Pinky Matis
By LilDean.
She ran fingers through her buzzed green hair, grinning as the metal gate screeched again behind Kimmy. I tried focusing on the lemonade pitcher sweating onto the patio table. Really tried. But Brooke’s bare feet fascinated me—long toes with chipped turquoise polish, the high arches flexing against sun-warmed concrete as she stretched her lean frame. Her neon-green bikini top strained slightly when she reached for sunscreen, revealing tiny crescent shadows beneath the thin fabric where her breasts curved. She caught me staring and winked.
“Earth to Matis! Stop zoning and grab the floaties.”
My gaze darted away, colliding instead with Kimmy’s legs dangling in the shallow end. Water droplets clung to her tanned calves like scattered diamonds, tracing paths down the smooth, powerful muscles honed from cross-country training. The tendons behind her knees tightened visibly as she kicked lazily, each freckle on her shins standing out golden-brown against skin polished by summer sun. Even her feet were sculpted perfection—narrow, high insteps, dusting of fine blonde hairs catching the light, toes delicate and straight as they skimmed the pool’s surface.
Then, movement flickered at the shady corner beside the lounge chairs. Sloane had unfolded herself from her habitual hunched posture, stretching languidly towards the diving board. Her bare feet padded silently across the hot concrete, utterly arresting—pale as bone china against the faded grey surface, untouched by sun. Each slender toe gleamed with intricate silver rings: a tiny barbell through the second toe, a constellation of delicate chains linking her pinky toe to the next, a thick band hugging the joint of her big toe. They weren’t cheap trinkets; they looked like relics unearthed from some moonlit temple, ancient silverwork wrapping around her ghostly skin. Her toenails were painted the deepest midnight blue, almost black, reflecting tiny chips of sky.
My gaze travelled upwards, reluctantly and inevitably, drawn to her face. The harsh noon light softened the stark contrast of her jet-black hair against her paleness. Her sharp cheekbones caught the sun, highlighting the subtle curve where her jaw met her throat, adorned by a small silver dagger pendant resting in the hollow. Her many piercings – a stud beside her lip, a hoop high in her ear cartilage, a tiny silver star near her eyebrow – seemed less like rebellion and more like constellations mapped onto porcelain. But it was her eyes that pinned me. A startling Arctic blue, wide-set and framed by thick, dark lashes that cast faint shadows on her cheeks. They held a quiet intensity, like deep glacier pools that absorbed all light yet revealed nothing. A faint blush, perhaps from the heat or something else, dusted the bridge of her nose beneath the delicate chain of her nose ring.
Turning my head felt like cracking stone, my neck stiff with the effort of pretending I hadn’t been cataloging every inch of my friends. There she was, right beside me on the cracked concrete edge of the pool. Elea. She hadn’t plunged in yet, preferring to sit with her legs folded beneath her, dipping just her toes into the cool turquoise water. Her small feet were delicate, almost doll-like, toes painted a cheerful candy-apple red. They stirred the water gently, creating tiny whirlpools that caught the sunlight, sparkling like scattered rubies. A single charm bracelet, silver with a miniature seashell charm, jingled softly on her ankle with each tiny movement. Her skin was impossibly smooth, untouched by sunburn, unlike Kimmy’s gold or Brooke’s faint pink, radiating a soft, creamy warmth even in the shade where she sat.
My eyes drifted upwards, tracing the faint constellation of freckles dusted across her nose and cheeks. They were paler than Kimmy’s, more scattered, like cinnamon spilled on milk. Her short blonde hair, damp at the tips from the humid air, clung slightly to her temple, framing the soft curve of her jaw. Her brown eyes, wide and luminous, held a quiet contentment as she watched Brooke splash Kimmy.
A tiny droplet of condensation slid down the lemonade glass she held loosely in her lap, tracing a path towards her bare thigh. She caught me staring – not at her feet this time, but at her face. A small smile bloomed, crinkling the corners of her eyes, warm and unguarded. “Deep thoughts, Matis?” she murmured, her voice soft but clear above the splashing and Brooke’s raucous laugh. Her gaze was direct, holding mine for a beat longer than felt casual, and I felt a familiar heat crawl up my own neck. That simple question, that gentle scrutiny, felt far more intimate than Brooke’s wink.
I cleared my throat, the sound embarrassingly loud. “Just… thinking it’s kinda hard,” I mumbled, tearing my gaze away to focus intensely on a crack in the concrete between my knees.
I meant the heat, the weight of watching everyone, the constant buzzing tension that seemed thicker than the humid air itself. Being the only guy. The effort of pretending I wasn’t cataloging every curve, every freckle, every shift of muscle beneath sun-warmed skin. The sheer impossibility of feeling normal around these girls, who were my oldest friends, and yet, somehow, increasingly felt like alien constellations I desperately wanted to map. The effort of keeping this gnawing awareness locked tight behind casual smiles and shrugs. The words blurted out clumsily, inadequate vessels for the messy knot in my chest.
Elea’s grin widened, a flash of teeth against her freckled skin. She leaned a fraction closer, the tiny silver seashell charm on her ankle bracelet jingling softly. “Hard?” Her voice dropped to a playful, conspiratorial whisper, barely audible over Kimmy’s splashy protests and Brooke’s booming laugh. Her brown eyes sparkled with teasing mischief, flicking pointedly downwards towards my lap where my swim trunks were pulled taut against my thighs before snapping back up to meet my startled gaze.
“Matti, honey,” she breathed, her smile turning impish, “is it just being the only boy that’s hard? Or,” she paused dramatically, tilting her head, “is it maybe…” She trailed off, her gaze darting down again briefly, then back up, eyebrows lifting knowingly.
