Kyrie

The year is 2003. The end of the school year, the start of your holiday break, and a night where you and your childhood friend can indulge in caffeine and a gaming marathon deep into the early hours of the morning without any looming threat school or your part time job in the way. Pure, guilt-free relaxation.

The light at the end of the tunnel- all the hard work, exams and stresses out of the way, and with weeks and weeks of hanging out with Kyrie, in a well-earned heaven of bike rides down to the creek, trips to the arcade to play laser tag, hours of kicking around at home, rewatching Dragonball and 90’s movies, and late-night convenience store runs for snacks. This is the first of many. Your childhood friend, the tomboy who had been your partner in crime since you both could remember, was laden with bags of snacks and supplies beside you as the convenience store doors slide closed behind you. She was giggling like a mischievous imp, as you both begin to walk home with your treasure haul, bags full of soda and chips in your hands, talking about Majora’s Mask, and the bacon and eggs you guys were gonna cook tomorrow morning, and the last time she went fishing with her parents.

“Hold on,” Kyrie announces, as you both pass a vending machine sitting outside the store. “Caffeine. We’re not sleeping till the sun comes up. You’re having an energy drink, it’s mandatory. Oh, damn, I’ve got to try that new flavour they came out with.”

She sets down her bags, and fiddles with her loose change, buying an energy drink for both of you. She hands it to you, pleased. Together, you both walk home, loaded with marathon fuel. The house is empty- your mom and dad left on an anniversary trip early, and you could have sworn your mother was smirking at Kyrie when she told the two of you. She, was at the time, murdering a burger far too intently to notice.

Getting back into the house with you and collapsing onto your bed in your room, she pulls off the hoodie, leaving only her sports bra on- not as a flirting move, but out of genuine, oblivious relaxation around you, same as always. Her sweaty pale and tanned skin was a warm glow to it in the soft warm light of your bedroom, as she crashes against the wall, and tilts her head back, letting out a moan of relief, and cracking open the monster.

You sit the snacks down, unpacking your supplies and turning the console on. By the time you turn back around, the monster is gone, and Kyrie lets out a burp that could scare small children and animals. She lets out a low groan of satisfaction, and sits up, stretching on your bed in only her sweatpants, training bra and sheer lazy innocence. For a moment, looking at her, you can’t help but smile. She immediately fixes that.

“Why do I have to keep buying a monster each time we hang out, when I could just have yours?” She asks, a flirty, self-pleased smile spreading across her face as she says the line exactly as she thinks of it. She realizes a second later. Her eyes widen in terror.

You stare at each other.

“What?” You ask.

“What?” She croaks back in exactly the same tone, playing dumb, frozen in panic.

You’d been playing a fighting game for a while now, reading back and forth, eating snacks and drinking soda. The conversation drifted lazily back and forth, a movie you wanted to watch in theatre soon, the best toppings on pizza, debating whether you should order pizza (nah, too full, too late at night, maybe tomorrow), debating the best Dragonball movies, plans to go to the swimming pool, the absolute BUSH Kyrie had seen on Jessica in the changing room a few weeks ago (from the genuine awe and fear in Kyrie’s eyes, it might as well have tried to eat her), and whether or not body hair on girls and guys downstairs was gross, and why and when it would be alright. Kyrie took quiet mental notes.

The conversation fizzled out for a minute after that, a quiet mutual focus on the game, as Kyrie barely managed a victory. First to 7. She could as you for a penalty, you’d have to bow thrice, the usual ritual for such a bet. She wasn’t celebrating like her usual self, though. She was weirdly subdued, distant, already cuing up another game on autopilot.

After a moment, she asked.

“Hey, you remember… when I walked in on you a few months ago, and saw your… you down there?”

Your face goes red, her expression from that day burned into your brain. She clears her throat, and speaks quickly, trying to clarify why she’s bringing it up.

“I-I’m not having a go at you. Or your… I-it was my fault. It didn’t look bad or silly or anything.”

Drat. Now it totally sounded like she thought that. She needed to correct course.

“I-it looked really nice.”

DAMMIT.

“I-I mean, it was… I thought guy’s… things… only got a little bigger than when we were small, and I saw it in the bath…” She said, blushing scarlet, fiddling with the controller stick. “I didn’t realise how much you’d change down there, when we grew up.”

