The controller lay forgotten on the rug, screen flickering to the game's idle demo. Alex's pulse filled the silence louder than the bass-heavy menu track. Mia's words (*something else*) hung in the air like smoke.
Sasha's hand was still on his knee, thumb tracing the seam of his jeans. "Truth or dare?" she asked again, softer this time, freckles stark against flushed skin.
Lena snorted from the far end of the sectional. "We're not twelve."
"Then act like it," Talia murmured. She'd shifted to sit cross-legged on the armrest, blouse slipping off one shoulder. The plum lace of her bra cupped the heavy curve of her breast, nipple a dark shadow beneath sheer fabric. "Alex picks."
Four pairs of eyes pinned him. The basement lights were low—string LEDs he'd strung for ambiance during late-night raids—casting gold across collarbones and the soft rise of cleavage.
"Truth," he said, voice rough.
Mia leaned forward, elbows on knees, crop top straining. "When's the last time a woman touched you, Alex? Not a handshake. Not a hug from your aunt. *Touched.*"
Heat crawled up his neck. "Six months. Maybe seven."
Sasha's fingers tightened on his thigh. "Poor baby."
Lena crawled across the sectional on all fours, slow as a cat. When she reached him, she didn't straddle—just knelt between his feet, palms sliding up his shins. "That's a crime," she said. "We should fix it."
Talia's laugh was low. "Slow, remember? He's skittish."
Alex wasn't skittish. He was on fire.
Mia stood, padded barefoot to the sound system, and killed the game audio. In the sudden hush, the soft rustle of fabric was deafening. She selected a playlist—slow, syrupy R&B, bass like a heartbeat. Then she turned, back to the TV, and began to sway.
Not a striptease. Not yet. Just movement: hips rolling, arms overhead, breasts lifting with each breath. The crop top crept higher, revealing the smooth plane of her stomach, the diamond glint of a belly ring. Sasha's gaze followed the motion like she was starving.
Lena's hands reached Alex's belt. She didn't undo it—just traced the leather with one finger, watching his face. "Still okay?"
He nodded, throat dry.
Sasha rose, sundress swirling around her thighs. She moved behind the couch, breasts brushing the back of his neck as she leaned down. "Close your eyes," she whispered.
He did.
Soft lips brushed his temple. Another pair—warmer, fuller—grazed the corner of his mouth. Talia. He smelled her perfume, something expensive and dark. A third mouth found his ear, teeth nipping the lobe. Lena.
Hands everywhere. Gentle. Exploratory. The buckle of his belt clinked open, but no one tugged it free. Instead, Mia's fingers threaded through his hair, tilting his head back. She kissed him upside-down, slow and deep, tongue sliding against his like she had all night.
When she pulled away, he chased her mouth without thinking. She smiled against his lips. "Patience."
The couch dipped. Sasha settled in his lap, knees bracketing his hips. The sundress rode high, bare thighs warm against his jeans. She didn't grind—just rested there, weight delicious, breasts pressed to his chest. Her nipples were hard points through thin cotton.
"Feel me," she said.
He did. Hands sliding up her back, tracing the dip of her spine, the clasp of her bra. She arched into the touch, breath hitching.
Lena's palms smoothed up his thighs, thumbs pressing into the muscle just below his groin. Talia knelt beside him, unbuttoning his shirt with deliberate care. Each button revealed more skin, and each inch was kissed—first by Talia's mouth, then Sasha's, then Lena's tongue tracing the line of his collarbone.
Mia watched from the doorway, one hip cocked, crop top now twisted high enough to show the underswell of her breasts. "Bedroom's upstairs, right?" she asked.
Alex couldn't speak. He nodded.
"Good," she said. "Because the couch is cute, but I want room to play."
They moved like a tide, pulling him with them. Up the stairs, past the framed posters, into the dim glow of his bedroom. The king bed looked suddenly enormous—and entirely inadequate.
Sasha pushed him gently onto the mattress. The women followed, surrounding him. No one rushed. Clothes stayed on, mostly. Just enough removed to tease.
Mia knelt at the foot of the bed, peeling off Alex's socks with reverent care. Lena straddled his thighs, tank top riding up to reveal the lace waistband of her panties. Sasha lay beside him, sundress rucked to her hips, tracing patterns on his bare chest. Talia stood at the headboard, slowly unbuttoning the rest of her blouse, letting it fall open but not off.