A hot wave of mortification crashed over me, hotter than the midday sun beating down on my shoulders. My cheeks felt like they’d caught fire. Elea giggled, a light, musical sound that somehow cut through the poolside chaos. It wasn’t mocking, though – warm and familiar, like shared secrets from kindergarten forts. Involuntarily, a choked laugh escaped my own lips, surprising me. Our eyes locked again, that shared ridiculousness hanging thickly in the humid air between us. The tension wasn’t gone, but it had shifted, twisted into something almost electric. Her bare foot nudged mine gently under the water’s surface, cool toes brushing my ankle, sending a fresh jolt up my spine.
Across the pool, Brooke’s whooping abruptly stopped. “Oho!” she bellowed, her green hair glinting fiercely as she hauled herself onto the side, rivulets streaming down her neon bikini. “What’s the juicy gossip over there? Spill it!” Her sharp green eyes scanned Elea’s amused smirk and my flushed face, a predatory grin spreading across her own.
“Private party?” Brooke strode towards us, dripping onto the concrete, her long strides purposeful.
Kimmy stopped kicking, twisting gracefully in the water to look, her expression curious. Sloane unfolded silently from her shady perch near the diving board, her midnight-blue gaze drifting our way. Suddenly, the pool felt impossibly small, shrinking under the focused attention of my four best friends.
Kimmy paddled closer, resting her elbows on the concrete lip near Elea. Her chestnut hair clung wetly to her neck. “Elea started it,” she announced innocently, nodding towards me.
“She was teasing Matti about something being hard.”
The emphasis felt deliberate. Elea giggled, confirming it with a mischievous nod towards my lap. Brooke threw her head back and roared with laughter.
“No way! Our little Matty?” She crouched beside me, dripping chlorinated water onto my leg. “Aw, buddy. Is the poor boy overwhelmed?” Her voice dripped with playful pity, but her eyes held a calculating sparkle. Sloane drifted closer, silent as smoke, her pale arms crossed loosely, watching me with unnerving stillness.
Elea nudged my foot again under the water. “Okay, okay,” she conceded, still smiling. “We might have talked about this before, actually.”
She exchanged a glance with Brooke, who nodded sharply. “Yeah,” Brooke chimed in, leaning forward conspiratorially. “Like, days ago. We had a whole pow-wow.”
Kimmy bobbed her head eagerly, water sloshing. “We were figuring things out,” she added, her brown eyes wide and earnest. “You know… group dynamics.”
Sloane remained silent, her gaze fixed on me, the tiny silver dagger pendant at her throat catching the light.
Elea took a small breath. “And we sorta… agreed.” Her freckles seemed to stand out more against her suddenly serious expression. “About you, Matis.”
The confession hung thickly in the humid air. Water dripped steadily from Brooke’s elbows onto the hot concrete, each drop amplified in the sudden quiet. Elea smoothed the tiny seashell charm on her ankle bracelet.
“It’s not a bad thing!” she insisted quickly. “It’s just… how you are.”
Brooke snorted softly, wiping chlorinated water from her brow. “Yeah, Matty. You’re kinda… predictable.” Her green eyes weren’t mocking, but assessing. “You hold doors. You panic if a spider gets near Kimmy. You always bring the extra sunscreen.”
Kimmy piped up, “You listen! Like, really listen.” She kicked gently, creating tiny waves. “And you never try to take charge unless Brooke forces you.”
Brooke grinned. “Which is often.”
Elea nodded slowly. “Right. It’s… comfortable. Like you’re the steady beat.”
Her gaze softened, landing gently on mine. “We like it. But we also decided… maybe lean into it? Officially.” My stomach clenched. Officially?
Sloane shifted silently beside the diving board, her silver toe rings glinting. Her voice, cool and low, cut through Brooke’s chuckle.
“Beta.”
The word landed like a pebble dropped into still water. Beta. My breath hitched. It wasn’t just a personality quirk; it was a role. A designation. Elea leaned forward slightly, her candy-apple-red toes brushing my calf underwater.
“It means,” she murmured, her voice softer than the pool’s lapping, “you belong here like this. You don’t have to try being… louder? Or bossy? Like Brooke.”
She gestured vaguely. Brooke smirked. “Damn straight. We need balance. Kimmy runs wild, Sloane broods, I yell… and you,” she pointed at me, “you keep the peace. The glue.”
The warmth of Elea’s foot was replaced by a cold apprehension crawling up my spine. Was being “the glue” just a nicer way of saying ‘incapable of being anything else’?
Kimmy paddled closer, resting her chin on folded arms on the pool’s edge. Droplets trickled down her tanned cheeks. “It’s sweet, Matis,” she insisted, her tone earnest. “You remember—like when Sloane’s cat got sick? You stayed all night holding her hand without talking.”
Sloane’s gaze flickered, acknowledging the memory with a slight tilt of her head. Kimmy continued, water swirling around her shoulders.
“Or how you brought Brooke ice cream after she bombed that physics exam? And you always listen when Elea talks about her pottery class, even though we tease her about lumpy mugs.”
Each example felt like a spotlight pinning me in place—proof that my quietness wasn’t just tolerated but needed. Brooke snorted softly.
“Yeah, you’re the designated feeler of feelings. Our emotional sponge.”
The word ‘beta’ began to sink deeper, not as an insult, but as… an expectation. Comfortable. Predictable. Safe.
Sloane unfolded her arms, silver chains tinkling softly at her wrists. She drifted forward, silent as moonlight, until her shadow fell across my lap. Her Arctic-blue eyes held mine—steady, unnerving.
