They didn’t pace themselves.
Max and Ant had waited too long—years of short stolen
moments between diaper changes and family dinners. Now they had weeks of
freedom, and they weren’t wasting a second.
They didn’t just want to take me.
They wanted to outdo each other.
Day One to Day Three
It started as a game.
Max grinned across the bed after the fourth time he made me
scream, sweat slick on his skin. “That’s three for me,” he said with a cocky
smirk, watching me tremble from the aftershocks.
Ant narrowed his eyes, already hard again. “You counting?
Cute.”
He had me on my knees before I could breathe. Max sat back
and watched, one hand stroking himself, the other fisting the sheets as
Ant drove into me from behind like he had a vendetta.
That night, I came eleven times. They each made sure
to beat the other by one.
I was wrecked.
And they were just getting started.
Days Four to Seven
They stopped pretending to be polite.
Ant dragged me into the kitchen at sunrise. Bent me over the
island and didn’t even wait to undress me. “One before breakfast,” he grunted,
slamming into me, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise.
Max walked in with coffee. Saw the way I was panting,
drooling, begging for more. He didn’t even blink.
“After he's done, you're mine for the next two hours. You
don’t come unless I say so.”
He meant it.
He took me to the floor. Spread me open on the cold tile.
Edged me until my legs shook. Then edged me again. And again. Until tears
slipped down my cheeks and I was clawing at his forearms.
“Beg me louder, baby,” he murmured, cock heavy and leaking
against my stomach. “Let him hear you.”
Week Two
The days blurred. Time didn’t exist. Just heat. Moans. The slap of skin.
They kept a tally on the mirror in lipstick.
Max: 49
Ant: 47
My orgasms: 94
They turned it into an art form.
Ant spent hours on my clit, face buried deep, mumbling between strokes: “I’m
going to make her come so many times you’ll feel it in her next time,
Max.”
Max laughed, low and wicked. “Good. So when I fuck her after
you, she’ll scream even louder.”
And I did.
Every. Damn. Time.
They Shared Everything
They’d fill me up, then keep me open for the other. There
was no jealousy, only greed. Shared obsession.
Sometimes they both stayed inside me. One in front, one
behind, hips in rhythm. Their hands tangled in my hair, their groans low and
filthy.
“You feel her gripping us both?” Ant hissed.
Max’s voice was feral. “She was made for this.”
I was. God, I was.
Week Three
My body didn’t belong to me anymore.
I was passed between them like a precious possession. Ant
took mornings, Max claimed nights. Afternoons, they shared me—one fucking my
throat while the other split me open from behind, both of them coming together
like they needed it to breathe.
Sometimes they'd team up just to make me come so hard
I blacked out.
Ant whispered, “She’s dripping down her thighs.”
Max pressed deeper. “Let’s keep her that way.”
Ruin Became Ritual
By the end of each day, I couldn’t walk. They carried me.
Bathed me. Laid me between them and whispered praise like prayers.
But if I so much as whimpered in my sleep, Max would slide
in behind me, cock already hard. Ant would wake up and say, “Again?”—but his
hands would already be parting my thighs.
They couldn’t stop.
They wouldn’t stop.
Because I was theirs.
And this wasn’t about sex anymore.
It was about claiming. Devotion. Obsession.
Final Night of the Third Week
They didn’t speak. Just moved in sync, a dance of sweat and
breath and need. One cock replaced by another, tongues tasting where the
other left off. Cum leaking down my thighs, across my stomach, pooling under me
on the sheets.
By morning, the mirror tally was full. The lipstick worn
down. My body used in every way imaginable.
And when I lay there between them, raw and full and
trembling, Ant kissed my temple.
“We ruined you, didn’t we?”
Max smiled against my throat.
“No. We worshipped her.”
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