Maggie 6-9 (Patreon)

Maggie lay between Cole’s open legs with her back against his chest, his penis against her rump; she rose and fell on his breathing.

She said, “I’m glad I couldn’t hold out.”

After a moment, Cole said, “Me, too.”

He kissed the back of her neck, gathered up her hair into a ponytail held in a fist, kissed the soft hairs behind her ears, sucked on an earlobe and got her groaning again, her nipples hardening so abruptly she put her hands over to cover them.

“Ow,” she laughed.

“What?”

“My nipples got hard so fast it hurt.”

“That’s your other special spot.”

“Other special spot?”

“You have another one.”

“Oh, yeah I do,” she said warily.

His hand slipped down her naked waist, got her trembling and jittering, knowing where it headed.

“Don’t,” she laughed, her declaration breaking up.

“Here it is,” he said, and he ran the backs of his fingers over her haunch and up the underside of her thigh where it met her ass cheek. It drove a squirrelly tornado through her, making her jump, but he hugged her firmly.

“Don’t,” she laughed again, still jumping in his clutch. He stopped, smoothing to the front of her thighs, squeezing her knee, groaning appreciatively in her ear as he held her.

“You hungry? he whispered to her, and she nodded.

It was dim now outside, the sun going down. The storm had raged but dissipated, leaving only a pattering of rainfall, the wind dying down to a breeze.

He said, “Let me go get dinner. You stay here.”

“You don’t want to go out?”

“I do not want to go out. I want to go get dinner, grab some beers, we’ll pig out on this bed.”

“And then?” she smiled and caressed the back of his hand.

“I’m going to spend all night in here. I think we chased Jessie away.”

“Oh, no,” she groaned and hid her face in her hands. “I can’t believe I let her see us like that ...”

He shushed her, shaking her in his arms. He said, “Don’t. It’s okay. It’s not crazy. We’re in a three-way relationship. You think we’re the only one she knows like that? All those weird theatre friends of hers in Brattleboro?”

She giggled in his arms feeling lighter from his words. “You think so?” she said. “God, I asked her to take that picture ... what was I thinking? ... It was just so crazy in the moment.”

“It’ll be okay, I swear it. What she saw today would be the tenth weirdest relationship she knows.”

She said, “A three-way relationship? Is that what we are? A threesome?”

“I think it’s pretty clear we are.”

She whispered, “I think I really like that,” and she leaned back so her crown rested in the hollow of his neck, turned, eyes up to his, desperate for his kiss. He dipped his head and took her mouth and kissed her lovingly while her hand stroked his cheek. Right now all she wanted was Max to be home. Max to be okay with this. To be a part of it. The threesome.

But more importantly, she wanted pizza, she wanted beer, and she wanted to spend the rest of the night between the sheets with the hottest guy she knew.

“Go get dinner,” she whispered. “I want you back here in my bed in half an hour.”

“Yeah, I’m starving,” he said, and he kissed the backside of her ear before slipping out from behind her and standing naked at the side of the bed. She watched his muscular back and perfect boy ass as he gathered up his shorts and put his legs into them.

“Shit,” he said.

“What?”

“I used my sweatshirt to dry your face.”

“Max has some things in my bottom drawer.”

Now she watched him as he pulled the drawer open, the muscles of his tanned arm working, running his beautiful hair from his face. He tugged a T-shirt on and it was tight. The sweatshirt was the same.

“Little tight, huh?” she giggled.

“It’ll work,” he said, then peeked out her window. “Stopped raining I think. Or it’s just light,” he said. “What pizza do you want?”

“Um, white with pepperoni. You’re going to bring Altieri’s here?”

“I’m going to bring it here and we can eat it naked in bed.”

“Hurry back,” she said.

He checked he had his wallet and his phone, came in for a kiss, then went to the door. Then out of the blue, he stopped and said, “We’re a threesome until I decide I don’t want to share anymore.” He winked and smiled.

She giggled. “You’re such a bad boy.”

He closed the door and left to go get their dinner.

* * *

First thing she thought when the door opened behind her was to show Cole the T-shirt she wore. Lacrosse written across the front, Cole would want to see her wearing it. Face down on the bed, LSAT prep guide open in the middle, two halves bowed like birds wings, elbows dug into the mattress, she crossed her hands over her chest and covered the shirt as she turned, ready for a reveal. Only it wasn’t Cole. In the doorway of her room, clothes dampened by rain, face pursed in harrowing bewilderment, stood Jay Carmichael. The boy whose shirt she once wore.

Her mouth opened as if to speak but no words came out—she couldn’t comprehend what he was doing there nor did she want to. Everything in his demeanor frightened her.

“Maggie,” he said, his voice a dry crackle, weak and injured. He closed the door behind him.

“Jay, what are you doing here? You can’t—”

“What are you doing here?” he hissed.

She saw the anger on his face—a chill up her back, reassessing it now as rage—and she suddenly felt very vulnerable. Alone in her closed dorm room, she wore only a T-shirt, no panties. She drew her legs up. “Jay, please leave,” she whispered, shocked at how small her voice sounded.

“You’re fucking that guy now?” he spat.

“No, Jay, it’s—”

“You lying bitch—I was outside. I’ve been outside the ... what a piece of trash you are ...” he said, and he stalked toward the bed.

“Jay, please ...”

“Got your new boyfriend to come talk for you, tell me all that bullshit?”

She backed herself farther up the bed, wanting instead to race around him and get out of her room, but afraid he would grab her and her running would set off some predatorial instinct. “Look, Jay, I’d like you to—”

“You fuck around on your fiancé with me. Now you’re fucking around behind my back. Fucking the Best Man? Is he?”