“There’s… conditions.” Her voice was cool rainwater over stones. Elea leaned closer, her breath warm on my shoulder. “Only if you want!” she whispered urgently.
Brooke grinned, sharp and knowing. Sloane raised one pale hand, fingertips brushing the silver dagger pendant at her throat. “If you embrace this.” She paused, her gaze flicking briefly to my swim trunks. “Tests. To prove you trust us. To prove you’re ours.”
My throat tightened. “What kind of tests?”
The question rasped out, raw. Kimmy giggled nervously, swirling water beside Elea. Brooke snorted.
“Oh, c’mon, Matty! Nothing scary.” But Sloane didn’t blink. Her midnight-blue nail traced her bottom lip near the silver stud. “The first,” she murmured, low and deliberate, “is trust. Simple.” Her eyes locked onto mine, unflinching. “Show us.” Her chin dipped slightly. “Show us your cock.”
Heat exploded across my face, searing down my neck. My gaze darted wildly—Elea watching me with gentle expectancy, Brooke grinning wolfishly, Kimmy biting her lip, Sloane utterly still.
“Why?” I choked out the word, thick with disbelief. “Why would you—”
“It’s not cruel, Matis,” Elea cut in softly, her candy-apple toes curling slightly near my calf. A blush bloomed across her freckled cheeks, but her gaze remained steady. “We just… noticed things. The way you panic when you change near us? How do you always wear loose trunks? How you blush if anyone even mentions size?” She glanced at the others, receiving quick nods. “It gave… an impression.” Her voice dropped to a near whisper. “We think… maybe you feel small? And we want you to know hiding is not safe.” Her brown eyes held a fierce tenderness. “Not to us.”
I swallowed hard, the humidity suddenly choking. Their eyes pinned me—Elea’s gentle warmth, Brooke’s predatory grin, Kimmy’s earnest curiosity, Sloane’s unnerving stillness. A tremor ran through my hands. My swim trunks felt impossibly thin, clinging indecently. Sloane’s piercing gaze didn’t waver. “Simple,” she repeated softly, her voice cutting through Brooke’s low chuckle.
“Show us. Now.”
My breath hitched. I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak—trapped in the unbearable intimacy. Then Elea’s foot nudged mine underwater, a soft, reassuring pressure. Her smile was small, encouraging. Brooke leaned forward, elbows resting on wet knees.
“C’mon, Matty,” she murmured, teasing gone, replaced by something strangely open. “We’re here.”
Kimmy nodded fiercely, water droplets tracing paths down her neck. “Always,” she whispered.
The knot in my chest loosened, just a fraction. They knew. They’d always known. And they were waiting.
I nodded. A jerky, awkward motion. My fingers, cold despite the heat, fumbled with the drawstring of my swim trunks. The wet fabric clung stubbornly. Sloane’s gaze remained fixed, unblinking, as if absorbing every tremor. Brooke held her breath; Elea leaned forward, eyes wide and impossibly soft.
Kimmy ducked her chin slightly, cheeks flushed but gaze steady. A sharp tug, a slide of fabric, and the humid air kissed skin I’d guarded fiercely for years. My erection sprang free, undeniable—a thin, flushed curve standing rigid against my stomach, utterly exposed in the harsh afternoon light.
Laughter erupted—not cruel, but a sudden, warm cascade. Brooke threw her head back, green hair flashing, her bellow rich and genuine. “Oh, Matty!” Kimmy clapped a hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking, eyes crinkling above her fingers.
Elea dissolved into giggles, burying her face briefly against her knees, candy-apple toes curling in the water beside mine. Even Sloane’s lips twitched upwards, a rare, fleeting ghost of amusement softening her porcelain features. The sound washed over me—affectionate, intimate, dissolving the paralyzing knot of shame in my chest into something lighter, almost giddy.
“See?” Elea managed, breathless, wiping tears from her freckled cheeks. Her brown eyes shone, warm and unguarded as she looked straight at my exposed flesh. “We told you! It’s utterly perfect for our little beta.”
Brooke leaned forward eagerly, elbows on her knees, green eyes sparkling with delighted certainty. “Seriously, Matis. That’s the cutest dick we’ve ever seen. Like a little pinkie finger! Adorable.” Her grin widened. “Exactly what a beta boy should have—tiny and sweet.”
My cheeks burned hotter than the sun-baked concrete. “It’s… It’s not that small,” I stammered, my voice thin and high. I tried instinctively to curl forward, shield myself, but Kimmy’s hand shot out, cool and wet from the pool, gently resting on my knee.
“Oh, Matis,” she murmured, her earnest face tilted up, long legs still kicking softly in the turquoise water. “Don’t be silly. It is small. Really small. And that’s okay!” Her tone held no pity, only pure acceptance. “It’s like… it belongs to you. Just right.”
Sloane drifted closer, silent as snowfall. She knelt gracefully beside me on the warm concrete, her black hair falling forward to frame her porcelain face. In her pale fingers, she held a small, clear plastic ruler, the kind Brooke used for sketching poolside doodles. Her Arctic-blue eyes met mine, unnervingly calm.
“Need to understand dimensions,” she murmured, her voice low rainwater.
Her cool fingertip brushed the flushed tip of my erection. A jolt of fire shot through me, stealing my breath. My cock pulsed visibly against my stomach, twitching under her feather-light touch. Elea giggled softly, leaning in conspiratorially.
“Look how it jumped, Sloane,” she whispered, pointing with her candy-apple painted toe, nudging my calf underwater. “Your babydick thinks that’s a handjob already!”
