I feel odd.

I try to concentrate on the feeling, to put it firmly in focus, so I can look at it, identify it, understand it. Wrongness feels even worse when it’s generic, when you don’t know what’s up.

But every time I try to do it, all I see is mist. Colourful, swirling, and… hazy…

I’m scrubbing the grime off the oven racks. It’s curious, isn’t it? That does not sound like me. At all! How did I get roped into this insufferable chore? Oh, right.

I volunteered.

"Thanks again for helping out, sis," Chris says behind me, flopping onto the couch and clicking on the TV. Ugh, kill me now. Who have I become? And when did my loser brother get so entitled?

Sigh. That’s not a very selfless way to think, is it? I should be happy that bro gets to spend some time watching something he likes. If cleaning the oven makes it possible for him to do that, then it’s a good thing, isn’t it?

That makes me scrub a little harder.

Of course, no one changes magically overnight, and a part of me still wants to lash out at him for this, but I bite my tongue instead.

"No problem!" I say, a little too cheerily. Chris turns around, considering me. He’s probably wondering if I’m mocking him, but he eventually must decide I’m being serious, and turns back towards the TV.

I shake my head. Yes, there are unpleasant moments of friction to this, but nobody said becoming a better person would be easy. And I do want to be a better person.

I think I’ve always wanted that, deep down.

It’s the only explanation that makes sense: I wanted to, but I was missing the final piece that would let everything fall into place. That talk with the elderly shopowner must have provided me with that final piece, because ever since then, it’s like I’m incapable of straying.

Every time I’m about to, the mists close in again, softening my annoyance into a pliant contentment. No, that sounds too passive, it’s more like…

I gain an acute understanding of other people’s wants and needs.

Now, the old man was kind to talk to me, but no conversation is going to radically alter someone’s behaviour. Obviously he just gave me the final push to do something I’d secretly wanted all along.

That’s the only logical explanation. Isn’t it?

Besides, it would be different if it was a conversation with Sylvia, or something, but no, this is some dude whose store I didn’t even know existed.

I don’t listen to old geezers as a personal rule, and the dude isn’t just old, he’s, like, ancient. He looked at me with wise, discerning eyes, though, and he did give me the pendant, so I guess he’s not so bad. For a mummy.

There’s also the positives to consider. I used to skulk around and be resentful all the time, and that gave people in my life pause. Now, I’m constantly surrounded by positivity. People are learning to count on me, rely on me, isn’t that beautiful?

I notice the way Chris avoids looking at the dishes in the sink, so I offer to do them.

If mom works late again, I cook dinner and make sure she has a hot meal waiting for her when she gets home.

It's like I can't help but think about other people before myself, and get this: they're all loving it. Chris actually says "thanks" to me without any sarcasm, and Mom actually hugs me now, which is… nice.

Sylvia even mentioned that I've been, gasp, "mature" lately. Mature? Moi? The ultimate queen of slacking off and living life on chill mode? Who am I anymore?

But then... there's that nagging feeling in the back of my mind, like an itch I can't scratch.

Ugh, why am I even thinking so much about this stuff? There’s no great mystery to unravel here, I'm just being helpful. What's so weird and so bad about that?

My phone buzzes with a text from Sylvia. She wants me to proofread her English essay again before she turns it in tomorrow. I text her back: Absolutely! I'm happy to help in any way I can.

I finish cleaning the oven and move on to mopping the kitchen floor. The more I help out, the less I mind it. The more I accommodate others, the more natural it feels. I'm morphing into the perfect friend, daughter, sister. I should be happy.

So why doesn’t this wrongness just go away already?

***

I'm attentive.

It’s a weird paradox, isn’t it? I feel unable to focus on specific aspects of my internal experience, and my mind is often foggy… quite literally. And yet, it’s like I have a set of antennae permanently up and listening for signals, these days. Specifically, listening for the needs of others.