"Rules," Mia said, voice husky. "We go slow. You say stop, we stop. No pain. Just this." She crawled up the bed, breasts swaying, and kissed him again—deeper this time, hips settling over his. The heat of her through denim and thin cotton was maddening.
Lena's hands found the button of his jeans. She popped it open, eased the zipper down tooth by tooth. Sasha's fingers joined hers, sliding beneath the waistband of his boxers, not gripping—just resting, warm and still.
Alex groaned into Mia's mouth.
Talia leaned down, hair brushing his cheek. "We're going to take such good care of you," she promised.
Outside, a car passed on Elm Street, headlights sweeping across the curtains. Inside, the air was thick with breath and want, and the night had barely begun.
The bedroom smelled like them now: vanilla, coconut, the faint salt of skin. The overhead light was off; only the bedside lamp glowed, a low amber that painted gold across collarbones and the soft weight of breasts still half-hidden beneath lace and cotton.
Alex lay propped against the headboard, shirt gone, jeans open but not removed. The women moved around him like planets orbiting a new sun: slow, inevitable, gravitational.
Mia knelt between his thighs, palms flat on his bare chest, feeling the thud of his heart. "Still breathing?" she teased.
"Barely."
"Good." She leaned in, kissed the hollow of his throat, then lower, tongue tracing the line of hair that disappeared beneath his waistband. Her crop top had ridden high enough that the undersides of her breasts brushed his stomach with every breath.
Sasha sat cross-legged beside him, sundress pooled at her waist, thong the only thing left. She watched Mia with half-lidded eyes, one hand idly circling her own nipple through the fabric she hadn't yet removed. "Tell us something true, Alex."
He swallowed. "I— I've never had four women look at me like this."
Lena, stretched along his other side, laughed softly. "That's not a confession. That's a crime." She traced a finger down his arm, raising goosebumps. "Try again."
"I want—" His voice cracked. He tried again. "I want to touch you. All of you. But I don't know where to start."
Talia, still in her open blouse and plum lace bra, crawled onto the foot of the bed. "Start with me." She took his hand, guided it to the warm weight of her breast. The lace was sheer, her nipple hard beneath his palm. "Like this."
He cupped her gently, thumb brushing the peak. She sighed, arching into the touch. Encouraged, he slid his other hand to Mia's waist, fingers slipping beneath the hem of her crop top. Her skin was silk. She hummed approval, shifting so the fabric bunched higher, revealing the full, heavy curve of her breast. No bra. Just skin, flushed and perfect.
Sasha leaned over, kissed the corner of his mouth. "My turn." She guided his hand between her thighs, pressing his fingers to the damp heat through her thong. "Feel how much we want you."
He did. She was soaked, the fabric clinging. When he pressed experimentally, she gasped, hips rolling.
Lena wasn't idle. She'd eased his jeans down just enough to free him, boxers tented and straining. She didn't touch his cock: not yet. Instead, she kissed along his hipbone, tongue tracing the V that disappeared beneath cotton. "You're beautiful," she murmured. "All of you."
Alex's head fell back against the headboard. The room spun.
Mia sat up, peeled her crop top off in one slow motion. Her breasts spilled free: full, round, nipples tight and pink. She cupped them, offering. "Taste."
He leaned forward, mouth closing over one nipple. She moaned, fingers threading through his hair, holding him there. He sucked gently, tongue flicking, learning the weight and texture of her. When he switched to the other, she rewarded him with a soft cry.
Sasha shimmied out of her thong, then straddled his thigh, bare and slick. She rocked slowly, coating his skin. "Your turn to confess," she whispered. "What do you want right now?"
He pulled back from Mia's breast, lips wet. "I want to watch you come. All of you."
Talia's eyes darkened. "Greedy." She unhooked her bra, let it fall. Her breasts were heavy, olive-toned, nipples dark. She crawled up the bed, knelt beside Mia. "Then watch."
Lena finally touched him: fingers wrapping around his cock through the boxers, stroking once, slow and firm. "But first," she said, "we take care of you."
