No Deal-A threesome teenage erotica series

How do I get myself into these types of situations? I ask myself as the loud booming and moans continue against the thin wall behind me. I mean, I'm a good person. Good things are supposed to happen to good people, right? Que more moaning, cursing, and thumps on the wall that I'm pretty sure must be made of cardboard. I didn't want this. I don't deserve this. I was just trying to help our janitor, Jane. "Oh yes, yes!" I almost puke when I hear Stacey's voice get more breathless. "You like that, don't you, slut?" The booming gets louder as they spew. "f**k yes!" OK, maybe I was trying to help myself since she's insane. Granted, it was my fault. I spilled the coffee all over the floor. When Jane walked by looking at my mess like I was the devil incarnated, I told her, "Oh gosh, I'm so sorry, c–can you just wait here so no one trips on the mess? I can go to the closet to get the mop. I swear I'll clean it up." The stern scowl on her old, wrinkled face lessened a bit. "You had better, or you just might find today's lunch in your locker tomorrow morning. " "No, no, no, please, not again. I still haven't been able to pay for the last books that were damaged. All I have now are the teacher's loans. I swear, I'll get it. It was an accident, r-r- really. Please, just stay here a-a-and block the hall so no one gets hurt." The last time I made a mess, I was in a hurry to get to class, so I didn't have time to clean it. As retaliation, Jane decided the proper course of action for my punishment would be to put all of my coffee, plus that day's lunch special, into my locker. Positioned perfectly, so as soon as I opened my locker, everything was dumped onto my books and homework. Everything was soaked and disgusting. My teachers were very disappointed, to say the least. "You better hurry. I'm supposed to be in the cafeteria sweeping in 15 minutes. Whether or not you are back, I am leaving. I better not find it here waiting for me when I return." I ran down the halls as fast as I could. My worn thrift store Converse squeaked as I hit the corner with a sliding skid. Then slam! face first into a very soft black t-shirt hung on a very hard wall... Wall of muscle? My fingers grip the t-shirt hard, trying to steady myself even as two large arms encircle my waist. Fireworks are setting off every nerve in my lower region. From my ribs down to my toes, I feel like a live wire has attached itself to my spinal cord. Lighting me up while also keeping me from moving at all. I'm frozen. I've never felt this kind of rush before. I could hardly breathe. But I'm also terrified because I know whose shirt I have found myself clutching. If it weren't for the soft, buttery fabric under my fingers, I would probably be in tears by now. He isn't saying anything; he is just being as still as I am. Slowly, I start the upward trail with my eyes on his shirt, which is doing nothing to hide his broad chest and shoulders while also fitting tight around his biceps. All his clothes seem to be about a size or two too small for his boulder-ish frame. I guess that's what happens when you're the size of a mountain. My eyes focus on his Adams apple, his strong jaw, his straight nose, and his lips, which are moving. Oh darn it, he's talking. Focus, you fool; what is he saying? My eyes snapped up to look into his bright green eyes, looking back into mine. Double darn it. OK, backtrack. Apologies, and maybe he will let me escape with my life. "W-Wawa". Nailed it. "Maybe you should go to the nurse." Oh, my! His deep voice is like butter on my bread. So smooth and lustful, even while he thinks I'm mentally incompetent. "N-no, no, nope. I'm ahh I'm good, yeah, fine. Ah, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to run into you. I was just in a hurry. A hurry! Crap!" Letting go of his shirt, I sprinted off down the hallway again. I can't believe my hands touched Brendan O'Brian's shirt. I might faint from the level of awe included in that experience. I enter the storage closet with a loud boom, running over to the hose in the back so I can fill the mop bucket with water. I added the floor cleaner and started to roll the bucket out when two very loud voices made me pause. "Mmm, Zane, I knew you wouldn't forget about me. You know we are meant to be together." "Shut up, slut, turn around." His deep voice scrapes out with the force he exerts from turning her around. Stacey, the head cheerleader, and student council president, is super popular, and my biggest non-fan for no apparent reason. She is the reason everyone started not talking to me in the third grade. She, not so nicely, pointed out to the entire class that all of my stuff was second-hand items. Apparently, the binder I used that year had been the one her mom donated before school started. The following week, she pointed out that my pants were from her friend Claire, who also donated her clothes. Time and time again that year, she showed people how pathetic