LANDO NORRIS YOU ARE A FORMULA 1 WORLD CHAMPION

Now your back arched against the cushions, Lando’s mouth crushing yours, his tongue slick and intense, his hand rubbing high on your inner thigh. George’s lips dragged along your collarbone, his teeth grazing skin before his palm closed over your breast, thumb circling your nipple through the thin fabric of your top. Each of your hands found their way to their thighs, squeezing up and down as it slid, drawing them closer at every new sensation.

Lando’s hand crept higher, fingers splaying possessive and hot, nails scraping lightly at your skin. He bit at your lips—hungry, messy—leaving saliva streaked down your chin. You opened wider for him, couldn’t help a moan, the taste of tequila and lime strong in his mouth, his touch making you tremble. George, all warmth and scratchy stubble and the angry note of vodka on breath, pressed his lips to the exposed line of your neck. He sucked hard at a patch below your ear, moaning when the skin gave way. His hands found the buttons of your shirt, fumbling, impatient, until plastic clicked free and your bra spilled from the cup in his palm.

You gasped as both boys moved in, two mouths—Lando wet and open at your mouth, George’s tongue dragging a hot trail down your throat and collarbone. Their hands overlapped on your ribs, sliding your shirt down and leaving you naked from the waist up. The sight of them through your hooded eyes—your best friends, both grinning and hungry—undid you.

Lando’s hand kept climbing, grazed the elastic at your hip and slipped fingers beneath. He pulled away from your mouth, looking down with a feral, incredulous grin to confirm what he just felt on the tips of his digits. “George, look at this. She’s soaked right through.” His voice was half-shocked, half-mocking pride, as if you’d surpassed some threshold by simply wanting this—by being so turned on, so ready for them.

George made a sound low in his chest and let your nipple fall from his mouth with an audible pop. “Jesus, she is,” he said, his tone a mix of reverence and filthy amusement. He ran his thumb across the slick skin, then pinched, just enough to make you arch further, to force another gasp from your lips. He went back to your nipple, lapped it with the flat of his tongue, then drew it in fully, sucking hard, teeth teasing at the swollen bud. Each pull pulsed straight down, tightening the ache between your legs.

Lando, not to be outdone, worked your shorts down, peeled them slow over your thighs as if unwrapping a present he’d waited years to open. Cold air shocked your skin and you almost squirmed off the couch. When the fabric caught at your knees, he yanked it the rest of the way, then spread your legs wide, palms rough at the crooks of your knees, anchoring you open.

He let his fingers hover, the gesture more obscene than any touch. “Pretty,” he murmured, and your cheeks caught fire, but you couldn’t look away. He knelt on the carpet, lips sliding between your thighs, breaths so warm it made you shiver.

George tugged your hips closer to the edge of the couch, trapping you between their bodies.

Lando traced his tongue up the inside of your thigh, pausing centimeters away from the drenched cotton that barely concealed you. “You want your friends to see how wet you get, huh?” His breath made your nerves tingle, every muscle in your body wound tight, as if you were strung together by a single trembling thread.

You meant to say something cocky—some half-witty, tequila-fueled retort—but George’s palm cupped your breast again with so much reverence that all you managed was a whimper. He chuckled, stroking the back of his knuckles under your jaw, brushing sweat-slick hair off your face.

His eyes glittered with something proprietary as he bent to whisper, “You’re being such a good girl for us.” The slap of shame and pride at that phrase went straight to the pit of your belly.

Lando hooked two fingers in the seam of your panties and instead of pushing them to the side like you expected, he drew slow, lazy circles with the pad of his thumb over your slit. The friction drove you a little insane; you bucked against his hand and he laughed, the sound wicked and light. His tongue licked a hot stripe over the damp gusset, teasing you through the thin fabric.

“Let’s see what you’re hiding,” he murmured and then finally tore the panties from your hips, casting them somewhere behind his shoulder.

Nothing prepared you for the shock of his mouth. Lando’s tongue flattened against your clit, pressure building until your eyes rolled back. You dug nails into his hair, anchoring yourself to reality as he worked you over—sometimes gentle, sometimes relentless, always reading you with terrifying precision. George, not to be ignored, let his teeth scrape little circles around your nipples until they peaked hard and flushed. He hummed—whether in approval or hunger or just the pleasure of listening to you, you didn’t know—and pushed your thigh open wider, his palm broad and rough against your skin.

The world dissolved to wet heat, the air thick with salt and the tang of sex that was just beginning. The only sounds were the wet, filthy noises of Lando’s mouth and the low rumble of George’s voice as he talked to you. “You like that?” He whispered, the vibration of his words against your tits electric. “God, you look so pretty getting eaten out.”

In your periphery, you saw his free hand trace lazy circles at the waistband of his jeans, clearly hard, clearly enjoying every second of you falling apart beneath them. You wanted to taste him—wanted it fiercely—so you reached down, palm seeking the heavy outline under his jeans. You earned a sharp inhale from him and squeezed, feeling him grow even harder, if that was even possible.

George’s lips left your boobs with a wet smack and he bit his lower lip as he locked eyes with you, his pupils black and blown out. “Christ, you’re greedy,” he groaned, pushing your hand hard against his cock, grinding into your palm.

Lando’s rhythm changed, tongue flicking fast and then swirling soft, keeping you teetering on the edge, but never letting you fall. A sob caught in your throat—half frustration, half pure pleasure.

He added fingers, two at once, no warning, and the shock of it rammed through you so hard you bucked straight off the couch and almost bit George’s lip when he swooped in to claim your mouth. His lips were warm and brutally thorough—he kissed like he didn’t just want to taste you, but to consume every whimper you made. You could feel him grinning when your hips jerked, when you moaned into his tongue.

Lando curled his fingers and set a rhythm, wet and obscene, the slap-slick noises of it making your ears burn. His goatee grated against your inner thigh as he groaned into you, pressure and release timed with the messy tangle of your mouth and George’s. Your head swam with the liquor, the ache, the slow grind of George’s hips against yours.

