The pool shimmered a milky turquoise under the late afternoon sun, and the Kappa Nu backyard was shaking with the kind of energy that made Shelby’s skin tingle. The grass had already been trampled flat by the stampede of frat guys—she counted at least forty, maybe more, all of them packed shoulder to sweaty shoulder around the perimeter of the pool deck. They jostled and shouted, the air thick with a cocktail of cologne and the tang of cheap macrobrew, and every single one of them was staring at her and Madison.
She could see the sign Mac and Kelly had made for them—SORORITY FUNDRAISER: Blowbang! $50—dangling crooked from the rickety pergola. The paint was already running from condensation dripping off the wood. Shelby wished she could blame the humidity for the way her own skin was slick, but she knew better. She felt every gaze pinning her in place, felt the heat of it on her bare shoulders and the small of her back. Her pulse thudded hard in her throat.
Madison caught her eye and grinned, teeth sharp and bright. “Showtime,” she said, and in one motion peeled off her bikini top, tossing it to the grass like it was nothing. Her nipples were already pebbling in the breeze, and the crowd went off like a shotgun, whooping and slamming fists into the air. Shelby’s own hands shook as she untied her top, but she forced a smile—no, a smirk—and let it fall. For a second she felt a prickle of embarrassment, but the noise from the guys hit her like a tidal wave and washed it away.
They started with each other, just like they’d planned. Madison’s hands were warm and a little rough from pulling beers out of the ice chest all day, and her mouth tasted like lime White Claw as she kissed Shelby hard, tongue darting against her teeth. Shelby felt the cheers vibrate through her, felt the eyes drinking in every angle of their bodies as Madison sucked her nipple and bit down, gentle but just enough to leave a mark. Shelby gasped and clung to her, fingers digging into Madison’s hips.
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Madison broke away from the kiss, mouth slick, and in one smooth motion dropped to her knees on the grass. “Let’s get started!” she yelled, and her voice cracked a little on the ‘started’—not from nerves, but from some wild, defiant joy. The boys roared approval, and Shelby, blinking against the sun and the crowd, realized every one of them was waiting for her cue.
She crouched next to Madison, the turf prickly against her shins, and did a little ringmaster wave, the way they’d rehearsed. “Okay, here’s how it goes!” she called, and her own voice sounded weirdly steady, like she was outside herself, watching this from the edge of the pool. “We start with three at a time. If you’re not up, get in line. If you’re up, get it out. Be cool, be fast, and don’t be weird. When you finish, you can…you know.” She mimed a jerk-off motion and rolled her eyes, earning another peal of laughter.
The first three stepped forward, all of them already hard, cocks bobbing in front of them like some obscene parade. Shelby felt something inside her clench, not quite fear, not quite anticipation, and she forced her mouth into a grin. The closest guy—she thought his name was Jordan—grabbed the back of her head and guided her mouth to his tip. She opened, let him push past her lips, and tried to remember to breathe through her nose.
It wasn’t as bad as she’d expected. The taste was faintly bitter, salty, but mostly it was the texture—hot, smooth, insistent. She could hear Madison next to her, gagging theatrically for the crowd, and the guys were already losing their minds, egging each other on. A hand on the back of her head set the rhythm, and Shelby just let herself go slack, let them use her like a prop. She was weirdly proud of how fast she adjusted, how her jaw stopped aching after the first minute, how she could tune out the background noise and just focus on getting through it.
The first load hit her tongue with a sudden, shocking heat. She almost gagged, but forced herself to swallow, feeling it slide down her throat. Another guy finished almost instantly, pulling out and spraying across her cheek, sticky and hot. The third tried to hold out, but Madison reached over, cupped his balls, and he lost it all over both of them, ropes of white painting their faces and bare chests. The crowd went silent for a second, then exploded into applause.
Someone handed them a garden hose. The water was icy, and Shelby gasped as it sluiced the cum off her skin, leaving her nipples stiff and her teeth chattering. She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand, spat once into the grass, and then looked back at Madison. Madison was grinning, face shining with spit and streaks of white, and for a second Shelby felt a pang of affection so sharp it hurt.
The next round was already lining up. Four this time, maybe because the word had spread that Shelby could take it.