Every time Sylvia yawns, I ask her if she’s tired - no, she says, she just finds sociology boring, like I do. I guess some subjects are beyond even her nerdy powers. At regular intervals, I ask her if she wants a glass of water, even though we’re at her place, so normally it would be her asking me if she can get me some water.

"You're being super attentive today, Phoebe," Sylvia says after the third time I offer her a glass of water. "You sure you're feeling all right?"

"I'm fine," I say, waving her concern away. "Just trying to be a better friend, that's all."

Sylvia narrows her eyes at me, but she doesn't press the issue. Instead, she takes the water and smiles. "Well, in that case, let me know if there's anything I can do for you in return."

I shake my head, feeling a blush creep up my cheeks. "I don't want anything in return, silly. I just want to help."

She studies me for a moment longer before turning back to the textbook. "All right, if you say so."

We study in silence - or at least she does, I couldn’t focus on the page before me if my life depended on it. But I can sense her discomfort, because again, I’m very attentive. She’s sitting uneasily in the chair, stealing glances at me from the book.

Maybe I’ve overdone it. I don’t want to make this weird, or anything, it’s not like I’m her personal asistant.

It’s just… I don’t have anything better to do with my time, right? Besides, Sylvia deserves it. She's been there for me through thick and thin, and I haven’t been there for her. I need to stop being so selfish.

"Phoebe," Sylvia says hesitantly, breaking the silence at last. "Is this about the group project still? I’ve forgiven you, it’s fine. You don’t have to, you know…”

"It’s not that!" I rush to say. "It just made me realise how everything in my life was about me me me me, and I don’t want that anymore.”

"And you deserve credit for that," Sylvia says, delicately, tentatively. "But… have you noticed anything... a bit too different about yourself lately?"

"Like what?" I ask, trying to sound casual.

"I don't know," she says, looking down at her textbook. "You just seem... more agreeable than usual. Like, way more."

"You know," I say, "I kinda resent the implication here. Y’all are acting so surprised that I can change so much, so quickly. Did you really have such a low opinion of me?"

"That’s totally not what I-" Sylvia says, before stopping. "It isn’t just me, then! Others have noticed it, too?"

"Yeah yeah," I say, rolling my eyes. "No good deed goes unpunished."

We resume studying, in silence - an even more awkward one, this time. I don’t want Sylvia to be uncomfortable, but I also don’t want her to prod too much. I already obsess enough about this topic in my own time.

I’ve looked at it from a thousand different perspectives, and no matter the vague wrongness, I haven’t found anything genuinely disturbing or odd about my new behaviour. So what else could I tell her, except what I already have?

I’m trying to change. That’s all there is to it. For sure.

Suddenly, my phone buzzes in my pocket. It's a text, this time from Derek. I open it straight away, of course, because he might have a want, or need, that I can fulfill, and that’s very very important.

Hey, can you come over? I need your help with something.

Mmmh. I eye Sylvia, then the phone once again.

Which one to prioritise?

Sylvia seems pretty uncomfortable around me at the moment, so maybe that’s a false alternative: if I just leave, it might actually improve the situation. She could study in peace, and have more time to process the changes in my demeanour, and I could go help Derek with… whatever it is he needs.

Though I can probably imagine what it’s about.

Of course, my study time should probably also be part of this equation. I don’t want my sociology professor to be disappointed in me. But I can always stay up and study in the middle of the night. Diligent students do that all the time, right?

The decision is made, then. I don't even hesitate before typing back a reply.

"Sure thing. I'll be right there."

I get up and start gathering my things, and at that, Sylvia looks up from her textbook, a frown on her face. "Where are you going?"

I need to make sure I formulate this the right way. I don’t want to get her the wrong impression here, like that I’m leaving because I’m upset at her, or something. So I give her my brightest smile, and say, "Uh, I just have to run an errand I, like, toootally forgot about. I'll be back in a bit, I promise."

