Carol hugged her knees closer to her body as the studio appeared to get bigger and much colder. It was the year 2001, and her first day in the new semester at The University of Western Australia, there for her first module, Theatre Studies 205, a module she decided to study for in order to indulge her exhibitionist streak and give her inner narcissist a good workout. She didn’t know what to expect as she looked around the studio, a vast open space with cold grey walls bathed in an off-white light, a light that seemed to be holy and pure once but now tainted with the grime of sin and debauch. 

This IS the Bradley Studio, right? The place the class was supposed to be meeting?

What a shitty place. It’s like God woke up one morning, scratched his armpit and this studio fell out.

There were random items scattered in the studio all up against the walls, grime encrusted, formerly white plastic chairs stacked haphazardly that reminded her of an aftermath of a very rowdy but cheap wedding. A dusty piano stood in the corner, its surface wood cracked and broken, with what looked like a weather worn maroon velvet throw draped over the top, its frayed edges hanging lazily off the piano. It looked like an over-the-hill prostitute at the street corner quietly hustling in a business that had broken, beaten and scarred her mind, body and soul. 

Man, that piano looks like it could suddenly start playing on its own!

I bet it would play the theme song from Tales from the Crypt. 

Or at the very least, the main song from Phantom of the Opera.

She shuddered as she noticed a lonely flight of stairs that led up to a mezzanine level into what looked like an office space or a storage room, with its windows covered with what appeared to be black cardboard paper or trash bags. It gave the studio a dark and foreboding atmosphere made worse by the creaks and squeaks that seemed to come from the walls. She felt like she was in a bad Halloween haunted house adventure at a cheap amusement park and wasn’t sure if the goosebumps she felt were from the cold winter squalls outside that bled into the studio or from the overall seemingly macabre and disturbing atmosphere in the studio. 

Gosh, I can so imagine this place being a soundproof dungeon of sorts complete with instruments of torture, bodily fluids in a puddle on the floor, and all looked after by some old hunchback Eastern European guy with a name like Igorov or Nikolai.

Why is it so cold in here? It’s fucking twenty-two degrees outside. 

What, is it the spirits of dead thespians and crew living here – that’s why it’s cold?

She was getting very close to walking out of the studio when the heavy double doors creaked open and in walked several familiar, friendly faces. 

Carol smiled as she saw Miyuki Sasamori walking in. The pint-sized Japanese girl with the brightest, most cheerful face Carol had ever seen, rushed to give Carol a hug, genuinely excited that Carol was in the module with her. She was eighteen, a year younger than Carol, but she looked like she was twelve because of her size. Miyuki always smelled like mothballs and shampoo regardless of what day or time of day it was. It was a very unique smell that hung around like a harmless stalker and a smell that she looked forward to sometimes as it was one that was comfortable and something familiar. Miyuki had long unruly hair that she tried desperately to tame with well-placed pins and hair bands, often tying her hair back, exposing her clean sun-kissed face that had only two expressions most of the time: an intense scowl or a bright and cheery smile. They met and bonded over their love for karaoke on Thursday nights at the local bar near the uni and had done many a drunken Spice Girls and S-Club 7 duet together. 

Behind her, Tracy Sharpe, Carol’s classmate in Reading Theory 201, with whom she had had many a lively discussion about postmodern cultural theory during seminars and tutorials. Tracy was a tall and lanky girl with big, smoky and intense eyes. She was Carol’s age, but she looked twenty-nine because of her height and her smouldering intensity. She struck Carol as someone who had just started making her journey out of the awkward teen phase and taking her first timorous steps into young adulthood and had an air of uncertain feminism about her. She buried that uncertainty by being stoic, but ultimately she was someone who wasn’t sure of herself as a human. Like Miyuki, she had long unruly hair that she never bothered to tame, so she had bits of fine hair sticking out of the sides of her head like a frizzy halo. Tracy had sharp facial features and an intensity painted on her face even as she smiled the unsure smile she often tried to have on. 

Carol felt relief washing over her as warmth began to creep back into her, and the Bradley Studio now seemed smaller and less imposing as a smile came crawling across her face.

“I thought I was in the wrong place! This place is a hole!” Carol complained.

