“The boys,” Raquel called them affectionately. “I’m off to see the boys,” she’d tell her roommate, or “The boys and I are going to smoke a bowl and watch TV.” When she talked about them to others they were never Mike, Andre, Kevin, or Tim, for although Tim had been her friend first, now she rarely spent time with them individually; instead they were a sort of collective entity of weed and good-natured dumbassery. Mike was a bigger guy, with a short, scruffy beard and a generous belly, who had strong feelings about sports. Andre, whose thin locs were generally held back with a bandana, was deeply sardonic, but he was always thinking of others and making sure there were adequate snacks. Kevin, a slim, nerdy sort with thick-rimmed black glasses and black hair which he usually kept buzzed, was the main provisioner of weed, which he bought at a discounted rate from his ex-boyfriend. Tim, her longtime friend, was hot-tempered and the most likely to pick a fight with the others, but on his best nights he’d bring out his guitar and play whatever songs people wanted to hear.
Raquel had more friends, and closer friends, than just the boys, but she was comfortable around this particular group in a way that was difficult to put into words. They never did anything particularly interesting together. With Silvina she went hiking and explored new places; Skyler would cook with her, or do arts and crafts; Meg was the only one she knew who appreciated art museums as much as she did; and Suitcase knew every DIY venue in the area. With the boys, however, there could be no art museums, and when she cooked with them she found herself more in an instructional role than as part of a collaboration. On most days she and the boys simply sat, smoked weed, made absurd jokes, and roughhoused. Part of it was her enjoyment of their bro-y socialization patterns, which, raised as she was by two ardent feminists, she had rarely gotten the chance to explore growing up: she loved the good-natured casual violence of their interactions. But, perhaps paradoxically, another factor in her enjoyment of their company was the sort of maternal instinct she felt towards them, uncertain as she was of whether they could truly take care of themselves. There was something charmingly helpless about them, living together in their messy apartment, heating up frozen food or eating the pizza that Mike sometimes brought home from his job at Little Caesars.
Raquel biked over when the weather was nice and took the bus when it was not. At first she’d called Tim to let her in, but after so many hangouts, she knew the keycode. She often ended up crashing on the couch that was the apartment’s main feature, a massive corner sofa capable of seating at least 8 people.
It was during a typical evening of bad TV and smoking that the boys first brought up their proposal. She was lying against Mike, who was in the corner of the couch, and Kevin was lying against her, while Tim and Andre arm-wrestled nearby. After his third victory, Andre turned to her and said, “You know, Raquel, we’ve been talking about you.”
“Oh, yeah?” said Raquel. “What could you possibly have to talk about?”
“Well,” said Andre, wiping sweat off his brow with his t-shirt, “you do a lot for us. I’m pretty sure you’re directly responsible for every vegetable I’ve eaten in the past month.”
“Same,” Kevin echoed with a laugh.
“And you’re just, you know, generally cool,” said Mike. Tim nodded his assent.
“We know things have been tough for you ever since you and Val broke up,” Andre continued, “and to be honest, you’ve had kind of an uptight-and-horny vibe going on lately, so we just wanted to, you know, offer our services. If you want them,” he added hastily. “No pressure.”
Raquel sat up. “What, exactly, are you suggesting?”
“Whatever you want,” said Mike. “Just tell us.”
“I think I need a minute,” she said, then got up and went out on the balcony.
It was a warm night, and a breeze wafted over her, mussing up her hair, while she considered the proposal. She supposed she should have seen this coming, she reflected. They’d always had a highly physical relationship, from the wrestling to the couch cuddles to shotgunning weed. But she’d thought things were different. She thought they saw her as a *person*, not just some kind of sex object. Did they really think she’d be down to act out their gangbang fantasy?
*That’s not what they said*, a voice in her head reminded her. *They said whatever *you* want*.
Raquel sighed. She felt anxious. Some line had been crossed, she thought — what if it was no longer possible to go back to the way things were before? *But*, she reflected, *I’ve had friends with benefits before. It’s possible to be friends and to fuck. And they’re not wrong — I have been pretty thirsty lately.*
*I guess the question is, are they really willing to do what I want?*
*Only one way to find out.*
Raquel returned to the living room. “Okay,” she said, somewhat brusquely. “If this is really about me, and making me feel good… Andre, Mike, I wanna see you two make out.” She paused, thinking. “And take your shirts off, too.”
To her surprise, Andre and Mike looked at each other, shrugged, and pulled their shirts off. Andre’s abs were well-defined, his stomach flat, and in seeing him shirtless Raquel noticed for the first time how muscled his arms were. Mike was covered in thick, black chest hair that turned into a happy trail down his large stomach, which jiggled slightly as he turned to face his friend.
“You think this will scandalize us?” said Andre mischievously. “It’s nothing I haven’t fantasized about before.”
“Too far, man,” said Mike. But he was smiling.
Andre sidled over to the couch and leaned in towards his friend, holding himself up with an arm against the top of the couch as he straddled Mike. “Hey, sexy,” he said.
Mike put his hands on the back of Andre’s head and drew him in, giving him a quick peck on the lips.
Andre cocked an eyebrow. “Surely we can do better than that for Raquel,” he said.
“I guess,” Mike relented, pulling him back in for a long, tender kiss.
Tim gave a wolf whistle. “Yeah, dudes!” he jeered.
