from foot to foot in anticipation of the oncoming melee. “Okay. No sex though.”

He picked up his controller, sining in mock intimidation, “Look at your face, you’re blushing. You’re thinking about losing, aren’t you?”

“Fuck off.” She giggled, then shot up to his dresser and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her face had red fever splotches. “I am blushing,” she said and patted her cheeks. She turned and she leaned her butt on his dresser, hands over its edge. “We have to tell Max, Cole.”

“If you want. It’s up to you,” he said, eyes honest and expressive.

“We have to tell him,” she said.

* * *

They took five games a piece, alternating win after loss over their first ten match-ups. Each had removed five items of clothing.

Maggie had tried to put her shoes back on before they started fighting, but Cole wouldn't let her. He took one out of her hands, peeled one off her foot that she'd managed to slip on. Then, before they began, she made him take off his shoes, too.

She lost the first game and Cole taunted he would win in eight straight, and he would soon see her naked. He said it to frighten her, to shake her game. She peeled off one sock. She won the next and he took off one sock. Then, two more matches, and they both wound up bare foot. The next loss Maggie removed her black V-neck cashmere sweater, folded it and tossed it onto the chair with Cole's bag and books taking up the seat. Next, Cole removed his sweatshirt. Then Maggie lost. She took off her watch.

“Come on,” Cole had exclaimed, and she laughed. He didn't argue, but when he lost the next game he ceremoniously removed his leather bracelet, humming the tune from the Olympics, and then tossed it onto his bed.

When Maggie lost the next game she was in a dilemma. She could remove her shirt and sit in only her bra and pants; she didn't like that one. So she removed her pants and sat bare-legged in her panties, her shirt tails covering herself.

Cole lost the next one and took off his belt. Another loophole in their game; she thought he'd be taking his T-shirt off.

So, now they both sat, having some battle experience, both of them more familiar with their controls. Maggie was in her panties and bra and a button up white Oxford. Cole was in a T-shirt and his grey cotton pants.

She said, “You wearing underwear?”

He thought about it, eyes rolled up, thumbs hovering over the buttons of the controller. “No,” he said.

“So I can win in two?”

Then he blurted, “Wait, no... I wore underwear today.”

“Shoot,” she said.

She won two in a row. The first victory she watched him stand, saw that he was mildly aroused, a curve of thick, eager flesh pressing out the crotch of his pants. He peeled his T-shirt off and sat back down, bare-chested. She tried not to look but snuck a lingering peek at the round muscle of his shoulders, a fuzzy memory coming to her, a phantom feel on her palms knowing what his body felt like under her touch. Then, after the next loss, he rose and unbuttoned his pants and slipped out of them, let them fall to the floor and kicked them into the corner. Now he was only in a pair of white Y-front briefs.

“Too bad you're wearing underwear,” she said.

“You'd like that, huh?”

“I like to win,” she said, eyes staying on the shape of his manhood under the briefs. Her nipples had swollen and she hadn't realized it at first, but now was aware of their tightness as they dragged under the fabric. She could see the swell of his semi-arousal, could see the pouch created in the fabric from the large size of his testicles. She looked away.

“This is it, Margaret.”

They played and he won.

“Shit,” she said, unbuttoned her shirt and let it fall off her shoulders, using her hands to cover herself even though she was wearing a bra. His eyes went over her as she sat back down. Her heart thumped in her chest.

“Stop looking at me,” she said, and Cole laughed. Then he won the next goddamn game. He was getting a handle on Kitana’s techniques.

Cole laughed. “Let's see ‘em, Maggie.”

“You're such a little kid,” she said, mad. A real anger was riling up in her. An arousal, too, but maybe the anger was arriving to battle with the feelings she shouldn't have. Maybe the anger was at herself for being aroused by this.

She folded her arms behind her, and it thrusted her chest in Cole’s direction. She shook her head at the eager look on his face and chastised him with her eyes. She didn't look away.

“That's a beautiful bra, Margaret.”

“Thanks.” She looked down, saw her small but perky breasts filling out her bra’s peachy tulle. The bra had fancy scalloped trim, a bow in the center and a bow where each strap connected to the cup. She heard the snap give and let the straps slide down her shoulders. Cole's eyes remained focused on her breasts, wanting to see them revealed.

“You pervert,” she said and covered herself up as the bra fell to the floor. She pressed a forearm across her chest and threw her bra near her shoes. Cole watched anyway, his smile arrogant, eyes unwavering, watching for her arm to slip and reveal her nipples by accident. His cock was erect. She could see it, the fat swollen head pushing up a knot against the fabric of his briefs. It went on an angle towards his hip, the wide belly of it scored by the Y trim of the underwear's opening. It had pushed the shorts’ fabric higher than the waistband, the stretched cotton ball of his glans touching his belly.

“Who's the pervert now, Margaret?”

“What?” she said, laughing but defensive. “I was just thinking how it's going to be hilarious to see you run up and down the halls with that giant boner.”

“You wouldn't give me a minute to let it go down?”

“On its own?”

“Yeah,” he said.

She had visions of Jay convincing her the only way his erection would go down was if she jerked it off. She knew better, but it was fun to get caught up in his game.

“No. I’d make you run like that. Serves you right for making me play your dumb game.”

“Maybe if you were a better player, Maggie, you wouldn't be naked, and then I wouldn't be hard.”

“Here,” she said, eyebrows rising, and moved her hands away, revealing her erect nipples. She sat down and raised her arms with the controller to cover his view of them. “Let's just play, please.”

“You worried?”

“You can't get in my head, Cole. We’re both down to our undies, but I swear you’ll be streaking.”

“Let’s go,” he said, his voice full of bravado.

Their last fight was a long match. A lot of back and forth, a lot of flips to stay out of his range. She blocked like never before. She slipped and flipped. She worked up a real live sweat. She had Kitana backed up, her stupid ninja forearms held up to protect herself. But she was relentless and Cole had no opportunity to launch a counter-attack without leaving Kitana open to a devastating split-punch to her crotch.

Then, no idea how, she got rocked with a flurry of somersault kicks and a bunch of lightning fast one-twos and Johnny Cage was fazed.

“Shit, no, oh no, no, no, no,” she yelled, then Cole's Kitana slid close to her dazed Johnny and planted a gentle kiss on his lips. “Fuck, no,” she whispered. Johnny inflated like an inner tube, eyes bulging, mouth hosing blood, then an animated x-ray of his skull expanding and splitting from his flesh and exploding all over the screen.

“In your face, Margaret,” Cole said while the music soared. “Flawless victory, my dear.”

“Fucking bullshit,” she whispered. She wanted to slam the controller down but thought of poor Satinder.

Cole turned to her, swinging his legs around so they faced. “I'm going to need those panties, Margaret.”

She regarded him, resigned.

“I know,” she said, standing, keeping her side to him. Thumbs hooked in the waistband of her panties, she shimmied them down her thighs, and when they got to her knees she let them drop. She flicked them at Cole with her pointed toes. They hit his chin and he caught them in his grip before they fell to his lap.

“You're not a sore loser, are you, Margaret?”

She looked with obvious intent at the huge erection straining Cole’s underwear . “No, but I think I’m going to be.”