Sloane’s midnight-blue nail traced the ruler’s edge against my skin. Her fingertip pressed gently just above the base, holding it firm against my pubic bone – shockingly cool against the heat radiating from me. Her other hand slid the ruler slowly upwards, the hard plastic edge scraping lightly along the tender underside until it met the flushed, swollen tip. Her gaze remained locked on mine as she measured, utterly clinical yet unbearably intimate. “Four point one inches,” she announced softly, her breath cool on my cheek. Her fingertip lingered just below the swollen head, circling lightly. Another involuntary throb answered her touch, rocking the ruler slightly against my skin. Elea’s laughter bubbled again, warm and close.
“See? Told you! It’s practically begging for more.”
My voice cracked, thick with a desperate mix of embarrassment and arousal. “C-Can… can I get…” The words tangled on my tongue, choked by the sheer audacity. “…a handjob?”
Brooke’s laugh cut through the humid air, sharp and bright. “Oh, honey! No.” She shook her head, green hair spraying droplets. “Betas don’t ask for things like that.” Her grin softened slightly. “It’s not how it works. You belong to us. We decide when, how, and if.” Her green eyes sparkled with affectionate amusement. “Your job is to be sweet, and needy, and just… ours.”
Elea nudged my foot again underwater, her smile gentle. “Exactly. You don’t ask for dessert. You wait patiently until it’s offered.”
Kimmy nodded vigorously, water sloshing around her chin. “And you’re really good at waiting, Matis!”
Desperation clawed deeper. “But… what if I want to have sex?”
The question hung fragile and exposed. A ripple of soft laughter flowed around me – Elea’s melodic giggle, Brooke’s deeper chuckle, Kimmy’s breathy snort. Even Sloane’s lips curved faintly as she meticulously wiped the ruler dry on her black shorts. Elea leaned close, her freckled nose almost brushing my burning cheek.
“Oh, sweet beta,” she murmured, warmth radiating from her skin. “Of course you’ll want it.” Her brown eyes held infinite patience and a terrifying certainty. “You’ll ache for it. You’ll dream about it.”
Brooke leaned in from my other side, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper thick with affectionate teasing. “But guess what? Our precious virgin boy isn’t getting laid anytime soon.” Her cool fingertip tapped my naked hipbone. “That’s just not for you. Not yet.”
The confirmation slammed into me, sharp and undeniable. Elea’s toe traced a slow circle on my calf underwater, strangely soothing against the rush of humiliation and arousal.
“No sex for our beta,” she confirmed softly, her gaze drifting downwards then back to my face. “It’s too… much. Too demanding. Too risky for someone so gentle.”
Brooke nodded, her green eyes sparkling playfully. “Exactly. What’s a good beta to do with all that pent-up frustration?”
Kimmy paddled closer, resting her chin on folded arms beside Elea. Her earnest brown eyes met mine. “You know what you’ll do, Matis,” she whispered, her tone matter-of-fact and almost kind. “You’ll go home tonight. Alone. To your quiet little room.”
Brooke grinned, sharp and knowing. “And you’ll lie in bed, thinking about us. Thinking about this. About how exposed you felt. How desperately you wanted more.”
My gaze flickered wildly between them—Elea’s serene acceptance, Brooke’s predatory amusement, Kimmy’s innocent certainty, Sloane’s unnerving stillness. The implication hung heavily in the humid air, thick with the scent of chlorine and sunscreen. Elea leaned in, her breath warm against my ear.
“You’ll imagine our hands touching you,” she murmured, her voice dropping to a husky whisper that sent shivers down my spine despite the heat. “Brooke’s teasing fingers… Kimmy’s soft palms… Sloane’s cool, precise grip…”
Each name was a deliberate caress. “You’ll imagine us watching you. Whispering how sweetly desperate you look.” Her candy-apple toe nudged my trapped erection beneath the water, a fleeting, electric pressure. “And then you’ll touch yourself,” she breathed, her lips brushing my earlobe. “Slowly at first. Then frantic. Just a little beta boy, trembling with need he can’t satisfy.”
I nodded eagerly, desperation clawing its way out in a ragged whisper. “Yes… please…”
My gaze locked onto Sloane’s Arctic-blue eyes, silently pleading. She drifted closer, her pale hand lifting gracefully. Her midnight-blue nail traced the air inches from my flushed skin. “Perhaps,” Sloane murmured, her voice soft as snowfall yet cutting through Brooke’s low chuckle. Her fingertip hovered over the swollen tip of my erection, radiating impossible coolness.
“A ritual. Of acceptance.” Her gaze swept over Elea, Brooke, and Kimmy—each nodding subtly. “Cum now. For us. Show us your devotion. Your surrender.”
Her porcelain features remained impassive, but a flicker of something primal ignited deep within her eyes. “Prove you are truly ours.”
My trembling fingers obeyed instantly, instinctively finding the hot, rigid flesh. I began to stroke—slowly at first, thumb brushing the slick tip—using only my thumb and index finger in a tight circle, just as I always did alone in the dark. The intimate motion felt shockingly natural despite the four pairs of eyes watching raptly. Brooke snorted loudly, pulling her phone from the pocket of her discarded shorts.
“Oh, this is gold!” she cackled, angling the screen towards me.
The harsh light illuminated my flushed face and the frantic movement of my two fingers.
“Look how casually he does it!” Elea giggled, candy-apple toes nudging my thigh. “Like he’s stirring a tiny cup of tea!” Her laughter danced around me, warm and oddly affectionate. “Seriously, Matty, it’s almost dainty!”