George tiled your chin and bit your jaw, lips smooth with spit and laughter. “She tastes ridiculous, Lando,” he said and you wanted to die—or maybe to be ruined, to be stretched until nothing in you would ever fit right again.

Lando looked up, his mouth slippery and unbothered, voice mocking gentle. “Yeah? Bet you’d trade places with me if you could.” He punctuated it by twisting his fingers and latching his tongue to your clit and for the first time in your life, you screamed, flat-out, voice hoarse and desperate. The boys laughed, both of them, delighted with each other and themselves.

George wiped your mouth with the back of his hand and leaned in, breath hot in your ear. “Go on, babe. Show him.” He slipped a hand up to tangle in your hair, pulling just enough to hold you steady, and kissed you like he meant to leave a bruise inside your mouth.

Lando didn’t let up. He hummed and the vibration tumbled through your entire nervous system, the edge crumbling out from under your feet in a rush so intense it blanked the world to bright white. You came hard, clawing at George’s back, mouth half-open, but all the sound swallowed by George, lost in his throat. Lando moaned into you, drinking everything you gave up, like it was the only thing he’d ever wanted.

You’d barely had time to suck air when George pressed his thumb into your cheek, smearing spit and tears, saying, “God, you’re gorgeous when you fall apart.” He kissed the pulse at your throat, slow and possessive, and you shuddered, limp and molten across the couch.

Lando wiped his mouth obscenely with the back of his hand, beaming like sunrise. He crawled up your body, big hands bracketing your hips, and dragged his teeth down your sternum to the spot where George’s hickeys bled red on your skin. “You still with us?” His tone was soft, but the gleam in his eyes was anything but.

You managed a nod, too stunned, too proud, to say anything that wasn’t a helpless plea.

George stroked your temple, his fingers sweeping the sweat-slick mess from your cheekbone. “There you go, take a breath.” He said it more like a command, not a kindness.

You managed to gasp once, maybe twice, then they were yanking you up by the arms, not exactly gentle, and off the couch. Your legs gave, but they didn’t care. Lando held your elbow tight, George braced your ribs, and together they manhandled you onto the carpet, knees scraping on the cheap, scratchy pile. The air felt arctic against your spit-wet skin. You blinked up at them, stunned into silence. Both were towering over you, eyes black with hunger, hands already at their waists.

Lando grinned—wolf, tease, ringmaster. “Let’s see if that mouth of yours is as greedy as the rest.”

He popped the button of his pants, dragged the zipper and boxers down in one easy move, cock springing free, almost brushing your nose. You blinked again, lips moist, already parted.

George followed suit, slower, making a show of slipping his belt, letting the leather hiss through denim loops before shoving both jeans and boxers down. His cock was just as hard, just as flushed, tip beading. The sight—both of them, thick and ready—sent a new shockwave through your ribs.

George cupped your jaw, thumb tapping the hinge until you opened wider, a well-trained pet. “Open up, gorgeous,” he said, voice a caress, a threat.

Lando nudged close, his cockhead hot and insistent against your bottom lip. You swallowed around the nerves, the ache, the leftover tremors of your last orgasm, and let him guide the tip into your mouth. Salty, skin-hot, already leaking on your tongue. You licked up the shaft, kissed back the base, just like you’d always wanted, but never admitted out loud. George watched, eyes wild, mouth crooked in a half-smile. He fisted himself, slow and relentless, pumping to the pace of your tongue’s work. Lando buried both hands in your hair and drew your head steady, rolling his hips, shallow thrusts, so careful at first, but growing rough as your lips got slicker. The back of your throat caught him with every advance.

When you gagged, he moaned, jaw tight. “Shit, you’re fucking filthy,” he said. “Never pegged you for a cock slut.”

The word fell from his mouth in stereo—George echoed it, but with a different tilt, almost adoration. “You’re beautiful, you know that? On your knees for us. Mouth full.” He leaned in close, feeding the words into your ear so only you could hear them. “Could’ve had anyone, but you wanted us. Been thinking about it for years, haven’t you?”

You tried to nod, but Lando’s cock made it impossible. He pulled free, smearing spit from chin to cheek, and tapped your face as if to say good girl, you did well. “Got another one for you,” he said, stepping aside.

George immediately lined up, less showy, more ceremonial. When you opened your mouth for him, he held your jaw steady with a palm so firm it made your scalp tingle. The head of his cock brushed your tongue and you sucked him in, slow, luxuriating in the feel of it, the velvet-tight stretch at your lips. His taste was overwhelmingly male—salt, skin, a flick of vodka.

His eyes never left yours. “That’s it,” he said, voice low, all the humor gone—just hunger, pacing every word. “Fuck, you take cock like you’re born for it.”

You swirled your tongue just under the crown and he hissed, thrusting just a bit deeper. You flattened your palms on his thighs to brace yourself, needing anchor. Lando watched from behind, silent, but you could feel him: the weight of his stare, the heat radiating from his skin, the urgent grip of his hand at the nape of your neck. George pulled back, pressed forward again, giving you just enough air to ache for more. “She’s got a perfect mouth. Feels like velvet.”

Lando dropped to his knees beside you, fingers tight in your hair. “Bet she could take both.”

His voice was a feral little dare. Your own moan vibrated around George’s cock: the idea of it, two at once, the way the thought alone left you hollowed and needy. Lando moved in, the blunt head of his cock bumping against your cheek, painting your skin with pre-cum.

“Want it?” He asked. The shape of him, the threat and promise, made you nod as much as George’s hand would allow. “Greedy fucking slut.”

He coaxed your head to the side and you opened, tongue already trembling, mouth slack and greedy. Both cocks pressed in, George at the front of your mouth, Lando inching along the side, the hot, heavy, slide of skin and salt and pleasured groans filling your ears. The stretch was impossible, then perfect, spit slicking the seam as Lando guided you to take more, his voice guttural: “Fucking hell, she’s even better than I thought.”