“Well, get used to it, you’re gonna be spending a lot of time here this semester because the rehearsals and production will all be done here,” Miyuki said, referring to the end of semester play that the students would have to stage. 

Tracy adjusted her hair and took off her sweater, and time seemed to slow down to almost a standstill for Carol as she caught sight of Tracy’s flat and sinuous belly. In those few seconds, she could already memorise the number and pattern of the moles Tracy had on her belly and imagined herself tracing out those moles with her tongue. Carol could not understand the hold Tracy seemed to have over her. For all of her nineteen years, she had always been attracted to boys, the skinny, the stinky, the sweaty and the clumsy boys. She had been taught by her friends in secondary school and junior college about boys and how cute their boy flesh could be when you held it in your hands. Auntie Sam and Auntie Rachel also gave her their piece about boys and what she could do to them and most importantly, what they would do for her. Maybe it was because Tracy was built like a teenage boy, or maybe Carol was at an age of experimentation in a foreign country with all the privileges of an adult but none of the responsibilities yet.

“Yeah, when I spoke to some of the seniors from last semester’s Theatre Studies modules, they said the same thing, the Bradley Studio became their second home. Good thing there’s a toilet and a shower room there,” Tracy chimed in with her lazy, jangly accent. She always spoke like she had that little bit of beer collected in the corner of her mouth, making her accent sound like a sexy, lazy drawl that seemed to pleasure her ears. 

“Yes, and if you don’t mind, you can chill and fall asleep on the old, skanky sofa in there as well, been there for years,” Miyuki said. “But you would probably get an STD just by breathing near that sofa, because you never know the kinda gunk it has accumulated and the sin that has happened on it!”

“Ewwwww,” both Tracy and Carol exclaimed, followed by a fit of giggles that reminded them of when they were in secondary school.

“What? What are you guys laughing at?” a male voice with a slightly high-pitched, nasal but soothing and heavily accented drawl interrupted their laughter from out of nowhere. They turned around and saw Zac Gilliam, an impossibly pasty Irish boy with ginger hair that seemed to be prematurely thinning. Zac was doing a double degree in law and arts, and theatre was his creative outlet for his writing. He looked like he was covered with freckles and bits and patches of ginger hair in random spots on his face and neck. He would look barbaric if it weren’t for the glasses he wore and his buzz cut. Zac must’ve had a presentation done earlier because he was dressed in his crisp white shirt, sleeves folded neatly up his arms and black pants pressed to make him look sharp. Carol enjoyed looking at Zac, who for her had the right mix of clumsy idiot boy and smooth velvet steel of a man. The right mix of pragmatism in him doing law and romantic idealism in his arts degree; one foot in making a comfortable living, the other foot in making waves in his creative pursuits, and with both his eyes on the future. Carol especially enjoyed looking at Zac in his outfit today because she had a thing for crisp white shirts with their sleeves folded, exposing good forearm action. She enjoyed visually going back and forth from Zac’s forearm to Tracy’s taut belly and found herself biting her lips as that familiar but subtle rumble in her loins began, and she found herself almost breathless. 

As more of her new classmates showed up, Carol snapped out of her lazy mid-afternoon stupor and began to get into tutorial mode. She met the rest of the class, all of whom were the artsy theatre thespian types. 

There was the wannabe theatre writer/director/producer.

The wannabe stand-up comic.

The here-to-earn-an-easy-credit-without-having-to-sit-for-exams type.

The just-happy-to-be-part-of-this type. 

And then there was Carol, Tracy and Zac, the three who seemed inseparable from the first day of Theatre Studies, with their intellectually combative natures and their penchant for the drink. From that time onwards, the trio would be seen at every karaoke night, every birthday party and costume parties. And it was at these parties where alcohol flowed freely and inhibitions were non-existent, Tracy, dressed as Marilyn Monroe, kissed Zac, who was dressed as a G.I. Joe; Carol, in a French maid outfit, then kissed Tracy later in the night and made out with Zac at another party as a deliciously bizarre love triangle began to develop. 

