Russian Roulette

"Oh, alright, Carolyn," Mom relented. "But only for a night. I want the two of you back here tomorrow morning before eight. Got it?"

"Yes, Mom," Me and Dylan said at the same time. Heh. For once, all of us are agreeing on something.

"Oh, I almost forgot!" Dylan exclaimed. "Where's my rain jacket?"

"Here, Dylan," said Mom. "Err...why do you need a rain jacket."

"Mother Nature's always full of surprises, Mom," Dylan explained. "Alright. Let's go."

Dylan's excitement was as palpable as the night air brushing against my face during the drive to the to his little sleepover. The windows were wide open, and the radio was set to full volume, blasting all of his favorite songs by Lil Jon, much to my utter annoyance.

"You know? Back at the mall, I couldn't believe you actually agreed to come with me," he said. "And I still can't believe it."

"Neither can I," I said distantly, whilst I distracted myself by staring out the window to admire the passing neon signs and flickering street lights of the city before me. "By the way, what's the rain jacket for? It's actually kind of warm this evening."

"You'll see."

When we arrived at the so-called "get-together," as Dylan called it, we arrived at a run-down, two-story house in a derelict neighborhood on the outskirts of town. It was pitch-black at night, and at about nine when we arrived, and for once in my life, I could see not only the moon, but the stars and planets surrounding it.

"Jupiter," I muttered dreamily.

"Come on, step-sis," said Dylan as put on his rain jacket and grabbed me by my shoulder on his way to the door. He then knocked on it a couple of times, and promptly, a panel slid open, revealing a pair of vibrant green eyes that were contrasted by low, masculine voice.

"Lovely weather this evening, isn't it?" the voice asked.

"Yes, but I always wear my rain jacket," Dylan replied, gesturing to his jacket.

"Come on in." So, that's what the rain jacket's for, huh?

Upon the door opening, we walked into a living room in as much of the same state as the house itself outside -- the floorboards beneath our feet were delaminating and clearly suffering from termite damage; the white, flowery wallpaper all around us was dog-eared, with holes in it scattered about, while the top and bottom white trimmings were chipping here and there. To the right of us was an equally dilapidated staircase, with railing that was broken in various parts. And scattered across the floor was a combination of pizza boxes, old newspapers, beer bottles, and used cigarettes. As for the air itself, it was stuffy, almost to the point of being unbearable had it not been for one of the open windows; cigarette smoke and the stench of stale beer wafted throughout the room. And then beside the open door was the green-eyed man who greeted us; donned in cargo pants caked in grime and a moth-eaten, grey long-sleeve stained by cigarette ashes, he looked to be older than Dylan, and more of a mess than Jason. Along with the soiled clothes, he also had bedraggled black hair, a stubbled face, a splotchy complexion slightly obscured by his tattoos, and a husky figure. God, so these are the types of people Dylan hangs out with?

"Hey, Samson!" said Dylan.

"Hey! You're right on time. And I see you brought your step-sis along too, Dylan."

"Yep, Sam. Carrie insisted, and Mom figured we needed to spend more time together

anyway." Goddamn you, Mr. Johnson.

"Cool. Welcome to the club, Carrie," said Samson in a rather overly friendly fashion. "Why don't we all take a seat. Drinks and everything else are on that coffee table over there."

So, all of us take our seats on tattered, brown leather couches, where we then find a six-pack of beer, along with a bong, a tray of cigarettes, and a halfway finished pizza still in its box.

"So, what about the other guys?" Dylan asked. "Was it just you waiting here for us."

"Ben and Jason are upstairs, all passed out on those dirty mattresses."

"What's with them?" asked Dylan after taking a swig of beer.

"With Jason, it's the long work hours. Ben's passed out from having just worked out an hour ago before coming here," Samson explained. He then took a long drag out of his cigarette and puffed out, leaving his words hanging in the same fashion as the smoke billowing from it. The silence was then broken by the opening of a creaky door,

"Ben, Jason," said Samson. "Nice to see you finally join us."

"Nice to finally here you say something coherent," Ben retorted. After taking several cautious steps down the perilous staircase, the two of them settled into the battered leather couches, where Ben rubbed his baggy, sleep-deprived eyes, while Jason grabbed his own bottle of beer. Once he finished rubbing his eyes, Ben darted them to me, staring them straight into my own as we both scanned each other's appearances. With Ben, he was tall, taller than either Dylan, Jason, or Samson. He was a bald Black man, with a frame slightly skinnier than Samson's, with muscles here and there on his arms and torso. And much like Dylan, he was dressed in a black sleeveless shirt, with a pair of grey sweatpants. Jason, on the other hand, was sporting the same clothes I saw him wearing earlier, back at the mall.