I was, how I was trying to imitate them because I was obsessed with her and their click. I’m crazy and people should stay away for their own good. She is kind of the school slut, hence why you just heard Zane refer to her as that about a dozen times, and apparently the single most annoying lay I could have ever imagined. Not that I have any experience, of course, being a total outcast and, therefore, possibly the only standing virgin left in this school. Zane, being the other voice in this cleaning closet of hell, Bad boy. Kinda self-explanatory. I almost feel sorry for Zane. He may be a total asshat, but how could someone get their rocks off listening to this howling hyena for ten minutes straight while actually being into it enough to c*m? But he is Zane Anderson, one of the four reasons I'm the last-standing virgin at South Brook High School. Zane Anderson, Brendan O’Brian, Issac Hener, and Darl Evens are the so-called “bad boys” around these parts. If it involves defacing public or private property, sleeping with girls, looking intimidating, skipping school, parties, girls; oh I already said that...well it's hard to think with all the moaning still going on. So here I am now, hiding behind a shelf of cleaning supplies, while these two mess around. I think the concrete wall is shaking a little. Jeez! All because I couldn't get to the front of the closet in time before they started. The last thing I want to see today is Zane shoving his privates into my worst enemy. Not to mention the harassment they would inflict on me if they knew I was just back here listening the whole time. If I didn't die of pure embarrassment first, Zane would kill me. Rumor has it he knows people. Like gang people or mafia people, I'm not sure, but definitely people not to be messed with. Given his choice of friends, I don't doubt it. Brendan has always given me pause. Even when we were in elementary school, something about him just made all my senses go haywire. Like just now in the hallway. My brain just short-circuits around him. So weird Stacey is Zane's girlfriend, sort of. They're never exclusive, but they are regular. If you know what I mean, the current predicament should give you a clear enough picture of that relationship. s*x in a janitor's closet—how original! "Oh, I'm going to c*m Zane." "f**k ya, you are, c*m now." Sweet baby Jesus, please let it be over! I hear a few shuffles of movement, and I think I hear a zipper or two. It makes me antsy to have to wait this long. Jane is most definitely gone, and I need to get the hell out of here before the bell rings for my next class. “So I was thinking, maybe we could go to Sale's tonight." "Stacey, what have we discussed?" He sounds bored, while she sounds so timid. I never thought I'd see the day. Stacey Blinds timidly asks for something from Zane Anderson. Normally, they are screaming at each other about stupid stuff. Like him not noticing she had gotten her nails done or something. When she did it just for him, what does that even mean? As if he cares about the new shade of nail polish you picked for this week? That was last month's very public argument in the cafeteria. "But, I just thought... what about what we just did?" "What about it?" "Come on, Zane, we're good together. I care about you, and we have fun. My family knows your family. Let's just make this the real deal-" Something cuts her off with a squeak. "Stacey, get the f**k out. " His voice is cold, distant, and monotone. A scary silence overcomes the room, and then I hear the door open and close. Damn, harsh. As much as I hate that crazy psycho b***h, he was pretty ruthless. I'm glad I dodged that bullet. Impeding Zane Anderson is not on my to-do list. I waited a few minutes to make sure everyone had left, then rolled the stupid bucket around the corner and out of the closet. This would be so much easier if the darn wheel wasn't about to fall off. Right when I think I'm in the clear, the closet door closes super loudly behind me, drawing attention to the only other person still in the hall. He's leaning against the lockers with one foot up. His hands are in his pockets. You would never know he just had s*x in the closet or that he even moves from that spot. So comfortable and relaxed. Like he was waiting for something—for someone—for me to come out and expose myself, darn it all, I'm so done! Once again, I'm frozen, but this time fireworks are nowhere in the picture. Ice-blue eyes slice me up until I'm just a puddle of goo. Maybe he won't notice? Maybe he doesn't care if someone overhears him. Taking my chances, I push the supplies down the hallway, staring at the floor as I walk past him. Don't look up. If I don't look up, maybe he won't want to kill me. "You always make a habit of snooping into people's private lives?" Holy hell, he's talking to me. What do I say? "No.." I will not turn around. I will not turn around. "So just mine then, aww, so sweet. " "I couldn't care less about your private life". Did