Mr. Thompson's house had always been a sanctuary, a place where I could escape the chaos of my own life. But tonight, it was different. Tonight, I wasn’t here to borrow a book or seek advice. Tonight, I was here for something entirely different.

“Erika, darling, come in,” Mr. Thompson said, his voice smooth and inviting. He was already dressed in nothing but a robe, the fabric barely concealing the broadness of his shoulders and the strength in his arms. At 42, he was still formidable, and there was an undeniable allure in the way he carried himself—confident, yet gentle.

I hesitated at the threshold, my fingers trembling slightly as I pulled the hem of my dress down. I had never done anything like this before. My entire life, I had been the good girl, the one who followed all the rules. But beneath that veneer, there was a growing hunger, a need that conventional relationships couldn’t satisfy. And Mr. Thompson... he had seen right through me.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, his eyes piercing into mine. There was no judgment there, only warmth and understanding.

I nodded slowly, swallowing hard. “Yes,” I whispered, stepping further into the room. The air was thick with tension, and I could feel the heat radiating from him even from across the room.

He closed the distance between us, his hand reaching out to cup my cheek. His touch was electric, sending shivers down my spine. “You’re sure, Erika? This is your first time, and I want to make sure you’re comfortable.”

“I’m sure,” I repeated, more confidently this time. “I trust you.”

His lips curled into a smile, and he leaned in, his breath warm against my skin as he whispered, “Good girl.”

Before I could react, his lips were on mine, soft and insistent. I gasped, my hands going instinctively to his chest, feeling the solidity of him beneath my palms. His tongue slipped into my mouth, exploring, tasting, and I moaned, the sound muffled by his kiss. It was everything I had imagined and more—intense, consuming, and utterly overwhelming.

When he finally pulled away, I was breathless, my mind racing. “Take off your dress,” he instructed, his voice low and commanding.

I obeyed, my fingers fumbling with the zipper at the back of my dress. As the fabric pooled at my feet, I stood there in just my bra and panties, feeling suddenly exposed. But Mr. Thompson’s gaze didn’t falter. Instead, it raked over me with a mixture of appreciation and hunger.

“Beautiful,” he murmured, his hands moving to the straps of my bra. With a deft motion, he unclasped it, letting the delicate fabric fall away. My breasts were now fully exposed, and I blushed, folding my arms across my chest nervously.

“Don’t be shy,” he said, gently prying my arms away. “You’re stunning, Erika. Own it.”

His words gave me a boost of confidence, and I let my arms drop to my sides. He was right—I was beautiful, and I deserved to feel that way. His hands moved to my waist, pulling me closer until our bodies were flush against each other. My nipples hardened at the contact, pressing against his chest, and I could feel his arousal, bulging against the fabric of his robe.

“Touch me,” he commanded, guiding my hand to his erection. My fingers trembled as I wrapped them around him, feeling the hardness and the heat. He groaned, his hips thrusting subtly into my grasp. “That’s it, sweetheart. You’re doing so well.”

His encouragement was intoxicating, and I found myself squeezing him tighter, my thumb brushing over the tip. He shuddered, his grip on my waist tightening. “God, Erika, you’re a natural.”

Just then, the door opened again, and I froze, my hand still wrapped around Mr. Thompson. I turned my head to see another man standing in the doorway, his eyes widening as he took in the scene before him. My heart raced, my mind struggling to process what was happening.

“Is this... okay?” the new man asked, his voice deep and raspy.

Mr. Thompson looked at me, his expression unreadable. “What do you think, Erika? Do you want him to join us?”

My throat went dry, and I swallowed hard. This was beyond anything I had imagined, but there was a thrill in the unexpected, in the forbidden. I glanced at the newcomer, taking in his rugged features, the stubble on his jaw, the smoldering intensity in his eyes. He was older than Mr. Thompson, perhaps in his late 50s, and there was an undeniable magnetism about him.

“I... I don’t know,” I stammered, my mind reeling.

Mr. Thompson smiled, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “Let me make it easier for you.” He turned to the newcomer. “Come here.”

The man complied, stepping closer until he was just a few feet away. Mr. Thompson reached out, peeling back the man’s shirt to reveal a muscular chest covered in a light dusting of gray hair. My breath caught in my throat, my body responding instinctively to the sight before me.

“Do you like what you see, Erika?” Mr. Thompson asked, his tone almost teasing.

I nodded, unable to form words. The new man was imposing, powerful, and there was something exhilarating about being in the presence of two such dominant figures.

“Good,” Mr. Thompson said, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. “Now, why don’t you introduce yourself?”

The newcomer cleared his throat, his eyes locked onto mine. “I’m David. And I’d love to be part of this. If you’ll have me.”

I bit my lip, my heart pounding in my chest. This was madness—and yet, there was a thrill in the unknown, in the possibility of something new. I glanced at Mr. Thompson, seeking his approval, and he nodded encouragingly.

“It’s up to you, Erika,” he said softly. “But remember, we’re both here to please you.”

My mind raced, but my body seemed to make the decision for me. A surge of excitement coursed through me, and I found myself nodding. “Okay.”

David’s face lit up with a predatory smile, and he stepped forward, his hands reaching out to cup my face. His touch was rougher, more assertive than Mr. Thompson’s, and I shivered, my senses heightened.