With the rehearsals for their annual theatre production heating up, their cast mates remarked how they hardly ever saw one without the other’s face attached to their faces. And how it was painfully obvious that it was becoming an equilateral love triangle, one where all sides were equally slutty and hot for one another. But the passion had always been ignited when there were just two of them. It was Zac and Tracy in the laundry room of the theatre, Tracy and Carol in the green room, Zac and Carol backstage, often in view of other cast members. Despite knowing about being in a somewhat bizarre sexy triangle, the trio never really spoke about it to each other and were happy to give off the impression that they were sneaking around behind each other’s backs. As much as it confounded Carol, she went along with it, as she too found it intriguing and exciting to be fooling around seemingly on the sly. 

Carol felt both excited and confused by her bold experimentation.

I love how Tracy is such a soft and tender person wrapped around a ball of ravenous muscle hungry for flesh. And she always smells so nice.

I wonder if her other lips taste and smell as good as the ones on her face.

But I also love what a bumbling idiot Zac is. His unkempt boy scent and his rough, almost sandpaper-like skin turns me on, and I love how he can overwhelm me with his arms and mouth. I wonder if his dick smells like he does, musky and sweaty.

Mostly, I love how they both make me smile whenever they come around. I love how they run their fingers through my hair and how much they want me when we kiss, when we make out, when we grope each other.

I wonder what it would be like if all three of us got together at the same time?

Would that be considered an orgy?

Is there a way back from there? Like once you try an orgy, do you always want to have one because it’s that good?

Will we then be the kind of people that only have orgies?

All her orgiastic contemplations were answered when they found themselves on a protracted night out that involved several house parties. As members of the theatre community, they were often invited to house parties, usually from the extras hired or the stagehands who wanted to be part of the cool thespian crowd. So it was one particular night when Tracy invited Carol out to a house party in what seemed to be a seedy part of town. 

It was an unusually wet night, with the skies unleashing a deluge of almost biblical proportions on the city. Carol was wrapped in her heavy leather, ankle-length coat braving the rain with Tracy and walking briskly to the address written down on a black and white photocopied invite.  It was a regular house that neither stood out nor was unique in its features, but it did have a foreboding, almost haunting aura about it. It was like it was ensconced in a force shield of negativity, the kind that would make babies cry and beasts stay away. 

This looks like that Amityville house.

Wonder which demon will be taking over whose body tonight.

They walked into the front yard confidently, as neither of them knew anyone in the house, and they just walked in, took a beer from a tub that was filled with beer bottles and ice. They stood around, chugging their beer, and looked for a familiar face, straining their ears over the thumping house music for the sound of a chummy voice, anything that wouldn’t make them look like total strangers in a house that was starting to look like an abandoned den of sin and debauchery.

How the hell did we get here?

I’m sure I don’t know anyone here.

There was no furniture in the house save for a white plastic chair that was used to put empty beer bottles. The floors were wet and covered with a thin film of blackened dirt and dust as it seemed that the smokers flicked their ashes and cigarette butts on it without a care. If you had an open wound that came into contact with the floor, you were bound to get gangrene and within days would need to amputate that limb. 

My gosh, who lives here?

The rent better be dirt cheap!

The walls were white, bare and with paint peeling in some parts, scratch marks on others. Carol looked up and saw that the ceiling had its layer of cement falling off, exposing the floorboards, and she could even see faint shadows of footsteps from the people upstairs. 

Are those rats in the ceiling or people walking about? 

I am so close to regretting this.

All around Carol and Tracy were unfamiliar but friendly faces milling about. They were all dressed in black for some reason, like the harlots of hell, making the more normally coloured duo feel even more out of place than they already were. 

If I hold my breath, it will minimise the chances of infection.

Carol tried very hard to hide her disgust at the squalor that was the house and was certain that some insect was crawling up her leg or flying about into her ear. She tried to make a beeline for the back door to get some fresh air when a skinny, pasty, long-haired and thick-bearded goth appeared as if out of thin air. He stood in front of her, blocking her exit, swaying to an invisible beat. He had a large three-piece luggage hanging under his eyes and was shirtless, and Carol could see that he was so emaciated that his ribs poked out from underneath his pale skin. His hands were moving as if independent of his body in an almost comical way, and Carol was more amused than threatened. Carol put her hands on his waist to gently push him aside, when he suddenly fell, almost soundlessly onto the floor. Carol watched in sheer delight as this skinny, goth stranger writhed and rolled uncontrollably on the wet and slippery floor. Streaks of black dirt began to form all over his pale skeletal body, yet his face was a mask of serenity. 