Shelby lost track of time after the third round. It became a blur of faces, dicks, hands on her head, Madison’s laughter weaving in and out. At first, she tried to keep count of the loads—ten, then twenty, then she stopped counting, because every time she blinked there was another cock in her face, another hand yanking her hair, another hot, salty burst across her tongue. The taste stopped bothering her after a while. It was just one more thing to get through.
By the fifth round, the crowd had settled into a rhythm. The guys who’d already gone hung back by the keg, shirts off, sunburn ripening across their shoulders. The rest jostled in line, some with phones out, some too distracted by the spectacle to remember to film. Shelby caught flashes of herself on screens—her mouth wide, cheeks bulging, eyes watering, Madison next to her with a cum-slick grin. She didn’t mind. It felt unreal, like she was watching herself from underwater.
She and Madison developed a system. Madison played to the crowd, moaning and gagging like it was a porno, dragging the guys along with her. Shelby worked fast and efficient, finishing each one off before they even realized it. When one of them tried to push her head down too hard, she bit, just a little, enough to make him jump and let go. The crowd loved it. They started chanting her name—“Shelby, Shelby, Shelby”—and she let herself ride the wave of it.
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After what felt like hours, they took a break by the pool. Someone handed them Solo cups, and Shelby drank her beer in three gulps, the foam stinging her throat. She wiped her mouth and looked at Madison, who was sprawled on the grass, arms flung out like she was making a snow angel.
“Jesus,” Madison said, “I feel like I just ran a marathon with my mouth.”
Shelby snorted, and the beer almost came back up. She flopped onto her back, staring at the sky, and let herself drift for a second. The sun was lower now, painting everything in gold. Her head buzzed, not just from the beer but from the aftershocks of adrenaline.
Madison rolled over and whispered, “We’re still short, by the way. I did the math. We need at least another three thousand.”
Shelby groaned. “Are you kidding me?”
“I wish,” Madison said, grinning. “Unless you wanna go door to door.”
Shelby stared at the clouds, letting the options spin out in her head. The thought of another round made her jaw ache, but the alternative was worse. She sat up, spat into the grass, and wiped her face with the back of her arm.
“Alright,” she said, raising her voice so everyone could hear. “New deal. Thirty bucks extra, you get to paint our faces. No blowjobs, just… you know.”
The reaction was instant. Guys who’d already finished were suddenly digging in their pockets, waving bills in the air. It was almost funny, the way they stampeded toward her and Madison, like dogs chasing a car.
Madison flopped back onto the grass, arms out, making a starfish of herself in the clover. Shelby followed suit, letting the damp earth cool the patchwork of sticky and sweat on her skin.
She squinted at the sky, a watercolor swirl of blue and gold, and tried to imagine she was somewhere else, somewhere with fewer dicks and more dignity. But then the shadows fell across her face, and there was no pretending at all.
The first four guys loomed over them, hands wrapped around their cocks, faces locked in the kind of determined concentration Shelby usually saw on midterms. She closed her eyes, felt a bead of sweat roll down her temple, and waited. The first shot hit her cheek, stinging with its heat and then cooling as the air hit it. Another splattered across her lips, salty and viscous, dribbling down to her chin. She squeezed her eyes tighter, but it didn’t matter—there was no avoiding it, the barrage coming in unpredictable spurts, some hitting her forehead, her nose, even the tender skin just beneath her eye.
She could hear Madison beside her, laughing, the sound bright and reckless, even as the shots rained down. Shelby wanted to laugh too, but her mouth was stuck in a grimace, teeth clenched against the onslaught. The guys finished and stepped back, already high-fiving, and the next wave was there, cocks at the ready. Shelby counted: five, then six, then she lost track. It was all one endless, sticky moment, punctuated by the slap of hands and the whoops of the crowd.
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By the time the last guy finished, her face felt heavy, a mask of sweat and cum and whatever the grass was giving off. She opened her eyes, blinking through lashes clumped together, and saw Madison smiling at her, face even more obliterated than her own. There was a moment—brief, almost tender—where they just looked at each other, and then the hose came out again, arcing cold water across their bodies.
Shelby shrieked, the shock of it sending electricity down her spine. She rolled away, hands scrabbling at the turf, but Madison just lay there, arms spread wide, letting the water blast her clean. When it stopped, Shelby spat into the grass, wiped her face with the back of her hand, and tried to catch her breath.
