Their Wonder Years: Season 1: Fall 1998
Copyright© 2025 by Tantrayaan
33: Capitulation
Coming of Age Sex Story: 33: Capitulation - Bharath always thought going to America would mean fast love, wild parties, and maybe a stewardess or two. What he got instead? A busted duffel bag, a crying baby on the plane, and dormmates he never thought could exist in real life. Thrown into the chaos of Georgia Tech’s freshman year, Bharath begins an unforgettable journey of awkward first crushes and culture shocks. A slow-burn, emotionally rich harem romance set in the nostalgic 90s—full of laughter, lust, and longing.
Caution: This Coming of Age Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa mt/ft mt/Fa Consensual Fiction Humor School Sharing Group Sex Harem Orgy Polygamy/Polyamory White Female Hispanic Female Indian Female
A hush wrapped around the house like a warm blanket.
The curtains were drawn, the sunlight softened by gauzy fabric - not harsh, but golden. The kind of light that kissed your skin and whispered, stay in bed. The only sounds were the slow whir of the ceiling fan and the gentle, steady breathing of the two women wrapped around him.
Bharath stirred, but only barely. His eyes opened slowly to the light and quiet. His body was sore in the best way - his muscles thrummed with the lingering ache of pleasure, of worship given and received. But more than that, his heart felt impossibly full. Stretched wide by something tender and terrifying.
Love.
He didn’t need to see them to know they were there.
Marisol was draped across his left side, her leg hooked over his thigh, her arm slung possessively across his stomach. Her cheek rested on his chest like it was home. Her body was bare, soft and warm, her breath steady against his skin.
Sarah was curled into his right side like she’d grown there - her leg tangled with his, her nose tucked into the crook of his neck. One of her arms reached across him, fingers entwined with Marisol’s over his heart. They were holding hands in their sleep.
And him.
They were holding him.
Some people might wonder how they managed to sleep like this - tangled, skin to skin, no space between them. But for Bharath, the idea of space now felt wrong. This - this heat, this tangle, this surrender of bodies trying to collapse into each other - felt like truth. Like belonging.
He couldn’t imagine waking up to anything else. He couldn’t imagine breathing without them there.
Last night they had given themselves to him - completely.
Two of the most beautiful women he had ever known, physically stunning, intellectually sharp, emotionally luminous - had surrendered to him. Mind, body, soul. And then they had turned around and worshipped him. As priestesses. As lovers. As soulmates.
And somehow, impossibly, he had received that love.
Not just survived it. Not just participated. But absorbed it. Anchored it.
And even now, as he lay in the center of their love, wrapped in their warmth, a voice in the back of his mind still whispered: Do you really deserve this? Why do you deserve them? What makes you
He wanted to believe he did. He almost did.
But then he remembered Mia.
Gorgeous, brilliant Mia. Sleeping just one floor below. The girl who had begged to join them, to be part of this impossible constellation of love. The girl who had said I love you - without hesitation, without demand.
And he felt the ache return. The overwhelm.
How could he possibly deserve her too?
He let out a quiet breath, trying not to wake them.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, small and awed. He looked down and brushed a stray curl from Marisol’s forehead, then pressed a kiss to the crown of Sarah’s head. Neither stirred.
He moved slowly. Reverently.
Like he was disentangling from a sacred shrine.
But before he could shift fully, his hands moved on their own - drawn to the warmth, the softness, the familiar press of skin that belonged to him.
He kissed Sarah’s temple, then lower, tracing his lips down to her breast. He suckled gently, a whisper of devotion, until she whimpered in her sleep and stroked his hair without waking. She tightened her legs around him as though trying to imprint herself on him.
On the other side, Marisol let out a lazy, delicious moan. “Mmm ... no fair ... me too...”
Bharath chuckled softly, the sound barely more than a breath.
He turned and found her already half-exposed, nipple peeking out from the sheets. He took it into his mouth with the same reverence - slow, warm, unhurried.
She gasped awake, her hips rolling toward him.
“Ay, Dios mío mi amor ... otra vez”
He kissed her again. Then again, letting his hands stroke their waists as they stirred against him, still half-asleep, still glowing with yesterday’s fire.
But this wasn’t for sex.
This was thanksgiving.
This was devotion.
This was love.
“Stay in bed,” he murmured against Sarah’s shoulder. She blinked at him, dazed but smiling.
“Mm ... you’re the one who conquered us...”
Bharath smiled. “And you’re the ones who gave yourselves to me.”
Marisol yawned, her voice thick and dreamy. “Where are you going?”