She pretended to be casual, like it was an afterthought, as she navigated the game menu. “Can I… see it again?”

She couldn’t stop herself from blushing and trembling with nerves. “Like, properly. U-up close. Just… between bros. As a girl, I… I’ve never really seen what you guys look like down there, and…”

She swallows nervously, looking down at the controller..

“You can see mine too, if you want…”

Kyrie hisses through her teeth in slight displeasure as you land a finishing move on her character, and switches character in the menu, looking to make things more interesting. She stretches, leans back against the wall on your bed, and groans softly in pleasure.

“Dude, pass the chips…”

Chips are passed. She munches happily for a few minutes, as you begin another and end another match together.

Then, her eyes light up impishly, and a mischievous grin spreads across her features.

“Hey dude… Wanna hear what the inside of the girl’s changing room is like at school? I can’t, like… show you photos, or anything, cause I don’t have any, but like, I can describe things… I’ve seen pretty much every girl in our year mostly naked… d-do you wanna hear about it? Cause, I know you’re a dude, and all…”

Warily, somewhat intrigued, you nod. Kyrie sits up, animated.

“Alright, I’ll give the greatest hits. Mainly boobs, that’s all we mostly see. Miss class president’s look like they’re always eyeing you to see if you’re breaking a rule. Hilda’s nipples face upwards a lot. Elizabeth’s boobs are HUGE. I know you know that, but they genuinely are huge, and her areoles are like RAF target decals from old fighter planes. Gemma’s boobs are all freckly, just as much as her face, they look like someon’e dusted cinnamon over her boobs like donuts. You know the small girl with glasses from the library, Eleanor? Her boobs are all small and soft, like bean bags, and kinda dangle a bit and I think she’s self-conscious about them, but they look like they’d be fun to try mucking around with, on like, a physics level. Still… still bigger than mine.”

A momentary pause, that went longer than she wanted to, as she tried to hold down the wave of insecurity and slight lump in her throat. She shakes her head rapidly, and tries to distract herself by continuing.

“Umm, Kelly’s nipples are HUGE, they’re like pacifiers. Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating, but they’re big. Actually, are guys even against that, or into that, or-? I dunno, anyway. Jessica’s got that JUNGLE I told you about earlier. I swear, her first boyfriend’s gonna go missing in that thing, with it she looks like she’s into throwing guys over her shoulder and dragging them back to her cavewoman den anyway. She comes off as this tall, prim cheerleader and Heather’s right-hand crony, but her bush is huge, it kinda scares me.”

She takes a deep breath, and continues.

“Milly and Jackson are all sweet and proper and the teachers think they’re so restrained and well-behaved at school, but Milly keeps coming to school with Hickeys EVERYWHERE beneath her uniform. So much for teacher’s pets and the avatars of self-restraint, huh? The perfectly behaved boy and girl who the teachers fawn over. Apparently they’re both absolute gremlins when they’re alone together. Hickeys on her boobs, on her stomach, on her thighs. On her asscheeks, a LOT. I reckon they do it, d-down… that hole, too, because there’re ALWAYS at least a few hickeys on her butt. Wait, how difficult is it to get a hickey? We should try that at some point, on like, our arm or shoulder, just to see. Ah, well. What was I- OH, Heather’s got this birthmark on her lower left boob the shape of a cock, and if you point it out, miss pretty cheerleader will KICK your ass-“

She looks at you with conspiratorial excitement, eyes feral and twinkling with amusement. She’s enjoying this.

“Go on, ask me about something! It’s like you’ve got one of the boys on the inside, as a sleeper agent. Who do you want to know about?”

Best to 7. 6-all so far. One final match to decide it. A penalty must be agreed upon.

“If you win… you get to spank me. W-without pants. If I win… y-you have to pull your undies aside, and let me play with your balls. I-I’ll be gentle, I just wanna… see what they’re like, you know?” She splutters, turning away to hide her blush. “Y-you can trust me with them. I just… I’ve just always been curious.” A bit of fire returns to her as the round starts, and her competitive spirit surges. “And I’m GOING to win, you’re going down. Your balls are MINE.”

Midway through a fighting game, after her character crashes to the ground, Kyrie sets down her controller, and spurts out.

“Hey, I’m a girl, right?”