I just give an attitude to Zane Anderson? "Ahh, I see. It's Stacey you have a thing for; too bad for me." His comment makes me feel like I am back in the third grade, and something inside of me snaps. I swung around to face him. "WHAT?! NO! Definitely not; I'm not- you're not, I didn't... Wait, are you kidding?" I squint my eyes at him. Zane gets his signature grin on his face. Not that he has ever directed it at me, but I have seen it all the same. Any time he talks to a girl, he gets that look. His My new Conquest look: we have been in the same schools since the 4th grade. I know exactly how he operates. Of course, he's messing with me. Why would he be serious at a time like this? "Guilty." His grin does something to my gut. My stomach gets tight and flutters like I'm going to be sick. "Sure, it's not the first time you've said that. Just rolls off your tongue, doesn't it?" I have lost my goddamn mind! "I can do a lot of things with my tongue". He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. I scuff at him, trying to ignore the butterflies taking flight in my stomach at his words. Trying and failing to not think about all the things he can do with his wicked tongue. No, stop! not going there, Missy. Not with Zane. He is the definition of a mistake. Forcing myself to forget about him, what I just heard, and the last half hour of my life altogether, I make my way back to the coffee I spilled. The janitor was nowhere in sight. Lazy, grumpy hag! I quickly clean it up and then make my way to my next class. Biology. Brendon makes an occasional appearance. Just for the days, we have labs. Days like today. Not that he ever speaks to me, even if we are supposed to be lab partners. I'm hoping today will be one of those days when he finds other interests. It doesn't matter, though. No one sits with me. My science teacher, Mr. Marks, had the fantastic idea of replacing all of our seats with six large circular tables so that when we did labs, we could split up into our groups easily. Well, thanks to the bad boys' less-than-spectacular attendance record, the headcount is off. There are six tables and five chairs at each table, and all of them are full except mine. Stacey convinced Mr. Marks and the rest of the class that my joining another group would simply be unfair. "Since she's at the top of the class, I don't think it would be very fair for the rest of us during the experiment. Not only does it give the other group an advantage to get done faster simply because of the extra hands, but if she already knows all the answers before we do, the rest of us don't get to take part as much or learn on our own. Why should we have to sacrifice our education all because she's a know-it-all brown-noser?" I don't know the answers already, Stacey. I just read the material every night the night before, like we are supposed to. Thankfully, Mr. Marks sent her to ISS for name-calling, but since the rest of the class agreed, he had to go along with the majority rule. That left me with me, myself, and I. As always. Oh well, it could be worse, I guess. I could have to spend the whole class doing all the work while fighting with the bad boys. Peace and quiet are good sacrifices for my nonexistent social life. I get to spread out all of my work and take charge of the labs by myself. Usually, I also get to leave early. So win-win for me! Honestly, I'd rather have it that way anyway. It's what I'm used to. Being alone. There is a comfort in my solitude. As much as I crave conversation with my peers, I also see how destructive so-called friends can be. Being a quiet loner allows me to see and hear everything without anyone ever noticing. I see the way best friends spread rumors, spreading secrets that are not theirs to tell. I see boyfriends checking out other girls while the so-called love of their lives is holding their hands. I watch girls sneak into a make-out session with guys who are not their boyfriends, too. I see my peers pressure outsiders into taking drugs or getting into bad stuff all to impress a group of people who don't even matter and whose opinions, in the end, have no real sway over anything important in this world. But that's the point of high school, isn't it? Finding where we fit in this world, finding out what you like or don't like, and all the small, insignificant things you hate about yourself, make sense. We all have things we hate about ourselves that we wish we could change. We want to be stronger, prettier, smarter, cooler, more popular, etc. I really do understand those needs. I just can't understand how we are meant to find that among those who tear us down. These so-called friends make you feel even worse about yourself. Yet they crave their validation. They push themselves harder and harder and more and more until the person they truly are is a forgotten memory they can't even hope to connect to anymore. The person inside who would have allowed them to be happy being exactly who they are is gone. In