The sounds—yours, theirs, the desperate wet slap—filled the room, the air thick with a need so old it felt mythic. Hands in your hair and on your jaw, their hips setting the rhythm, using you as if they’d rehearsed it. You gagged a little, tears blurring your vision, but the reward was in their shuddered moans, the filthy praise that spilled from both mouths.

“My turn, pretty girl,” Lando said and George yielded just a little, letting his friend fuck deeper, hips stuttering as he lost finesse to raw need. He used your hair as the perfect lever, holding you open, face a mess of spit and tears.

George, ever the contrast, wiped your cheek with his thumb and whispered, “Taking it so well. You’re such a mess for us.”

You let the words wash over you, everything inside hot and thready and close to breaking. The taste of them mingled on your tongue, bitter and sweet, heady, the two of them together a chemical overdose.

The moment they eased up, both cocks glistening and wet, your chin slicked with spit and strings of pre-cum, your arousal throbbed at the edge of pain. You gasped for air, dizzy, almost cross-eyed, but the boys manhandled you with dazed efficiency—lifting you at the underarms, spinning you onto the couch, planting your knees on the cushions, shoving your ass high. George’s hands bracketed your hips, bruising, steady, possessive. Lando patted your hair, fingers combing out what they’d tangled, and sat in front of you, his cock an inch from your lips, grinning like a devil.

“There you go, fuck, look at you.” His voice rumbled, soft and cruel, as he wiped your spit-streaked face with his thumb, then aimed himself at your mouth again. You opened, obedient, as George’s cock prodded between your legs. The sensation left you wild, every nerve ending newly raw, as if the world had been torn open and you were the only real thing left in it.

George pushed in slow, deliberate, stretching you wide, the head burning at the tight entrance, then popping inside you nearly screamed at how full you felt. “You fucking ready for me?” He grunted, voice thick.

You nodded, as much as you could with Lando’s cock blocking most of your airway. The best you could manage was a choked sound, some vowel trapped like a sob.

Lando gripped your skull in both hands, holding you fixed while he eased forward, filling your mouth, muttering, “Keep her nice and wet for me when I fuck her next. Make her drool for it.”

George’s thrusts set the rhythm. Hard, insistent, ramming you against the couch so your jaw nearly dislocated swallowing Lando. Each stroke made your brain blank, replaced with the bone-rattle of George’s hips, then the conquest of Lando’s cock at your tongue. You gagged, spit flooding your mouth, drool running down your chin, and Lando just moaned, “That’s my girl, take it, take it.”

He held you until you couldn’t breathe, until your throat spasmed uselessly around him and tears ran, hot and humiliating, down your cheeks. Then he’d drag away, just a second, letting you pant, and George would slap your ass, bury himself to the hilt, and the cycle would begin again.

“Jesus, look at how wet you are,” George gasped, voice reverent, hips working meanly. “I barely even have to try. You’re fucking dripping for us.” He hunched over your back, chest pressed hot and damp to your spine, fingers digging deeper so your whole body distorted around the force, his rhythm fast and cruel. You could taste your pulse in the roof of your mouth, feel every slip and jerk of skin against the back of your throat.

Lando’s voice was so close to your ear you could smell the tequila ghosting off his tongue. “Get this cock nice and wet for you, princess,” he said, as if you were doing him a favor. He fucking loved it, you could tell—he liked watching you struggle, liked the way you choked and shuddered, every reaction flipping something inside him.

He prodded your jaw until you took him deeper, so the hot, salty tang of him hit your sinuses, made your eyes water. George’s pace never relented. He rutted you and every thrust pushed your whole body forward, spit sliding down the corners of your lips and onto Lando’s shaft, pooling at your collarbones.

“She’s drooling for it,” Lando said, cackling. “Bet her mouth is numb.”

“Don’t care,” George panted. “Feels fucking incredible. She can take it, can’t you, baby?” He punctuated it with a slap to your thigh, and you nodded, frantic and ragdoll loose, drool hanging from your chin.

Lando pulled out, string of spit stretching from your lips to his cock. He stroked himself, slow and mean, smearing your saliva around the head with theatrical, exaggerated circles. “Open up,” he said, voice gravel and velvet at the same time. He pressed the weight of his balls to your tongue and groaned, tensing as you licked and sucked, desperate to impress even through the haze of oxygen deprivation and pleasure. Your jaw ached, but you wanted more, you wanted to be ruined for anyone else.

“Look at her go,” George said, leaning over you. His sweat tickled your back as he bent, wrapped a hand around your neck—not choking, but holding, guiding, underlining every second by making it clear you weren’t going anywhere. “She loves this. She loves getting used.”

You did. That was the worst part. You loved it more than you’d ever imagined. Being between them, being their toy, existing only to be filled and stretched and worshipped by these two beautiful, ridiculous, filthy boys.

Lando tugged your hair until you looked up and made eye contact, his cock pressed to your nose. “You gonna suck these, sweetheart?” he said, nestling his balls to your mouth, a dare in every syllable. You took them in, tongue clumsy and greedy, the smell of him intoxicating. He groaned, low and private, and for a second you realized he was trembling. Not just you losing control—but both of them, hairline cracked by the need you provoked.

George’s thrusts grew erratic, losing discipline. He flattened you over the couch back, holding your ass spread with hungry hands. “This cock’s not gonna last much longer if we don’t switch soon,” he gritted, the words falling hot on your spine.

Lando shoved you back, almost gentle, and pulled out, your mouth clenching on empty space that stung with want. He stood, looming, then gave George a pointed look, “Let’s do it then.”

George grinned and, in a blur, took Lando’s place on the couch. You ended up facing him, arms shaking as you tried to prop yourself up from where Lando had left you. George grabbed you by the shoulders, drew you into his lap. He brushed damp hair from your forehead, the touch weirdly sweet. You almost collapsed against him—the only solid thing in a room spinning on its own axis.

