The thought had been circling for weeks—two of them, filling my small room, my white sheets. I'd touched myself imagining it, the weight of four hands, the stretch of being full everywhere. When my phone finally showed their message, I didn't hesitate. Just unlocked the door and lay back on the mattress in my black top and socks, heart hammering, skin flushed.<br><br>They entered quiet, two shadows, smelling of smoke and street air. No words, just the immediate press of bodies. One mouth on my throat, another on my inner thigh, fingers pushing under my top, rough and urgent. I gasped when hands found how wet I was, embarrassingly so. They knew.<br><br>I ended up on my stomach first, face pressed into the pillow, ass up while one slammed into me from behind. The other moved around, presented himself to my mouth, and I took him because I wanted to be full everywhere. They used me like that, passing me back and forth, my black top shoved up, my socks still on, my body their shared toy.

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