You stare at her, dumbfounded. Slowly, you nod.

“And we can… make milk, from our… our tits. For babies, and junk.” She stammers, trying to sound casual, like it’s just a random, normal thought occurring to her.

You nod, less certainly this time, unsure of where this is going. Both of you are blushing slightly. She gestured vaguely at her flat chest beneath her t-shirt.

“But, like, can we just- do that? Like, at any time?” She spurts out, looking down at her boobs with genuine uncertainty.

You open your mouth to answer, then shut it. You’re not actually entirely sure.

“I think you… need to have been pregnant, or… around babies a lot…” You say, but you’re uncertain. The internet isn’t as easily accessible in the early 2000’s, and you don’t want that on your parent’s search history.

“Like, what I’m saying is,” Kyrie says, with a slight manic energy, with a hint of a mad explorer or scientist in her voice, as she looked down at her small tits in uncertain curiosity. “I-I know I’m one of the boys, you know, but, like… I’ve got boobs…. don’t you wanna find out…? And I mean, n-no one’s gonna catch us… dude, c-can we… can we milk me…?”

You stare at her red-faced, uncertain of how you got here but utterly certain you’re not going to get in the way of her runaway train of logic, not before you see a girl’s boobs for free, in your own bedroom.

And runaway her logic is. The momentum of the idea, the crazy thrill of seeing what her body can do, overtakes her mind, as she pulls off her shirt and sports bra over her head and lays down on the bed, topless, her naked, tan-lined flat chest bare before you, her sensitive nipples hardening in the cool air. She reaches up in blushing embarrassment, and begins to twist them gently, like knobs on a car dashboard.

“M-maybe use your teeth, but… really, REALLY gently” She squeezed her eyes closed, laying her head on the pillow, and whimpered softly with anticipation. “Come on, don’t be weird about it, I just… just wanna know… it’s not like I’d l-let anyone else suck my boobs…”

She was winning this round, brutally. It was hopeless.

“HA! GOT YOU ON THE ROPES! If you survive this, I’ll let you stick a finger up my butt!” Kyrie laughs, eyes manic with the light of unavoidable victory.

Time slowed. Every ancestor in your bloodline stood behind you in a single instant, and laid their hand on your shoulder. You looked into their glowing white eyes, and saw utter calm within yourself. And just for half a minute, you achieve perfect divine focus.

Bait. Space her out. Punish. Feint an approach, pull back, punish. She expects a third time. Ranged attack. She chases. Bait. Punish. Space her out. Punish.

Her character falls to the ground, from full health to K.O in thirty seconds. The controller falls from her hands, too. She looks at you in awe and a hint of fear, mouthing silently.

“Wh-what…?”

The spirits of a hundred ancestors laid their hand on your shoulder one final time, and withdrew from your mind. You were mortal once more.

And she was mortified. The bet she’d made in pure confidence, came flooding back to her.

“Wait- I-I’ll negotiate- I’ll… g-give you a full massage, I’ll… I’ll let you… kiss me…?” She said frantically, her voice weakening, as she curled up into a her knees on the bed.

“Rules are rules. Bend over.” You say firmly, in a voice that makes her heart race.

Blushing and whining softly like a puppy, she lays down face first on the bed, sticks her ass in the air, and redder than you’ve ever seen her, she pulls down her pants and undies halfway, just enough to reveal her shame.

Her perfectly-formed, muscular tomboy ass mooned you, tanned skin glistening in the soft bedroom light. Both her buttocks jiggled softly as she moved into place, and through her buttcrack, you could catch the slightest glimpse of her tiny, winking hole.

You go to pull her pants further down, but her hands fly up at hold her pants there, before you can pants her completely. “N-not yet!” She says breathlessly, face burning, hiding her pussy. “J-just my butthole. You h-have to kiss me to unlock that.”

You relent, and take two deep handfuls of her muscular buttocks, slowly peeling them apart. She lets out an involuntary, feminine noise as her forbidden treasure is exposed to the cool air, and to your eyes. She looks over her shoulder at you, halfway between embarrassed fear that you won’t like it, and arousal at her body being explored for the satisfaction and urges of her male childhood friend, like she was a shy, timid toy for you.