They moved in concert, a choreography they hadn't rehearsed but somehow knew. Sasha slid down to join Lena, both women easing his boxers off. His cock sprang free, flushed and aching. Mia stayed at his chest, kissing his neck, his jaw, his mouth. Talia knelt opposite her, breasts brushing his arm as she whispered filthy praise in his ear.
Lena's mouth was first: warm, wet, taking him deep in one slow glide. He groaned, hips jerking. Sasha licked a stripe up the underside, then joined Lena, their tongues meeting around him. The sight: two gorgeous women sharing his cock, eyes locked on his: nearly undid him.
Mia's hand found his, guided it between her thighs. She was bare, slick, swollen. He circled her clit with his thumb, and she shuddered, riding his hand.
Talia watched, fingers working between her own legs. "Don't come yet," she warned. "We're nowhere near done."
They edged him mercilessly. Every time he got close, they slowed, kissed his thighs, his stomach, each other. Lena and Sasha took turns sucking him, then kissing, sharing the taste. Mia came first on his fingers, thighs clamping around his hand, a low moan muffled against his shoulder.
When they finally let him tip over, it was with Sasha's mouth on him, Lena's fingers cupping his balls, Mia and Talia kissing his neck in tandem. He came hard, vision whiting out, spilling down Sasha's throat. She swallowed, licked him clean, then crawled up to kiss him so he tasted himself on her tongue.
The room was quiet except for breathing.
Mia curled against his side, breasts soft against his ribs. "That was just the warm-up," she murmured.
Lena traced lazy circles on his stomach. "Tomorrow, we start again."
Sasha nestled into his other side, red curls tickling his chest. "And the day after."
Talia stretched at the foot of the bed, gloriously naked. "You're ours now, Alex. The house chose you."
He should have laughed. Should have asked questions. Instead, he pulled the blanket over them all, four warm bodies tangled with his, and slept deeper than he had in years.
Outside, the streetlights flickered off one by one. Inside, the night settled into something permanent.
Morning came in slow, golden increments. Sunlight slipped through the half-open blinds and painted stripes across the bed: across Mia's bare shoulder, the swell of Talia's breast, the freckled slope of Sasha's hip. Alex woke to the weight of Lena's head on his chest, her dark hair fanned over his skin like spilled ink. Someone's leg was hooked over his thigh. Someone else's hand rested low on his stomach, fingers curled possessively.
He didn't move. Couldn't. The air smelled of sex and sleep and the faint sweetness of Mia's vanilla lotion. His cock stirred, half-hard already, remembering last night's slow unraveling.
Mia stirred first. She lifted her head, blonde waves tousled, lips swollen. "Morning," she whispered, voice husky. Then, without warning, she slid down the bed, breasts dragging soft against his ribs, and took him into her mouth.
Alex's hips jerked. The wet heat of her was shocking after the cool morning air. She hummed around him, tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing. Lena's eyes fluttered open; she watched for a moment, then leaned up to kiss him, lazy and deep, tasting of sleep and him.
Sasha rolled onto her stomach, red curls a wild halo. "Share," she murmured.
Mia pulled off with a soft pop, lips glistening. "He's awake now." She crawled back up, straddling his waist, breasts swaying. Her pussy brushed the length of his cock—slick, ready. She didn't sink down. Just rocked, teasing, coating him in her wetness.
Talia appeared at the bedroom door, wrapped in one of Alex's T-shirts, the hem barely covering her ass. She carried two mugs of coffee. "Figured you'd need fuel." She set them on the nightstand, then peeled the shirt off in one motion. Naked, she climbed onto the bed, kneeling beside Sasha. "Room for one more?"
Lena laughed softly. "Always."
They rearranged him like he was theirs to position. Sasha straddled his face, thighs trembling as she lowered herself. Her scent—musky, sweet—filled his senses. He licked into her slowly, savoring the way she gasped, hips rolling. Talia took his right hand, guiding it between her legs. She was drenched, clit swollen under his fingers. He circled it the way she'd shown him last night, and she rewarded him with a low moan.
Mia finally sank down onto his cock.
The stretch was perfect—tight, wet, endless. She took him to the hilt in one slow glide, breasts bouncing as she settled. "Fuck," she breathed. "You feel even better in daylight."
