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I’ve fucked Gray before...your turn...I’ll wait for Emelie,” Drake nodded. I grinned up at Emelie as her eyes widened worriedly. “He’s big,” I mouthed. “So’s Cole, saw him the bathroom,” she mouthed back. “What?” I frowned. Suddenly I felt someone enter me from behind. My mouth formed a perfect ‘o’ as Cole pushed himself fully inside me. “Oh god that is good,” Cole moaned. Emelie smirked at me so I rolled her away from me. She pouted at me and I smirked. “Drake,” I gestured. Drake settled himself between her legs and thrust in. Her face contorted in pleasure and pain making me grin. “Come on Cole, fuck me,” I urged, “punish me for being a bad girl.” Slowly he started to rock backwards and forwards pumping his dick in further and faster. “Cole,” I moaned. “Shut up and take it,” he moaned back. Cole was growling and grunting now as he pumped faster and harder while I screamed. “You like me fucking you don’t you?” Cole growled in my ear. He yanked my hips back to him. It wasn’t that they had become friends or anything like that. They had simply developed a rapport, or, at least, the natural way that their sarcasm and smart ass remarks to each other had managed to insinuate themselves into their everyday work dialogue certainly held the appearance of rapport. Barry Wescott was, to all who knew him, rather strange. He had a quirky, quippy sense of humor, and an almost complete lack of social skill or grace. Whenever anyone saw him, he was always eating something, nachos, peanuts, pretzels, popcorn, hotdogs, sandwiches, always, but he never seemed to gain weight. He was still the same tall, lanky, pencil-necked string-bean that he had always been. He always wore one of the dozens of Hawaiian-print shirts and one of the handfuls of pairs of baggy cargo pants. And, although the people he worked with knew he was brilliant, he always had the dopiest and most vacant expression that gave most people the impression that the elevator never quite made it to.
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