“Is he what?”

“The best man?”

“Yeah, he’s the Best Man ...”

He sneered, “How fucking low are you?”

“Jay, please, don’t—”

He stepped closer, hunched over and menacing. She began to tremble. “What a piece of shit you are. Just a fucking whore. Low life slut. I can’t believe I loved you.”

It was the honest venom from him—mixed with a tightening fear—that brought her tears. His words were horrid. She never had anyone mad at her in her entire life. Her whole body trembled, her back spasmed, her legs jumped. Her eyes welled suddenly and completely and she began to bawl.

“Fucking crybaby,” he spat and lunged closer, big hands balled into fists. She put her hands up to protect herself and he grabbed her wrists and yanked her to the edge of the bed.

“Ow,” she cried and fell to her side on the bed, hiding her face from him.

“Look at me,” he hissed, and he sat her up by her neck.

Through warbled, tear-stained vision she saw the hate in his gray eyes and she felt an urge for her bladder to release. “Please, don’t hurt me,” she squeaked.

His eyes drifted low, and he saw her shirt.

“And I fucking loved you,” he murmured.

“How?” she cried. “We’ve only known ea—”

“I know,” he said. “How could I? Look at you ...” his eyes went up and down her like she was disgusting road kill, his lips snarled and nostrils flared. “Fucking lacrosse. You love that pretty-boy fuck?”

“No,” she cried weakly.

“You’ll just fuck anything,” he grunted and rose above her. She put her hands up again, but he reached around them and grabbed the shoulders of Cole’s shirt and he yanked it hard enough to lift her off the bed.

He tugged and wrenched and she resisted but in the end she lifted her arms and he pulled it right off her, turning it inside out. She was completely naked now, and she began to wail.

“Shut the fuck up,” he hissed and cocked a fist.

She swallowed it, lay on her side, her hands covering her breasts and watched as he stood and tried to rip the T-shirt in two. He struggled and strained to the point it was comical, and if she wasn’t convinced he was going to harm her, she might laugh. He got it then, and the shirt came apart easily and he threw it on to Jessie’s bed.

“Please, Jay,” she whispered. “Please, don’t hurt me.” She cowered on the bed underneath him, her cheek pressed to the sheets.

His voice was calmer now, he said, “Hurt you? I don’t even want to touch you. You’re disgusting.”

“He’ll be back soon. You have to go.”

“Think I’m afraid of him? Maybe I’ll sit here with you and when he comes in, we’ll see what he does. I’ll twist his head right off his fucking body. You want that? Huh, you want that? Then you can be responsible for fucking up yet another man’s life, you cock-sucking whore.”

“I’m sorry, Jay,” she whispered.

“Sorry,” he scoffed then sat on the bed, his back to her.

She thought to put a hand to him, lay it on his back to calm him down but pictured it then having the opposite effect, so she kept her arms folded up across her chest, laying on her side with her knees drawn up.

He looked over his shoulder and down at her and she saw his eyes gleamed wet. His expression was softer, his eyes less mean. He got closer to her, and she recoiled. He persisted, moving his face to hers and then kissing her cheek while she held her breath and shut her eyes tightly.

“How can you want to hurt me, Maggie?” he whispered.

“I’m sorry,” she breathed.

“I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Can you ... can you please go?”

“Don’t you think we had something? We had fun ...”

“Yeah,” she sighed, her vision warbling with tears.

“We had something, Maggie. You meant something ...”

He turned away from her again, hands on the bed on either side of her raised legs, twisted at the waist, hanging his head and hiding his face from hers.

He sat like that for a long while and she was frozen.

He shook his head and cleared his throat.

“Please, Jay,” she whispered, “Please just go. You’re scaring me.”

He huffed and shook his head, he raised his eyes to hers and she scrunched hers closed. “What’s this?” he grunted.

When she opened her eyes, she saw him looking over her to the wall next to the bed. She darted a look behind, saw the drawing she’d done of Cole and had pinned above her bed.

Jay reached across and she grabbed his arm and hugged it. “Wait, no please, no ...”

“You fucking drawing him now?”

She clutched his arm, but he reached with the other and snatched it off the pin, tearing a line across the top.

“Oh, please, please, Jay, seriously, don’t, okay?” Her voice was frantic, and she darted up onto her knees.

He put a hand on her collar, keeping her back while he examined the drawing, holding it in the other hand. When she reached to gently take it he pushed on her neck and she clutched her hands to her bare breasts again.

His mouth took a firm line, his plump lips flattening and then turning down as he looked at her sexy and sleazy drawing of the boy who she was sure right now she loved though didn’t want to admit it. All she wanted was to live another day so she could tell him.

“Please, Jay,” she said softly, and she pressed her palms together in the attitude of prayer and wagged them as she pleaded: “Jay, I’m begging you ... please, give me back my drawing ... Jay ...?”

“I fucking hate you,” he muttered. Then he tore the drawing once down the middle and she shrieked.

“Jay, no, please, don’t ...” She lunged to retrieve it but he moved away and he tore it again, taking the two halves and tearing them into four pieces now.

The tears streamed from her again as she sat and futilely watched Jay take that magic moment, that wonderful and beautiful treasure she had created with Cole today, and destroyed it forever. He tore it into increasingly smaller strips. She clutched her hands to her face and cried into them, sobbing and wailing.

Jay shoved her, and she rolled onto her back, drew her knees up to cover her sex. He got over her, his legs straddling her hips, knees pressed down in the bedding on either side of her. He wrestled her hands away from her face and when she looked at him he showered her with the confetti of the drawing.

She whispered, “Please, please, don’t hurt me, Jay ... please ...”