Lando circled around, hands tracing down your lower back, ultimately bracing on your hips, spreading you from behind. You felt his cock nudging the slick, aching mess between your legs. He didn’t push in. Instead, he ran a hand along your folds, dipping inside and making a show of wet, squelching sound as he opened you.

“Didn’t think you could get wetter,” he snickered, something gleaming in his voice. He used his thumb to tap at your clit, a featherlight, infuriating touch. The sensation ripped a shudder up your spine.

George’s mouth caught yours in the moment, tongue greedy, pulling every moan out through your teeth. One of his hands found your knee, squeezed until it almost hurt, the other pressed flat between your shoulder blades to hold you upright for Lando.

The tip of Lando’s cock glided along your slit and you couldn’t help it: you rocked back, desperate, trying to get him to just goddamn fuck you already. He chuckled right into your neck. “Don’t get needy, sweetheart, you’ll get what you want.”

He lined up, pressed slow at the opening, a promise stretch between seconds—then slammed home a few centimeters, enough to pop inside, and waited, letting the heat rip through you. He was thicker than George, but no less small, and the slow build made you want to sob, but you bit down on the inside of your cheek instead. Your body stretched around him, skin prickling as he retreated, drove forward, deeper this time. “There you go,” he crooned. “Take all of it.”

George’s hand slid up to your throat, a gentle grip—reminder you were held, anchored, never falling. You didn’t realize your hands had found George’s cock until you felt the hot, thick length in your palm. You stroked him slow, marveling at how he twitched in your fist every time Lando bottomed out. With your other hand, you played at his balls, rolling them, delighting in the shudder his whole body gave in response.

Lando pistoned faster, the wet sounds of him fucking in and out of you louder than any porn. He used one hand to spread your ass, the other to press at your lower back, arching you for better leverage. The angle stretched you further, took him deeper, made every thrust throb with pleasure so sharp it almost hurt. “Jesus, you’re tight,” he groaned. “Like a fucking vice. Unreal.”

You barely heard him over your own pulse, the slurping, splatter-wet sounds that would haunt your every fantasy from here on out. Your vision static—spangly white, every muscle in your thighs trembling so hard you thought you might vibrate apart.

George’s free hand found yours and brought it to his cock, wrapping your fist around the flushed, pulsing length. “Stroke it for me,” he whispered, almost gentle. You did, and he shivered, leaned in so close you felt his breath on your tongue.

They started talking over you again—about you, not to you—which only made you hotter. “Look at her, Lando. Fucking mess already,” George said, pride all over his face. He squeezed your throat a little, just the pressure, no air restriction, but enough that every nerve ending on your skin snapped taut, waiting for whatever came next.

Lando laughed, pure joy and mean delight, fucking you in slow, grinding thrusts. “Can’t get enough, can she?”

George made you look at him, tilted your chin so your noses almost touched. He looked so serious, for a second, it nearly sobered you. “Doesn’t she feel heavenly, Lando?” His voice cracked a little on heavenly, and you pulsed around Lando at the sound.

Lando groaned, his pace stuttering. “Best I ever had.”

“Fuck,” George breathed. “She’s close to making me cum again.”

“Not yet.” Lando thrust deep and froze, his cock pulsing, making you burn and writhe. He pressed a palm flat between your shoulder blades to keep you from wriggling away. “Not until she’s on top. Pretty thing deserves a show.”

He pulled out abrupt, leaving you empty and violently wanting. You cried out at the loss, body rifling for friction. Lando didn’t even give you time to process. He smeared his hand down your back, palm curling around your ribs, and muscled you around so you landed splayed across the couch. The cushions stank gloriously of sweat, vodka, the humid chemical of your own desire. Lando sat down hard, legs spread, cock bobbing obscenely in his fist. He dragged you by the hips so you straddled him, knees on the bitter synthetic of the cushion, cunt hovering over the mottled red head of his dick.

He grinned up at you, still catching his breath. “Ride me,” he said. Not a suggestion. A command, pitched low and private. He spat in his palm and stroked himself, eyes locked on the mess between your legs. “Let’s see if you can wear me out.”

Arms shaking, you braced on his shoulders. You could smell yourself on him, could feel the sticky, primal heat coating every inch of your skin. You lined him up to your entrance and, slow so you could feel every catching millimeter, sank down. Full. Stuffed. Perfect. The angle was new, sharper, and the pressure at your clit made your vision star-and-static again.

Lando’s eyes rolled back in his skull for a second before snapping back down to the present, pupils blown wide almost making his eyes entirely black. You bounced tentatively, still shaky, muscles rubbery with aftershock, but desperate for more, grinding your hips in small, testing circles. The base of his cock nudged parts of you that had never been reached—not like this, not from this angle. You gasped and held tighter to his shoulders, nails biting down to keep from falling over.

For a moment, all you did was ride him. Up and down, in little rock-and-grind stutters; every slide dragged sweet against your clit, every rut pressed heat up your spine. Your hair stuck to your cheeks, sweat pooling under your tits where they bounced wild and uncontained. He never broke eye contact, not once, just watched you with that lazy, wowed grin, as if the entire universe had always conspired to bring you here, naked and fucked open in his lap.

You leaned forward, dragged your tongue up the side of his throat like you’d seen animals do in documentaries, searching for salt, for something to bite down on. You bit his earlobe, sucked it into your mouth, and his groan nearly made you cum again. The air was thick with ozone and spit and primal, glassy-eyed want.

George, left idle for too long, watched with almost academic hunger. His cock still stood, flushed and leaking, and you ached to reach for him, but this time he didn’t rush you. It was the only favor he’d done all night—let you focus on the stretch, the grind, the heady pop of sensation Lando offered with every upstroke. For now, George only squeezed your hip in encouragement, lazily stroking himself. “You look so fucking good,” he said, like it was a secret he’d kept just for this moment.

