1: In Which She Finds That Three is a Crowd

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The funny thing about men, I thought wryly, as David climaxed inside me, is that they all think they’re the shit.

David probably thought he was giving me the best sex of my life, when really, I might as well have been sexing a male blow-up toy (if they even sold those). He really was delusional. Hot, yes, but delusional.

“Was that good for you?” he asked, breathing his hot breath into my neck.

“It was…fine,” I replied, gently trying to pry him off me. Doesn’t he know that if a guy has to ask that, he’s doing something wrong?

“Fine?” he asked, pulling out. “Should we go again? Fine is a…six out of ten, Janelle. A fúcking six!”

“If you’re lucky,” I said sarcastically, pulling myself up and standing. “I need to take a bath now and you need to leave.”

He looked up at me, shocked. “Seriously? We just finished and you’re kicking me out?”

“What do you want? Dinner?”

“Well, now that you mention it –”

“There’s a McDonald’s just down the road. Knock yourself out.” I snapped my fingers in his face. “Out. Now.”

“You’re such a bitch,” he mumbled, getting out of my bed.

“And you have a small penís. Beat it, David.”

He pulled his pants on, not even bothering to remove the condom, muttering to himself. I shook my head, grabbing my bathrobe off the floor and shrugging it on.

“You have issues,” David told me when he was done. He pushed past me, slamming my bedroom door behind him.

How many times had I heard men say that? ‘You have issues, Janelle’… ‘Seek help, Janelle’… I was used to that line. Maybe it was true. Maybe I needed Dr. Oz to take a look at my pússy and tell me why I didn’t have orgasms. There had to be a medical term for it.

Still, sleeping with David from work was probably a bad idea, I chastised myself, heading to the bathroom and running a bath. I desperately needed to wash the smell of desperation off me.

The only reason I’d brought David Fuentes home was because everyone at the office went on and on about what a big díck he had. Unfortunately, as I discovered, the only big thing about David was his ego. The man had a head bigger than Kanye’s and nothing to back it up. To say I was disappointed would’ve been an understatement. I was devastated. In fact, I’d wanted to cry when he’d produced his díck and gone, “Do you want this steel rod, baby?”

More like iron needle.

The women in my office needed an education in sizes...

Immersing myself in the hot water, I blew a few bubbles just for old times’ sake. Doing that always transported me back to my childhood, when everything was so much simpler and I didn’t have to worry about my girly parts.

A knock at my bathroom door brought my head up out the water. A smile played across my face.

“Come in.”

“So…who was that?” Prince asked, his voice playful. He took a drag out of his cigarette.

“None of your beeswax,” I replied childishly, motioning for him to pass his Stuyvesant to me.

“Nope. Come on, Jan. We tell each other everything.” He dangled the cigarette above my head. “I know you want this.”

“Fine. He’s a colleague of mine. Just another stupid idiot I stupidly brought home.”

“What did I tell you, sweetheart?” Prince said sweetly, getting on his knees beside the bathtub, his chocolate-brown eyes flashing. “No one can fúck you like I do.” He handed me my dose of late-night nicotine, the only dose I allowed myself.

I laughed. “Oh please, Elton John.”

“Don’t.”

“How about you take a bath, then?” I drawled, taking a long drag. “You look a little…dirty.” Flicking ash onto the top of his head, I felt the familiar tug in my belly whenever I thought of my roommate Prince Matthews’ extremely large c0ck inside of me.

“Naughty, naughty Janelle,” he whispered, running his hands through the thick mass of coal-black curls of his head. Since it was getting late, he’d changed into his PJs – which consisted of boxer shorts and nothing else.

“Come in here and satisfy me,” I murmured, leaning back as he casually stepped into the now lukewarm water.

“Do you want this steel rod?” he said with a straight face, looking down at me.

I spluttered with laughter, splashing him with water. “Were you eavesdropping, you prick?”

“Oh please,” Prince laughed, getting down opposite me. “How cheesy was that guy? I bet he thought he was in some kind of porno.”

“Sadly.” I spread my legs wide enough for him to fit between them. “Now come on. Get busy.”