Sloane drifted closer, kneeling silently beside my hip. The silver chains at her wrists chimed softly as she slid a small, intricate toe ring from her pale foot—a delicate spiral band. Without breaking her unnerving gaze, she held it between her thumb and index finger, aligning it perfectly with the flushed tip of my erection. Her midnight-blue nail traced the swollen ridge before she pushed gently. The cool metal slid effortlessly over the sensitive head, settling snugly around the narrow shaft where it thickened slightly. It fit with startling precision—a perfect circle hugging the base of my glans. I gasped, hips jerking involuntarily.
“Holy shit,” I blurted out, voice cracking, “It fits… perfectly.”
The ring gleamed obscenely under the sun, a tiny silver crown encircling my exposed flesh.
To my utter astonishment, a rich, melodic giggle bubbled from Sloane’s lips—a sound so unexpected and warm it momentarily froze my frantic strokes. Her Arctic-blue eyes crinkled slightly at the corners, the ghost of a genuine smile softening her porcelain features.
“Of course it does,” she murmured, her cool fingertip tapping the ring lightly, sending another jolt through me. “Made for it.”
Brooke roared with laughter, her phone suddenly thrust forward, lens pointed directly at my lap where Sloane’s ringed toe tapped the concrete beside the gleaming silver band.
“Oh, this is prime content!” she yelled, green eyes sparkling. “Kimmy! Your turn!”
Kimmy paddled closer instantly, her earnest face replacing Brooke’s grinning one in the phone’s screen. She leaned her elbows on the concrete, chin propped on her hands, water dripping from her chestnut hair onto my thigh.
“Hey everyone!” she chirped, her voice bright and unnervingly relaxed for the surreal intimacy. “Welcome back to Kimmy’s Chaos Corner!” She grinned directly into the camera, then gestured vibrantly towards my exposed lap. “As you can see, things are getting interesting poolside today! Meet Matis, our adorable beta friend! Say hi, Matis!”
Her cheerful command hung in the humid air, absurdly normal against the backdrop of my trembling hand still loosely circling the silver-ringed shaft.
My gaze darted from the blinding phone lens to Kimmy’s expectant brown eyes, then to Sloane’s cool, amused stillness beside me. Elea’s toe nudged my ankle underwater—a silent, comforting push.
“H-Hi,” I stammered, my voice cracking embarrassingly. I forced a shaky wave towards the camera lens, acutely aware of every inch of exposed skin beneath it. “I’m… uh… Matis.”
Kimmy beamed. “Perfect! Now,” she leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially as if sharing a deep secret with her imagined audience, “Matis here is demonstrating a very special ritual. Tell us about it, Matty! What exactly are you doing right now? Be honest!”
Brooke snorted softly off-camera, the sound muffled but unmistakable. The command hung, sharp and direct. My thumb brushed the cool metal ring encircling my flushed head, sending a tremor through me.
“I’m… stroking my cock,” I whispered hoarsely, the crude admission burning my tongue. Kimmy’s grin widened.
“Louder for the viewers!” she chirped.
The silver ring caught the sunlight, winking obscenely as my trembling fingers tightened their familiar circle.
“I’m stroking my cock!” I repeated, louder this time, the absurdity crashing over me. “Because… because Sloane told me to cum. For them. To prove I’m theirs.”
The words tumbled out, raw and honest under Kimmy’s encouraging nod. Elea giggled softly beside me, a warm, melodic counterpoint to the frantic pulse roaring in my ears.
“And look!” Kimmy gestured excitedly towards my lap. “Our lovely Sloane added a little accessory! See that pretty silver ring? Fits perfectly, doesn’t it? Like it was made for him!” Her cheerful commentary, delivered with the practiced ease of a seasoned vlogger, made the surreal intimacy feel grotesquely public.
Elea shifted closer on the sun-warmed concrete, her freckled shoulder pressing against my burning arm. Her brown eyes met mine, soft and impossibly gentle despite the phone lens pointed at my agony.
“Matis,” she murmured, her voice a low hum barely audible over Brooke’s muffled chuckles. Her candy-apple toe traced a slow arc beneath the water near my ankle—a grounding warmth against the panic. “We were thinking… about nicknames.” She tilted her head, a cascade of blonde hair catching the light. “Something sweet. For our beta.” Her lips curved into a tender smile. “Would you… Be okay with that? Just for fun? For us?”
Her thumb brushed lightly against my thigh, a feather-light touch that somehow anchored me. The vulnerability in her eyes, the implicit trust she offered, made the humiliation feel like surrender. I nodded jerkily, my throat too tight for words. ”
Okay,” I breathed. “For you.”
A ripple of excited murmurs flowed through them. Brooke lowered her phone slightly, green eyes alight with predatory glee.
“Oooh, choices!” she crowed, tapping her chin with a dripping finger.
Kimmy paddled closer, resting her chin on folded arms beside Elea, her earnest gaze sweeping over my exposed lap. “How about ‘Teeny’?” she suggested brightly, nodding towards the silver-crowned erection trembling in my grasp. “It’s cute! Like his… You know.”
Booke snorted. “Too obvious! Think deeper!” Her gaze sharpened, drifting towards Sloane’s discarded ruler lying beside my hip. “What about ‘Quarter Inch’? Since he barely made it past four?”
Elea giggled, shaking her head. “Too mean! We want sweet humiliation.” She leaned in conspiratorially, her breath warm on my cheek. “I was thinking ‘Pinky Promise.'” She wiggled her own little finger near my face. “Because it’s… well… pinkie-sized.” Her eyes darted downwards meaningfully, a blush creeping over her freckles. “And it’s a promise… always to be our good boy.”