You rode harder, desperate to wring every atom of pleasure out of Lando before your thighs inevitably gave. Each time you slammed down, the slap of skin echoed, wet and obscene, and Lando’s hands, huge and sure, locked around your waist, controlling the descent, drawing you down harder, deeper.

But it wasn’t enough—he wanted more, you could feel it in the way his hips bucked up to meet you. He steadied you with a grip that bordered tender, then slipped his palms under your ass, cupping, kneading, using you as leverage. With a measured grunt, he lifted you off him, just the tip left in. “Is that all you can do?” he taunted, a smirk playing on his lips.

With a single smooth motion, he braced his feet against the floor and drove up into you with all the leverage he had. Your vision went white again. That was all it took to fuck the air out of your lungs, to make your whole body tense, the climax rippling right under the skin.

You barely had time to register it before Lando set a new pace, fast and brutal, humping up from below, pounding into you in relentless, battering strokes. The couch groaned in protest. The sound of it—raw, vulgar—combined with the feeling of fullness, the force of it, everything condensed into sensory static.

“Fuck, princess, don’t stop, don’t stop, fuck, princess—” He squeezed your hips, knuckles blanching, struggling to hold back. You rode him, harder, throat working with every desperate gasp. Lando’s cock felt like it might rip you in two, but you didn’t want to stop, never wanted to leave this body-locked orbit. Sweat dripped down your neck, every muscle burning, body rewired around the single mission of taking, grinding, making him lose all control.

You slammed all the way down, impaling until skin hit skin and it shook something loose in you. Lando’s eyes were locked on yours, wild and shining, and right before you shattered again he wrenched your hips down, shuddered, and moaned out a messy curse through his teeth. “Almost—can you—fuck—” He grit down, jaw clenched, fighting the urge to blow right then and there.

He panted, drew you down, and kissed you—feral, sloppy, biting at your lips, the taste of sweat and salt and sex everywhere. Slowly, he rocked you—once, twice, each time deeper, as if he wanted to fold you around his cock and wear you forever.

Time dissolved. Seconds or centuries later, you barely realized you were still sitting on him, wrung out, his cock still buried, both of you shaking. Lando held you steady, squeezing your waist for the tremors to pass. He looked over your shoulder and his grin went lazy and mean. “Oi, George. You just gonna watch or you gonna join?”

It was all it took. George abandoned the arm of the couch, standing, his cock out and proud and glistening with the leftover mess from you. He circled around languid, flexing his hand as if testing his grip. He knelt behind you, broad palm sliding up your thigh—higher, until it cupped your ass, both hands spreading your cheeks wide. He took a moment to drink in the sight of you, stretched taut around Lando’s cock, his balls glistening with your slickness. The image ignited something primal within him and he relished the view of you, fully claimed, teetering on the edge of ecstasy.

“Think she could handle both?” George asked, the words thrill and dare in your ears.

Lando’s answer was a sound, more growl than word, as he felt you clench at the proposition. You were definitely up for it, he could sense it, quite literally. “Huh, baby, think you can take two big cocks in each hole?”

You nodded eagerly, but Lando grabbed your throat and squeezed as a reprimand, eyes evergreen. “Use your words, you’re a big girl.”

You gulped, and said, voice a little bit shaky in the beginning, but growing with confidence at each word. “Yes. I want both of your cocks inside me. I want you to fill my every hole.”

“Greedy little slut, wants all the cock,” Lando chuckled menacingly and released his grip. You gasped for air, maybe because you couldn’t take a breath for a minute or two, maybe because the excitement and anticipation of getting double penetrated were knocking all oxygen from your lungs.

You felt George’s heat as he leaned closer, his chest hot and sticky against your back. He slid two fingers down the crack of your ass, pressing gently against your asshole. He spat right on the tight ring, thumb working the spit in slow, practiced circles.

The spit was cold at first, then warm as his fingers massaged it, teasing you. He pressed, pulled away, pressed again, slower, gentler, not pushing in, just coaxing. It felt filthy and perfect, a new kind of friction. Every nerve ending lit up again, like you hadn’t just gotten off twice. You shuddered and pressed your cheek to Lando’s shoulder, the sweat on his skin cold and sweet against your tongue. All the while, your cunt gripped Lando so hard it felt like you’d never get him out of you, and that—God, that—made you rock harder, clenching, grinding down like you could wring some new sensation from the friction alone.

George laughed delightfully behind you. He pressed both hands to your ass and spread you open, thumbs pressing hard until your skin ached with stretch. You waited for him to spit again, but instead there was the shock of wet heat—his tongue, pointed and flexing, lapping at the seam with greedy, filthy precision.

At first, it caught you off guard. Embarrassment flared, but it died somewhere in your lower belly. George was loose and deliberate, licking your asshole in hungry, slow drags. He moaned as he did it and the vibration sent shocks up your spine. The sound rooted itself in you, made you feel strange and perfect and disgusting in a way that was instantly addictive.

You tried to say something, but Lando filled your mouth with his thumb, mashing it between your teeth so all you could muster was a grunt. He watched your reactions, grinning wide, as he braced his feet on either side of your knees and started to fuck up into you again, little controlled lifts that made you bounce, made George’s tongue dig deeper.

George parted your cheeks until it hurt, buried his face, lapping you with such focus that you thought you might black out. The mixture of Lando inside you and George’s tongue fucking circles around the rim—you could barely catch a breath. When George finally slid a finger in, it was easy, almost a relief. The spit slicked you, let him twist and hook inside until you felt impossibly, shamefully full.

He didn’t stop at one finger. He worked you open with the same patience a person would use to pick a lock: first one, then the slow introduction of a second, rotating them, stroking the inside, massaging you until you were desperate for anything more. Lando twisted your nipples as he watched you fall apart, the pain sharp, but fleeting, a flash bulb in the mess of heat George was building.

The stretch got easier, the ache turned sweet. George licked you as he fingered you, pushing his tongue wherever his fingers didn’t reach. You lost count of the times you clenched, the times you tried to pull away, only for George to hold you steady, tongue and fingers working in lockstep until the nerves in your asshole felt as raw and exposed as your clit.

