Among Friends

Author's Notes

Just a reminder--for anyone who may have found their way to this category by mistake--this is a fantasy about non-consensual sex. In real life, rape is immoral and illegal.

All characters in this story who engage in sexual activity are at least 18 years of age.

I sat with my legs over the edge of the loading dock, chin on my arms, which were folded atop the lower bar of the metal railing bolted to the edge of the concrete platform. I wore shorts, and the cool concrete felt good against the backs of my thighs on this warm August night.

The boys were all sitting around me, Les and Stu on either side, DeAndré leaning against the rail on the other side of Stu, Billy sitting on the open tailgate of his brother's pickup--which had been backed up to within a few feet of the dock--and Tommy sprawled atop the heap of black plastic trash bags piled at the front of his truck bed. The bags contained all of Billy's clothes; the brothers planned to leave first thing in the morning for Columbia, where Tommy would start his third year, and Billy would be a freshman.

The ice chest was beside Tommy, and he opened it up, taking out beers, cracking them open and handing them to Billy, who passed them out. He handed me one, and I took a swallow, the golden brew rich and fizzy on my tongue. When I tilted my head back down, I caught all the guys looking at my tits where they protruded beneath the railing, and I realized the cool night air and the cold beer had made my nipples tent the fabric of my bra and tank top. I took another sip, hiding a smile. Let them look; this would be our last time hanging out together before we all left for colleges in different states. If they wanted to spend our final moments together staring at my boobs, I didn't mind.

After everyone had a few sips of beer, Tommy produced a joint, lit it, took a puff, and handed it to Billy to pass around. When it came to me, I took a deep drag and passed it on to Les. The buzz hit me quick, and I giggled, pretending not to notice the guys all smiling at my tits as they jiggled.

We all sat quietly, enjoying the night, until the joint was smoked down to the tiniest of roaches, and Tommy flicked it away into the darkened parking lot of the abandoned warehouse.

"So," said Tommy from his throne of plastic bags, "Pre-law at Stanford, huh Tiffie. Wow."

"Yeah," I said, "Mom went there, and everyone remembers her as a superstar, so that made it easier to get in." I drained the last of my beer, feeling my breasts press up against the railing as the boys watched. I tossed the empty can to Tommy, and he caught it. "What about you? Are you going to be a pharmacist like your dad?"

"Not me," Tommy said, opening another beer for me. "I'm all in on psychology. Billy might follow in Dad's footsteps, though."

"I dunno," Billy said. "I'm keeping my options open for a while."

"What about Stu," I said. "Full ride to MIT. They don't even care what program he decides on. He has literally dozens of majors he could choose."

"And DeAndré," Tommy said, with a nod to the tall black guy, "baseball scholarship to Ole Miss. congratulations, man." DeAndré nodded. That's why he'd passed on the weed, I realized.

"And Les," Tommy said, "what are your plans?"

"My dad wants me to join the Navy," Les said with a shrug. "I'm leaning toward Air Force, though. He won't like it, but, well...I haven't decided yet."

We were all quiet for a while, enjoying the night, comfortable together in silence. After a while, Tommy asked, "So, are any of you leaving anyone behind? Girlfriends, or..." he nodded at me, "...a boyfriend?"

"Hah," said Les, "no, we've all just been pining for Tiffie the last four years."

"Six years for me," said Stu. "We met in seventh grade."

"We did?" I asked, surprised. "I don't remember you in junior high."

Stu took a wallet out of his back pocket and extracted a photo, handing it to me. It showed a spindly kid with crooked teeth, shaggy hair and clothes that were too big on him. "I remember this kid," I said. "What was it everyone called him? 'Goober,' I think. This was you?"

Stu nodded, taking the picture back. "The summer after eighth grade, I stayed with my dad in Connecticut. He got my teeth fixed, a haircut and some clothes that fit. I felt so confident when I started high school, I asked you out the second day of classes, remember?"

I smiled. "Yeah, you were my first date." I bumped his shoulder with mine. "And second, and third, if I remember."

"Yeah," he said, "then, that was it. We were 'just friends' after that."

"I guess I was your second, or rather your fourth date, then," said Les.

"When was that?" I asked taking another sip of beer.

"Sophomore year," he said. "The Sadie Hawkins dance, remember? You asked me."

"Oh, yeah," I said. "No, I dated someone later Freshman year...who was it...oh, yeah, it was Dean. I went out with him a couple of times. We're still friends, but he moved to Texas a couple of years ago."

"You dated me Junior year," DeAndré said. "I thought we had something really special going on."

