...At three in the morning, while Brighton was driving and Cherry was sleeping, I unzipped Miles’ pants and took his erection into my mouth. It wasn’t something I expected to do, but while lying in his lap, with his fingers raking through my hair, the urge crept over me.

Never known for his tendency to shut up during sex, he sighed in obvious pleasure. His fingers tensed in my hair before traveling to the waistband of my gauchos. He wiggled his way into my pants and traced my rectum.

He was obsessed with my ass, loved to eat it, finger it, enter it, but I suspect he touched me there because it was most easily accessible in the cramped quarters of the back seat. I shuddered with joy and pulled my tongue along the length of his cock. Did Brighton know what we were doing?

I sucked hard and moved my tongue in a frenzied motion against him. Somehow, the possibility Brighton was aware of our consorting heightened the urgency of the moment. With my eyes pinched shut, I imagined Miles’ twin stationed across the room, watching as we made love. I wondered if my body would turn him on, if he’d be content to pleasure himself, or if he’d want to come a bit closer and touch me.

I wanted to know the intimacy of Brighton’s kiss while Miles took me like an animal, from behind. This scenario shocked me more, perhaps, than the realization I wanted to explore both their bodies at once. If animal lust were a varsity sport, Miles and I could’ve lettered in it at the starting blocks. I’d been yearning for a more personal connection with Miles, yet in my fantasy, I was content to keep him banging away in the most impersonal sexual position, while his twin bestowed on me patient, intimate kisses. Shouldn’t it have been the other way around? If anything, shouldn’t I have craved the intimate connection with Miles and the animal side of Brighton?

Miles stroked the tender place between my rectum and pussy with patience, as if he couldn’t decide which hole to explore. His indecision left me quivering with need, and I shifted to give him more immediate access. He splayed a hand across my cheeks and drew a line with a finger—his middle one, I think—from bottom to top.

In the end, he opted to enter my cunt. One finger, then two, then three. He’d had his entire fist up there a few times, and I couldn’t help but wonder if Brighton would’ve found such a feat as titillating as Miles did.

As I massaged his shaft with my lips, I pretended the fingers inside me were Miles’ cock—and that the prick in my mouth was Brighton’s. God, I couldn’t shake the desire to demand attention from both of them, to pleasure them simultaneously, to suck the cream out of one, while the other shot his load into my body.

Miles’ fingers searched me rampantly, and his dick thickened a fraction of an inch. I sucked harder, slid my mouth over the length of him, and rippled my tongue in just the right spot.

“Fuck,” he muttered. He hit my g-spot, and I tensed. Knowing my body well, he hit it again and again, and for added measure, he massaged my rectum with the pad of his thumb.

I suppressed the need to cry out, instead channeling my pleasure into the blow job.

He bucked up into my mouth. His fingers jabbed into me like a well-oiled piston. My clit tingled, wanting to be part of it, as did my nipples.

In my mind, they were. I imagined Brighton’s lips puckered over the three in turn, treating each pleasure nub to deep kisses, as Miles worked my insides.

I came within seconds, feeling a gush in my panties.

“Jesus,” Miles whispered, still probing, perhaps wanting to coax a second helping.

But after teetering over the brink, embarrassment crept over me. By then, I was certain Brighton knew exactly what was going on, and the entire scene seemed disrespectful. What was I? Some horny teenager? I needed to get off in the middle of a desolate highway in the wee hours of morning?