Lena knelt beside them, fingers sliding between Mia's thighs to circle her clit. Mia's head fell back, blonde hair spilling over her shoulders. She rode him slow, deliberate, every roll of her hips dragging her breasts against his chest.
Sasha came first, thighs clamping around his head, a broken cry muffled against her own arm. Her taste flooded his tongue. Talia followed seconds later, grinding against his fingers, pussy clenching as she shuddered.
Mia leaned forward, breasts brushing his lips. "Your turn," she whispered.
He thrust up into her, hands gripping her hips. Lena's fingers stayed on Mia's clit, rubbing in tight circles. Mia's rhythm faltered; she came with a sharp cry, walls fluttering around him, milking him. The sight of her—head thrown back, breasts heaving—pushed him over. He spilled inside her, hips jerking, her name a groan against her skin.
They collapsed in a tangle of limbs and breathless laughter. Coffee cooled on the nightstand. No one moved to drink it.
Eventually, Sasha rolled off him, sprawling on her back. "Breakfast?" she asked the ceiling.
Talia stretched, catlike. "Only if Alex cooks shirtless."
He laughed—actually laughed—and the sound surprised them all.
The day unfolded like a fever dream.
They never left the house. The women rotated through showers, borrowing his T-shirts, leaving damp towels on the bathroom floor. Alex made pancakes while Mia leaned over the counter in nothing but his boxers, breasts pressed to the cool granite. Sasha fed him bites of bacon from her fingers, licking grease from his lips. Lena bent over to pick up a dropped spatula, giving him a deliberate view of her ass in lace panties.
By noon, they were back in the living room. The sectional had become their kingdom. Someone found an old vinyl of slow jazz; the crackle filled the room like incense. Clothes were optional. Mostly off.
Talia lay on her stomach across the ottoman, breasts spilling to either side, while Alex massaged her back with coconut oil. His hands slid lower, kneading the curve of her ass, thumbs brushing the slick heat between her thighs. She moaned into the cushion.
Sasha and Lena had claimed the couch, legs tangled, kissing slow and deep. Sasha's hand disappeared between Lena's thighs, fingers moving in lazy circles. Lena's head fell back, tank top rucked up to reveal one breast, nipple dark and wet from Sasha's mouth.
Mia watched from the armchair, legs draped over one arm, fingers circling her own clit. "Come here," she said to Alex.
He obeyed. She pulled him down by the waistband of his sweatpants, freed his cock, and guided him into her mouth. She sucked him slow, eyes locked on his, while Talia crawled over to join them. Talia's tongue traced his balls, then lower, licking where Mia's lips met his shaft. The dual sensation made his knees buckle.
They took him to the edge again, then stopped. Always stopping. Always teasing.
Afternoon bled into evening. They ordered Thai food, ate it cross-legged on the floor, feeding each other spring rolls and sticky rice. Someone spilled curry on Sasha's breast; Lena licked it off slow, tongue swirling around her nipple until Sasha whimpered.
Night fell soft and inevitable.
They migrated back to the bedroom. This time, the pace was languid, almost reverent. Alex lay in the center, the women surrounding him like offerings.
Mia rode his face, slow and deep, breasts swaying as she ground against his tongue. Sasha took his cock, sinking down inch by inch, walls fluttering around him. Lena and Talia knelt on either side, breasts pressed to his chest, kissing each other above him, nipples brushing his skin.
He came twice more that night—once buried in Sasha, once with Talia's breasts wrapped around him, her mouth on the tip. The women came in waves, bodies trembling, names blending into moans.
When they finally slept, it was tangled and sticky and perfect. Alex's last coherent thought, before darkness took him, was that the house on Elm Street had never felt so full.
Tomorrow, they'd said. And the day after.
He believed them.
The days blurred like watercolor left in the rain.
Alex lost track of time the way a man loses track of breaths when he's drowning in pleasure. The women never left. Their overnight bags had become drawers in his dresser, their perfumes mingled in the bathroom, their laughter echoed in every room. The house on Elm Street had become a living thing: warm, humid, pulsing with the rhythm of bodies and the soft slap of skin on skin.
They established a rhythm as natural as tide.