I shifted uncomfortably and took another sip of beer. "It

was

special," I said. "It still is. I love that we're such good friends."

"Did you date anyone else after that?" asked Tommy.

"I don't...I'm not sure."

"It was only last year," he said.

"Okay, um, let's see...I think, Nick Hawley...just once; he was really unpleasant once you got to know him," Billy and Les both nodded emphatically, "and...Stephen."

"Who?" asked Stu.

"The stage manager for the theater group," I said, "Stephen...sorry, I can't remember his last name right now."

"Hmm," said Tommy, tipping his head back to drain the last of his beer from the can. "Anybody want another one?"

A chorus of affirmatives sounded, and I quickly drained the last of my own can before nodding and tossing it over. He opened fresh ones, and Billy passed them out.

We were all quiet for a while, then Tommy snapped his fingers and said, "Billy, didn't you date Tiffie for a while?"

"Yeah," Billy said. He glanced at me. "Just a few months ago. I got friend-zoned after the fourth date."

"Friend-zoned!" Tommy said, laughing. "It sounds like you all got friend-zoned! What's the matter, Tiffie, are none of these guys 'boyfriend material?'"

"No! I mean, yes, sure, it's just...."

"What? You're not into boys? Then why date boys?"

"No, of course I'm 'into boys,'" I said.

"Did any of you guys 'get lucky?'" Tommy asked. "First base? Second base? Third base? Home plate?"

Head shakes all around. DeAndré said, "She let me touch her breast...through her shirt and bra."

"Is your family really religious, Tiffie?" asked Tommy. "Are you 'saving yourself for marriage?'"

"No," I said, "I mean, Mom's pretty conservative, but that's not...."

"What?"

I took a deep slug of beer and wiped my mouth on the back of my hand, took a deep breath. "You remember Sally Wells?"

"Yeah, I think so," said Stu. "Wasn't she that red-headed girl in Freshman year? The one they called Skanky Sally? What ever happened to her?"

"She was my best friend in junior high. Three days after we started high school, Brian Drummond told his friends that she'd sucked his cock. It wasn't true, but then everyone started calling her that."

"Hmmm," Tommy said. "So, even though you liked all these guys, you left them with blue balls for four years--six in Stu's case--because you were afraid of being labeled a slut?"

I sucked down the last of my beer and threw the can at him. He caught it easily. "That's right, I guess," I said. "You wouldn't understand."

Tommy opened the ice chest, took out a beer, opened it and handed it to Billy, who held it out to me. "Try me," Tommy said.

I took the beer and slugged down half of it. "It's not the same for guys," I said. "You get laid and brag about it, and your buddies slap you on the back and congratulate you. When you're a girl, there are all kinds of risks."

"Like, you might get pregnant," Billy said.

"Sure," I said, "but there are things you can do about that, at least. The real problem is the loss of freedom."

"What do you mean, 'loss of freedom,'" Tommy asked. "Isn't being able to have fun with your body and be intimate with another person 'freedom?'"

"Hah," I said, "just like a guy to think it's just about 'fun.' When you're a girl with a reputation as a slut, you might have fun, but it's somebody else's fun, and there's no 'freedom' at all."

"What does that mean?" asked Les, sounding genuinely interested.

I drank more beer, noticing in passing that I was feeling recklessly buzzed. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to turn a guy down when he wants sex? Especially when it's a guy you like? Well, it's a thousand times harder when he thinks you've given it up to a lot of other guys before him."

I took another deep pull from the can, then lay back on the concrete dock, looking up at the night sky. "Who knows," I told the blazing stars, "maybe I would have fucked any one of you--probably all of you, if I could just do whatever I wanted--but...it's like my mom says. You have to think about your future every single moment, or you might not have one."

"Hmm," said Tommy. "So, you denied your friends intimacy--and yourself--for the sake of your future?"

"I guess so."

"But you say you care for them."

"Yep, I love all my friends," I said, patting Les' leg with the hand that wasn't holding a beer.

"But, you don't trust your friends, do you?" Tommy said. I didn't answer, but rubbed my hand up and down Les' muscular thigh as I stared up at the stars. "You don't trust them not to tell everyone you're a slut."

"I'm

not

a slut."

"You sound like you're trying to convince yourself of that, more than us."

"Nope," I said. "Not a slut."

"So, are you a virgin?"

There was a long silence as I lay there surrounded by boys and stars. "No," I said, at last.

"You're not?" Billy blurted.

The stars winked and twinkled at me for a while before I said, "I had sex three weeks ago with Derek Pearson."

"Derek Pearson!" Stu exclaimed. "That pig?"

