Dichotomy

“So—“ Natty breaks the silence with a lean forward in her chair, elbows resting on either side of her drink—a matcha latte piled high with an absurd amount of whipped cream. A bit clings to her upper lip before she licks it away. “Have you ever had a threesome before?”

You nearly choke on your drink.

Even for her, the question is bold, nonchalant, and taking you by surprise as you stir your own coffee. It’s hardly the first time you’ve been surprised by what comes out of her mouth, but it’s going to take a much stronger coffee than this one for the mental whiplash. “You know, most people start the day with a hello. Maybe a how are you doing. Good morning, even?”

Natty only smiles. “Then most people are boring. Now, come on. Answer the question.”

The thing is, Natty isn’t most people and can’t even begin to pretend she has a filter, nor any sense of decorum. For as long as you’ve known her—which is basically since orientation week during your very first semester. Back when both of you were shy and clueless, fumbling along the university hallways. She’s always been like this. Bold and beautiful and utterly shameless. Ever since that one fateful day where she locked herself out of her car in the snow, crying her pretty eyes out until you offered her a ride home that ended with her between your legs—because she wouldn’t let you say no to a blowjob as a way to return the favor.

So romantic.

And you’ve been inseparable ever since.

“Where’s this even coming from?” you ask, dipping a bite of your pancake into a pool of syrup. “Did you buy me breakfast so you could pry into my sex life?"

"As if I need an excuse for that,” Natty says, lips wrapping around her straw, her cheeks hollowed as she slurps with this gaze that doesn’t seem the least bit innocent. “Can’t a girl just be curious?”

The pancakes here are impeccable—but not enough to distract from the weight of her question, or how red your cheeks feel under the heat of it. “Curious usually implies a level of subtlety."

"When was I ever subtle? You’d be bored to death.” It’s true. So much. If there ever was an opposite to subtlety, Natty would probably be their ambassador. If she ever came up to you and asked something simple like what your favorite color was, you would know something was terribly wrong and she might need to visit the university’s clinic right away. “Now, seriously, you’re deflecting. Just answer the question.”

You sigh, pausing before you pop another piece of pancake in your mouth, fork dangling uselessly between your fingers. “Not exactly.”

“What do you mean, not exactly? It’s a yes or no question. Not a lot of gray area here,” she points out with this cocky grin that really doesn’t help matters. But fuck her and her logic and the way she’s sitting there with those tits all proudly on display when she over more, knowing they’ll distract you from thinking clearly. “Which one is it?”

“Fine, no. I haven’t. Happy now?” you admit, hoping the frustration in your tone would make it clear enough you’re not exactly thrilled at being put under a microscope like this.

“Really?” Her brows raise. It’s not often you find Natty speechless but, here we are. She obviously thinks there’s a world where you have a threesome every time you do the laundry and she’s confused why that isn’t the case. “Never? Guy with a cock like yours and you haven’t shared it with more than one girl at a time?”

“Sorry to disappoint,” you answer, rolling your eyes. You’ve shared a bed with Natty plenty of times over the years you’ve known her, and you’re not exactly a stranger to each other’s bodies—but still, this is not a conversation you ever expected to have over breakfast.

Natty laughs. “Don’t be. But sounds like something we should fix then,” she offers, casually, like her suggestion is the same as deciding what to order for dessert.

“Yeah, I’ll just find two pretty girls to sleep with at the same time, how hard can that be? Let me post an ad on the campus bulletin board. Pretty sure I’d find a line halfway to the dean’s office.”

“Two? I’m the first girl you’d choose and you know it,” Natty remarks, smug, no trace of self-consciousness in her voice. And she’s not entirely wrong. You’re never admitting that out loud though. That would go straight to her head and it’s already big enough as is. “We’ll just have to find you the second one.”

“Easy for you to say. Didn’t realize you were such an expert in these matters.”

“Please, if anyone is, it’s me,” Natty brags with a casual toss of her hair. “The hottest girl on campus with a body like this and you think I’m not being shared every chance I get? College boys can’t get enough of me. Neither can the girls. Why even stop at just two, when I can just get the whole back row of chemistry class involved?”

The worst part is how plausible that actually seems.

“Look, it’s not exactly a priority for me, Nat. You’re more than I can handle as is,” you say, playing your best card with hopes that it’s enough of a distraction from this subject.

“Well, lucky for you, I’ll do all the leg work then. Leave it all to me.”

The way she says it, no hesitation whatsoever, is terrifying. Like she has a plan already formed, all that’s left is execution. And you’re not sure anything should ever be left to her, ever.

