this story only has mature content because I love this kind of book
ALL THESE STORIES ARE NOT MY AUTHORSHIP , I just put it on my wattpad so I could read it whenever I wanted to because I hate using Tumblr
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1#sweari...
warnings- 18+, smut, alcohol consumption, smoking, references of sex, multiple partners, the boys are kinda pervs but it's ok cause ur legal and this is fiction
11k words ;)
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You open the door to the garage and make your way down the stairs. Not even bothering to slip any shoes on. Your mom keeps the epoxy floors absolutely pristine, so there's really no reason. Plus, your toenail polish is still a little tacky. Bright, bubble gum pink polish and a silver toe ring adorning your foot. The smell of liquor and smoke has filled the garage. Accompanied by the deep, rugged voices and dry laughs coming from your fathers closest friends.
"You know mom hates it when you smoke in the house." You say all matter of fact, leaning up against the bar-tops, marble counter. You can feel your tank top strap slipping down your shoulder. But the animalistic looks coming from your dads three closest friends, force you to let it drop. To let them see.
Your father puts his cigarette out in the ash tray on the bar. Rolling his eyes at you. "Well good thing we're in the garage then."
You ignore his attitude.
"Mom needs you."
"For what?"
"To drop her off at Cindy's."
He seems irritated. But all five of you can hear the rain. There's no way any half decent husband should let his wife walk to her monthly book club meeting in this weather.
"Just- keep your mouth shut about the smokes. And grab everyone another drink. Make sure they don't burn the place down while I'm gone." You father jokes, ruffling up Daryl's hair on his way to the door, grabbing his jacket and keys.
You wave an innocent goodbye as you watch him through the garage door windows, backing out of the driveway. Your mother in the passenger seat, smiling sweetly at you.
"Well... whatcha drinkin'?" You ask Rick, who's sat in the middle. Glass empty, with a lone, melting ice cube clinking around in the bottom.
"Rum and coke." He answers, licking his lips.
"Spiced?" You ask. A flirty smile playing on your face as you bite your bottom lip.
They're all staring. Jaws clenched and breathing slowly.
You know what you're doing. You can tell by the way they're all looking at you. You can practically see the wheels turning in their brains.
They shouldn't be thinking this way about their friends daughter. About their best friends little girl. Well... not so little anymore. You'd just turned 21. Hell, they were at the party. Giving you the exact same looks they're giving you right now.
The ones they definitely shouldn't be.
But they are.
They're thinking about your thin, frilly, pyjama shorts, and how they can see the purple g string pulled up over your hips. How they can see your belly ring through the fabric of your tank top, and imagining what it would feel like against their lips as they kiss their way down your stomach. And you know they're thinking about bending you over the bar counter and taking turns at fucking you until they hear the sound of your dads diesel pulling into the driveway. How you'd have to play pretend for your father, ignoring the fact that your panties are soaking through with three different men's cum, and maybe even a mix of your own. The salty liquids threatening to drip down your inner thigh as you politely excuse yourself from the garage. Coming up with any bullshit excuse to go lay on your bed and rub your clit until you're seeing stars. Imagining each of their faces in between your legs, spreading you open and eating you up.