Someone handed them towels. They were rough, hotel-grade, and barely dented the mess, but it was something. Shelby patted herself down, feeling the grit of grass and the sticky residue clinging to her collarbone. She glanced at Madison, who was already wrapping the towel turban-style around her head, like they were at a spa day and not a frat party.
Madison leaned in, voice low. “We’re still short,” she said, and Shelby could hear the wild edge in it, the way her words slurred together.
Shelby wanted to laugh, but her jaw ached. “What’s left? A fucking gangbang?”
Madison grinned, eyes flat and shining. “No, babe. An auction.”
Madison sat up, peeled a strand of hair off her forehead, and spat a glob into the grass. “Alright, losers,” she yelled, “you want to see some real shit? Highest bidder gets to fuck me in the ass!”
It was so casual, so offhand, that for a second Shelby thought she’d misheard. The yard went dead silent for half a heartbeat, then erupted into noise. Shelby turned to Madison, who was wiping spit from her chin, eyes glinting with something wild and reckless.
“Dude,” Shelby hissed, but Madison just grinned at her.
It went fast. A hundred. One-fifty. Two-fifty, from a guy in a backwards Lakers hat who looked like he’d never been told no in his life. At three hundred, two guys got into a shoving match, and one of them took a beer can to the chest. Madison let it play out, laughing, and then started counting down from ten.
It went on, the numbers rolling over them, until finally Mac—fucking Mac, wearing a tie-dye tank top and a backwards baseball cap, holding a Solo cup in one hand and a wad of cash in the other—shouted, “A thousand!” The crowd exploded again, like they’d just won the lottery, and Madison blew him a kiss, then turned to Shelby, eyes feral.
Shelby couldn’t breathe. She saw Kelly, standing behind Mac, arms crossed, face like carved granite. Kelly looked at Shelby, then at Madison, then back at Mac, and then stormed off, shouldering through the crowd. For a second Shelby wanted to follow her, to run out of this mess and not look back.
The grass was cold and slick on Madison’s knees, the blades biting against her skin as she leaned forward, elbows braced on the edge of the pool deck. She could feel the stares, hot as a sunburn, and tried to focus on the bracing chill seeping into her shins instead of the way her heart jackhammered. Mac’s hands landed on her hips, big and warm and a little sweaty. For a split second she almost laughed—this was Mac, the dork who wore flip-flops in the winter and made dad jokes at every party. Now he was lining up behind her, cock in hand, and the entire backyard was waiting to see if he’d actually do it.
He started slow, pushing in with careful, almost apologetic pressure. Madison gritted her teeth, exhaled, and forced herself to relax. There was a chorus of “holy fucks” and “oh my gods” from the crowd, but their voices floated above her, muffled and unreal. Mac was whispering something, probably meant to be comforting, but all she caught was the ragged edge of his breath as he bottomed out. He paused, gave her a second, then started to move.
For the first minute it was almost manageable, the pain sharp but not new, the stretch more pressure than anything else. Then Mac started to lose control, thrusting harder, his grip tightening. Madison dug her fingers into the turf, feeling her own nails bite half-moons into her palms. She didn’t dare look up, didn’t want to see the sea of faces, but the sounds told her everything—cheers, catcalls, someone slapping the side of the pool in time with Mac’s rhythm.
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When Mac came, it was sudden and almost violent. He shoved deep, hips slapping against her ass, and Madison bit down on her forearm to keep from screaming. The heat of it filled her, and she felt the wet trickle almost instantly. Mac pulled out and staggered back, and the crowd’s noise crashed over her like a wave.
She rolled onto her side, grass stuck to her cheek, and saw Mac standing over her, chest heaving, a dopey grin plastered on his face. She almost smiled back—almost—but her body was shaking too hard. Someone tossed her a towel, and she clutched it to her stomach, fighting the urge to curl into a ball.
But the worst of it was that while Mac was fucking Madison in the ass, Shelby did the math in her head.
They were still short.
And no way Madison was going to be able to do anything more.
Shelby’s heart felt like it was trying to punch its way out of her chest. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but all that came out was: “Highest five bidders get my pussy.” It didn’t even sound like her voice, more like a dare she was throwing at herself from a distant rooftop. The words hung in the air, and the sorority girls on the porch started screaming, half in horror, half in awe.
The auction started as a joke—someone yelled “Fifty!” and then another guy doubled it, and soon the numbers were bouncing around like ping-pong balls, the energy shifting from frat party to livestock auction in a single breath. Shelby tried to keep her face neutral, but her cheeks were burning, her whole body humming with a sick, electric thrill.