“I feel used.” He punctuated his sentence by lazily grazing his big toe against my opening. “You know what I was busy doing the whole of tonight?”

“Enlighten me,” I said, gasping when his toe drove in a little further.

“Jerking off to some porn my cousin forgot over here. My Friday nights just keep getting better and better.”

“Why are you still single?” I asked, more to myself than to him.

“Because I’m a dickhead, my sexy sidekick.” Prince increased the pressure on my clít, until I was positively throbbing. He retracted his toe, pulling off his boxers. “And I’m not sure what the hell I want in life.” He kicked them off. “Now come here, babe,” he commanded.

I obliged, already more than wet for his c0ck. Prince was by far the biggest I’d seen. He made David look like a three-day old baby. I always shivered in anticipation whenever we fúcked – which was almost every weekend, if neither of us was seeing someone.

“Oh, shít,” I breathed, positioning myself on top of him. He was already stiff, probably from his masturbating session. “Did you come…during your little session tonight?”

“No,” he confirmed, gripping my waist. “I saved it for you.” Thrusting upwards, he hit my centre. I gave out a cross between a yelp and a moan, my hands on his shoulders.

“Do that thing you do, Janelle,” Prince groaned, increasing the tempo.

I smiled, leaning forward and biting his earlobe, soothing it with my tongue. “Ay, papi… Ay, papi… Fúck me harder! Rip me apart!” Prince’s sensitive spot was his earlobes, plus he was a sucker for accents. At that moment, I tensed around his c0ck, yowling with pleasure. Prince almost filled me up completely.

“You want it harder, babe?” he growled, pinching my arse. “Tell me how you like it.”

“Mais oui, papa! Je l’adore!”

“Oh, you love it, huh?” Prince savagely took one of my nipples in his mouth, tweaking it with that tongue of his. They were already hard and extremely sensitive to begin with, so his sucking on them just sent me over the edge.

Arching my back, I experienced an exhilarating 0rgasm, screaming in French, Spanish and even Swahili. Prince exploded inside me a minute later, triggering another climax, although smaller. He knew how his orgasms always prompted mine, how the feel of his hot cum spurting inside me made me feel hot. He held me fast as he continued to empty his load inside me.

Panting, we held onto each other, shivering slightly, whether from the séx or from the now icy-cold bath water.

“So much better than porn,” Prince breathed in my chest. “So much better.”

I giggled, only half satisfied.

***

“I feel so sorry for you, Janelle Jones,” Erin muttered, shaking her head in disappointment before giving me a look to further convey that.

“Oh, shut the hell up.” I set my sunglasses on the top of my head. “Can we please get into work mode?”

Erin grabbed her equipment from the backseat of my car and strung her Canon around her neck. “Forgive me for finding this little arrangement between you and Prince a little odd.” Slamming the door shut, she turned to face me, looking ever-so-serious. “Get your life in order, missy. Find a boyfriend – one who knows if he likes the chicken or the c0ck.”

I rolled my eyes. “For the last time, Oprah – I’m perfectly fine with the way things are. I don’t need a serious relationship. I’m quite fine being a nympho.”

“Uh-huh. And fúcking your sexually confused – sorry, bisexual – roommate on the regular is how perfectly fine things are?”

“Erin, please. Shut it,” I hissed as we entered the pristine office building of Baxter Publishing House. “We’re here to do one stupid interview and then maybe we can discuss my séx life, OK?”

“Fair enough. I still don’t get why we need pictures of this guy,” Erin muttered, fingering her camera. “It’s not like anybody cares what the CEO of a bloody boring publishing house looks like.”

I laughed, quietening down when we approached the large, kidney-shaped reception desk.

“Can I help you?” the redhead behind the desk asked us brightly.

“We’re with the Daily Herald. We’re here to interview Mr. Baxter. Two o’clock?” I said, as confidently as I possibly could. I was already feeling out of place in my casual denim skirt and cotton blouse.

“Oh, yes,” Red said to herself, scanning through Baxter’s daily planner, most probably. “Jane Jones and Erin Thomas?”