**Mornings** belonged to Mia. She woke first, always, slipping from the tangle of limbs to brew coffee in nothing but an apron. The sight of her: breasts swaying as she reached for mugs, ass peeking beneath the hem: was Alex's alarm clock. She'd bring him a cup, straddle his lap while he was still half-asleep, and ride him slow, coffee cooling on the nightstand. Her pussy was always wet, always ready, clenching around him like a promise. She came with soft gasps, forehead pressed to his, blonde hair curtaining their faces.
**Afternoons** were Sasha's domain. She claimed the sun-drenched living room, spreading yoga mats on the hardwood. "Stretch with me," she'd say, voice innocent, eyes anything but. They'd move through poses: downward dog, her ass high and bare; warrior two, breasts thrust forward, nipples hard in the breeze from the open window. Alex's hands would wander: tracing the curve of her spine, cupping her breasts, sliding between her thighs to find her soaked. She'd drop to her knees mid-pose, take him in her mouth, red curls bouncing as she sucked him deep. When he came, she swallowed, then licked her lips like she'd tasted dessert.
**Evenings** were Lena's. She cooked: elaborate pastas, creamy risottos, desserts that required licking chocolate from fingers. They ate at the kitchen island, naked or nearly so. Lena fed him bites from her fork, then leaned across the counter so he could suck sauce from her nipple. After dinner, she'd bend over the couch, breasts hanging heavy, and guide him inside her from behind. Slow, deep thrusts, her moans muffled into the cushions. She liked to come with his hand over her mouth, his cock buried to the hilt, her walls fluttering around him like wings.
**Nights** belonged to Talia. She was the architect of their pleasure, the one who orchestrated the slow, filthy symphonies. She'd light candles, play jazz low, and arrange them on the bed like pieces on a chessboard. One night, she had Alex sit against the headboard while the others knelt before him: Mia licking his shaft, Sasha sucking his balls, Lena kissing his mouth, Talia's fingers circling his nipple. Another night, she blindfolded him with one of his ties, then took turns with the others riding his face, his cock, his fingers: until he couldn't tell whose pussy was whose, only that they were all perfect, all his.
They never rushed. Never demanded. Just took, and gave, and took again.
One Thursday, the power went out during a storm. The house plunged into darkness, rain lashing the windows. They lit candles, gathered in the basement where the air was cooler. The sectional became their island.
Talia started it. She straddled Alex's lap, breasts pressed to his chest, and whispered, "Tonight, we worship you."
They did.
Mia knelt between his legs, mouth on his cock, slow and reverent. Sasha and Lena took his hands, guiding them to their breasts: full, heavy, nipples hard under his palms. Talia kissed him, tongue deep, hips rolling so her slick heat slid along his stomach. They rotated, seamless. Every mouth, every pussy, every pair of breasts: his to taste, to touch, to fill.
When he came, it was with all four of them touching him: Mia's mouth on his cock, Sasha's fingers in his hair, Lena's breasts in his hands, Talia's pussy clenching around his fingers. He spilled into Mia's throat, vision sparking like the lightning outside.
After, they lay tangled on the sectional, candlelight flickering over sweat-slick skin. Rain drummed the roof. No one spoke for a long time.
Then Sasha, voice soft: "We should tell him."
Mia's fingers traced Alex's chest. "He deserves to know."
Lena kissed his shoulder. "It's only fair."
Talia sat up, hair wild, breasts gleaming with sweat. "The house chose you, Alex. Not us. It's been waiting."
He blinked, brain sluggish with afterglow. "What?"
Mia smiled, slow and secret. "Elm Street isn't just a street. It's a threshold. Every few years, the house picks someone: someone quiet, kind, lonely. It draws us to them. We feel it: like a hook in the chest. We can't leave until…"
"Until what?" His voice was hoarse.
"Until you don't want us anymore," Talia finished. "Or until you ask us to stay forever."
Sasha nuzzled his neck. "We've never wanted to stay before."
Lena's hand found his, lacing their fingers. "But with you…"
Mia kissed him, soft and sweet. "We're not going anywhere. Not unless you tell us to."
The storm raged outside. Inside, the candle flames danced, and Alex felt the house breathe around them: warm, alive, content.
He pulled them closer: four bodies, one heartbeat.
"Stay," he said.
They did.