Skeletons In His Closet

Colin sat back like the smoothest, horniest shithead on campus. He told Rachel and Ashley they could use his place since their Bible-quoting families would lose their minds. Once the door clicked he ducked into the closet and left the door cracked open a hair, already half-hard just from the plan. Rachel, curves spilling out of purple lace, pushed Ashley down on the bed and spread her wide. Ashley moaned low and wet as Rachel licked slow stripes across her clit, sucking and swallowing like she’d been dying to all week. Colin filmed every goddamn thrust of Rachel’s tongue inside Ashley’s soaked pussy, slick shining on her chin. They fucked like they had something to prove—Ashley grinding against Rachel’s mouth, coming noisy, thighs snapping shut then springing back open. Halfway through Ashley’s second orgasm she caught the glint of a lens and yanked the closet door wide. “You sick motherfucker.” Colin stepped out grinning with his cock pointing like an accusation. “I set this whole thing up. Watching two girls go at it gets me off harder than anything. Keep my mouth shut about your relationship and I keep shooting; otherwise the footage goes straight to your parents.” Furious, desperate, dripping, the girlfriends ripped their own clothes off faster than his threat, letting him call the shots. Rachel sat on Ashley’s face while Colin ordered positions; he jerked off inches from their sweat-slick bodies, barking orders every few seconds. Finally his own rule broke—he crawled between their thighs, slid into Ashley while Rachel rode her mouth, and turned the spying game into a full-on threesome: bodies grinding, skin slapping, cum-smeared, shameless, every filthy inch exactly what he’d engineered from the start.