He gently, reluctantly, began to untangle himself. Their bodies resisted, clinging like vines, but he moved with care.
“To the kitchen,” he whispered. “It’s my turn to worship you.”
And this time, he believed - almost - that he was worthy to do so.
The house was still.
Barefoot, Bharath padded out of the room and into the kitchen. He passed the living room - and paused.
There, curled up on the sofa, lay Mia.
Hair mussed, curled into a blanket like a kitten, one hand under her cheek, her lips parted in soft sleep. Her sandals had been kicked off in the middle of the night, and a pillow lay forgotten on the floor. Even in sleep, she looked tired - but content.
She stayed, Bharath thought, and his heart swelled.
He moved silently into the kitchen.
The early morning air had that cool, sacred stillness that always made him feel like time had slowed. He tied on an apron - Sarah’s pink one with tiny peaches on it - and got to work.
Scrambled eggs. Toasted bagels. Sliced strawberries. Melted cheese with jalapeños.
Coffee brewed low and strong in the background. The skillet sizzled. He worked with care - measuring spices, plating neatly, stacking napkins. Each motion was deliberate.
Last night, they had given themselves.
This morning, he would honor that gift. He knew that nothing he could do would be worthy of that love - but at least he would try to show how much he loved them. He would strive to be worthy of their devotion by reciprocating his devotion to them and hope he would remain worthy.
For Marisol, he made the bagels extra crispy and left a tiny chocolate square on her plate - a silly habit they’d picked up when studying late. For Sarah, he folded the eggs into a neat cheese pocket and sprinkled her toast with cinnamon sugar - her guilty pleasure.
He arranged everything onto a tray.
Then paused.
And reached for pen and paper.
To Marisol, he wrote:
Mi reina,
You don’t kneel because you are less. You kneel because you are more than I ever imagined I deserved. Every time you give me your strength, your fire, your passion - I fall harder.
You are everything I never knew I needed.
- Yours, always,
Bharath
To Sarah, he wrote:
My miracle,
You survived a thousand storms, and still you shine. Last night, you gave yourself without fear - and I saw every part of you. The brave girl. The sensual woman. The sacred fire.
You are not broken. You are transcendent.
Thank you for choosing me.
- With everything I am,
Bharath
And finally, after a long pause, he picked up a fresh page. He paused before Mia’s note, his fingers hesitating over the paper. His heart still raced when he thought of her - beautiful, bold, terrifyingly close. Was he ready? He didn’t know. But he owed her honesty. And kindness.
To Mia:
To the fiercest girl I know,
You are clever, brilliant, and terrifyingly beautiful - but none of that is why I’m proud of you.
I’m proud of you because you dare to grow. Because you’ve opened your heart to things that scare you. Because I’ve seen your mind - and it is dazzling.
You don’t need to be anyone else, Mia.
But if you ever want to walk with us - or beside us - I want it to be because you chose it. Not out of envy or curiosity, but because you feel ready to be seen and cherished. Fully.
No matter what path you choose - I believe in you.
And I’ll always be here.
- Bharath
He folded the note neatly, placed it beside a glass of orange juice and a sliced pear.
Then, quietly, he took one last look around the house - three women sleeping in different corners of his world - and smiled.
He had never imagined this life.
But now that it was his, he would earn it every single day.
The door clicked shut behind him.
And the house remained still - glowing with the soft warmth of love left behind.
The gym was quiet when Bharath walked in.
Early light filtered through the high windows, casting golden stripes across the floor mats. Machines clinked softly in the far corner as a lone grad student finished his circuit. The air smelled of iron, rubber, and disinfectant - the usual. Familiar. Comforting.
He was alone.
Of course. He hadn’t expected the others to show.
After last night - the way they’d all melted into their lovers, the teasing, the dancing, the confessions, the kisses stolen between mouthfuls of pizza - Bharath had assumed his boys would still be in bed, tangled in sheets and limbs and post-midterm afterglow.
He smirked as he dropped his bag near the squat rack.
Let them rest. They’ve earned it.
He stretched slowly, warming his body. A few reps. A few slow presses. Sweat formed quickly across his back, tracing the soreness left behind by last night’s reverence. But the movement cleared his head, focused him.
He was midway through a shoulder press when the door slammed open.
“MY MAN!”
Bharath nearly dropped the bar.
Tyrel burst in first, shirtless under an open flannel, grinning like a man who’d just seen the face of God.
Behind him came Ravi, humming under his breath with an actual strut in his step - like he was walking on clouds. The man looked ten pounds lighter and twenty years wiser. And smug. So smug.