But a part of you has to admit—you wouldn’t exactly hate sharing a bed with Natty and… someone else. Someone just as pretty, someone with a body made from pure sin who knows how to play with her, who can hold their own against her. You can’t even imagine that there are too many potential candidates that would fit the bill, but you try to not get ahead of yourself, because no matter how crazy the idea seems, nothing is for sure. No need to get your hopes up, so soon.

So you finish your breakfast, with no other mention of the topic—even as her foot trails up and down your leg, a reminder that yes, you’re definitely both attracted to each other and haven’t done anything about it for way too fucking long.

The next time you see Natty is two days later when she arrives with a laundry basket at your apartment, with some frail excuse about her machine being broken that you see through instantly. Not that you’re about to complain when she starts to strip down to just a thong and a black Calvin Klein bra that barely holds in her generous tits, walking around your place half-naked like she lives here.

Which she essentially does, given how often she spends her nights in your bed.

Before her first load of laundry even finishes, you’re already leaning back against the couch, pants and boxers down to your ankles as Natty strokes your hard length. You can’t take your eyes off her tits, watching them jiggle with every movement she makes.

The view is hypnotic enough, with this agonizingly slow rhythm her hands have as they travel along the length of your cock, and maybe you’re thankful for her washer being broken down—regardless of whether or not it’s actually the truth.

“You feel so built up, baby,” Natty says as her hands work your shaft, thumb rubbing across the slit and spreading what leaks out along your swollen tip. “Don’t you jerk off when I’m not around?”

The gentle squeeze she gives is just perfect, enough to get you groaning like you can’t get enough of her touch. “Not much point when I can just wait for you to do the job for me. What would I even watch to get off?”

“Please,” she giggles as the movements of her wrist get harder to deal with. “How many pictures of my tits do you have saved on your phone? Or of me without underwear. The ones I send you when I’m so hot for you, in the library, when you’re in class, with three fingers inside myself. You jerk off to them, right? Those videos of me riding a toy in my bed while I moan your name, pretending you were behind me.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t keep things like that on my phone,” you say, voice cracking midway.

Natty just laughs and your cock throbs against her palm, giving you away completely.

“You’re such a bad fucking liar. Pretty sure you’d jerk off in class if I sent you nudes while you were there.” Natty stares you dead in the eye and your lack of response is all the answer she needs. “There’s no way you’d ever delete them. Especially not the pictures from the Halloween party, where I blew you in the bathroom. Pretty sure everyone in that house could hear when you fucked my throat.”

“Jesus, Nat—fuck,” you choke out, and you can still visualize that night, how ridiculously hot the maid costume looked on her, how hard it was for her to keep her phone recording while you ruined her pretty face, mascara running, lipstick smeared all over and god, you’d pay good money to see that view again.

“Do you know how hard it was not to share that video with the whole campus? How much you came in my mouth? How rough you were with me and how much of a mess I was after?”

It’s not fair the way she brings up these memories while she strokes your shaft, squeezing a little tighter each time. The way Natty gets a firm grip while you mindlessly stare at those tits, so close to spilling out of her bra working overtime. This conversation alone is practically enough to get off and she knows that, using it for her advantage.

And even with how built-up you were before, this is all getting you there too fast. “I love how fucking hard you are. Throbbing so hard and ready to spill all over my big tits, aren’t you?”

"God, please—your fucking hands are magic.”

"That’s the thing though,” Natty tells you, and her strokes become agonizingly slow, until the motion ceases, replaced by a firm, lingering squeeze that’s enough to drive you up the wall. “The best part of laundry day is milking your big fucking cock. Getting such a huge load out of these heavy balls, it’s such a good thing you have me, isn’t it?”

Sometimes, you wonder.

Thankfully, her pace breaks from the rhythmic squeezing of her hand, returning to full speed with this twisted smile on her face, because you’re pretty sure you were dying for a few seconds. “I haven’t felt you shooting on my face in ages…”

“Too busy fucking your tight cunt or these huge goddamn tits.”

“Can’t really blame you for that. They must feel fucking amazing,” she boasts, getting a firm grip and a nice twist of her wrist at the same time, bringing you that much closer. And this scene takes you back to the first day you gave her a ride home—when she refused to take no for an answer. A different couch, but the same position, Natty on her knees—an all-too-familiar sight by now.

“Fuck, so good, Nat, I’m so close,” you groan, feeling her pump and squeeze harder by the second, keeping the perfect rhythm and twisting just right. Exactly how you need her to and every stroke has you inching towards the edge.

“Good. Give me a nice thick, big load. I want you to shoot so fucking much all over these tits, ruin this expensive bra,” Natty demands, pumping at record speed, voice edging you closer and closer until you can feel it right on the precipice,

“Shit, god, don’t fucking stop, I’m gonna—”