"New member of the gang?" Ben asked with suspicion in his tone.

"This is my step-sister, Carolyn. Carolyn, meet Ben Jackson," Dylan explained. "She insisted on coming with me." Dylan, you asshole.

Sensing the negative tension hanging in the air, Jason rose from the couch and flipped the switch on the Bluetooth speaker; he then connected it to his phone, and suddenly, more Lil Jon started playing, among a variety of Dylan's other favorite party songs involving rap or something.

"Let's get this party started!" he burst out as he started dancing, the beer bottle still in his grasp.

"Yeah, let's liven up this place," Ben agreed, before handing out to me a beer from the box. "Here, have some," he encouraged.

"Um..." I hesitated, in spite of the slight movement from my right arm.

"Come on, Carrie," said Dylan. "Loosen up for once, and hold something else other than a pencil for a change."

Four beers later, and I was feeling happier and dizzier than I ever was since pre-school, when I remembered how giddy I felt riding the merry-go-round at the fair across the street. It was four beers within the span of an hour, much to everyone's surprise.

"Jeez, Carrie! I'm impressed," Jason slurred as he smirked.

"Yeah. You sure know how to hold your liquor," Dylan concurred, his eyes staring into mine with a certain warmth, and it wasn't just from the alcohol. It was at that point where he leaned in and touched his lips to mine, giving his all into the kiss, what with his tongue almost sliding past my lips before I recoiled.

"Dylan!" I gasped. "You really wanna do that here...in front of these people?"

"Hey, I don't mind. I think I quite like this show," said Jason, laughing. Meanwhile, I stared down at both Jason and Ben in anger. Seizing the opportunity once again, however, Dylan pulled me in for another kiss; only this time, it was hungrier, and much more carnal than the last one. And as he slid his tongue between my lips, he snaked his hand down from my shoulder to under my shirt and directly onto my breasts, massaging them as he deepened the kiss.

"Yep. I'm definitely enjoying the view here," said Samson. And as hard as I tried to protest against his advances, Dylan just kept going with those large arms of his, his hands massaging me ever more aggressively. Fine, asshole. Two can play at that game.

With equal fervor, I launched my counterattack; I ignored the Jason, Ben and Samson's famished eyes and pressed further into the kiss, tackling down Dylan's tongue whilst I snaked my own hand down to his crotch, where I massaged his conspicuous bulge at a steady pace.

"Mm. I. Like. That," said Dylan between kisses. And with that, I unzipped his pants with one hand and pulled out his manhood through the zipper hole, proceeding to slowly stroke it. Meanwhile, overcome with lust, and without another word, Jason joined in and nibbled on one side of my neck, with Ben following suit not long after, nibbling on the other side, while Samson remained behind to watch.

"H-Hey!" I protested. "I never said this would be a multiplayer match."

"You never said it wouldn't be," Jason countered. "Relax. Loosen up for once." And so, with that, I gave in to the pleasure, feeling all three lips assault me on all fronts, from my own lips to both sides around my neck. Meanwhile, as I continued stroking Dylan, Ben and Jason grabbed both of my breasts and start massaging those as well, their thumbs flickering away at my nipples through my bra.

"O-Okay. Stop for a moment," I moan in protest.

"Aw, come on, Carrie. We were having fun," said Dylan. Right when Ben was about to open his mouth to add to the protest, I pulled away from Dylan's lips and got down on my knees on the ground, with my mouth wide open.

"Err, what do you want us to do?" said Jason, confused. Ugh, boys. They're all the same, aren't they?

"I thought it was obvious enough," I replied impatiently. "I want the three of you to pull your dicks out and start stuffing my mouth with them." Taken aback, Dylan jumped in surprise.

"Y-You're serious?" he spluttered, the surprise and excitement in his eyes even more noticeable now.

"I'm sure-as-shit serious," I said, my tone as firm as my determination. "I'll show you chicken alright." Before I knew it, Dylan, Ben, and Jason all pulled their dicks out -- even Samson, as a matter of fact, when I heard behind me the distant sound of him unzipping his pants, as though he were opening a long-awaited Christmas present. Meanwhile, I then turned my attention back to the three boys before me, and got down to work, grabbing both of Jason and Ben's manhoods with both my hands, while my lips wrapped around Dylan's. What a surprise. It's at full hardness already, I thought. And just as I did earlier, I started off at a steady pace, stroking Ben and Jason simultaneously, while also bobbing my head back and forth on my step-brother, taking him in inch by inch down my mouth.