Exposed entirely now, her tight virgin asshole winks at you, slightly pink and clenched as tight as it can go. There is a slight wetness to it, maybe sweat, maybe arousal, and her body smells slightly of sweaty, feminine musk. Her tiny butthole clenches and relaxes in time with her laboured breaths. For a long moment you look at her cute little anus, slowly running a finger inside her spread buttcrack. She whimpers with ticklish pleasure.*

She swallows nervously, reaches back, and spreads her bare bum for you, freeing up your hands, to do what she’d agreed to let you do.

She looked at you vulnerably with humiliated eyes. She let out a squeak as your fingertip came to rest against her ring of muscle, drawn tight like a drawstring purse.

“I’ve n-never had anything up there before, dude… w-what if this turns me into some anal slut, and you find me weird…?” She whispered, trying to relax her starfish, looking at you in utter, vulnerable trust. “I-I’d only let you inside there, okay…? I-just this once, because it’s you. Please go slow…”

“Alright, LAST round! If I win, I get to draw all over your body! If you win, you get to draw all over mine!” She cries, getting pumped up. She shivers, imagining the cold, firm marker squishing into her skin, her neck, her butt, her chest… the things you’d write on her… she had to win. She had to win, so she could see your body naked, and write silly names above your cock.

Lying around the room again now, you get up to get a drink. As you’re coming back, should hear a triumphant victory cry.

“AH-HA!”

You walk in, and find her on the bed, gleefully fanning through your collection of porn. Your stomach drops, and you move to stop her. She throws herself backward and places a foot on your chest to hold you at arm’s length, pleading.

“WAIT, WAIT, WAIT! Please, I just want to see what you’re into! I’m not gonna tell anyone!” She says, scrambling to keep the magazine. She flicks through the pages as you pause, her eyes hungrily devouring every image, naked body part and advice column, reading out article titles.

“Busty blonde lifeguard Melony, naughty nurse massages you with her tits, waitress Dixie under the table, how to remove a bra, motorboating and why every lady should try it, Candy Williams naked and covered in chocolate, with her… huge… boobs…” Says Kyrie, her voice slowly becoming less excited. A lump begins to appear in her throat, and she ignores it, pressing on cheek tilt with a teasing voice.

“‘Sucking on boobs during sex- weird or hot? Why you should try it’, by Amara Fitzgerald… ‘Boobjobs and you- keep a man forever with this heavenly technique, and why your man will enjoy it’… and then a diagram of how to put a dude’s dick between your tits, and… and rub it between them…another… another topless picture of some chick with HUGE badonkers… what a… what a rack, am I right, bro…? A-and another of a girl dangling her boobs as she bends over…”

Kyrie’s voice is becoming quieter, now, and has a slight quiver to it. She looks at page after page, the lump in her throat growing.

“I… I haven’t seen anyone that looks…” she croaks softly, blinking tears away, trying to hide them from you.

Her eyes fall on one final picture- a full-page image of a naked brunette woman with black lipstick, a feminine figure and perfect skin, her full, rosy boobs nestling a cock between their soft, warm flesh, looking seductively up at the viewer with a knowing smile. She stared at it for several seconds.

“I-I’m bored now. Sorry. Y-you can put them away. Let’s… let’s do something more interesting,” she says with feigned indifference, closing the magazine, her voice cracking slightly.

You slowly pack away the magazines in their hiding place, and turn back around. When you turn around, it takes you a second to find her again.

Kyrie is curled up on your bed, turned away from you so that you can’t see her. She is crying quietly.

(Alternate Ending) Lying around the room again now, you get up to get a drink. As you’re coming back, should hear a triumphant victory cry.

“AH-HA!”

You walk in, and find her on the bed, gleefully fanning through your collection of porn. Your stomach drops, and you move to stop her. She throws herself backward and puts a foot on your chest, to hold you at arm’s length, pleading.

“WAIT, WAIT, WAIT! Please, I just want to see what you’re into! I’m not gonna tell anyone!” She says, scrambling to keep the magazine. She flicks through the pages as you pause, her eyes hungrily devouring every image, naked body part and advice column, reading out article titles.

“Busty blonde lifeguard Melony, naughty nurse massages you with her tits, waitress Dixie under the table, how to remove a bra, motorboating and why every lady should try it, Candy Williams naked and covered in chocolate, with her… huge… boobs…” Says Kyrie, her voice slowly becoming less excited. A lump begins to appear in her throat, and she ignores it, pressing on cheek tilt with a teasing voice.