Mac stood up and cupped his hands around his mouth. “You heard her! Top five get the ride of your life!” He winked at Shelby, then turned back to the crowd, his voice slicing through the beer-fog like a starter’s pistol. “What’s our top bid, gentlemen?”
The bids steadily climbed until they hit $750 a pop.
Shelby watched from the yard, her own mind a tangle of static. She’d lost track of the auction winners at some point, but they were easy to spot: five guys, all flexing and jostling each other, eyes locked on her like she was a prize pig at the state fair. Shelby picked the least gross-looking of the bunch—tall, dark hair, probably a business major—and crooked her finger at him. He swaggered over, making a show of unbuttoning his shorts.
“Inside,” Shelby said, voice flat. “All of you.”
They followed, a little pack of testosterone and aftershave, shoving each other through the kitchen and up the stairs. The sorority house was almost empty, the rest of the girls hiding on the porch or out back.
The stairwell was cold, echoed with the sound of sneakers squeaking and someone’s nervous, too-loud laugh. Shelby led, bare feet numb against the gritty runner. The five guys—the winners—trailed her, jostling and whispering like kids on a field trip. Her skin prickled with sweat cooling off, and the ache in her jaw had traveled up behind her temples. She kept her head high, chin set, but her heart was jumpy as a trapped bug.
Inside the bedroom, it was quieter, at least. The door clicked shut, muting the party to a faraway, sleazy hum. The room still smelled like last week’s body spray and the strawberry vape Madison had spilled on the comforter. Shelby turned, faced the five, and for a moment just stared at them. They looked different in this light, less cartoonish, more real. She knew one of them—Tyler, from Intro to Psych. The others were a blur of chin fuzz and flexed arms.
“Okay,” she said, and her voice came out calm, bored, like she was reading instructions off the back of a cereal box. “Strip and line up. Let’s get this over with.”
The guys obeyed, awkward but eager, fidgeting with belts and shorts, each glancing at the others before peeling off boxers. Shelby shucked what was left of her bikini, let it fall to the carpet, and stretched out on the bed. She made a show of it, arms flung overhead, one knee cocked, and for a moment she felt almost powerful, like a queen about to be sacrificed.
The first guy—Tyler—crawled onto the bed and hovered over her, his cock already standing up, red at the tip. She closed her eyes, covered her face with her hands, and waited for the weight of him. The mattress dipped, and then he was inside her, thick and careful at first, then faster, his hips digging into her thighs. Shelby tried to focus on the ceiling, on the water stain shaped like Australia, on anything but the way Tyler grunted and shuddered and finally pulled out to jerk himself frantically. Hot splat hit her cheek, then her lips, and she flinched. When he was done, she wiped herself off.
The next guy was rougher, hands gripping her waist tight enough to bruise. He barely lasted a minute before he pulled out and finished across her breasts. The third and fourth blended together, a haze of sweat and awkward dirty talk, the slap of skin and the slick, animal smell of sex. One of them tried to kiss her; she turned her head, let him mouth at her jaw while he came between her legs.
The last guy—quiet, skinny, barely taller than Shelby—waited until the others were done before stepping forward. He smiled, shy, and climbed onto the bed. She let him push her knees apart, barely felt the stretch, but when he came, he aimed high and caught her right across the eyes, stinging and sharp.
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They left in a hurry, tripping over each other in their scramble for the door, and Shelby lay there, breathing hard, staring up through the haze. For a minute, she just lay there, breathing. Her skin crawled, but she was too tired to do anything but stare at the ceiling and blink the sting from her eyes. She pressed the back of her hand to her cheek, smearing the mess across her skin, and for a second she thought she might laugh or cry or both. The room was silent now, except for the distant thump of music through the floorboards, and Shelby’s own heartbeat, loud in her ears.
The door banged open, hard enough to rattle the trophies on the dresser. Madison burst in, towel still wrapped like a crown, eyes wild and shining. “Shelby!” she yelled, already halfway across the room. “You will not fucking believe this, dude. We did it. We fucking did it.”
Shelby blinked, vision still blurry. “What?”