And last, of course, Jorge, who practically glowed. He had the look of a man who hadn’t just had sex - he’d had answers to spiritual questions whispered into his mouth by a half-naked angel.
Bharath froze, towel in hand. “You guys ... made it.”
“And how!” Tyrel crowed, clapping Bharath’s back so hard it nearly dislocated a shoulder. “You’re lookin’ at the new and improved gentlemen of Georgia Tech, baby.”
Ravi stepped forward, beaming. “Bro. Bro. You will not believe last night.”
Jorge just stood there smiling, nodding slowly, like he was remembering something profound. “It was...” he said softly, “divine.”
Bharath blinked. “Wait. Did you all-?”
“Yes,” Ravi said quickly, barely containing himself. “Yes. I finally ... I mean we-Nandita and I-we...”
He looked up, eyes wide and full of disbelief.
“I’m not a virgin anymore.”
Bharath dropped the towel. “Holy shit.”
Tyrel whooped and spun around. “Give it up for my man Ravi, who finally got his Pokéball in the right Gym Badge!”
Ravi grinned sheepishly. “I don’t even care that that doesn’t make sense.”
Bharath laughed, stepping forward to give him a bear hug. “I’m so happy for you, macha.”
“I’m happy for me too,” Ravi said. “Honestly, it wasn’t just about the sex. It was about... her. The way she looked at me. Like I was the only one in the room. I’ve never felt that before.”
He paused. “Also the sex was incredible.”
Tyrel jumped onto a bench and spread his arms wide. “LaTasha, y’all. Queen of the South. Woman moves like a sin and smells like redemption. We didn’t even make it to the bed. Twice.”
Bharath raised an eyebrow. “Twice?”
“In the hallway,” Tyrel said proudly. “And then on the bathroom sink. My back may be broken. But my soul is healed.”
Jorge finally stepped forward, eyes still distant. “Camila and I ... we’ve been together for a while now, you know. But last night...”
He looked directly at Bharath.
“It was the best we’ve ever had.”
“Because of something we learned,” he added meaningfully.
Bharath cocked his head. “Oh?”
Jorge smirked. “Apparently Marisol and Sarah talk.”
Ravi snapped his fingers. “And Nandita takes good notes.”
Tyrel rubbed his hands together like an old preacher. “Praise be to the holy women who shared their gospel.”
Bharath leaned on the bar, arms crossed, watching them all with quiet awe. His boys - his brothers - transformed. Radiant. Relaxed. Fulfilled. There was something unmistakably different in the air between them now. Like they’d all passed through some rite of passage and come out the other side brighter, freer.
Ravi pulled a resistance band from the rack and started stretching. “I swear, bhai. It wasn’t just physical. Nandita told me afterward that she never expected me to be that ... thoughtful. That tuned in. I just kept remembering what you said. Listen to her body like it’s music. That changed everything.”
Jorge nodded. “Yeah. And take your time. Presence over performance. That’s what Sarah told Camila. We didn’t rush. It was like ... we were building something sacred.”
Tyrel slapped his chest. “And don’t forget the foreplay. A good thirty-minute warmup, boys. You think LaTasha just walked into round two by accident?”
Bharath laughed so hard he nearly choked on his water.
“You guys are ridiculous,” he said.
“No,” Jorge said quietly, serious now. “We’re grateful.”
Bharath stilled.
Tyrel looked at him, suddenly soft. “You helped make this happen, man. Not just hooking us up - though you totally wingmanned like a pro - but ... showing us it’s possible to love like this. To be real with each other.”
Ravi added, “You set the bar, Bharath. You treat Marisol and Sarah like they’re treasure. And they treat you like you’re a goddamn king. We watched. We learned.”
“And we tried,” Jorge said. “And ... it worked.”
Silence settled for a moment.
A peaceful kind. Deep. Resonant.
Then Tyrel grinned and ruined it.
“So anyway, I gotta find a chiropractor, ‘cause I am wrecked. And also, I may have promised LaTasha we’d christen her dorm mattress later. That girl’s appetite is unnatural.”
Ravi sat on the floor and started doing stretches - the kind that made Bharath deeply suspicious he’d just searched “how to stretch after losing virginity” online.
Jorge smiled, pulling his hair into a bun. “I already scheduled a nap date with Camila. Naked. Lots of cuddling. Maybe some poetry.”
Bharath blinked. “Poetry?”
Jorge shrugged. “She likes Neruda. I adapt.”
And just like that, the banter flowed again.