Raquel turned towards him. “So you think you’re better than them?” she said. “That sounds like casual homophobia to me.”
“Nah, bro, I’m just messing with them,” he responded.
“That’s not what I think,” said Raquel. “I think you think you’re better than them because you’re not making out with a dude. But you know what else?” She took a step towards him. Her voice was now dangerously quiet. “*I* don’t think you’re better than them. In fact,” she said, taking another step towards him so that her face was only a few inches from his, “I think you secretly like it.” To confirm this hypothesis, she reached out and touched him between the legs. Tim let out a gasp, and Raquel smirked at his erection. “That’s what I thought. Now get over there and help them out.” She stepped away from him and gave him a quick push towards the couch, where Mike and Andre continued to make out. Tim stumbled forward and began awkwardly to suck Mike’s nipple.
Raquel turned to Kevin, who was surveying the situation from the other end of the couch, looking longingly at the scene before him. She jerked her head towards the three men. “You get in there too.” He grinned at her.
Raquel pulled over the beanbag chair and sank into it, watching as the boys touched each other. Shyly, Tim pulled Kevin’s shirt off. He ran a finger lightly over his friend’s mastectomy scars while Kevin kissed his cheek. Meanwhile, Andre had pulled Mike on top of him and thrust his pelvis upward, grinding against him. He turned his head toward Raquel. “Is this to your liking, Mistress?” he asked in a cheeky tone.
She got up from the beanbag chair, grabbed Andre’s chin, and pulled his head up to look him in the eye. Mike shifted his position slightly to allow her better access. “Mind your tone,” she said pleasantly. “Just because I’m not actively participating, doesn’t mean I’m not in charge.” She raked her fingers across his upper chest and he gave a delighted moan.
The whole scene was a site to behold. Kevin had begun sucking Tim’s cock, and Andre and Mike were jerking each other off. Raquel returned to her beanbag chair and watched, unzipping her jeans and kicking jeans and panties off onto the floor as she began to touch herself. After a moment, however, Tim — who only a minute earlier had been groaning in delight at Kevin’s small mouth bobbing up and down his shaft — pushed Kevin off him, gently, pulled up his boxers, and went over to Raquel. He knelt on the ground to the left of the beanbag chair. “Hey,” he said. “You know, we’re doing all this for you. Are you sure you just want to watch?”
Raquel hesitated, then shook her head. “You’re right,” she said, “I don’t just want to watch.” She leaned over and kissed him tenderly, then gently pushed his head further down her body, to her chest, still clothed. He pulled her shirt off and undid her bra, then started to kiss her left breast. Kevin came over, too, and took the right one — their heads were pushed together, hair blending, as they bit and sucked her hard nipples. She moaned at the pleasure of witnessing it. Soon, Andre and Mike joined them. Andre placed himself between Kevin and Tim and began to kiss her navel, letting his mouth trickle down her body until he reached her clit. He began by kissing it, then slowly introduced his tongue while continuing to pull, gently, with his lips. Raquel’s body was on fire with stimulation. She glanced up to see Mike standing uncertainly, trying to figure out his place in all this. “Hold on for a sec,” she gasped, and the mouths at her body paused in their pleasurable torture. “Mike, do you have lube and a condom?” she asked. He nodded and hurried to his bedroom, returning with the requested items. “Put that on and lube up,” she ordered. Eagerly he tore the foil open and rolled the condom onto his hard cock, then slathered it with lube. “I’m going to get up for a second,” she told her other partners, who were still waiting for her to tell them it was okay to resume. They moved aside and she got up, then told Mike, “You sit down there while I ride you with my ass.” Mike had no objections. Spreading her cheeks, she lowered herself slowly and carefully onto Mike’s well-lubricated cock. She winced when she first felt him press against her anus — Mike was small, but thick — but she persisted, breathing out a gasp as she felt his head go past the first ring of muscle.
“Are you okay?” he asked. She nodded, and kept going, every nerve in her body on full alert around the cock slowly filling her ass. With her asshole clenched fully around Mike’s cock, she let out the breath she’d been holding in and, incapable of speech, gestured at her other friends to return to their previous positions while Mike gently lifted her up and down along his shaft. Her ass pressed against his stomach as he did so. Andre’s mouth returned to her clit, while Tim and Kevin resumed their nipple play. Raquel’s *self* had nowhere to go — every thought in her mind was eliminated by the relentless pleasure coursing through her body. Then Andre rested two fingers against the opening of her wet cunt. She could only nod her consent. He pushed inside her slowly. She felt the back of his fingers press against Mike’s cock through the wall of her cunt. “Don’t stop,” she moaned, and though she wasn’t sure who she was talking to in particular, not one of them did. The orgasm tore through her body, without a discrete origin point — the pleasure might have started in her nipples, in her clit, in her asshole, or maybe somewhere deep inside her sternum, she couldn’t tell. Her pelvic muscles clenched around Andre’s fingers as the feeling pulsed through her, and she felt a sense of release deep within her as a wetness poured from her body, leaving her panting into the top of Kevin’s head.
“Did you come?” asked Andre in mock curiosity. Raquel wanted to say something snarky, but she was entirely breathless. Instead, she extricated herself from her various sexual entanglements and let the boys hold her on the couch until she fell asleep at last.
Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/ht4b3l/cracking_open_a_cold_one_with_the_boys_mm_fmmmm_t