“Such a brave girl,” he murmured, his lips grazing my ear. “And so damn beautiful.”

I closed my eyes, savoring the sensation. The room was filled with tension, the air thick with anticipation. I could feel both men watching me, their gazes intense and hungry.

“Now, Erika,” Mr. Thompson said, his voice breaking the silence. “We have a question for you.”

I opened my eyes, meeting his gaze. “Yes?”

“Who do you want to touch you first?”

I nod, my heart pounding in my chest as I agree to the blindfold. Mr. Thompson reaches over and gently ties a soft silk scarf around my eyes, blocking out all visual cues. The room suddenly feels both larger and more intimate, the loss of sight heightening my other senses. I can hear the men moving around me, their footsteps soft on the hardwood floor, the rustle of fabric as they shed their clothes. The air is warm, tinged with the faint scent of cologne and something muskier, deeper, that I associate with men’s bodies.

“Are you ready, Erika?” Mr. Thompson’s voice is close, his breath warm against my ear.

“Yes,” I whisper, my hands trembling slightly as I reach out, trying to steady myself.

A hand brushes against mine, large and calloused, guiding my fingers to rest on a firm, warm surface. It takes me a moment to realize it’s a thigh, the muscle taut under my touch. I trace my fingers up, feeling the coarse hair, the smooth skin, until I find what I’m looking for—a hardening length, thick and heavy in my hand. I gasp, my own body responding instantly, heat pooling low in my belly.

“Mmm, that’s it, sweetheart,” David’s voice rumbles from somewhere to my right, his tone deep and approving. “Take your time.”

I do, squeezing gently, feeling the texture of him, the pulse of his blood beneath the surface. He responds by pressing into my hand, his breath hitching as I explore him. My thumb finds the tip, brushing over it, and he groans, a sound that vibrates through me, making my nipples tighten and ache.

“You’re doing so well,” Mr. Thompson praises, his voice closer now, his hand coming to rest on my back, stroking softly. “Such a good girl.”

His words send a thrill through me, igniting a craving I didn’t even know I had. I shift my focus, feeling another presence behind me, the press of a hard length against my ass. I arch into it instinctively, moaning at the sensation. His hands slide around my waist, one settling on my hip while the other traces a path up my stomach, fingertips grazing the underside of my breasts.

“So sensitive,” he murmurs, his touch light but deliberate. “You like this, don’t you?”

I nod without thinking, then remember he can’t see me. “Yes,” I admit, my voice breathy. “I love it.”

His hand moves higher, cupping my breast, thumb flicking over my nipple, already hard and straining against the lace of my bra. I whimper, my head tilting back as I feel his mouth replace his hand, lips closing over my nipple, sucking gently. My hips buck forward, seeking friction, and I feel a hand—David’s, I think—move between my legs, parting them slightly.

“So wet already,” he comments, his voice rough with desire. “Let’s see how much more you can take.”

His fingers press against my entrance, teasing, circling, before slipping inside. I cry out, the sensation electric, overwhelming. I clutch at the man in front of me, my fingers tightening around him as if he’s my lifeline. His response is immediate, thrusting into my hand, matching the rhythm David sets with his fingers.

“Fuck, Erika, you’re incredible,” Mr. Thompson growls, his voice vibrating against my skin as he continues to suckle at my breast. “So tight, so perfect.”

I can barely form thoughts, let alone words, my mind consumed by the sensations. David’s fingers delve deeper, curling inside me, finding that spot that makes my knees weak. I shudder, a wave of pleasure crashing over me, and I realize I’m close, too close.

“Not yet,” David whispers, his voice a soothing balm. “Let it build. You’re going to enjoy this.”

He removes his fingers, the sudden emptiness a shock, and I whine in protest. But before I can dwell on it, I feel something else press against me, harder, thicker. I tense, unsure, but a reassuring kiss on my shoulder from Mr. Thompson calms me.

“It’s okay, baby,” he murmurs. “Trust us. Let go.”

And I do, my body relaxing as the hardness pushes into me, slowly, inch by inch, filling me completely. I gasp, the stretch intense but not painful, a new kind of fullness that makes my toes curl. I feel every ridge, every vein, the way he throbs inside me.

“There you go,” David says, his voice strained. “That’s it, take it all.”

I do, my body accommodating him, accepting him. The pressure builds, a slow burn that spreads through my entire lower half. I move with him, my hips rocking, finding a rhythm that sends sparks shooting through my veins. My breath comes in short, sharp gasps, my chest heaving, my senses alive with the sounds of our bodies moving together, the slick noises, the moans.

“Touch yourself,” Mr. Thompson orders, his voice firm, commanding. “Show us how much you want this.”

I hesitate only a moment before my hand slides down, my fingers finding my clit, swollen and needy. I circle it slowly at first, then pick up speed, relishing the added stimulation. I feel David’s hands on my hips, guiding me, urging me on, his thrusts growing deeper, harder.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he groans, his voice breaking. “So tight, so wet.”

“Erika, look at me,” Mr. Thompson commands, his voice a raw edge of control.

I shake my head, my voice trapped in my throat, but he doesn’t relent.

“Open your eyes,” he insists, his tone brooking no argument. “I want to see you come undone.”