The mask was his idea, black and simple, something to hide my eyes while exposing everything else. I wore it like a secret as I waited on the dark couch, naked, the leather cool against my skin. When they both walked in—him and his friend—I felt my pulse in my throat. No one spoke. The door clicked shut and the air shifted, heavy with what we all knew would happen.
Four hands found me immediately, rough and hungry. One held my jaw while the other pushed fingers inside, finding me soaked already. Embarrassingly so. They knew without asking. I gasped, loud in the quiet room, as fingers slid deep, curling, testing how much I could take.
I was bent over the edge of the couch, face in the cushions, taking one from behind while the other moved around to claim my mouth. I took him because I wanted to be full everywhere, stretched and used. They found a rhythm, rocking me between them, the mask still tight around my eyes, the only thing I kept on. My hands gripped the couch, knuc
