The white shorts were tight against my skin as I waited on the sofa, the fabric riding up with every shift. I wore them with a matching white top, sitting on the edge of the cushions, when I heard the knock. When I opened the door to find both of them there—two shadows filling my doorway—I moved back and let them in without speaking.<br><br>They entered quiet, four hands immediately on me, mouths on my throat and collarbone. I gasped when fingers pushed under my white shorts, rough and urgent, finding how wet I was. Embarrassingly so. They knew. The white fabric was pulled aside, my body exposed to their hungry eyes as they pushed me onto the sofa.<br><br>I ended up on my stomach, face down in the cushions, ass up while one drove into me from behind. The other offered himself to my mouth, and I took him because I wanted to be full everywhere. They used me like that, passing me back and forth, my white outfit torn and twisted around my ribs, my body their shared toy on the soft grey fab

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