Silence fell, thick and expectant. Sloane shifted silently on the warm concrete beside me, her Arctic-blue gaze fixed on my flushed face. Slowly, deliberately, she raised her pale hand—not towards me, but towards Kimmy. She wiggled her own pinkie finger, its midnight-blue nail gleaming. Brooke’s grin widened into something feral. Kimmy giggled, lifting her own hand instantly. Elea beamed, practically vibrating with anticipation as she raised her pinkie too. Four slender fingers wiggled in the humid air—a silent, unanimous vote. Brooke leaned forward, green eyes locking onto mine.
“Pinky,” she declared, her voice low and final. “Perfectly pathetic. Exactly right for you.” Her gaze dropped pointedly. “Now, Pinky… cum. Show us your devotion.”
A soft chorus of baby voices instantly enveloped me, sticky-sweet and cloying despite the heat. Elea leaned her head against my shoulder, her breath puffing warm against my neck.
“Cum for us, widdle Pinky,” she cooed, her freckled nose nuzzling my jaw. “Be a good boy for mommy.”
Beside me, Sloane tilted her head, her porcelain features unnervingly serene. Her cool lips brushed my earlobe. “Make the sticky, Pinky-winky,” she murmured in a breathy, infantilizing lisp that sent contradictory shivers down my spine. “Do it now.”
Kimmy giggled again, lifting her free hand close to her face. She extended her pinkie finger, her other hand hovering beside it. With exaggerated, deliberate motions, she began stroking her own pinkie with her thumb and index finger—a perfect, mocking pantomime of my frantic movements below the waterline.
“Like this, Pinky?” she chirped, her brown eyes wide with faux innocence. “Does it feel good? Does widdle Pinky wanna cum?”
Their combined pressure—Elea’s nuzzling warmth, Sloane’s icy command, Kimmy’s relentless mimicry—drove me over the edge. A choked gasp tore from my throat as my hips bucked violently against the water’s resistance. Intense heat surged through me, concentrated impossibly in that tiny, ring-crowned flesh gripped tight in my fingers. My vision blurred, tunneling towards the blinding phone lens Brooke still held steady. Thick, pearly ropes arched weakly onto my stomach and thigh, glistening obscenely under the harsh sun—a pitiful, shuddering climax witnessed by four pairs of fascinated eyes. Brooke lowered the phone slightly, her grin predatory.
“Oh, perfect,” she breathed, her gaze fixed on the mess smeared across my skin. “Look at that sad little spurt. Barely enough to fill a thimble.”
Elea giggled against my neck, her candy-apple toe tracing the edge of a droplet sliding down my hipbone. “Poor Pinky,” she murmured, baby voice thick with mock sympathy. “All done so fast.”
Brooke snatched the phone back from Kimmy, her green eyes sparkling with sudden inspiration. She leaned close, the wet screen pressing against my flushed cheek. “Okay, Pinky,” she commanded, her tone shifting to playful authority. “Time to say goodbye to Kimmy’s viewers!” She tilted the lens directly towards my tear-streaked, sweat-slicked face. “Give them your cutest, girliest wave! And sound super sweet!” Her own free hand fluttered in an exaggeratedly feminine wave beside my head. “Come on! Do it!”
Elea nudged my shoulder encouragingly, adding her own soft hum. Sloane’s cool finger tapped my thigh, a silent prompt.
My throat tightened, humiliation warring with the desperate urge to obey. I swallowed hard, forcing my trembling hand to lift. I fluttered my fingers in a feeble imitation of Brooke’s graceful gesture, my palm awkwardly turned inward.
“Uh…” My voice cracked, thin and alien. I squeezed my eyes shut for a second, picturing Elea’s soft tones. When I opened them, I pitched my voice high and breathy, lacing it with forced sweetness. “Bye-bye, everyone!” I chirped, waving my shaking hand again with exaggerated flickers of my wrist. “Thank you for… watching?”
The question ended in a squeak. Brooke roared with laughter, her phone shaking wildly.
“Oh my god, YES! Pinky the queen!” She briefly turned the camera towards herself, grinning madly. “That’s our good girl!” she crowed before aiming it back at my burning face, capturing every wince.
Elea’s giggles melted into something warmer as she leaned against me. One freckled hand cupped my wet cheek, her thumb tracing the curve of my eyelid with startling gentleness. “There’s our cutie,” she murmured, brown eyes soft despite Brooke’s continued filming. “Trying so hard.” Her thumb pressed lightly where she’d wiped a tear away earlier. “But…” She glanced at Sloane, something unspoken passing between them before Elea’s fingers slid down to my chin. She tilted my face towards her phone, still clutched in Brooke’s hand, her voice lowering to a whisper-thin tease. “Next time, Pinky… we’ll teach you to mean it.”
The implication—that there would be a next time—sent a shudder through me. A fresh bead of sweat rolled down my temple, clinging to Elea’s thumb before she flicked it away onto the concrete.
Brooke finally lowered her phone with a theatrical sigh, tossing it onto her towel with a wet *plop*. “God, Matty,” she groaned, stretching her arms overhead until her spine cracked. Her green eyes locked onto mine, gleaming with something between amusement and predatory satisfaction. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to see this.”
She gestured lazily at my entire dripping form—the flushed skin, the silver ring still snug around my softening flesh, the mess drying tacky on my stomach. “Watching you melt into this just because we asked?” A slow grin spread across her face. “Fuck. Yes.”