“‘Sucking on boobs during sex- weird or hot? Why you should try it’, by Amara Fitzgerald… ‘Boobjobs and you- keep a man forever with this heavenly technique, and why your man will enjoy it’… and then a diagram of how to put a dude’s dick between your tits, and… and rub it between them…another… another topless picture of some chick with HUGE badonkers… what a… what a rack, am I right, bro…? A-and another of a girl dangling her boobs as she bends over…”

Kyrie’s voice is becoming quieter, now, and has a slight quiver to it. She looks at page after page, the lump in her throat growing.

“I… I haven’t seen anyone that looks…” she croaks softly, blinking tears away, trying to hide them from you.

Her eyes fall on one final picture- a full-page image of a naked brunette woman with black lipstick, a feminine figure and perfect skin, her full, rosy boobs nestling a cock between their soft, warm flesh, looking seductively up at the viewer with a knowing smile. Kyrie breaks, throwing the magazine down.

“I’M SORRY, OKAY?!?!”

You jump slightly in surprise, as she s throws herself onto the opposite side of the bed, near the pillows, curling up into the foetal position. You can see from her back, that she is shaking with each breath.

“I’m sorry I don’t have tits! I’m sorry I just ended up with two- with two mosquito bits that no one can play with! I’m sorry you can’t bounce them o-or grope them or have fun with them!”

Her voice is breaking now, on the verge of tears.

“I’m SORRY I can’t motorboat you b-between them! I’m sorry you can’t eat chocolate off them or suck on them or rub them against your face! I’m SORRY I can’t put your dick between them and g-give you a b…. a boobjob, b-because there’s NOTHING THERE! I’m the ONLY GIRL IN OUR YEAR, who didn’t get ANYTHING!”

Kyrie is curled up on your bed, turned away from you so that you can’t see her. She is crying quietly, now.

“I just… I wanted… I wanted them so hard… I prayed I’d get them… tried every trick a-and stupid technique in mom’s magazines, a-and watched everyone grow the b-boobs you want… I j-just wanted to have something…”

She sniffled quietly, burying her face in your pillow.

“I just wanted to make you happy…”

Kyrie lies curled up on the other corner of the bed, crying quietly into the pillow. The magazine lies open where she left it, full of boobs and busty women and reminders of the things she doesn’t have. Things you apparently jerk off to. Things she can’t offer you. She tries to hide the fact that she is crying, but you can hear her.

You sigh, push the other magazines aside, and say, “That one’s from like a month ago, I found it behind a shop…Do you wanna see my most used one…?”

She freezes slightly, her breath catching. She sniffs slightly, and slowly extends a hand back toward you without looking.

You hand her the most worn, weathered, bent magazine. She rolls over facing away from you again, and looks at the magazine.

Issue 97, of the same brand as the first magazine, released in May, 2002. Bold letters announced that the magazine was dedicated to a single theme that month- summer sport, and activewear. Hesitantly, she began to flick through the pages. Her breath caught.

Tan lines. Sports bras, swimsuits and caps, lean girls with muscle and definition and glistening with sweat. Gym girls, girls adventuring outdoors, girls doing sporting activities half-dressed or naked. A tomboyish girl with Kyrie’s build and skin tone, riding a push bike naked, from several angles. That page looked more weathered than most.

A girl with short hair swimming and laughing naked in a creek, her boobs still a little bigger than Kyrie’s, but smaller than the other magazines. Another blonde girl was entirely flat, grinning cheekily down at the viewer as she pulled down her gym wear and gave them a glimpse of her pussy from beneath. A girl squatting a barbell naked in a gym. A caramel-skinned girl relaxing naked in a car seat on a summer day, sucking on an icy pole seductively. Her boobs weren’t much bigger than Kyrie’s at all.

Kyrie began to flick even deeper into the magazine. Articles talking about activewear and fetishes, outdoor exhibitionism, ‘tomboy’ and ‘natural’ looks, skinny dipping and seduction. The advice columns section for that month had been specifically chosen around girls who felt that they weren’t girly or sexy enough to suit the theme of the issue, the female columnist offering solutions and suggestion- reassuring them that guys were into different things, or citing studies that people find the bodies of the people they love more attractive automatically.

