Three Men and a Slut Pt. 01

Perhaps it had just been too long since my last tryst with a guy. I don't know. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on the day ahead, pushing the image aside as best I could.

Then I noticed that the house had gone rather quiet and wondered if perhaps the boys had all gone out. So I sucked in a deep breath and determinedly swung my feet off the bed to stand up. The day was not getting any shorter. I needed to get started on looking for a new place to live.

-

Either the guys had left or they were all being quiet locked in their rooms. I quickly showered and dressed. Then I headed downstairs to get a quick bite from the kitchen before setting out for the day.

As I entered the living room, however, I saw that the dining table had been cleared and a place setting had been laid at one end. Across the width of a large plate laid three thick pieces of french toast artfully prepared with blueberries, sliced strawberries, and a sprinkling of powdered sugar. There was a small container of syrup and a mug of steaming coffee with a small card propped against it bearing my name on the front.

I picked up the card, turned it over, and read, "Sam, We're so sorry about what happened last night. Please enjoy breakfast on us." Each of them had signed their first names.

Dropping the card on the table, I looked at the food feeling conflicted. On the one hand, I was still harboring a bit of anger, and it's hard to be angry when you take a peace offering. On the other hand, it was really sweet of them to put in the effort. But then I also wanted to get out of the house quickly. Sitting down to a heavy meal was not the way to accomplish that. But then, damn, it looked really good, and it would be a shame to let it go to waste, and I was suddenly feeling really hungry.

In the end, my stomach won out, so I pulled a chair out, sat down, and dug in.

-

I spent half the day in the lab and the other half looking for a new apartment. I checked out whatever listings I could find online. I called a number of different apartment complexes. I talked with whatever landlords I could get ahold of. I dug through listings in the classified ads in the local newspaper.

Nothing. There was nothing available in my budget range. And the distance between the furthest my budget could stretch and the cheapest available apartment in town had grown substantially since the last time I looked.

By the end of the day, I was forced to admit defeat. There were no other options in this town.

I headed home tired, disappointed. Opening the door, tentatively, hoping not to run into any of the guys, I found the house quiet. I breathed a sigh of relief as there didn't seem to be anyone out and about. Mike's door was closed. Nobody seemed to be in the living room as I glanced down the hallway.

As I looked down the hallway, however, my eyes caught a jumble of color standing on the dining table all the way on the other side of the house. Flowers, I realized. Three vases full of flowers. I stood there a moment with indecision. Should I just ignore them and go upstairs? They were probably really expensive. Taking a deep breath, I resigned myself to walking down the hallway and crossing the living room to take a closer look.

Three riots of conflicting colors greeted my eyes. I suspected the guys each picked out their own combinations. Each bouquet had its own style, and none of them were terribly well picked out. You'd think a florist worth their salt would help a young man put together a bouquet. A thin smile crossed my lips, and I leaned in to see how a few of the flowers smelled.

Then I realized there was a folded note on the table with my name on it. Of course there was a note, I realized. Curiously, there was also a small USB stick next to the note. I took another deep breath and opened the note.

--

Dear Sam,

We are so sorry about what happened last night. We know we can't take back the invasion of your privacy and the embarrassment and insecurity you must be feeling. However, perhaps we can at least offer penance in the hopes that you'll forgive us. To that end, this USB stick has three videos that each of us took of ourselves in the same situation that you were filmed - taking a shower. We offer it to you as a kind-of eye-for-an-eye punishment. All that we ask is that you not show it to anyone else but hold it for collateral against our assurance that we have no copies of the video of you. This is a token of trust we offer to you in the hopes that you can begin to regain trust in us.

Sincerely,

Mike, Rob, and Bill

P.S. Enjoy the flowers. And, if you're hungry, there's a healthy serving of spaghetti and meatballs with your name on it in the fridge.

--

I put the note down and glanced at the USB stick, picking it up with a frown. I didn't know what to think about this. Should I watch it? What was I going to do with it? I put it back on the table with a sigh. I didn't want them to do this. Now suddenly in addition to having my privacy invaded, they had put this responsibility in my hands. Part of me knew they were just trying to make amends, and it was nice gesture. But now I just wanted it to all disappear, as if it hadn't happened.