Lando never relented. He held you by the hips and guided you down, working his cock deep on each thrust, his breath ragged in your ear. He was watching George and you and himself all at once, a loop of pleasure and exhibition that made the world tighten in on itself, the anticipation a living thing beneath your skin.

George finally stood, rubbing his spit-coated fingers together, absentminded and casual, as if he’d done this a thousand times before. He planted a knee beside your hip, cock standing proud, eyes flicking down to the pucker now shining with his saliva. The pressure of his gaze alone made it clench, as if in invitation. Lando’s cock was still buried to the hilt, stretching you, every muscle trembling as you rode out the aftershocks of your last, shatterproof high.

“Fuck, you’re hungry for it,” George said, thumb circling your asshole. He leaned in, his words a shudder on your neck: “You want to get split open? Let me hear you say it.” The sound of his voice—ruthless, loving, a snarl softened by years of gentle inside-jokes—curled in your stomach.

Your lips barely moved in reply, but he heard it all the same: “Yes, please. Please fuck me, both of you.” The rawness in your voice was its own loosened secret.

Lando’s hands slid to your ribs, holding you steady, as George angled the swollen head of his dick to your spit-slicked hole. The push started slow: just a suggestion, a whisper of promise against skin shocked pink and raw. At first, it burned, a single line of white heat, and you sucked in air expecting pain—only to feel George pull back and press in again, urging your body to open molecule by molecule.

“Relax. You love this, don’t you?” George murmured, and the praise made your body shiver. He spat again, massaging it in with two fingers, then used the other hand to squeeze Lando at the base, steadying the rhythm so you wouldn’t shoot off the couch.

The burn faded to a deep, bruisy fullness, can’t believe this is happening, can’t ever go back. Lando rocked up, his cock sleek and hungry inside your cunt, as George pressed in, slow at first, then with firm, insistent thrusts. Not all the way, not yet, but enough to stretch you into a new shape. The pressure grew, and you whined, the sound thin and animal.

“That’s it, take it. You’re fucking perfect, princess,” Lando gasped, voice ragged, as he felt the resistance of your body squeezed between the two of them.

George groaned, buried his face in your shoulder, then mouthed hot, wet circles against your neck as he punched in a few millimeters deeper. “Jesus, she’s tight. You ever do this before?”

You shook your head, barely able to breathe, the sensation so full it scrambled your brain. You gripped Lando’s forearm, nails carving moons, needing something to anchor you to the planet. George waited, waited, then thrust again, and this time you felt the blunt head slide past the first stubborn ring and in, real, shocking, a sensation that hovered between ecstasy and obliteration. Every inch slid against Lando’s cock, separated by only a whisper of tissue.

George braced both hands at the base of your spine, arms caging your body so you couldn’t retreat. The first few thrusts made you see black around the edges, pain and pleasure both sharp, especially as Lando timed his movements with George’s, so the cocks moved inside you staggered, then together, then apart. The friction—the impossible, swelling fullness—shattered your concept of self down to an open mouth, a pulse, a need. Lando’s breath came harsh and wild, thrumming against your cheek.

“You’re a fucking animal,” he said, fingers carving wounds into your hips. “Who knew you’d take it so good? I’m not even halfway and she’s milking me, George.”

George’s mouth grazed your nape, the salt of your skin hot under his tongue. “She’s a natural. Took her what—ten minutes to get cock-drunk?” His voice was almost gentle, but the weight of his thrusts said otherwise. He flexed and pressed in, deeper, as Lando rocked up to meet him. Every shared motion left your insides bruised and perfect, like the world now only existed in the centimeters between the two of them.

You tried to say a word, maybe their names, maybe just fuck, but every noise drowned in the slap and wet churn of your bodies. Lando crooked a hand to your throat from the front, pulling you into his chest so your head lolled and your mouth hung open in a helpless, wild gasp.

“That’s it. Fucking drool for us.” His laugh was mean and proud and electrified your spine—you could feel spit running down your chin, tears melding with it, too fucked out to care. The pain of your jaw from earlier was nothing next to this pressure, this delirium, the rhythm of their hips slamming you at both ends. George’s cock drove in, then Lando’s, the stretch reversing and doubling, amplifying.

“Wish there was another cock to fill your mouth hole, huh? Your mouth feel empty, useless, don’t it?” Lando’s words hung in the air like a taunt, his fingers tightening around your throat just enough to make your pulse hammer against his palm.

“Let’s fix that,” his free hand left your hip and rose, two thick fingers pressing against your parted lips before you could even think to close them. He shoved them deep, past your teeth, until the pads hit the back of your tongue. “Suck,” he ordered, voice low and filthy. “Lick and suck like it’s a cock you’re desperate for.”

Your mouth closed around the intrusion on instinct, tongue working over the rough skin, tasting salt and the faint trace of your own earlier arousal. Lando didn’t give you time to adjust—he pumped the fingers in and out in time with the cocks stretching your holes, turning your mouth into another wet, obedient channel. Spit flooded around the digits, dripping down your chin in thick strands that joined the mess already coating your throat and chest.

George’s mouth stayed at your nape, teeth scraping as he drove in harder. “Look at her,” he rasped. “Taking everything we give her. Fingers, cocks, whatever we want to stuff inside her.” His thrusts grew sharper, the head of his cock dragging against the thin wall separating him from Lando’s length. Every forward snap of George’s hips forced Lando’s fingers deeper into your throat until you gagged wetly around them.

Lando’s eyes stayed locked on your face, watching every twitch and tear. “That’s it, drool all over my hand. Show us how empty that pretty mouth really is.” He curled the fingers, pressing down on your tongue, forcing more spit to spill out. The wet sounds from your mouth mixed with the obscene slap of skin on skin as both men fucked into you without mercy.