Her foot nudged my submerged knee, the contact lingering just long enough to feel deliberate. “Bet you never imagined your best friends would turn you into their trembling little showpiece, huh?” The chlorine-scented breeze carried her laughter as she leaned back on her elbows, utterly at ease in her casual cruelty.
Elea’s fingers traced idle patterns on my forearm, her touch feather-light yet grounding. “Brooke’s right,” she murmured, her voice sweet as spun sugar.
“You are our showpiece now.” Her freckled nose wrinkled as she tilted her head, brown eyes scanning my face like she was memorizing every twitch. “Which brings me to a very important question.” She paused dramatically, her toe brushing the inside of my ankle beneath the water.
A playful smirk curled her lips. “Is it okay if we call you a loser now?” Her grin widened at my sharp inhale.
“Sexually, I mean! Obviously you’re not, like, a real loser.” She patted my knee consolingly, her tone dripping with faux sympathy. “You’re sweet and smart and all that! But…” Her gaze dropped pointedly to my lap, where Sloane’s silver ring glinted obscenely in the sunlight. “This? This is peak loser behavior, Matty. And we adore it.”
I swallowed hard, shaking my head instinctively. “N-No,” I stammered, pulse hammering against my ribs. My voice sounded pathetically weak even to my own ears. “You don’t really think that—”
Elea’s sudden laughter cut me off mid-sentence, bright and melodic. Her fingers tightened around my wrist, pressing my palm flat against the sun-warmed concrete as if pinning a butterfly.
“Oh, Pinky,” she crooned, her brown eyes glinting with genuine amusement. “We absolutely think that.”
Brooke’s snort echoed across the water, followed by Kimmy’s breathless giggle. Elea leaned closer until her lips brushed my earlobe, her whisper carrying the weight of an unshakable truth.
“We all think it. Every single time your tiny little cock twitches for us. Every time you beg prettily. Every time you cum like a desperate loser who’d do anything to please us.” She pulled back slightly, her freckled face alight with something terrifyingly sincere. “And the best part?” Her thumb stroked the inside of my wrist—slow, possessive. “You know we’re right.”
I swallow around the lump in my throat, fingers twitching against the concrete as I give the smallest, most defeated nod. Sloane’s lips curve into something almost tender—if tenderness could be sharpened to a blade’s edge.
“Good,” she murmurs, her voice honeyed poison. “Then ‘Pinky’ is too generous.” Her Arctic-blue eyes flicker with quiet triumph as she lifts one pale hand, tapping a midnight-blue nail against her chin.
“From now on, you’ll answer to ‘Nub.’”
The word hangs in the air, thick and cloying. Elea bursts into delighted giggles, clapping her hands like she’s been handed a gift.
“Oh my god, yes!” she squeals, kicking water onto my thighs. “Because it’s—!” Her gesture to my lap is unnecessary, but she does it anyway, fingers pinched close together. Brooke’s laughter is a bark of approval as she leans in, her grin feral. “Nub it is,” she declares, like she’s christening a ship—or sinking one.
Sloane’s finger descends first, her touch clinical and precise. The cool tip of her nail presses into the swollen head of my cock just below the silver ring, sending a jolt through me.
“One,” she counts, her voice detached. Elea follows immediately, her freckled face alight with mischief as she jabs my glans with her candy-apple-painted toe—just once, sharp and teasing.
“Two!” she chirps, like we’re playing a game. Kimmy doesn’t hesitate; she leans over, her damp chestnut hair dripping onto my thigh as she pokes me with her index finger, her touch almost apologetic—if not for the way her lips twitch.
“Three,” she murmurs, her voice sweet as syrup. Brooke’s turn is the worst—her fingers are relentless, circling the tip with cruel precision before delivering a sharp flick that makes me gasp.
“Four,” she purrs, her green eyes gleaming. “Already shaking, Nub? That’s pathetic.”
The assault continues, each poke landing like a branding iron. Elea counts each one with breathless excitement, her toes wiggling against my skin between jabs.
“Five—oh! Six! Seven!”
My hips jerk involuntarily, my cock throbbing under their playful torture. Sloane pauses just long enough to tap the silver ring with her nail, the metallic *ping* reverberating through my oversensitive flesh. “Look at it,” she murmurs, her voice low.
“Eight.” She flicks the ring again, harder this time, and I whimper. Brooke’s laugh is a dark, delighted thing.
“Nine,” she announces, pressing her knuckle directly into my slit—her touch lingers, twisting slightly, and I choke on air. Elea leans in, lips brushing my ear.
“Ten,” she whispers, her breath warm. “Bet you can’t make it to fifteen.”
Kimmy nudges me gently—or so I think—until her toe jabs the swollen underside of my glans with pinpoint accuracy.
“Eleven,” she says, her voice sweet but her touch merciless. The nicknames come faster now, each poke punctuated with a new humiliation.
“Twinkle,” Brooke declares on twelve, grinning as my cock twitches under her fingertip. Sloane’s nail scrapes the rim on thirteen, her voice icy. “Button.”
Elea’s toe circles the leaking tip before pressing in.
“Fourteen—Peanut,” she coos, and I groan, my thighs trembling.
The silver ring digs into my flesh as I swell impossibly tighter. Brooke watches my face, her grin widening. “You’re dripping,” she breathes.
“One more—Teardrop—fifteen!”
Her finger smears the pre-cum down my shaft like a painter finishing a stroke.
Sloane’s hand drifts over my thigh, her touch deliberate. She doesn’t poke—she strokes, a single finger gliding from the base to the tip with torturous lightness.
“Say it,” she murmurs, her blue eyes locked onto mine.
