Carrie

 

I did good.

It feels so good to do good. Buying presents for Jack and Michael was everything I hoped it would be. It’s not just in the way they say thanks over and over, and it’s not in the way I feel so proud as Jack places his present up on the cabinet where the other one used to be. It’s not even in the way Michael looks so fine as he tries his new tie on over his shirt.

It’s in the way they smile, the way they look at me.

The way their appreciation makes me feel so loved.

I do feel loved here. I feel accepted and wanted and bothered enough about that they work through my shit rather than give up on me. I feel safe when I wake up in the morning, and like I belong right where I am as I walk through the fields behind the house.

I never want to let this go, not any of it. Not this house, not this life, not Michael, and not Jack, either.

I’ve never liked TV, not shows nor films, but after a couple of cold beers in Jack’s kitchen, laughing and joking through a load of old jokes they have to fill me in on, I think that maybe watching TV with these two guys won’t be so bad.

They say I can choose what we watch and it takes me an age, but they don’t seem impatient. I sit between them on the big white sofa Jack spanked me on last night, and I try to stop thinking about it but I can’t. Michael’s still wearing his new tie. I like that he is. I like it a lot.

Jack slumps back easily, his legs spread and his knee touching mine. It burns a nice burn.

So did my ass last night.

I try not to fidget as I scroll up and down the listings, but my jeans are stiff and need a wash and my bra is itchy where my backpack rubbed my shoulders earlier.

“Ants in your fucking pants,” Jack laughs as I shift position for the millionth time, and I grumble about everything, about all of it, finally losing my shit as I admit that I’ve no clean clothes and I don’t know how to work his shitty washing machine.

And then I fold my arms and say I quit film night after all. Everything can go fuck itself.

It’s Michael who squeezes my arm and tells me to stop being so melodramatic.

I tell him I’m not, and hope he spanks me for it all the same.

My cheeks burn as I realise that’s what I want now.

I want them to pull my jeans down and put me over their knee. I want to feel their hands on me and their swollen dicks against my belly.

“Get your clothes,” Jack says. “I’ll show you how to work the machine.”

“But then I’ll have nothing to wear,” I grumble, still acting up even though there’s no need and I know it full well.

“I’ll find you something,” he says. “Your clothes will be clean and dry before you know it. You should have said something by now.”

Yes, I should have. But I hate looking like a stupid idiot who can’t take care of herself.

It’s been over a week and the machine is one of those fancy ones with a million bastard settings that make no sense whatsoever.

Jack beckons me upstairs and I follow. I get tingles as I walk into his room after him, remembering how nice it felt to be in his arms this morning.

He opens a drawer from the chest and pulls out a baggy white t-shirt which makes me smile.

“Planning on dumping water on me?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Not unless you ask for it. Be good and you won’t get hosed.”

He turns his back to me as I change, and I wish he hadn’t. I wish he was looking at me.

I pull down my jeans and tug off my cami, unclipping my bra and dumping that down with them. I’ve only got one bra but I don’t want to say anything, so I have to go naked under his t-shirt. Luckily it’s so big on me that I don’t think it’s obvious. I’m quite possibly wrong on that.

I keep on my knickers but nothing else, and the shirt comes halfway down my thighs, so that’s no big deal.

I gather up my dirty clothes and the others from my room, embarrassed at how small the pile is.

“Is that it?” Jack asks and I nod.

“Like I said, can’t wear them all at once.”

“Next week’s wages are being spent on you,” he tells me and I get tickles right through me. Next week’s.

Surely not. Surely he won’t pay me every week?

At least I’ll be able to give Eli back that fiver and he can fuck off and leave me alone for good.

I follow Jack downstairs and he opens the washing machine for me. I throw the clothes inside without bothering to separate them, but he pulls out the whites and leaves them in their own pile. I squeeze my thighs together at the sight of my dirty knickers in his hands, and I’m damp already without jeans on. I can feel it.

He shows me the controls and I make a mental note of them. It’s really not as hard as the settings make it look.

“Thanks,” I say and he grins.