Well, that was interesting.

Creepy as fuck, but definitely not something you see every day.

Carol stepped over that piece of squirming goth man and finally stepped out of that filthy den. Outside, she took a long, deep breath of fresh air and savoured the fresh smell of grass and rain. Relieved, she shuddered and felt like she had broken out of prison. She unknowingly, and very visibly, wiped herself clean of the sin of being in that house. 

“Aw, come on, it can’t be that bad in there, can it?” a familiar voice boomed amidst the maniacal laughter and booming bass beats. Carol snapped her head around and saw that Zac was sitting on a lawn chair in the corner, nursing a now-lukewarm bottle of beer, smiling a smile that lit her heart and brought her joy to no end. 

“Zac!” she screamed. “So fucking happy to see you here! What the fuck house is this? Who the fuck are these people even?” she asked as her voice raised in decibel and pitch, both signs of despair and excitement.

Zac was about to launch into an explanation when Tracy came out and flew into his arms in relief and begged the two of them to take her away from what was turning out to be the fourth level of Hell. Always wanting to ride things out, Carol was undecided, but the sound of breaking glass, inhuman screams and the sheer sonic chaos that emanated from inside the house made her decision for her.

“Quick, to my car, I drove here!” Zac shouted as he pointed to his banged up – or as he called it, near-vintage – Daihatsu Charade. The trio ran through the backyard toward the bucket of bolts and steel without looking back. And as the echoes of Hell faded in the distance, they felt that they had shaken off the demonic chains that had them spellbound by the den of sin and felt an almighty relief washing over them. 

Maybe it was the pouring rain pelting their faces, but they were just happy to get past the gates of hell and back to reality. They all squeezed into the sedan, and pedal to the metal, they hightailed past the kerb crawlers and the streetwalkers back into more vanilla areas of the suburb. The trio broke out into fits of uncontrollable laughter at how the night turned out to be as Zac suggested, “Hey, there is another party tonight. You guys remember William and his girl Arwen? Yeah, the dance choreographers. They just bought a pad nearby, about twenty minutes from here, and they invited people over tonight. How about we make our way there, get there, get dry and get pissed?”

“YEAHHHHH!!” the ladies shouted, and what followed was thirty minutes of car-raoke with the three of them singing at the top of their lungs to songs they didn’t even know about, making up lyrics as they went along, each song punctuated with fits of giggles and brief moments of silence as they all seemed to be catching their breaths in time with each other. It was a picture of three good friends having the time of their lives and with no care in the world, and it was good.

Look at Tracy. I love how moist she looks. 

I would drink each and every drop of rain that falls off her hair, especially the ones that roll off her skin.

My gosh, what is happening to me? 

I never thought I would crush on a girl.

I wonder what pussy tastes like. Is it like kissing a toothless mouth? I should be good at it. I know how I would like to be eaten out.

But no, Carol, no. Let’s look at Zac. How can someone who looks like such a vanilla, generic white boy be so appealing? It’s like having and loving a bowl of plain oats soaked in warm water in the morning, every morning.

But look at that idiot, he is such a bumbling buffoon who would apologise for cumming on my face.

Look at these two sexy, schmexy plates of noms. I want them both, this wet, with this smell of sweat, perfume and rain. But I don’t know how. 

Maybe Zac knows.

Nah, he is too much of an idiot to know how to.

I’ll drop the hint to Tracy later. I’m sure Zac would be on board, the horny little idiot that he is.

They arrived in what looked like a rough neighbourhood with broken street lamps, walls covered in graffiti and smelling like urine. But William’s place was a nice, much cleaner, classier loft. Party central was on the second floor, a sprawling open space with big cushions, oversized bean bags and artsy mattresses littering and scattered all over the varnished wood floors. The room was brightly lit with a large, gaudy chandelier installed for its irony, and the walls were shabbily but chicly decorated with framed vintage movie posters and pin-up girls from the fifties. The alcohol was arranged neatly around a floral centrepiece on a large wooden table in the centre of the room. Soft trance-ey beats hung around the air that created a very chilled-out ambience, and the hushed chatter of the people there added to the mellow atmosphere and even gave it an air of class, of quasi-sophistication. Carol recognised some of the faces at the loft and immediately felt relaxed and at home.