Madison threw herself onto the bed, landing knee-first, almost rolling Shelby off the edge. “The cash. The auction. We’re three grand over the goal.” She grabbed Shelby’s face in both hands, heedless of the sticky mess, and planted a kiss right on her forehead. “You’re a goddamn legend. I mean, I knew you could put them away, but—holy shit, babe.”
Shelby tried to smile. Her lips trembled and didn’t quite make it. The towel on Madison’s head had started to unravel. Madison’s face was close enough for Shelby to taste the White Claw and sweat on her breath. She wondered what she must look like, mascara melted down her cheeks, lips swollen, every inch of her reeking of sex and grass and chlorine.
“I want to die,” Shelby said, but it came out on a sigh, half a joke, half a prayer.
Madison laughed, softer this time, and pressed her forehead to Shelby’s. “No dying. Not tonight. You’re the fucking hero of Kappa Nu.” She rolled off, grabbed a corner of the comforter, and wiped Shelby’s face with it, gentle as a mom with a feverish kid. “You know what this means, right?”
“That I get to sleep for a week?”
Madison snorted. “That we get to throw the best party in the history of campus. This weekend. Chicks only. We’ll get a bouncer. Hire a fucking DJ. No dudes allowed unless they’re serving drinks or wearing a ball gag.” She grinned, all teeth. “We can do whatever the fuck we want. It’s our house again.”
Shelby stared at the ceiling. She let herself imagine it—a party with no eyes crawling over her, no hands grabbing, no one yelling her name unless they wanted her to shotgun a beer or judge a twerk contest. She felt the tension in her jaw start to drain away, replaced by something almost like relief. She reached up, tugged Madison’s towel free, and let the terrycloth fall between them.
“I’m not doing face shots,” Shelby said. “Not for less than a hundred a pop.”
“Deal,” Madison said, and pulled her in for another kiss, this one slower, less of a joke.
Madison’s tongue was soft and slow, the opposite of everything that had come before. Shelby let herself melt into it, let her hand slide into Madison’s damp hair, let the mess and the ache and the weird, hollow pride of the day dissolve into something that felt almost like peace. For a minute, there was no party, no gawking crowd, just the two of them on the bed, sticky and battered and clinging to each other like survivors.
When they broke apart, Madison rested her head on Shelby’s shoulder. They lay there, not talking, just breathing together. Shelby could feel the heat of Madison’s skin, the rise and fall of her chest, the way her fingers found Shelby’s and laced them tight. It was stupid, maybe, or just the exhaustion, but Shelby thought she might cry. Instead she squeezed Madison’s hand and let her eyes drift closed.
In the morning, the house was quiet. Sunlight crawled through the blinds, striping the floor in gold. Shelby woke tangled in sheets and in Madison’s arm, the two of them a knot of limbs and dried sweat. Her jaw still hurt, but it was distant now, like a bruise she could poke at if she wanted to remember. Madison was drooling on the pillow, hair a rat’s nest, face peaceful in sleep.
Shelby rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling. She tried to remember what she’d felt before yesterday, before the fundraiser, before everything. It was fuzzy, like a dream half-lost on waking. All she knew was that she was still here, the house was still theirs, and Madison was next to her, warm and real.
She listened to the faint sounds of the house—the click of a coffee maker, far off; the creak of the porch step as someone went outside. She could hear the world spinning on, uncaring, but for the first time in a long time, it felt like maybe she wasn’t just being dragged behind it.
Madison groaned awake, blinked, and grinned at her. “Hey, legend,” she said, voice rough and soft. “How you feeling?”
Shelby shrugged. “Like I swallowed a cactus.”
Madison snorted. “Worth it, though.”
“Not sure yet,” Shelby said, but she smiled, and Madison’s eyes crinkled at the corners.
They lay there a while longer, not saying much. Then Madison sat up, scratched her stomach, and said, “Come on. We’ve got a house to celebrate.” She offered Shelby her hand, fingers still sticky from sleep.
Shelby took it. She let Madison pull her up, out of bed, out of yesterday and into whatever came next.
Downstairs, the kitchen was chaos—girls in pajamas, empty pizza boxes, glitter everywhere. Someone had written “Kappa Nu 4EVER” on the fridge in what looked like lipstick. Shelby watched the scene, the swirl of laughter and hangovers and bad coffee, and felt a weird, fierce kind of pride.
Madison squeezed her hand under the table. Shelby squeezed back.
It wasn’t what she’d pictured, maybe, but it was theirs. And it was enough.
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