The girl fills the frame. Nice looking, but the longer she’s onscreen, the older she appears. Age shouldn’t matter, but it does. There’s a pucker in the skin around her underarms when she turns to the side, a relaxed angle to her breasts, even in her bra and the flimsy top.
Her teeth are jumbled in her mouth, like an AI image engine tried its best, but didn’t really understand the assignment.
The mounting list of imperfections wipes away as the first man enters the room. He strides over to her as she turns, feigning surprise.
The way he grips her, fingertips sinking into the slightly doughy flesh of her upper arm, is perfect. He tugs her firmly back against him, securing her arms behind her with one hand while placing the opposite over her mouth.
She struggles and my jeans are way too tight now; I press the heel of my hand against my bulging cock, not wanting to jerk off to it, not yet. Not with a houseful of teens downstairs, ready to burst in at a moment’s notice.
He manhandles her backwards, toward the bed, jerking in surprise when another man enters the room, then his posture relaxes. His relaxes, and hers stiffens further.
The new arrival crosses to the pair, tilting his head as he stares into the woman’s eyes before taking the front of her blouse in his hand and tearing it apart in one rough motion. She struggles and tries to scream through the clamped hand, but all that emerges are ragged grunts.
He grabs hold of her bra and flips it down, exposing her breasts. The nipples harden in the cold air, and he grabs himself a handful, then another, grinding his pelvis into her as he does so, ignoring her wild hair and pleading eyes.
He lets go long enough to drag down her long skirt, pulling it to her ankles before reaching back up to snag the elastic of her underwear and yanking them to her knees.
She fights harder, body bucking, legs kicking. Caught between them, naked against their clothed bodies, she’s tiny and powerless against their far larger forms.
They can do whatever they like, and she can’t stop them. The only options are to continue fighting or to submit.
I palm my dick again, then flinch as her face turns fully towards the camera. When the man behind her loosens the hand over her mouth, jamming his fingers in instead, she makes a pleasurable moan.
My dick wilts like spinach in a sizzling hot pan.
The whole fucking thing ruined in an instant.
I toss my phone away, groaning, my building lust turning to annoyance like somebody flipped a switch. The noise of the party grates. My skin is too tight and hot. The light stings my eyes like paper cuts, and I throw an arm across to protect them.
What is it about simple instructions that people are compelled to ignore?
If I wanted to see actors enjoying sex, I’d download a thousand viruses worth of free porn like everyone else.
I scowl, drag my arm from my eyes, and blink at the influx of light. With a second to adjust, I grab my phone from where I tossed it and send through what’s owing.
Then I turn back to the internal camera feeds, scanning them, hoping for anything of interest. As I look, my mind travels back to another bank of monitors, in another house. Our old house. The one we left behind over a decade ago when my father’s ambition outgrew its twenty rooms.
As a child, I’d watched those monitors late one night. Watched them while a woman’s eyes widened in genuine terror, her struggles lessening as it became clear her only choice was to submit.
My cock gives a warning throb, and I cut off the image, focusing on the screens in front of me instead of those lodged deep in my memory.
The party sprawls across most rooms in the house. Some of those in the east wing are getting away unscathed, probably because the hallway is mid-renovation.
In my dad’s study, there’s a sedate cluster of teens. My eyes are immediately drawn to a slender girl with dark blonde curls bouncing over her shoulders.
She’s petite, her face crafted with as much care as a porcelain doll. Her eyes are wide set, startlingly attractive, her lips plump as they press against the crystal tumbler filled with my father’s secret stash of aged bourbon.
Apparently, not a secret any longer.
I cast my gaze across the other rooms in the house, but my eyes are drawn back to the study. Not just because she’s attractive, so many people at the party are, but because the only other female in the room is on the arm of a goth boy, midway through leaving.
The girl at the bar doesn’t notice. She tilts the amber liquid back and forth in her glass, swirling it, then taking a large sip, coughing, then laughing, when some of it goes down the wrong way.
One boy in a tight t-shirt watches the exiting couple and closes the door softly behind them before turning his back to lean against it. His gaze flicks to the black-haired boy behind the bar and the one sat next to the girl. All three checking in with one another while she remains oblivious.
My pulse quickens, my cock twitching with excitement like he senses trouble in the air.
Three against one.