“Ahhhhhh, the thespians are here!” a burly, rough-looking, six-foot, built-like-a-brick-shit-house man announced to the nonchalant guests. “Ewww, you guys are moist,” he said in jest. “I’ll go and get you guys some towels so you can dry off,” William, the host, graciously offered. Carol tried her hardest to stifle a despairing, protracted scream of protest at the thought of her two objects of desire being cleaned up and dried but smiled through gritted teeth and accepted the gracious offer. Warm and dry, they were ready to mingle, while Carol was ready for something much naughtier.

As the night wore on, the alcohol flowed, conversations became louder, laughter more raucous, and inhibitions lowered, Carol sidled up to Tracy, cocktail in hand, and ran her fingers through Tracy’s hair. She wrapped her arms around Tracy’s taut waist and bashfully planted her head on Tracy’s shoulders as if to announce their arrival to make out city. Tracy, getting the idea, looked deep into Carol’s eyes, smiled, and kissed her, interrupting what looked like a lively conversation about the theory of everything. Others, quite used to the randomness of these things at a party, just quietly faded out of the scene as Carol and Tracy stood there, faces and lips planted on each other. It didn’t look like they were a couple of over-eager younguns going at it, because there was an elegance in their dance of lust, which was why they weren’t out of place in William’s loft. Carol soon pulled her lips back, playfully combed Tracy’s hair back with her fingers, directed Tracy’s gaze to Zac and said, “I’m feeling very naughty. Let’s call him tonight.” Carol had a naughty glint in her eye and a playful grin on her mouth that Tracy loved so much.

Tracy recognised that look and gasped in equal parts surprise and joy at the idea of a ménage a trois with two of her favourite mounds of walking flesh. Without much thought, Tracy furiously nodded her head and said okay, and the both of them wasted no time in pouncing on a clueless Zac as he was about to launch into one of his tirades about the creative process of writing. Amidst the surprised, incredulous giggles, the snooty tut-tuts and the gleeful cat-calling, Tracy grabbed him by the collar, almost like picking a fight, and furiously kissed his lips as Carol jumped in on his side and began to plant wet kisses on his neck. Double teaming him and pinning him against the wall, Tracy and Carol took turns pressing their lips together in a series of ravenous kisses. 

There was a palpable sense of relief, more than anything, resonating in the room because everyone knew about the love triangle that was developing and was afraid that it would result in a messy, three-way brawl. But ultimately happy that it ended in a three-way of love. 

The hostess Arwen, aware of the potential awkward show of flesh and bone bumping uglies that could happen in party central, briefly interrupted the trio of lovers and like a love shepherd, directed them to a spare bedroom below, with a couch and a coffee table for company. “Here you guys go, enjoy, and don’t make too much noise, please,” Arwen begged as she shuddered at the thought of the sins the walls were about to bear witness to. Once the door closed behind Arwen, the three of them took some time to savour each other’s company as well as the moment, a moment they never thought would happen, not even in their wildest of fantasies. 

Carol had already plonked herself onto the sofa, leaned back, crossed her legs and shivered in anticipation at what was about to transpire. Tracy stood nearby, slowly got to her knees and slowly crawled toward Carol. Tracy then moved her body to hang tantalisingly above Carol before gently letting her weight settle down onto Carol as they playfully and lightly kissed each other. Their kisses deepened as the fire of their passion was stoked by the inevitable taste of flesh that was hurtling toward them. Tracy's fingers ran roughly through Carol's hair before her fingertips begin to dance lower, starting to explore the soft warm body stretched out underneath her. Tracy smiled as she pulled back slightly from their kiss, her eyes looking down to watch her fingers disappear underneath Carol’s top, pushing it up as fingers explored her now exposed flesh. Tracy sat up just enough to slowly drag the shirt up and over Carol's head, small hands coming to rest, cupping Carol's now bare breasts, squeezing her hips as she ground gently down into Carol's.