Noticing my stomach gurgling with hunger, I decided spaghetti and meatballs didn't sound so bad. So I left the USB on the table and quickly found myself in the kitchen heating up the food they guys had left me. I carried the meal out to the table, sat down, and began eating. I tried to ignore the USB stick sitting there next to me and just shoved pasta in my mouth as quickly as I could. I finished the meal in record time, took my plate to the kitchen, and washed up.

As I came back out of the kitchen, my eyes fell on the USB stick again. After a moment of hesitation, I scooped it up and quickly made my way upstairs to my bedroom.

--

The USB stick had three video files on it labeled with inscrutable numbers assigned by someone's video camera. I stared at the icons in the folder on the screen of my laptop as I sat in my bed, leaning against the headboard. Do I watch them or not?

I dragged the mouse over the three icons to select all three, then reached with a finger for the delete key. My finger hovered there for a second, just above the key.

Then I let out a sigh. Part of me had to see it. I moved the mouse over the first icon, hesitated another moment, and then double-clicked it.

The video player launched. It was Bill in the bathroom. He smiled sheepishly and began unbuttoning his shirt. I watched as he continued stripping, exposing himself. He was quickly naked and stood there a little awkwardly as if he didn't know what to do next. Then he slowly turned around in a circle to make sure the video caught all sides. And then he seemed to shrug a little before reaching forward to stop the recording.

Rob's video was next. In contrast to Bill, Rob put a certain amount of performance into his stripping routine. I found myself chuckling a little as he teasingly wiggled his eyebrows and swung his hips left and right as he pulled off pieces of clothing. He finished with a flare, tossing his arms in the air and lewdly swirling his hips around so his cock swung about erratically.

Mike's video was hard to watch. It was clear he was very uncomfortable stripping for the camera. Each item of clothing was painstakingly removed with hesitation and what appeared to be emotional pain etched on his face. I couldn't watch the whole thing, closing the player not even halfway through.

I quickly deleted the three videos and double-checked that my trash folder had been emptied. Then I leaned back against the headboard, took a deep breath, and closed my eyes. Well, I watched them. Did it make a difference? I didn't know.

--

The images of my three housemates stripping for me drifted through my dreams that night. Bill's awkwardness. Rob's comical display. Mike's embarrassment. I was walking through the house and kept bumping into one of them each time I turned a corner. They were in the bathroom, in the kitchen, on the stairs. I couldn't seem to find a place to escape.

In the morning I found another breakfast prepared for me—pancakes with butter and syrup. Again, the guys were nowhere to be seen. And the house was dead quiet. I ate quickly and left.

I spent Sunday like I had Saturday, half in the lab and half trying one more time to find another place to live. And, again, my efforts met with no success. I decided to resign myself to my situation. For better or worse, I was living with these guys at least through the current semester. Perhaps something might free up towards the end of the year as folks leave for the holidays.

--

When I returned to the house in the evening, I found it immaculate. The guys had cleaned it top to bottom. No clothes draped over seats. No piles of books stacked on the floor. Dishes had been washed. It looked like they had vacuumed. I was somewhat impressed that they had gone through the effort.

I also found another meal waiting for me on the table. The bouquets of flowers still seemed fresh, and it looked like someone had changed the water. So I sat down and partook in another dinner without needing to cook for myself.

--

The dreams of my housemates exposing themselves filled my sleep again. This time, however, they began to morph into images of each of them stroking themselves. I'd find them in various places in the house, each time with a thick, erect cock and a hand wrapped around it pumping steadily up and down. And then I saw Mike's cock spurting again. His cum launching up into the air like a water fountain. And then I saw all three of them together on the couch, all stroking their cocks in time with each other. Then all of them bursting forth, launching three wellsprings of cum to impossible heights in the air.

I woke up with a gasp, my body sweating, hands clenching the bed sheets to either side of my body. My pussy felt like it was on fire, my body hungry with sexual energy. I rolled over onto my front, planting my face against my pillow and groaned into it in frustration.