“Had to trade half my collection for one single magazine to get it,” You say quietly, packing away the other issues, still slightly sore about the exchange. But it had been worth it.

Kyrie began to devour the pages hungrily with her eyes, flicking faster. It was a whole magazine issue celebrating tomboys, summer outdoors and girls who looked like her. One page was dog-eared as a bookmark, and she opened to it curiously.

It was a girl in several poses, in someone’s bedroom, naked except for socks and sneakers, which somehow made the nudity feel even more explicit. Her body looked almost exactly like Kyrie’s, the same tan lines, the same flat chest, slightly different nipples, maybe a little bit taller than her overall. But it looked a lot like her. The girl’s face was blacked out carefully and neatly with a permanent marker, so that the naked girl was faceless. The page looked like it had been crumpled and handled a lot.

Kyrie’s mouth fell open, as she pieces together why the girl’s face was blanked out, staring at the page, clinging to the magazine like a lifeline.

“Y-you traded… all that other porn… f-for this one…?” She whispers softly, hugging it to her chest.

Kyrie sat beside you on the bed, flicking through the magazines with you, laughing together about some of the more absurd articles and photos together, as she giggles. She passes you the Pringles, and munches on a handful of them happily. The image of the bookmarked image in your favourite magazine, the girl who looked a lot like her own body, is still burned into her mind. You did like girls like her.

Kyrie turns the page on a raunchy, sex-focused magazine called ‘DOMINATOR’, rolling her eyes and laughing with you as she looks at the girls being pile-drivered and jujitsu’d into a throat-fuck, and held aloft in a full nelson while being lowered into anal, and a page of group sex that almost looked like a painful and uncoordinated game of twister. She burst out laughing at the intensity of it all, the loud impact font and full capitalised captions, and turned the page.

MATING PRESS SEX

Kyrie snorted on her pringles at how big the letters were on the page, everything in full caps, the mangled and contorted body positions on the page exaggerated with editing, the face of the lady being ‘mated’ frozen in a tongue-out over-the-top expression that made her look like she wasn’t being electrocuted. She grabbed your thigh, shaking you, wheezing. “Dude, look at this….!”

The next few pages were a full-caps, almost satirically-intense tutorial on how to,

MOUNT AND BREED YOUR FEMALE LIKE A BARBARIAN

and,

COCKBLAST HER INTO A COMA

and make her

MAKE HER CUM UNTIL HER BRAIN EXPLODES

Kyrie wheezed like a grandma at the pages, doubling over, pointing at the words.

“‘SECRET TECHNIQUE TO MAKE HER WETTER THAN THE TITANIC!’ Here, here, ‘BREED HER WOMB LIKE A STALLION’! ‘IMPREGNATE HER UNTIL SHE SCREAMS FOR MERCY’! ‘MAKE HER HAVE YOUR STRONG BARBARIAN BABIES’! ‘DOMINATE HER WITH THIS LITTLE-KNOWN POSITION’! ‘MATING PRESS HER HOLES INTO OBLIVION AND TURN HER INTO A BREEDING SLAVE FOR YOUR COCK

Cackling, she collapses backward, dragging you backwards into the bed with her in a failed effort to support herself. She heaves with laughter, unable to continue, tears streaming from her eyes. After you both recover enough to gasp for air, she frowns, laughing, and tries to recreate the position of the lady being ‘hardcore bred and impregnated’ in the magazine. She looks down at the magazine, eyebrows furrowing in focus.

“So, the guy pins down the girl’s legs, and… wait, his legs go… and he drives it down into her cunt like a jackhammer… their arms go…”

She frowns at you, lost in thought, and nods you over to her, smirking dismissively at the magazine. “Dude, get over here, we need to see how this stupid position works. I bet this has never worked on a single woman on the entire planet.”

Taken aback by her request, but granting her wish, you climb over her with your larger, masculine frame, and mount her in a mating press. She looks down from the magazine to the position you’ve pinned her into, and then back up into your eyes, blushing- suddenly feeling very small and easy to breed.

“Oh,” Is all she manages to squeak out, looking up at you, in aroused terror.

Midway through reading an incredibly raunchy, action-packed sex mag called ‘DOMINATOR’, Kyrie’s laughter at the absurdity fades, and she begins to blush, eyes lost in the images. Girls with buttplugs, while being fucked. Both holes at once. Her face heated up.