Your body rocked between them, helpless, every hole filled or claimed. George’s grip on your spine tightened, keeping you pinned exactly where he wanted while Lando’s fingers fucked your mouth in the same staggered rhythm their cocks used on your pussy and ass. The pressure built again, relentless, the stretch and fullness and the taste of Lando’s skin on your tongue pushing you deeper into the haze.

George set his teeth into your shoulder, dragging them just enough to hum under your skin. “Look at you. You’re a fucking sight. Can’t believe what a little slut you are for us,” he choked, words muffled, but clear in meaning. “Knew you’d love this, didn’t we?”

Your body was on fire, nothing but acid and velvet and wet. The tightness was so complete you thought you’d break, not just fracture, but explode open, atomize, and spray the walls with your need. George was pressing you down with such force, your clit dragging over Lando’s pelvis, stimulation in three places at once beyond unbearable. You never knew it could feel this good, it was a miracle you didn’t cum right then and there. You hardly saw anything before you anymore, your eyes taking glimpses of the back of your head and deciding to stay there.

George sped up, then taunted, fingers digging so hard you’d have his fingerprints the next day. “Always thought about this, you filthy fucking thing? Both of us using you, fucking you dumb?”

“Say thank you,” Lando grunted and removed his fingers followed by a string of fat saliva.

Your body tried to say it, tried to do anything, but the only sound you made was a hoarse, barking moans.

“Look at her, fucked out of her mind, can’t even form a sentence, such a brat,” George grabbed a fistful of your hair and yanked your head back, teeth nipping on the delicate curve of your neck as meanly as his words.

Lando suddenly gripped your hips, stilling all of you. “Hold up,” he panted, his voice hoarse with exertion. “I want to switch. Want to feel her ass.”

George grunted, clearly reluctant, but released you and pulled out with a sound that made your body clench around empty air. The sudden absence left you hollow, aching more than when you were full.

“Up,” Lando commanded, tapping your thigh. “Turn around, on me. Reverse cowgirl.”

Your muscles protested, trembling from exertion as you clumsily shifted position, straddling Lando facing away from him. His hands guided your hips, pulling you back against his chest. The position left you feeling exposed, vulnerable as Lando’s cock pressed against your entrance.

“Ease back,” he instructed, one hand spreading your cheek while the other guided himself to your asshole. “That’s it. Nice and slow.”

You sank down, taking him inch by inch. The stretch burned beautifully, different from before, your body still loose from George’s earlier preparation. Lando groaned appreciatively beneath you, his breath hot against your neck.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he hissed. “Even after George. Perfect little hole.”

You expected to feel George lining up at your front, his cock ready to fill your pussy, but instead felt his hands on your thighs, pushing them wider. The carpet scraped as he knelt between your and Lando’s spread legs, his face level with your dripping core.

“What are you doing?” Lando asked, genuine surprise in his voice as George leaned in and swiped his tongue along your slit.

George pulled back just enough to speak, his lips glistening with your arousal. “Couldn’t help myself,” he said, voice husky. “I’m fucking jealous you got to taste her first.”

Lando chuckled, the vibration running through his chest and into your back. “Greedy bastard. Thought you wanted to fuck her pussy.”

“Plenty of time for that,” George replied before diving back in, his tongue delving deep.

The sensation made you gasp, head falling back against Lando’s shoulder. Two different pleasures assaulted you at once—the thick fullness in your ass and the wet heat of George’s mouth on your pussy. It was too much, not enough, everything.

“Fuck, look at you taking it,” Lando murmured, his hand roaming your body. “Both holes being used. You love this, don’t you?”

You could only nod, words beyond capabilities. George’s tongue swirled around your clit, building pressure that made your thighs tremble. Lando’s cock pulsed inside you, hitting spots that made you see stars.

“You taste even better than I imagined,” George said, pulling back to speak. “Been thinking about this for ages. How sweet you’d be.”

Lando thrust upward, making you cry out. “You’re not the only one who’s been fantasizing. Couldn’t stop thinking about this ass after that beach trip last summer.”

The memory flashed through your mind—you bending over to pick up a beach ball, Lando’s gaze hot on your backside. Had he been imagining this then?

George’s fingers joined his mouth, two fingers slipping inside your pussy while his tongue continued its relentless assault on your clit. The stretch of Lando in your ass and George’s fingers curling forward made your body feel like it was splitting open in the best possible way.

“Found it,” George murmured against you, his fingertips pressing against that spongy spot inside. “Fuck, she’s got such a sensitive spot right here.”

Lando held your hips still, his cock buried deep, as George’s fingers began to piston in and out. The squelch was obscene, loud enough to echo off the walls of the apartment. You couldn’t think, couldn’t form coherent thoughts, could only feel the dual penetration turning your insides to liquid fire.

“Look at you taking both so well,” Lando said, his voice strained. “Our little cockslut, can’t get enough.”

George increased his pace, his fingers hitting that spot with every thrust while his thumb circled your clit. “You like having two holes filled? Like being stuffed full of cock and fingers?”

The pressure built impossibly fast, your body wound so tight you thought you might snap. George’s fingers curled, pressing harder against that spot, and something shifted inside you—a different kind of pleasure, deeper, more urgent.

“Think she might—” George’s words cut off as he felt the change in your body, your walls clenching around his fingers in rhythmic pulses.

“Fuck, is she gonna—” Lando’s question hung in the air as George pulled his mouth away from your clit and focused his attention on that spot inside, fingers moving faster.

“Gonna make her squirt,” George announced, a feral grin in his voice. “Watch this.”

You barely had time to process his words before the pressure broke. George pressed hard against that spot, his fingers curled, and your body arched violently. A gush of warm liquid flooded over his hand, soaking his fingers, his wrist, dripping down onto Lando’s thighs beneath you.

“Holy shit,” Lando breathed, feeling the wet heat against his skin. “She’s squirting.”

