“Paint me with your cocks and cum,” I asked of Logan and Tim, and in our freshly painted living room they did just that, and in our freshly painted guest bedroom they did just that, and it was all so unbelievably good, the strokes covering every surface, every corner, every niche and nook of me, coat after coat of exquisite love. An hour or so later, my skin flushed cunt pink, I lay beneath the dining room table bathed in bliss. For all I cared Logan and Tim could be ice fishing in Antarctica.

An hour or so later still, I roused myself. I used the bathroom, eschewed a shower for now, and journeyed lead-footed to the kitchen. Tim, naked still, stood over the stove brewing coffee. “Logan’s out getting bagels and cream cheese,” he informed me. “Meanwhile want a cup?”