--

The next couple of days proceeded much the same. I found breakfast prepared for me in the morning, dinner in the evening. The house remained spotless. And I didn't see hide nor hair of my housemates for the small amounts of time when I was there, though I could hear them move about on occasion when I had closeted myself in my room. Tuesday, I came home to find that someone had washed and neatly folded my laundry, laying it out in an organized fashion on the foot of my bed.

The dreams continued as well. Images of erect cocks, my housemates stripping, and fountains of cum. Each night I would wake up in the middle of the night in a state of sexual frustration, groan into my pillow, and then try to flush the images from my mind.

--

Before I knew it, the week had passed. The lab was having a happy hour at one of the local bars Friday afternoon, and my officemate, Cassidy, persuaded me to join them. I had planned on working later into the evening, but I figured maybe a stiff drink and some socializing might be a good distraction from both the lab and my situation with my housemates.

I ended up having perhaps a drink or two more than I should have, but the conversation was lively, and I found myself enjoying the distraction. It didn't last long though. Everyone had other plans for the evening and departed after an hour or two. I found myself walking home a fair bit earlier than I normally would have. The thought of going back to the lab and working a few more hours had danced around my head. I was definitely tempted, but the buzz from the alcohol that I was carrying would probably not mix well with lab work.

I took a deep breath as I turned the knob on the front door and stepped inside. For a moment, I stood frozen looking down the hallway to see all three of my housemates were sitting around the dining room table. This was actually the first time I had seen them in person since our encounter the previous Friday night.

At first, I thought I'd just slip up the stairs, hoping not to be seen. But then I decided, no, I needed to talk with them. I couldn't just let the current situation continue. We needed to hash this out.

As I approached, I could see they were deeply engrossed in one of their board games and didn't notice I was there.

"Hi, guys," I said, and all three of them jerked their heads up in surprise.

"Oh, Sam! Sorry, we were just..." Bill exclaimed as he jumped up and began reaching for the box for their game.

"It's ok! Sit down. We, um... We need to talk," I quickly cut him off as I took a seat. Bill sat back down. I took a moment, looking at my hands laying flat on the table top. Then I lifted my eyes up to see them staring back at me patiently. I realized the chair I had picked was at one end of the table, and the guys were clustered around the other end of the table, leaving a big expanse of empty table between us.

"Um... Heh..." I stuttered awkwardly a moment. "Look, guys, it's been very nice of you all to do all these things for me. The food has been great, and the house looks amazing. And it was very sweet of you to do my laundry. But really, you can't keep doing these things for me. Especially the laundry. Please don't do my laundry again."

"Sorry," Mike blushed and looked suddenly very embarrassed.

"It's ok. Really. I just... You know... I can do my own chores. You don't need to do everything for me." My eyes took their turn shifting from one face to another. I could tell they were nervous. They looked like deer caught in headlights.

"Ok, look," I continued. "What happened last Friday, it was a mistake. An accident. And I, well, I forgive you. Ok. I'm not going to call the police. And I trust you when you say it won't happen again. I need to trust you, because I can't live like this, you guys, with you all making yourself scarce whenever I'm around. Or making me food all the time. Or constantly trying to apologize. It was all sweet of you, but it was way more than necessary. Look, I need to trust you, and I need you to trust me. We need to live in the same house. We need to share the house. We need to be here together with equal responsibility. And we need to be here as equals with respect, and maturity, and... and I feel like I'm rambling."

I paused a moment, looking at them. All three just sat there staring at me. They looked like they had all hit some form of brain freeze and had no idea what to do or say.

"Alright, I'll tell you what. I'm hungry, so I'm going to go prepare my own dinner. Why don't you guys continue your game." With that, I stood up and quickly stepped into the kitchen, escaping their awkward gazes. I pulled out a loaf of bread, some jam and peanut butter, and quickly began myself a sandwich.

As I slathered a layer of peanut butter on a slice of bread, I noticed an unopened bottle of wine on the counter hiding back behind some other random kitchen stuff. It was a bottle that had been given to me by someone quite some time back, but I couldn't quite remember who. I had brought it with me when I moved in and then forgotten about in the hustle of getting settled in and starting up studies at the college.