George didn’t let up, his fingers continuing to work that spot, coaxing out wave after wave. “Look at that,” he said, voice filled with wonder and pride. “Never seen anyone squirt this much. You’re a fucking fountain, baby.”

The sensation was unlike anything you’d experienced before—not quite an orgasm, but something more primal, more uncontrollable. Your body kept releasing, your thighs trembling violently as George milked every last drop from you.

“Beautiful,” Lando whispered, his hands gentling on your hips. “Absolutely fucking beautiful.”

When the last tremor passed, your body went limp against Lando’s chest, boneless and spent. But George wasn’t done with you yet.

“Now,” he said, withdrawing his fingers with a slick sound, “it’s my turn to feel that tight pussy again.”

You felt him shift position, his cock nudging against your entrance, still wet from your release. The head pressed forward, stretching you around him while Lando remained buried in your ass.

“Double stuffed again,” Lando groaned, feeling George push in from the front.

“Fuck me,” George grunted, sliding deeper, “she’s still so tight even after all that.”

You felt like you were being split in half, the two cocks pressing against that thin wall of tissue between them again. The stretch was beyond anything you’d imagined, even though you already felt it all the same—too much, not enough, a burn that blazed through every nerve ending.

“God, she’s so fucking wet,” George moaned, rolling his hips to seat himself fully. “Still dripping from that squirting orgasm. My cock is swimming in it.”

Lando’s hands found your tits, squeezing hard as he began to move beneath you. “Feel that? We’re both inside you now. Taking up every inch of space in your greedy little body.”

The dual sensation was overwhelming—George filling your pussy while Lando stretched your ass. Your muscles clenched involuntarily around both of them, drawing twin groans from the men.

“She’s trying to milk us both at once,” Lando said, voice tight with pleasure. “Fucking insatiable slut.”

George set a punishing pace, driving into your pussy while Lando thrust up into your ass. The opposing rhythms created a maddening friction that made your vision blur at the edges.

“Look at us,” George panted, his breath hot against your neck. “Using every hole you have. This what you dreamed about? This living up to your fantasy?”

You couldn’t answer, couldn’t form words as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable intensity. Your body was nothing but sensation—stretch and fullness and the delicious friction of being so completely filled.

“Think she can handle it?” Lando asked, his fingers digging into your hips. “Think she’ll cum again from this?”

“Bet she will,” George replied, increasing his pace. “She’s been begging for this for years, haven’t you? Our little cock-hungry slut.”

Their words should have humiliated you, but instead they stoked the fire building in your core. You were nothing but a vessel for their pleasure, and somehow that knowledge made everything more intense.

“I can feel your cock through her walls,” Lando told George, wonder in his voice. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

George groaned in response, his thrusts growing erratic. “She’s so fucking tight like this. Double stuffed and still squeezing us.”

Your orgasm approached with terrifying speed, your body wound so tight you thought you might break apart. The dual stimulation, the filthy talk, the feeling of being so thoroughly used—it was all too much.

“That’s it,” Lando encouraged, feeling your muscles clench around him. “Cum on our cocks. Show us what a good slut you are.”

The climax hit you like a freight train, your body seizing as waves of pleasure crashed through you. You screamed, voice raw and broken, as your insides convulsed around both men.

“Fuck, she’s cumming,” George shouted, his rhythm faltering. “Squeezing me so tight.”

Lando held your hips steady, driving up into your spasming body. “Take it all,” he growled. “Take every fucking inch.”

The orgasm seemed to go on forever, each wave more intense than the last. Your body spasmed violently as the climax peaked, every muscle tensed and trembling. The men didn’t stop—couldn’t stop—their rhythm growing more frantic as they chased their own release.

“Fuck, I’m getting close,” Lando growled, his fingers digging bruises into your hips. “She’s squeezing me so tight.”

George grunted in agreement, his thrusts losing their measured pace. “Me too. Not gonna last much longer like this.”

Your oversensitive body couldn’t handle any more stimulation, yet you craved it desperately. The pain-pleasure of being so thoroughly used pushed you toward another edge.

“Gonna cum inside her,” Lando announced, his voice tight with strain.

“Wait,” George gasped, pulling back slightly. “You’d want to see her face when we finish, trust me.”

In one fluid motion, both men withdrew, leaving you empty and aching. Before you could protest, strong hands were manhandling you off the couch and onto the carpet. Your knees hit the rough fibers, the impact jarring through your boneless body.

“Open,” Lando commanded, his cock hovering inches from your face, flushed and slick with your combined fluids.

Your jaw dropped obediently, tongue lolling out as you panted for breath. George positioned himself beside Lando, both of them towering over your kneeling form.

“Look at us when we cum,” George ordered, his hand working furiously along his shaft. “Want to see your pretty eyes.”

Lando matched his rhythm, both of them stroking themselves with desperate urgency. The air filled with their ragged breathing and the wet sounds of their hands on slick flesh.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—” Lando’s words cut off as the first hot spurts hit your tongue. The salty, bitter taste flooded your mouth as he groaned above you.

George followed seconds later, his release painting your cheeks and chin in thick stripes. They continued jerking themselves, mixing their cum on your face, in your open mouth, until every drop was extracted.

“Swallow,” Lando commanded, watching you intently.

You closed your mouth, forcing down the bitter fluid as it coated your throat. The act itself was humiliating, yet somehow made you feel powerful—they had given you this offering, and you accepted it.

“Good girl,” George murmured, tucking himself away. “You took everything we gave you.”

Your body ached in places you hadn’t known could ache. Your knees throbbed against the carpet, your jaw felt unhinged, and between your legs, you were swollen and tender. Yet a deep satisfaction settled in your bones—the fantasy fulfilled beyond anything you had imagined.

Lando crouched before you, tilting your chin up with one finger. “Still with us?”

You nodded, unable to form coherent words, but forced yourself to croak, “Thank you.”

He smiled. His thumb swiped across your cheek, collecting a smear of their combined release.“Beautiful mess,” he said, voice softer now. “C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up.”