I sat up, gripping the rail with my free hand. "Yeah, he's disgusting, and a cretin, but...I didn't want to be the virgin college Freshman," I said. "That's a bigger target on my back than being labeled a slut."

"Did you enjoy it?" Tommy asked. "Did you have an orgasm?"

"Hah, no. He's rude, he smells, and he lasted maybe ten seconds. And I've never had an orgasm."

The guys digested this information for a while. "Why not have sex with one of your 'friends,' then," Tommy asked. "Why give your virginity to a guy you don't even like?"

"I dunno," I said, "why does it matter?"

After a moment, Billy said, quietly, "It kind of matters to me."

"Why?"

"I've been in love with you for years," he said. Stu, Les and DeAndré all nodded agreement. "If you'd chosen me," Billy went on, "I'd have done everything I could to make it good for you...and I'd die before I let anyone call you a slut."

"Hmm," said Tommy. "What if there were a way you could have fun--intimate fun--with your friends, and not have to worry about being called a slut?"

"What way?" I asked.

"Well, we could tie you up," he said, "and force you."

"Hah," I said, "better a rape victim than a slut, huh?"

"Well," he said, "isn't it? Even you have to admit that being raped doesn't make you a slut."

"Yeah," I said, "that's true."

#####

Tommy sat back on his heap of clothing-stuffed plastic trash bags and watched the four younger men chew on Tiffie's words.

"Let's do it," Les said, finally.

"What?" DeAndré said, startled.

"Let's tie her up, just like he said," Les explained. "She wants to be with us; she said she loves us. She just can't allow herself to act like a slut, no matter how much she wants to."

Tiffie laughed. "Funny, guys, real funny. You almost had me going there for a second, but I know you'd never do anything to hurt me."

"We won't hurt you," Stu said. "None of us will ever hurt you. We love you, all of us. It's just that...you have a handicap, sort of. Like a guy in a wheelchair who needs his friends to carry him sometimes, up stairs or whatever. It might be embarrassing for him, but it's necessary, and they only do it because he needs them to."

"This is ridiculous," Tiffie said. "We should go." She started to get up, but Les put a hand on her shoulder, and after an instant, Stu did the same on the other side, holding her down.

"Do we have anything to tie her with?" Les asked.

"I have some rope," Tommy said. "It's behind the passenger seat," he told Billy, "can you get it?"

Billy hopped off the tailgate, opened the truck door and rummaged about, returning with a coil of rough, dirty sisal rope. "I don't know," he said, feeling of it. "This is really prickly, and her skin is soft. It would leave marks, maybe even cut her."

"We have lots of clothes," Tommy said, patting one of the bags he was sitting on. "We could wrap them around her wrists and ankles before we use the rope."

"Guys," Tiffie said, looking very nervous, "this joke isn't funny. I think I'd like to go home now." She tried to push Les and Stu away so she could stand up. Les took her by the wrist, keeping his other hand on her shoulder, immobilizing her arm. After a moment, Stu did the same with her other arm.

"Stu, let me go," she said, pulling fruitlessly at his grip. "Les, please, don't do this."

"It's okay, Tiff," Stu said. "We're not going to hurt you."

Tommy rummaged in one of the bags and pulled out several of Billy's t-shirts. "These should do," he said, handing them to his brother. Billy took them and turned back toward Tiffie.

After a considering moment, he said, "Hold her arms up, so we can get her shirt off." DeAndré jumped the railing to stand behind her.

Tiffie looked up at him. "Dee?" she pleaded, "you aren't really going along with this, are you? This is rape! Please, don't."

DeAndré frowned uncertainly, but said, "It's not really rape, baby girl, if you want it. You said it yourself; you wanted to be with all of us, but you were too scared of being called a slut to let it happen. Now, we're just helping you--helping a friend--get something she wants, but she can't allow herself to ask for."

Stu and Les held Tiffie's arms up, and DeAndré took hold of her wrists, pulling them up gently, but firmly. Billy slung the t-shirts over his shoulder and took hold of the hem of her tank top.

"Billy. Billy, don't," Tiffie said. "Please, Billy, I'm not...I don't consent, Billy. Please don't rape me. Please."

Billy smiled and let go of her shirt. She huffed a sigh of relief. Slowly, he leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth. After a moment, she responded, and they kissed for a long minute as everyone watched. When he pulled away, she gasped breathlessly, face flushed, eyes shining. "I never even got to kiss you when we were dating," he said. "I wanted to, but you...you were always too...you know, closed off, defended." He stroked her cheek tenderly. "That was my first kiss, you know," he said.