its place is a shell of a beautiful being that would have been an asset to society. A person we can wake up to in the morning, look in the mirror, and say to ourselves. I am happy with who I am. I have to ask myself about the small moments in my life when my step-father, John, would tell me I’m useless, and that I would never amount to anything. Just a waste of time, money, and resources. I took those words to heart. I took the rumors people spread about me to heart. Self-doubt is a feeling I know very well, but I try my hardest not to become one of these people. I will not lie, I will not steal, and I will not set out to do others harm. However, I will protect myself with everything I have. I matter to me, that's all that matters. Unknown POV: Hey, f**k face, bum me a butt, will you? I'm out." I hand the rest of my cigarette over. "The f**k are you doing out here, man? I thought you wanted some 'quality time' with Hoe-dar." He laughs at my nickname for Stacey. I started calling her that when she and Zane first started messing around freshman year, when my hoe-radar started going crazy, and who would have thunk it? She's a slut. "Dude, that was an hour ago." f**k, he's right. I'm late for class again. Oh well. "So you decided to come to bother me?" "My favorite pastime. So, are you coming to the meeting today?" "Can't." Not that I particularly want to anyway. "Still tracking-" I shoot him a death look; he knows not to talk about it here. "Whatever, man, never mind; well, feel free to log your ass over if you want to; save me from all the stiffs." "Nothing you haven't handled before. You do not need me. " I take a drag of my new cigarette. Savoring the menthol tingle as the pressure of smoke fills my lungs. I can feel my nerves settling already. I know I shouldn't, but who gives a f**k? Of all the sh*t I deal with in a day, this is by far the least deadly. "My shift is from 4 to 12 tomorrow... f**k! I can't wait until we take over. This night work s**t is cutting into my social life," Zane tells me. "Yea, I can see that," I said, pointing to the hickey blooming on his left artery. "f**k off. Do I need to be worried about overtime tomorrow?" "Nah, I'm heading there after school today. He should be well ready to talk by the time you get there." "Cool, well, I gotta run. There's a new chicken in my sights. I need to ruffle some feathers." "For f**k's sake, you just got your d**k wet. Now you need a new p***y to fill?" "Slut is getting needy again. I've got to find a new ass to push in her face so she doesn't get too many bad ideas." "Who's the new conquest?" I ask, not caring all that much. Zane has slept with half the school twice over. "I'm not sure. I remember seeing her before; I just can't place it. But get this: she was hiding in the closet while Stacey and I were f*****g. The little mouse was listening to the whole thing, then walked out like it was no big deal. Then she proceeded to back-sass me when I called her out on it." People around here don't talk back to us. Even a few teachers who have done business with the company walk on tiptoe around us. "Impressive." What girl is stupid enough to sass Zane Anderson? What's more surprising is the fact that Zane seems turned on by it rather than annoyed by it. "Now I just have to find her again. It shouldn't be too hard; there aren't very many girls walking around in baggy sweats and large T-shirts around here. What with all the girls thinking this is a training camp for their walk on Rodeo Drive". ...fuck, "You don't mean Amity Gates, right?" Please say no, say no, please say no! "Amity,” he thinks the name over. “You know this little Mouse?" "Not personally..." in a matter of speaking. "f**k, yes! Man, I knew I could count on you to be my wingman." He gives me a bro shake. Say what? "Figures any woman I didn't know. You would. You haven't screwed her yet, right?" I shake my head no. It's a silent rule between us. We don't f**k the same girls. At least not too close in time. He and Issac got into it sophomore year after Issac had a threesome with the same two girls that Zane had a threesome with at the same party, only hours from each other. My hoe-radar was going crazy at that orgy of a party. I even got my c**k sucked and f****d by three different girls that night. Good times. "Yoo, are you coming?" I popped out of my haze to see him almost back inside. "Where?" "Science man, I think it's time I started taking my education more seriously, don't you?" "You're going to class? What for?" "To find this Amity Gates, now that you mentioned her name, I'm pretty sure I remember hearing it the first day of class." "You know this is science, not s*x education, right? You hate that class as much as I do, remember? Which is why our delinquent asses are out here instead of in there." "Something tells me I might have overlooked the excitement that class offers." He wiggles his eyebrows with a huge, ass-eating grin on his face. Fuuckk my life... "Ahh, yeah, I'm coming."