The idea of having anything up her ass, let alone in both at once, was weirdly stuck in her mind. The images of group sex she could dismiss. She didn’t want double penetration if it meant having to share you around or be with other people. She couldn’t handle that thought. It made her feel sick. She wanted you to be hers, only.

But here were girls with their eyes rolled back in exaggerated orgasm, as the guy pushed several fingers into one hole and his penis into the other. It made her squirm, imagining it. You, in both her holes, filling up both.

So warm. So full.

The toys opened up even more possibility. Her tomboy ass and pussy full as you pushed things inside her, then, you in her mouth. All three at once. The very thought was absurd. But it also meant she’d have to lose out on the warmth and feel of your cock in one of her holes downstairs, though, and have to bear with cool, plastic or metal toys in both. Nope. Two was enough.

She raised her shaky voice, and cleared her throat.

“H-hey, do you… ever think about what it would be like for y-your girl to be filled up in both holes…?”

She blushed deep red, and quickly scrambled to re-can the worms.

“N-not with like, other people! That’s gross, I-I’m not that kind of girl! I just… f-filling one end… w-with fingers, or a toy, and th-the other hole with your… your cock…? I-if you ever g-got a girlfriend who wanted to try that some days, w-would you be mad at her for wanting to have you i-inside both of her places at once….? Like, with a plug, o-or beads, or your f-fingers in m- in her butt…? O-or would you find butt stuff gross and think that she was weird…?”

Her voice trembled nervously as she pretended to casually flick through the book, trying for all the world to sound like she was just asking if you were into butt stuff, out of idle curiosity.

As one of the bros.

As you do.

The very back of the ‘DOMINATOR’ raunchy magazine had a two-page spread not of a person, but of a chart full of options. The introduction read,

THE SEXINATOR For couples. Alcohol RECOMMENDED. If you don’t have dice, punch some nerd and steal them. (Disclaimer: The dice, not the nerd. Unless they’re interested in playing the game too.)

Instructions:

1. Roll the dice.
2. Pick that number of charts below.
3. Then roll another dice and pick that number thing on the chart. D) Do that thing. Anyone who backs out is a SISSY and should receive THE PEOPLE’S ELBOW.

WHATEVER YOU ROLL, YOU MUST DO TO EACH OTHER. DON’T EVEN THINK ABOUT CHEATING OR I WILL FIND YOU AND KICK YOU AND YOUR GIRL IN THE NUTS

PREPARE YOURSELVES

ABANDON ALL HOPE, YE WHO ENTER HER

LET THE GAME BEGIN!

Kyrie went from laughing at the vivid hyper-colourful impact fonts, to blushing at the listed random sex acts, to a slow grin spreading over her face as she had an idea. She turned her face slowly to you, her expression already telling you exactly what she’s thinking. It was the same expression when she convinced you to roller skate around the kitchen when you were younger.

“Bet you’re chicken…”

Kyrie leans back against the bed, sitting on the floor of your room with you, surrounded by junk food and wrappers, and yawns. The clock ticks to 2:42 AM. The mood has slowed, relaxed, become more quiet and intimate in the empty house, alone in your bedroom together.

Kyrie looks at you, smiles impishly, and says, “Truth or Dare. Like we do at parties, except just us.”

Her voice trembles slightly, as she clears her throat, and adds,

“Anything goes. A-adult truth or dare. To celebrate the start of the holidays together, until we get tired and fall asleep. Anything. At all. D-deal?”

After hours of hanging out, sleep begins to take Kyrie. She begins to nod off, slowly falling asleep on the floor. You pick her up, as she mumbles groggily in confusion, and tuck her into your bed.

She groans softly, tired muscles sinking into the old, comfortable blankets. She looks so peaceful, face innocent and slightly confused in sleep, her short, messy hair spread out of the pillow, framing her feminine face in a soft halo.

Bacon and eggs, tomorrow. You’d promised you’d cook them together for the first day of school holidays. Maybe hash browns, too.

You turn to set out your sleeping bag on the floor. Kyrie grabs your arm weakly, clinging desperately.

“With me…” She whispers, dragging you onto the bed, and beneath the blankets with her.