"What? Your first...." Tiffie stared up at him in shock. "You mean, you never...didn't you date anyone else?"

He shrugged and said, "Who else could compare?"

Tommy had to agree. Tiffie was exquisite: one of the most beautiful girls he'd ever seen, and he'd seen quite a few.

Billy took hold of her top again and dragged it up over her head. DeAndré took it from him and pulled it off over her wrists. The five young men were silent, taking in the sight of Tiffie's breasts, packed tightly into a sturdy white bra. Tommy's relatively experienced eye estimated the bra to be a C-cup, but it looked a little small for her, so she could have been a D. With her slender frame, Tiffie's breasts looked enormous, dominating her torso.

Les took his hand off her shoulder and reached behind her, opening her bra clasp. With the release of pressure, her breasts swelled beneath the fabric of the bra. Slowly, Billy reached forward and lifted the garment away, sliding it up her arms for DeAndré to whisk away.

All the boys sighed, and Tommy let out a low whistle. "Those are fantastic, Tiffie," he said, and she flushed red, the color spreading down her neck and upper chest. Her breasts were full and firm, standing high and proud on her chest as only an 18-year-old's youthful tits can. Her nipples were small and hard, standing out rigidly from pink aureoles crinkled by exposure to the cool night air and the hungry gazes of the men.

Tentatively, Stu reached up and cupped one of Tiffie's breasts, and she gasped, her nipple growing harder and longer as he brushed his thumb across it. Les reached for the other tit, squeezing gently, and she moaned, squirming, hands still held firmly above her head by DeAndré. Billy leaned in for another kiss, and Tommy could see her respond, opening her mouth to let his tongue invade it.

Billy took his time with the kiss, and when he pulled away, Tiffie panted, face flushed, eyes heavy with arousal, breasts heaving against Les and Stu's busy hands. Billy handed two of the t-shirts up to DeAndré, and the Black baseball player carefully wrapped them around her wrists as Les and Stu helped control her arms. Tiffie didn't struggle this time, though, hanging limply in their grasp as Stu and Les continued to caress her breasts. Billy used a pocket knife to cut off a piece of rope, and handed it up to DeAndré, who used it to secure Tiffie's wrists, then tied the end of the rope to the top bar of the railing, so she couldn't lower her hands.

"Lift her up," Billy said, and DeAndré did so, his big hands around her waist. Les ran his hand up the back of her head, beneath her hair, and turned her face so he could kiss her as Billy unfastened her shorts. She squirmed and whined as she heard the zipper, but Les held her head still, and kissed away all her protests before they could be voiced.

Billy took hold of the waistband of her shorts and worked them over her hips and down her legs, leaving her wearing only her sneakers and a pair of plain white cotton panties. Les broke his kiss and turned her head so Stu could kiss her, and Billy pushed her knees apart, lifting her legs so Tommy could see the small wet spot in the crotch of her underwear.

Billy stroked his finger up the gusset of her panties, over the wet spot, and Tiffie twisted, trying to avoid his touch, but Les held her head, and Stu kept his tongue working busily inside her mouth, and her struggles quickly subsided. Les and Stu took over the task of keeping her knees spread, and Billy placed all four fingers over the wet spot, pressed firmly and rubbed. Tiffie groaned into Stu's mouth, and her hips shifted restlessly.

"I want a turn kissing her," DeAndré said, hopping back over the rail and off the dock. Billy made room between her knees, keeping his hand rubbing her crotch, and DeAndré moved into his place. Stu broke off his kiss, and Les turned her head, holding her firmly by the hair as DeAndré leaned down and placed his thick, dark lips on hers. She whimpered and opened her mouth to him, and Tommy saw her legs spread wider, her hips shifting reflexively, pushing her sex against Billy's palm.

DeAndré kissed Tiffie for several long minutes as Billy rubbed her crotch, and when the Black man finally pulled away, she looked dazed, her lips pink and slightly swollen from kissing. Stu and Les had started pinching her nipples lightly, and they had grown darker and even more prominent. Her body shuddered in time with their tweaking. When Billy pulled his hand from between her legs, Tommy could see that her panties were now soaked with arousal.

#####

DeAndré took his lips away from mine and released my head. Breathless, I sagged back against the bundle of cloth and rope that bound my hands to the rail. The air felt chilly against my hot skin, and I juddered each time Les or Stu tweaked my nipples, a jolt of sexual energy shooting from my tits to my clit. I could feel the cool fabric of my panties clinging to my hot, wet sex, now that Billy had removed his hand, and I shivered each time DeAndré ran his hand up my inner thigh.