Tracy flashed a grin as she gazed into Carol’s eyes before she tugged her own top slowly up and over her head, dropping it next to the couch as her hips steadily and slowly rocked against Carol. She slipped further down Carol's body and slowly tugged her pants down her hips, taking the cute little panties down with them. She glanced up to meet Carol's eyes with a grin and a naughty glint in her eye as she licked her lips slowly before dipping her head down. Her hands gently gripped Carol's thighs and spread them apart, settling between them as her tongue darted out to drag along Carol's exposed and now quivering flesh. A throaty and guttural gasp slipped from Carol's lips as Tracy's tongue started to explore up and down her soft wet flesh. The tip of her tongue circled and flicked Carol’s clitoris before dipping down to dart her tongue inside her hungry, quivering flesh. Tracy let out a moan that rumbled against Carol's bare flesh as she eagerly ate out the delicious bare pussy in front of her. One of her hands slid up Carol's body to squeeze a lightly heaving breast as her tongue darted in and out of her.

Ah yes, she is so good at this. 

Damn, I hope I look alright.

I hope my belly fat behaves tonight and looks at the very least decent.

And in an instant, a shiver ran through Carol's body as Tracy's tongue devoured her wetness. She sunk one hand into Tracy's hair, holding her face against her own wet flesh. Carol's hips rocked up to press tighter against Tracy's warm mouth, moans of pleasure slipping from her lips as her breathing got heavier. Her eyes darted over to the door and she couldn't help but blush red along her cheeks as she saw Zac standing nearby, mouth agape, his erection visible through his pants at the sight and sounds of her pleasure.

Oh my, look at that idiot boy who is such a man now.

Tracy's back arched slightly, pushing her ass further up in the air as she settled on her hands and knees, licking and lapping at Carol's flesh. A wide, yet almost clueless grin crawled across Zac's face as he stepped closer to the pair on the couch, watching a woman on her knees with her face deep in between her friend’s legs. He reached down to tug at his own shirt, pulling it up and over his head then dropping it to the floor. He ran one hand along the back of his head and down his neck as he moved closer, his gaze dragging along the two women stretched along the couch as his erection throbbed hard in his pants.

Ah, such a sight, drop the pants down quickly, you idiot, and give me that.

Tracy's eyes darted up as she saw movement beside the couch, a satisfied smile crawling across her face, spreading along her lips as she buried her face back between Carol's thighs. She wiggled her hips as Zac moved closer, his hand instinctively drifting down to squeeze his hard manhood through his pants, leaning down to get a better view of Tracy lapping at Carol's now engorged flesh. He sunk his hand into Tracy's hair, still smelling of the rain and stale cigarettes, as he pulled her towards him and into a deep kiss, sharing Carol's taste before he grabbed her hair and pushed her face back down between Carol's thighs. Zac slipped his hand from her hair and slowly began to trace down her spine as she resumed licking and teasing Carol.

Come here and kiss me, I want to taste myself in your mouth.

Tracy arched her back as Zac's hand reached out to drag down her bare spine before slipping down to squeeze and knead her ass. She moaned into Carol's pussy as he started to tug her shorts down, exposing her dripping wet pussy before she heard the sounds of his zipper going down. Tracy lifted her head to watch as Zac's hand wrapped around his penis, squirming slightly as she saw his pale sinuous arm flexing with his stroking. She dipped her head back down between Carol's thighs as she felt Zac start to move behind her, spreading her thighs as she let out a moan of anticipation. Shuddering as she felt the head of Zac's penis probing against her needy flesh, Tracy's tongue darted out to tease Carol's clit.

Carol's hand slipped up to squeeze her bare breast as the other kept Tracy firmly locked between her thighs. Zac's hand joined hers with a hard grip on Tracy's still-damp hair as he started to sink inside of Tracy. Zac was coated in more of Tracy's arousal and need as he buried his fleshly sword inside of her. He felt like he was swimming in warm oil, pushing her firmly forward against Carol before he started to thrust.

Ah yes, fuck her well and good. Soon it will be my turn, you sexy ass idiot.