"Ugh, f-fuck," Dylan groaned. "If only you weren't such a cock-tease."

"I can be," I quipped. Afterwards, I quickly made my surprise attack; I took Dylan even deeper, past his head, and then finally ended up pressing my nose against his torso, before pulling out to breathe. I then began sucking off Ben, and then Jason, taking turns with each of the three of them. When I returned to Dylan for a second helping of his surprisingly delicious dick, he then took me by surprise and grabbed my head with both his hands and rammed his cock all the way down my throat.

"Dylan?!" I managed to utter through the mouthful of his cock. He then thrusted back and forth with all the vigor he could muster, making me gag and drool, with my spit sliding down the underside of his shaft toward his balls.

"Holy fuck! I'm gonna cum, Carrie," he grunted. Before I could pull myself off to protest, he shot load after load down my throat, filling my mouth beyond the brim, making it leak out, down my chin and toward my clothes, soaking and staining them in the process. He then finally pulled me off his cock to give me a breather, leaving me a panting, wet mess.

"You couldn't have at least warned me first before face-fucking me?" I said, my voice hoarse.

"Come on, step-sis. Don't act like you didn't like that," Dylan quipped. He then exchanged rather smug looks with Jason and Ben, and then with Samson, before staring his eyes into mine again.

"You know, step-sis," he continued. "There's this...game that me and the guys have been thinking of playing for some time now. The only thing is that we need a female player as well. Would you care to join us?"

What the hell? I thought, unsettled by what the three boys were thinking. I don't think I like where this is going...then again, I guess it shouldn't hurt to find out at least. I could always say "no."

"Alright, Dylan," I said. "What does this 'game' of yours involve?"

"We call it 'Russian Roulette,'" Samson explained. "None of us have any condoms, but we're all pretty clean. It's all just a matter now of whose child you're gonna end up bearing."

"What?" I spat. "I'm a virgin, and you guys seriously think I'm gonna let you fucking impregnate me as a way to have my first time?"

"Hey, relax, step-sis," Dylan mediated. "We asked. You declined; simple as that."

"Thank you."

"I understand that you really are just too chicken to do certain things."

It was at that remark where I felt my blood boil in less than second. "Chicken?" I asked through gritted teeth.

"Yeah, chicken," Jason replied. "We guess you're just too chick --"

"Oh, I'll show you just how 'chicken' I really am." Swiftly, I tackled Jason to the ground; I then threw off my flannel, along with my leggings and panties, leaving only my shirt and bra on. With my womanhood now fully exposed to the world, I then mustered all the courage I could and slammed myself down on Jason, riding him and embracing my inner cowgirl.

"How 'chicken' am I now?" I grunted, the pain and the pleasure coursing through me in an intense, almost overwhelming wave. Much to my surprise, however, I didn't bleed.

"Not anymore," Jason nervously chuckled, before resigning himself to the sensation of being inside me, moaning aloud in appreciation. Meanwhile, I began to ride him faster and faster, feeling more dominant with each second I rode atop him.

"Come on, Jason. I want you to cum. Right. Now," I moaned. In response, much to my pleasure, I felt his manhood twitch in glee, and gazed at him and his pathetically skinny body wince from the intensity of my administrations.

"Oh shit!" he moaned. And within seconds, he exploded inside me, filling my womanhood with what must've been twice as much cum as I swallowed earlier from Dylan. And with that, I collapsed onto Jason's chest, panting heavily against it.

"Who. Wants. To go. Next?" I said between breaths. Without a moment's hesitation, Samson came forward and picked me up by my thighs, before slamming me down on his cock as he stood on his feet, whilst Jason's cum was still leaking out of me. And as all this happened to me, I felt my insides become more and more spread open, making my mind blank from the sensations.

"Alright, big boy. Take me like the slut I am," I shouted at the top of my lungs. Eagerly obliging my command, Samson practically lifted me up and down like a barbell with hardly any weight to it.

"I'll show you how I treat sluts alright," he murmured into my ear, before picking up the pace. He then grabbed one of my breasts with his other hand and started pinching the nipple, making me yelp in surprise.

