August 16 [c.l & p.g]

𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞

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I wanna be in love again.
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*ੈ✩‧₊˚ 𝐩𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐞 ˖*°࿐

𝐉𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝟐𝟒𝐭𝐡.

I must be insane.

Somewhere in my life I've truly lost my mind.

Who do I think I am?

I want you whimpering and begging us to let you cum. Can you do that for us?

Christ, what was I thinking?

And yet here I am, fucking my fist while scalding water beats down my back, thinking about the way Charles was fucking Lovelle's throat.

Don't look at me, look at him.

Watch him come undone for you. Don't you know the things you do to him? To us?

Even the morning after, I can still taste the champagne on my tongue. I can feel it dripping from my body to her's, and then to his.

I stroke myself to the memory of last night. Behind my closed eyes, I see Lovelle's body splayed out for us. I hear her choke and sigh, gag and sputter. I feel her warmth against my chest and enveloping my fingers.

Her pussy is heaven and I'm a sinner begging to be granted entrance.

I see Charles touching himself in long, languid strokes. And I match my own to that memory.

His weepy cock begging for attention, mine doing the same now, as well as last night. A groan sits low in the back of my throat, and with every stoke of my hand and tightening of my fist, it creeps further onto my tongue.

I'm whimpering.

One hand slams against the tiled wall, my fingers curl and my blunt nails search for leverage to keep me upright. I can do this on my own, but the mere thought of both of them here with me, kneeling at my feet, mouths open in a desperate plea to be fucked...

I come undone at that very thought. Thick white ribbons coat my hand.

Coat the wall.

And then waste away down the drain.

Waking up with my cock painfully hard, I had thought this would make me feel better. But I'm nothing if not guilty and unsatisfied.

Lovelle's broken tone replays in my head, 'Why did Pierre leave us?'

Why?

Because watching them together nearly broke me entirely.

Hearing Charles claim her as his when all I wanted was for her to be ours felt like my heart forgot its own job.

Watching them was euphoric, until it wasn't.

The only comparison I had for the feeling was that of tearing through a corner at break neck speeds, everything looks perfect, and an overtake is in sight, only for the rear to slip out from beneath me. Before I knew what was happening, I'd been thrown into the barrier and engulfed in flames.

Simply put, I was terrified.

And I don't know if they'll accept that excuse, so what can I even say to them?

Knuckles beat softly against the door separating me from them.

"Pierre?"

Her voice sounds like salvation, and my own behaviour has me cringing.