Tracy moaned loudly against Carol's now hot and inflamed womanhood as Zac started to pound into her, wasting no time in filling Tracy up over and over again, mounting her from behind as his firm grip shoved her face into Carol’s pulsating mound of woman flesh. Knowing with every lick that Carol was getting closer and closer to smothering Tracy's face with her thighs, Zac leaned over Tracy, growling into her ear the first words he had spoken since he got home and pounded into her relentlessly. Thrusting heavily between words to add emphasis, his heated breath against her neck, he growled, "Lick that pretty pussy so she can cover your face in cum, baby, I wanna see your face drenched while I own your needy little pussy. I know how badly you need to cum, baby, make Carol cum so your man can lay claim on your sweet pussy, baby, and make you cum."

Wait, what did he say? Is he going to fuck me?

Carol's body shuddered and shook as Tracy moaned against her wet flesh, thighs spread wide on the couch to give her complete access to her body, in need of fleshly succour. Tracy's tongue pushed her closer to the edge of exploding with every dart of her tongue, plunging in and filling her as Zac railed into her from behind, forcing Tracy's face against Carol’s bits with every thrust. Carol's hand dug harder into Tracy's hair as the pleasure built, rocking her hips against Tracy’s tongue before Carol’s head fell back, crying out in pleasure as she felt the distant rumble of a thunderous climax coming closer and braced herself to be pounded by waves of pleasure.

Carol let out a throaty, bestial growl as she felt like a rag doll tossed in the tempestuous ocean of pleasure. She could feel the strong pulsing originating from her crotch and reverberating through her whole body as it shook, shivered and flail about. Her muscles tensed to the point of cramping, her flesh, her body kneaded by invisible hands into mounds of pleasure so intense that every inch of her body and soul curled, every inch of her flesh rolled into a tight fist and punched the couch in pure savage and vulgar delectation.

Zac's hands slid down to grip onto Tracy's shoulders, holding her body steady to take his pounding as his hips moved harder and faster, filling the room with the sounds of pleasure and wet fucking. Tracy shuddered and cried out as he plunged so deeply inside of her. She squeezed around his manhood as she lapped at Carol, plunging over the edge as Tracy's fingers dug into her flesh.

Tracy exploded as waves of pleasure pounded her relentlessly, and she found it hard to catch her breath as she coated Zac's throbbing pink flesh in her fluids. His fingers left an angry purple mark on her shoulders. He thrusted a few more hard times before the pleasure overwhelmed him. Burying his throbbing manhood deep inside of Tracy, he started to fill her with thick, hot ejaculate. The room was now filled with the sounds of mutual pleasure, bodies shuddering and grinding into each other on the couch, gasping for breath as the trio started to come back down. Tracy smiled as she stretched beneath Zac, reaching up to press a heated kiss to Carol's lips, sharing Carol’s taste with her as she milked Zac of every drop of hot fluids. Tracy's fingers slipped into Carol's hair as they kissed, hips rocking slightly back against Zac as his heated body rested on top of her. A grin tugged at Tracy's lips as Zac growled into her ear, just loudly enough for both her and Carol to hear.

Carol lay back as her pleasure subsided and enjoyed Tracy’s rolls of sweaty flesh against hers as Tracy planted soft kisses on places her lips could reach. Tracy was breathless, as was Zac, who lay on the couch like he’d been shot, his glistening, pink flesh slumped on its side like a dead seahorse along the shore with a drop of fluid still hanging on for dear life at the tip of his penis. 

Wait.

Does this count as a threesome?

He fucked her, but not me. We all clearly had orgasms, but I wasn’t fucked, that’s the most glaring fact.

So, is that it?

Carol sidled and shuffled herself out from under Tracy and crawled over Zac and was ready to devour him and for him to pound on her as he did Tracy moments ago. But that was not to be because the effects of the alcohol consumed combined with the exertions moments earlier had caused Zac to be overcome by a slumber so deep, that despite her efforts, Carol could not rouse nor arouse Zac, as Tracy rolled about in her sleep, leaving Carol standing naked on the floor, still feeling Tracy’s tongue on her, when she would rather feel Zac’s dick in her.