“My clothes suit you.”

I roll my eyes. “Don’t think I’ll be going outside like this somehow.”

“No,” he says. “You fucking won’t.” He points back through to the living room. “Movie night. No getting out of it.”

I mock groan as I head on back through, and Michael startles as I enter, as though he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

I wonder if he’s been thinking about last night, just like I was. I wonder if it makes him feel guilty.

Or horny.

I hope it makes him feel horny.

I slump back down between them and pick up the remote control. All the films look much of a muchness to me. Action, thriller, horror, yada yada.

And that’s when I see some dirty thriller thing with Keanu Reeves in it. I read the synopsis and put on the trailer, and it looks really dirty.

“This one,” I say. “I want to watch this one.”

I’m suddenly glad I dicked about for so long choosing, because it’s getting dark outside and Jack has to put the little lamp on. He gets us a fresh beer before we settle down and heats up the popcorn in the microwave, even though I don’t like popcorn anyway.

I like it in the low light between them both. I like the way they move closer to me as the film starts up. Michael’s arm rests casually along the back of the cushions and Jack’s hand is on his knee next to my thigh. I pull my knee up onto the sofa and he moves his hand from his to mine.

It gives me flutters.

The beer isn’t strong but it’s going to my head. Jack’s t-shirt is only flimsy and the heat of the guys makes me burn.

I rest my head on Michael’s shoulder as the film starts, raising my knee even further to press against Jack’s thigh.

And it’s good.

The film is really fucking good.

The girls in it are filthy as they convince poor Keanu to have an affair with them. They’re all over him in the shower and the sight of all three bodies together makes me blush in the darkness.

I try to keep my cool, but I can’t. My clit is tingling between my legs and it makes me squirm. I have to clench my hands into fists and ball them at my sides not to touch myself, because I want to so bad.

Michael keeps clearing his throat in a way that’s definitely got to be nerves, and his legs are still crossed tight.

Jack’s fingers tickle my knee. Round and round in little circles which only makes my clit flutter worse.

And then the film gets all kinds of fucked up.

The girls turn wild and crazy and I feel wild and crazy with them. They kidnap Keanu in his own house and tear it apart in front of him.

And then one of them puts on his daughter’s school uniform.

I hold my breath as she rides him and calls him Daddy. Because I can’t. I just can’t stand it.

Of all the things Michael and Jack know I’ve done wrong, they don’t know the half of it. They don’t know how I’ve tried to tempt every fake daddy I’ve ever had. They’ve no idea of all the times at Bill’s I left my bedroom door open and played with myself when I knew it was only him in the house. Not because I wanted him, but because I wanted him to want me.

They don’t know how horny I felt when I knew he was watching, even though I never saw him.

They’ve no idea how fucked up I am, not really. And it scares me that they might not want to.

But then I see it. Jack shifts next to me and I’m sure there’s a swell in his jeans. I feel Michael’s breath quicken, and as fucked up as it is, I know they’re as horny as I am.

Maybe we’re all more fucked up than we’d like to be. Maybe we make each other more fucked up than any of us would like to be.

I don’t want them to notice as I slip my hand between my legs. I hope maybe I can rub myself so slowly they won’t even see me, but when I start I can’t stop. I hitch my foot right up onto the sofa between Jack’s spread legs and bury my face in Michael’s neck, and my fingers slip inside my knickers.

I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop. And neither of them try to stop me.

Jack moves first. He takes my ankle in his hand and presses my raised foot to his crotch. I feel him there, big and hard. I rub him with my heel and I hear him grunt under his breath, and Michael turns his face slightly in my direction, his breathing as shallow and desperate as mine.

I know he can see me now, they both can. They both know my hand is down my knickers. I can hear the wet noises I’m making and so can they.

I close my eyes when I realise they’re staring at each other over my head. I don’t want to imagine the thoughts passing between them as they register what a dirty girl I really am.

My voice is a breath when it comes out, so quiet it sounds like I’m begging. Maybe I am.

“Touch me…”

And they do.

Oh my God, they really do.