But Bharath stood there a little longer, watching them. Listening.
There was something indescribably beautiful about it - not just the fact that they’d had sex. But the way they were talking about it. The joy. The reverence. The respect.
They weren’t bragging.
They were celebrating.
And in that moment, Bharath felt something stir deep in his chest.
Pride.
Not just in his women.
But in his brothers.
They weren’t boys anymore.
They were becoming men.
And it was glorious.
The locker room still echoed with post-rep groans and clanking dumbbells when Ravi suddenly snapped his fingers. “We’re not ending this here.”
Tyrel’s eyebrows jumped. “Agreed. We gotta process what happened. Emotionally. Spiritually. Over bacon.”
“Breakfast,” Jorge said solemnly. “Is the only way to honor what we’ve achieved.”
Bharath smirked, reaching for his towel. “You guys go ahead. I was gonna head home first.”
“Denied,” Tyrel said, grabbing his arm. “You’re coming with us. No arguments.”
Jorge joined in, wrapping one arm around Bharath’s shoulders like a supportive cult leader. “You listen to us now, oh sensual guru.”
Ravi added, “Think of this as your reward, sensei. You made men of us.”
“I’m barely older than-”
“Shut up and wear your hoodie,” Tyrel grinned.
Fifteen minutes later, they were squeezed into a booth at the diner, plates stacked high with scrambled eggs, grits, fried green tomatoes, and sweet potato pancakes. The server had barely set the mugs down when Ravi leaned forward, eyes shining.
“So, let me walk you through the moment it happened.”
Bharath smiled behind his coffee cup. Here we go.
Back at Sarah’s house, the bedroom lay still in dappled light.
Marisol stirred first.
Not from any noise - but from warmth.
Not the physical kind - though she was cocooned in blankets and the faint, lingering heat of skin and love - but something deeper. Something radiating from within her chest.
The kind of warmth that only came after you gave everything to someone you trusted - and were cherished for it.
She blinked slowly, stretching her leg under the sheet. Her hand instinctively reached out to her left - searching for a familiar chest, the slow rise and fall of a sleeping protector.
But the space was empty.
Still warm.
Her brows furrowed softly.
She pushed herself up, the sheet falling away from her bare shoulder. A soft sigh escaped her lips as she glanced to her right.
Sarah was still curled in a ball, facing where Bharath had slept. Her hand rested in the center of the bed like she had reached for him in her sleep and missed.
She looked radiant even like this - tangled hair, pillow-creased cheek, her lips barely parted.
Marisol’s heart squeezed.
Last night was everything. Not just because of the fire and rhythm and submission they had offered him - but because of what he had given back.
Safety. Power. Possession without force. Love without conditions.
He had worshipped them as much as they had worshipped him.
Marisol bent forward and kissed Sarah’s shoulder, whispering against her skin, “I think he’s up.”
Sarah stirred with a faint moan. “Mmm?”
“He’s not here,” Marisol whispered. “I think he went to the gym.”
Sarah’s eyes fluttered open, lashes twitching. “Already?”
Marisol smiled. “He probably needed to lift something before he exploded.”
That got a sleepy giggle out of Sarah. “Yeah, I’d say he earned it.”
They both sat up, groaning softly as their bodies protested with soreness and satisfaction. As Sarah pulled the sheet up to cover her chest, Marisol reached for her robe.
“You want to brush our teeth, mi vida?” she asked. “Coffee after?”
Sarah nodded, still blinking the dream from her eyes. “Yeah. Coffee sounds like salvation.”
They padded out of the bedroom together, feet light on the hardwood floor, their bodies moving with the kind of unselfconscious nudity that only came after shared intimacy.
As they passed the living room, both of them paused at once.
Mia was asleep on the couch, one leg tucked under her, blanket pulled up to her chin. Her hair was splayed across the throw pillow like a golden halo, her lips parted, her cheeks still flushed in that unmistakable post-desire glow.
She looked... beautiful.
Soft.
Innocent.
And quietly undone.
Marisol leaned down first. She pulled the blanket higher and kissed Mia’s temple gently.
“She looks like she just fell asleep,” she whispered.
Sarah mirrored her on the other side, kissing Mia’s cheek.
“I saw her last night,” Sarah murmured. “Right before she ran to the couch.”
Marisol nodded. “I know. I saw it too.”
“She watched,” Sarah whispered. “She couldn’t look away.”
Marisol smiled. “Soon.”
Sarah blinked. “You think so?”
Marisol just pressed a finger to Sarah’s lips.
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.