I glanced through the kitchen door at the guys. I could see Bill rolling a pair of dice, and the three of them reacting somewhat mutely at the result.

"Hey guys, any of you interested in a glass of wine?" I asked as I carried my plate with my sandwich out to the dining table.

"I'm not yet 21," responded Mike.

I paused a moment, mentally rolling my eyes while looking at him with a deadpan stare. Returning to the kitchen, I opened a drawer to search for a bottle opener. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a few heads turning my way at the sound of the "pop" as I tugged the cork out of the bottle. I grabbed four glasses and returned to the dining table, wine in hand.

The guys watched me, their game forgotten again, as I placed the glasses on the table and proceeded to pour out healthy servings for each of us. Then I passed a glass to each of them and raised my own.

"Cheers!" I said and took a healthy gulp.

I watched as the three of them tentatively lifted their glasses and took a sip of the wine. Bill appeared to like the wine and took a deeper sip. Rob tried to make out like he was assessing the quality of the wine by swirling it around and smelling it first. Mike's face was almost comical as he tested the flavor. I smiled and chuckled to myself.

"Alright, now tell me how this game you're playing works," I demanded as I sat down next to Mike and took the first bite of my sandwich. I could tell he felt a little uncomfortable at my closeness, but that quickly changed as he took my question seriously and dove into a highly detailed explanation of the rules. Most of it went in one ear and out the next, but I tried my best to pay attention while chewing on my sandwich. Eventually, I recommended that they resume, and I could just watch to see how it goes.

The guys played a round, Rob eventually winning triumphantly. I noticed the wine in their glasses started disappearing, and they gradually relaxed and even got a little boisterous over their game. As I ate my sandwich, I did my best to chip in bad advice and ask questions about random aspects of the game. They happily responded with in-depth explanations of strategy. Perhaps I was finally breaking through the ice. I joined the game the next round, though I barely followed what was going on.

As glasses emptied, I'd add a little more to each until the bottle was empty. I smiled to myself as watched their cheeks get rosy, their speech become a little looser, and their laughter a little quicker to spill out. I don't think any of them actually got drunk, but they were definitely feeling good, and I was feeling like I was part of the group now.

Mike won the round, and we all cheered. I patted him on the back and leaned in to give him a friendly hug. "Nice job!" I said. He flashed me a warm smile.

"Sam, thanks for joining us," said Bill. "This game usually works better with a fourth player. Your welcome to play with us any time."

"It was fun. Thanks for letting me join."

"Thanks for the wine. And thank you for what you said earlier... about forgiving us and all," said Rob.

"It's alright. At some level, I know you guys are young men with hormones, and you're probably not used to living with a woman who isn't your mother or sister or something."

"Yeah, we're young men with loads of curiosity and zero experience," said Bill.

"Zero experience? You mean you guys have never had girlfriends before?" I asked.

"One hundred percent virgins," admitted Rob.

"I was with a girl once," Mike said.

"No you weren't!" said Rob looking at him incredulously.

"I was! It was when I first arrived on campus. I don't really know how, I was in a daze from the moment she first talking with me. Before I knew it, we were alone in my dorm room. She was going to kiss me. But I was so excited, and well..." Mike trailed off to silence.

"Well, what?" asked Rob.

"Well, I... um... well... I don't really want to talk about it." Mike responded.

"Come on! What happened?" Rob persisted.

Mike squirmed a little, but proceeded, "Well, she was about to kiss me, and I was really excited. You know... excited-excited. And well, before her lips actually touched mine, I, well, I um, sort-of lost control. And she wasn't terribly happy and quickly left."

"Oh, Mike," I gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze.

"Yeah, that's us in a nutshell," said Bill. "None of us has had any success with girls. You're like the only real girl that I've actually known in real life that I've ever seen without clothes on. And that was just on a video recording. I mean, sure, we've seen plenty of pictures of nude girls. Rob, here, watches porn all the time."