You cuddle with her, listening as she rambles softly and sleepily about different thoughts floating around her mind. How much she likes the scent of your bed, and shirt. The shops you need to visit together tomorrow. The band she wants to see next year. The things she enjoyed today. The dog she always wanted to get someday, and whether you’d help her take care of it. How she’d known you since she was so small, that she didn’t want there to be a day when you were decided you were bored with her, or got a wife, and she never got to hang out with you anymore.

Slowly, despite your reassurances, she begins to cry, so softly you can barely hear her. How she’s selfish for keeping you to herself. How she’s more and more worried that you won’t want to talk much after you graduate, or that you’ll move away. That you’ll grow up and not remember her. Warm, wet tears flow into your chest, as she apologises in a quiet, tearful, delirious mumble, over and over again, for being such a burden on you. Her body shook against yours, her breaths clumsy and uneven.

“I w-wanna be best friends for the rest of our lives,” She whispers, looking into your chest, resting her forehead on your heart. “More. More than best friends. I-I’m just some stupid girl who c-caught feelings for the boy she grew up with, and you’re better off with some smarter, prettier, cooler girl. B-but I don’t wanna let you. I don’t wanna say that. I want it to be me being your w-wife.”

She began to choke up, hiding in your chest. “I want it to be m-me having your babies. M-me going on road trips with you and growing old together and staying up late. I-I’m sorry, dude. I f-fell in love with you. I’ve ruined everything.”

She clings to your chest, quietly crying herself to sleep.

Unsure of what to say to convince her, you pull away slightly to reach over the side of your bed, and reach into the half-finished bag of cheezels from earlier. You take a single cheezel ring out, to cheer her up, and slide it onto her ring finger. You used to do it as a kid, and tease her that she was getting married, and ask who it was. It used to make her laugh. Or put a cheezel on each finger, and pretend to be aliens chasing each other.

Then, later on, when you were in primary school together, it became a promise. You both put one on, promised something, then ate them. It was like a pinky promise, or a ritual that made a promise extra special when you were kids.

“Wife,” you say quietly, kissing her hair.

You place the ring gently on her finger.

“For now,” You promise quietly. “I’ll buy something to put on there tomorrow, in the meantime. Until we graduate.”

She stares down at it in wonder, looking up at you, then back down at it.

“…you can eat this one. I’ll remember anyway.” You add after a moment, smiling.

Croakily, she tries half-heartedly to protest. That she isn’t good enough to be your wife. That you deserve someone prettier, classier, better than her. But her heart isn’t in her protests. She looks down at the junk food ring, thinking, and then rolls clumsily over you to pull a cheezel out of the bag, too. She puts one on your finger, too, then buries her face in you.

“…gonna make the best damn wife for you that any man’s ever had,” she mumbles through a lump in her throat, her face buried in your chest.

You kiss her hair softly, and pull the blanket over you both.

“I know.”

A long, gentle silence follows, along with the quiet, thoughtful crunching of both rings being eaten, and she snuggles into your chest. Slowly, surely, she falls asleep in your arms, her breathing slow and happy. And slowly, surely, you fall asleep in hers.

The late morning sunlight filters through your childhood home, frying pans sizzling on the stovetop, loaded with bacon, eggs and hash browns all cooking in oil or butter. It smells like heaven. Kyrie cooks in her underwear, wearing your oversized shirt, flipping bacon onto your plates happily.

Your mom and dad won’t be back for a few days. The first Saturday of school holidays is welcomed with a full plate of breakfast together on the porch, both wolfing down the greasy, heart food ravenously. There are brilliant white clouds towering in the sky, a whole day’s itinerary loosely planned out, and nowhere else to be.

But the itinerary can wait.

After you finish andclean up, Kyrie blushes, and pulls you back into your bedroom, into a straddling hug on the bed, and musters up her courage to ask something.

“It’s still morning, a-and I’m your g-girlfriend, now. Before we go anywhere… can we…”

She looks down, to where she’s straddling you, and nuzzles into you.

“…do a few… morning things, together, first…? In bed, like we just woke up, and like we’ve got nowhere to be?”

She loops up into your eyes, the same old Kyrie she’s ever been. The same old Kyrie you’ve loved since forever. Both free, and older now, in a house all to yourselves.

“I’ve… I’ve always wanted to…”