Chapter 9

Lacey

This is definitely new for me. It’s unlike anything I’ve felt before—and is definitely unlike anything I’ll ever feel again.

I’m in bed with my eyes half-closed, barely able to move after last night.

Well, I think to myself, after last night, my eyelids are about all that I can move.

I replay the events of last night in my head from behind the hood of my eyelids—the men taking turns making me come again and again, bringing me to ecstasy and back down to Earth, then leaving me to my own devices to somehow heal myself, to go back to what I once was, but will never be again.

They were magnets in human form, I think to myself, and they knew my body better than I ever did.

I finally open my eyes and stare at the ceiling, thinking of all the things I know about them—which isn’t much—and what I like, and perhaps dislike, about them.

I like certain things about each of them.

Charlie, Sam and Adam.

Individually, they’re pretty fucking incredible: hard bodies, caring, and interesting. I could go on for hours about each of them.

All three have big, perfect cocks—broad, muscular shoulders—lithe, taut asses and faces chiseled from the finest stone, aquiline and testosterone-laden and so…manly.

So, I think about what it took for me to talk to each one in the first place.

There’s Adam, who spotted me at the charity ball, and made a beeline for me—and who continued to talk to me until I was whisked away by the CEO. He’s a man who knows what he wants and does everything in his power to get it. It’s that drive—that laser precision—and willingness to sacrifice everything to get what he wants that turns me on the most about him.

Then, there’s Charlie.

Charlie, who enjoys playing in my pussy like it’s a water park, who snatched me away from the CEO that night...that Charlie.

Yes, I think to myself as I feel the wetness pooling between my legs, that Charlie.

I remember how he calmed me down that night—as he tried to explain the deal that all the models made—and how he tried to get me to relax even further with a drink before I was snatched away.

Yeah, I t know much about Charlie, not in the least. But I know that a man who tries to make a woman calm—trying to relax her before ramming his cock in her pussy, instead of just jamming it up inside of her—is a man who’s more sensitive than most.

And then there’s Sam—the final part of the three-piece puzzle that forms my life with these men.

Sam, who looked for me that whole night, until he finally found me, who showed genuine concern. And continued to show how he cares—even while he was fucking me—asking me if he could get me water, chocolate, or even a massage as he rubbed my shaking legs.

He knows how to treat a woman in his care, even when he’s balls-deep inside of her. He has proven to be a gentleman and a gentle man, in the truest sense.

Individually, of course, I don't think they could fully satisfy me. I need each one for what they can provide.

If I just had to deal with Sam, for example, I think I would go not-so-quietly nuts. I couldn’t deal with someone who was so emotional all the time.

Or if it was just Adam, I would feel emotionally lost, as if I were just a trophy for him to collect, a toy on the mantle, a shiny new object to polish when he wants to show off to his friends, but to be ignored otherwise.

Certainly, too, I couldn’t deal with just Charlie all the time—there’s no need to constantly make me calm, because, sometimes, I just want to fuck.

I stop myself in my tracks, trying to derail my chain of thought. Am I really thinking like this? I ask myself. What’s wrong with me?

This isn’t how I was raised. Like every other “good girl,” I was raised to believe that love is only between a man and a woman in perfect monogamy, never to be broken until one dies.

Then again, I think to myself, I was also raised to save myself for marriage. Look how well that turned out.

I close my eyes again and feel myself in all my nakedness, in awe at how immobile I’ve become with all these thoughts of these three men, and impressed with the memories we’ve made until last night.

I wonder if I’ll ever reach a point where I could only love—or fuck—just one man, especially after I’ve just fucked three at the same time.

I definitely don’t love them, I think to myself, not yet.

I love different things about them, sure, but I don’t love them individually. Right now, they’re just gorgeous cocks attached to gorgeous men, who took turns bringing me to pure ecstasy.

I love the fact that they were able to do that—how expertly they penetrated me, how much fun they had in my body, how much they enjoyed taking me, and how much I, in turn, enjoyed having them.

So, I love their cocks. That much is certain.

I love different things about them that much, too, is certain. But I don’t love them individually…not yet.

I don’t think I need to love them individually. Do I really need to only enjoy them one at a time? I think to myself. I sigh as I drift off to sleep, and determine that yes, as a matter of fact, it’s quite alright to enjoy them all at the same time.

In fact, I realize, I need to enjoy them all at the same time.

Because it’s only when they’re together, that they can form the perfect man for me.