"Oh, yeah! Fuck me, you magnificent beast!" I cried. In about the same amount of time as it took for Jason, Samson then shot his own load inside me, making me feel gradually more and more full. Once he fired off his final load, he dropped me onto the leather couch, leaving me just like Jason did earlier -- a panting, wet mess. God, this is exhausting. I don't know how much more I can take this.

Just as I was going to fully rest and enjoy my recovery time, Ben, already naked, took his turn and lifted me up, putting me on my hands and knees on the couch to pound me doggystyle.

"H-Hey!" I protested. "Can't a girl just have a minute of...argh! Fuck!" Once again, another cock was jabbed into me as Ben aggressively grabbed my ass-cheeks and thrusted his hips forward.

"This is what you get for not finishing me off with your mouth earlier, fuck-pig," he snarled. "It's time that I found out whether I'll be a blank in your chamber or not." Ben started to pound me at a merciless speed, slapping my ass every now and then to make me turn pink and squeal like the fuck-pig I truly was.

"Yeah! Fuck her good, Ben!" Jason cheered, still lying on the ground. Meanwhile, I gazed at Dylan, who was both uncomfortable and aroused at the state I was in -- me, once a witty bookworm, now reduced to a drooling pig taking load after load. It was a degrading feeling, but it also felt...liberating in its own right. God! So, this is how much I've been missing out on for the past two years I've been in college? I thought regrettably. Before that panging feeling could have the chance to settle in, however, Ben proceeded to interrupt my train of thought when he slammed my face into the couch cushion by stepping on me with his bare foot.

"Since you're such a fuck-pig, I'm gonna make your face as pink as one by the time I'm finished with you," he jeered, with a nasty smile plastered on his face. Admittedly, it was...hot to be this much of a pet to Dylan and his friends.

God, I hope we do this often, I thought, as I snaked my hand toward my clitoris, massaging it and feeling Ben's cock bulge in and out of me. Right when I started to feel my clit twitch in delight, Ben erupted like a volcano, overflowing me with what could only be described as an ocean of his cum. Ugh, but I still haven't cum yet.

And then, there was Dylan, who had been standing in the background for the past half-hour, still clothed, with his cock protruding from the zipper hole of his jeans, watching his friends use and abuse me without saying a word, but merely stroking himself with a mixture of jealousy and hunger plastered on his face. Once it was his turn though, he then stomped towards me, with the ghost of a smile on him.

"Hey," I said, giggling with post-coital delight.

"Hey," he repeated back. "I thought family came first."

"I wanted to save the best for last." Dylan chuckled at my counter, his face brightening and returning to its usual smugness.

"Betcha twenty bucks that it'll be me who won't be the blank," he joked.

"Let's see then." I got back on all fours again, and then rose my ass up higher to spread my cheeks for Dylan, which he then grabbed. After one more moment spent on figuring out how he wanted to take me, he then plunged himself into me, fucking me doggystyle like how Ben did so earlier. And as he fucked me slowly, savoring each and every second he was in my womb, he bent down.

"You've no idea how long I've waited for this," he whispered into my ear. "For that reason, it's going to take more than just one load for me to be spent." God, why do I find that so hot. With a subtle grunt, Dylan proceeded to pound me even more mercilessly than when Ben fucked me; not only that, but his slaps were even crueler, with his fingers tapping my clitoris every now and then, slowly bringing me closer and closer to climaxing.

"Oh, God!" I groaned. "With all those times I'd seen your dick bulge through your towel after you shower, I thought you were just showing off something."

"Just another case of Chekhov's gun, step sis," he bantered. "Speaking of which..."

Just as my clitoris started twitching me ever closer to climaxing, Dylan came in me before I could, much to my frustration. "H-Hey!" I objected.

"I didn't say I was finished yet," he said. He pulled out of me and picked me up bridal style (surprisingly enough), and he brought me to the upstairs master bedroom of house, with his dick still sticking out of the zipper hole of his jeans, and me, still wearing my white shirt and bra.

When Dylan pushed aside the ajar door to the master bedroom, we found it to be only slightly cozier than the living room -- in the center of the bedroom was a king-sized bed draped in a red, moth-eaten blanket, paired with pillows of the same shade. Under the blankets was a dirty pink mattress with stains dark stains here and there. Along with that, the wooden floorboards and the nightstand were caked in a visible layer of dust that was illuminated by the moonlight coming through the window above the bed. Besides that, there was also a dresser with lamp and a mirror on top of it, along with a dead plant in its vase.