“Janelle,” I corrected.

“Oh, right. Exotic. Go right through, ladies. And please try not to offend him too much?”

I raised a puzzled brow. “Of course.”

Erin scoffed. “Offend him? Who is he, Prince Albert?”

Gabriel Baxter was completely naked when we entered his office.

Completely naked.

In his birthday suit.

As bare as the day he was born.

I heard Erin gasp beside me and could picture what was going on in her little head. She was a perve, this best friend of mine. She put me to shame.

“Take a seat,” Gabriel ordered, gesturing at the two large black armchairs before his impressive mahogany desk.

I swallowed, remaining frozen in front of the closed door. “Why…why are you naked?”

“Why are you clothed?” he countered, still seated.

From what I could see, Gabriel Baxter was marginally attractive. He had the rugged face of a drunkard and a wastrel – cropped black hair, forest-green eyes, a broken nose, five-o’clock shadow – and the broad chest of a wrestler. Even seated, he looked to be over six feet.

“We’re…we’re from the paper,” Erin stuttered, making the brave move to head across the office and sit in front of Mr. Nude-is-Not-Lewd.

“I know.”

“You weren’t…expecting us?”

“I was.”

Could this get any stranger? I asked myself, staring at the two of them.

“It has always been my fantasy to have a threesome in this very office,” Gabriel said airily, fixing his intense eyes on Erin. His voice was slightly accented; I remembered my editor mentioning something about a French mother who was an erotica writer.

“Threesome?” Erin spluttered incredulously.

“Mr. Baxter, forgive me, but we’re here to interview you about one of your editors-in-chief taking money from desperate wannabe writers,” I said candidly, remaining frozen to my spot by the door. “We’re not here to live out some sick fantasy you’ve conjured up in your head.”

Gabriel stood up, which was a big mistake – because now his hard-on was on exhibition. “Sick fantasy?”

Erin looked positively transfixed by what was smack-bam in front of her. And shít, Baxter was hung. I tried to look elsewhere. And failed.

“This could be fun,” Erin spoke up.

“What?” I spat.

She twisted in her seat to look at me. “Sex in an office? Come on, Jan – how often does that happen? Besides, he’s hot.”

“You’re crazy. This is public indecency!”

Gabriel smirked at me. “Public? We’re in my office. There’s nothing more private than this.” His eyes went back to Erin. “Take that dress off, sweetheart. It looks constricting.”

My jaw dropped when she first set her camera on the desk, then began pulling off one strap of her little black dress.

“Erin! Have you completely lost your mind?” I exclaimed, rooted to the spot in disbelief. “We’re supposed to be working!”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Live a little, honey.” Standing to her feet, she went around Gabriel’s large desk and tugged her dress over her head in one pull.

Gabriel’s arms snaked around her waist. “You are exquisite, my dear,” he murmured, and crashed his lips against hers. Whatever he was doing with his mouth made Erin let out a little mew of pleasure. I was going to be sick.

“All right, this is what we’ll do,” Baxter said to me after he’d removed his lips from Erin’s. “Get your Dictaphone out and ask me whatever you want.” He paused when Erin tried to wrap her hand around his thick c0ck. “I’ll answer what I want to, okay? This is a very sensitive matter. I just want to clear the name of my publishing house as a whole. Grab that condom, honey.”

“I…I can’t believe this,” I whispered.

Minutes later, Gabriel Baxter was buried inside my best friend on his desk.

I couldn’t beat them. I couldn’t join them. So I grabbed my Dictaphone. By question four, I was getting used to the live porno before my eyes. It didn’t exactly faze me.

“Just to clarify, Mr. Baxter, how long had Mr. Saunders been with your company?”

“Maybe…a little…over four years,” Gabriel replied between thrusts, pumping into Erin ferociously. So ferociously that his desk bopped with the movement. Erin was moaning loudly, so he covered her mouth with one large paw, stifling the noise.

I stopped to let them finish, unable to keep my eyes off them. This was surreal.

And the saddest part was that my panties were wet.