The command isn’t cruel; it’s inevitable, like the tide pulling at the shore. My breath hitches as her fingertip ghosts over the silver ring, teasing the oversensitive flesh beneath.
“What do betas say when they—” Her nail flicks the slit, and I jerk, a whine escaping my lips. “—spurt?”
The word curls in the air, soft and lethal. I know what she wants. My hips buck helplessly into her touch, the pressure coiling impossibly tight.
“P-Please,” I gasp, the plea ragged. “Please let me—ah—cum—”
Her finger pauses at the very tip, applying just enough pressure to make my vision blur.
“Then speak,” she breathes, and her nail drags downward in one excruciatingly slow scrape.
The sensation is a lit match dropped into gasoline—my back arches off the concrete as my cock pulses violently between her fingers and the water’s surface.
“Thank you!” I sob, the words tearing out of me like a prayer as the first thick strand arcs onto my stomach.
Sloane’s lips part in quiet triumph, her finger never stopping its merciless glide. “Louder,” she commands, twisting her wrist just so.
“Thank you!” I wail, my voice cracking as the second spurt follows, weaker but no less humiliating.
Elea’s delighted giggle blends with Brooke’s muffled “Fuck yes” as Sloane finally lifts her hand, inspecting the glistening wetness coating her finger.
With the same clinical detachment she’s shown all afternoon, Sloane pinches the silver toe ring between her thumb and forefinger, sliding it off my flushed, spent cock with a soft *snick*. The absence of its cool weight is somehow more exposing than nudity itself. She reaches for the towel beside her, wiping the ring clean with deliberate, almost reverent strokes—never breaking eye contact as she dries every trace of me from it. My stomach clenches when she extends her hand, the ring balanced perfectly on her palm.
“Put it back,” she murmurs, her voice low. “Where it *belongs*.”
Her bare foot emerges from the water, toes flexing faintly as she presents it to me. The second toe gleams under the sunlight.
My fingers shake as I take the ring, still warm from her skin. The metal feels heavier now, charged with the weight of everything that’s happened—everything I’ve become under their hands. Elea shifts beside me, her knee pressing into my thigh as she leans in, her breath tickling my ear.
“Slowly,” she whispers, her voice dripping with mock concern. “Wouldn’t want our Nub to fumble his one important job.”
Brooke snorts, kicking a splash of water toward me as I fumble with the ring. Sloane doesn’t move, her foot poised like a queen awaiting a coronation. The silence stretches, thick with anticipation, until the metal finally slides over her toe with a barely audible click.
Elea’s fingers brush my wrist, her touch feather-light as she tilts her head, studying my face with sudden intensity.
“You are okay with this, right?” she asks, her voice softening in a way that makes my chest ache. It’s the first time anyone’s asked—the first time the question’s been voiced aloud.
Brooke’s grin falters for half a second, her green eyes flicking between us, while Kimmy chews her lower lip, her earlier playfulness dimmed. Even Sloane’s expression shifts, her piercing-blue gaze sharpening as she waits for my answer. The pool water laps at my hips, cool against my overheated skin, and for a heartbeat, the world feels suspended.
“I just…” My voice cracks, and I hate how small it sounds. “I feel like—like you don’t see me anymore. Not like before.”
The confession hangs between us, raw and trembling. Elea’s fingers tighten around my wrist, not punishing, but grounding.
“Matis,” she murmurs, and the use of my real name—not Nub, not Pinky—strikes like a blow. “We see you better now.” Her thumb traces the delicate skin of my inner wrist, her brown eyes wide and earnest. “You’re ours. That’s more than friendship.”
Brooke exhales sharply, her laughter tinged with something almost nervous. “Yeah, dumbass,” she mutters, nudging my knee with her toe. “You think we’d waste time teasing someone we didn’t adore?”
Kimmy’s hand lands on my shoulder, her touch hesitant. “You’re not… just a joke,” she says softly, like she’s choosing each word with care. “But you are a sissy.” Her fingers tighten slightly, her voice firming. “And that’s okay.”
Sloane’s foot flexes in my lap, her toes curling against my thigh. “It’s not an insult,” she says coolly. “It’s a fact.” Her blue eyes flicker with something almost like impatience. “You came untouched from counting. You wept when we called you Teardrop.”
The truth of it coils in my gut, hot and undeniable. Elea leans in, her freckled nose brushing my cheek.
“You’re our beta,” she whispers. “Our loser. Our Nub.” Her lips graze my ear. “And we love you for it.”
Brooke’s laugh is sudden, sharp—but not mocking. “Christ, Matis,” she breathes, shaking her head. “You really think we’d put this much effort into someone we didn’t want?” Her green eyes gleam as she flicks my limp cock with her toe. “Newsflash: pussyfree betas don’t get four girls fighting over who gets to humiliate them next.”
The words shouldn’t comfort me, but they do, settling under my skin like a warm weight. Sloane’s hand drifts to my hair, her fingers tangling in the damp strands.
“You belong to us,” she murmurs. “Completely.” Her nails scrape my scalp, just shy of painful. “Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?”
Elea’s giggle dissolves into a contented sigh as Brooke’s fingers swipe across the tip of my cock with the same effortless nonchalance as wiping condensation off a glass.
“There,” Brooke announces, flicking the dampness from her fingers into the water with a shrug. “All clean.”
Her touch lingers for half a second longer than necessary—not teasing, just habit, like adjusting a lopsided picture frame—and something in the casualness of it makes my breath catch. Kimmy’s watching with a faint smile, her chin propped on her palm, as if Brooke’s just fixed a stray thread on a sweater.
“Thanks, girls!”
To Be continued…?
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