She eyes me suspiciously, but doesn't say anything. I grab my backpack and head for the door.

Only when it closes, do I stop feeling her gaze glued to the back of my neck.

***

When I get to Derek's place, he greets me with a wide, surprised smile. Seeing his delight makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Pleasing others feels great!

"Wow, you got here fast," he says, grinning.

"Of course," I say, careful to keep the duh out of my voice: it’s never pleasant to feel like you’re being called dumb. "You needed me, so here I am." Where else would I be?

Derek hesitates for a moment, seemingly confused by my response. He makes to say something, then stops. "Well, okay then," he finally says with a shrug. “Thanks, I guess.”

What a sweetie. He’s so concerned about me. I really have been an unfair, rotten bitch to him all these years, but I plan to make it up with interests. I’m going to be so nice to him.

"No problem!" I say. "What do you need help with?"

He gestures to the couch. "Uhm, have a seat."

Ohh, this sounds serious! I sit down, watching him closely, trying to divine any particular desire or necessity he’s not verbally expressing. He looks stiff and nervous as he sits down next to me, his thigh pressing against mine.

I can feel the heat radiating off of him. The physical contact is nice, but what’s even nicer is the fact that he enjoys it.

"I was hoping you could help me with something," he says, his hand resting on my knee. "I mean… you said it wouldn’t necessarily be a regular thing, but you also said to tell you if I needed something, and, uh…"

I almost laugh out loud - but of course that wouldn’t do, I don’t want to mock him. It’s just… guys. Wow. He literally obscenely proposed that I’d suck his cock, and now that I’ve done it, he’s suddenly all timid and shy? I get it, though. I’m an attentive girl, after all.

What’s going on is that he’s now afraid that it was a one-off, that he’s got a taste of the cherry and now he’s going to miss out. Fortunately, he’s got nothing to fear.

"Just spit it out, dude," I say at last, mock-punching his shoulder to prod him on. "What do you want me to do?"

He leans in close, his breath hot against my ear. "I want you to make me feel good," he says, his hand moving up my thigh. "Uh... would you give me a handjob?"

Really? That’s it? Why couldn’t he just, well, ask?

But I know, I know. I need to reassure him that he did the right thing. If he was feeling a little pent up, of course he was right to call me. Sure, he can jack off by himself, but if he prefers it this way, why shouldn’t he get it? I’m available, after all.

I don't hesitate. He needs to understand that it’s okay to take up space. That his needs matter to me.

I drop to my knees in front of him, unzip his pants, and take him in my hand. He looks at me with an expression that could be relief, or maybe excitement.

I don’t know what answer he was expecting, but he probably thought I would at least, like, say something.

But this speaks louder than a thousand words, doesn’t it?

His cock feels warm and heavy in my hand, and I can feel it throb already. I start to stroke him slowly, enjoying the feel of him between my fingers. Soft and hard at once, smooth and yet veiny. It feels good.

But not as good as his reaction. He groans and leans back, closing his eyes. "Wow, Phoebe. Wow, just…"

I’m just the nicest friend ever. See, Sylvia? I can change. Y’all don’t need to act so shocked every time I do something selfless. Just look at me now.

As cathartic as these thoughts are, they’re also distracting me. It’s kinda selfish to focus on my image now, rather than on the… literal… task at hand. I add a little more pressure, moving my hand up and down his cock in long, firm strokes.

I can feel him hardening even more, almost straining in my hand, and it gives me a thrill to know that I'm the one doing this to him.

Attending to his needs.

As I continue to work him over, I glance up at his face. I want to drink in every detail.

His jaw is clenched, and sweat glistens on his brow. He looks so... vulnerable in this moment. It would be easy to see my position as a submissive one, and in many ways, I guess it is… but there’s also a degree of control in it.

I have a firm grip on his most… prominent attribute. I’m regulating the pace of his experience, curating it to make it the best possible for him. I’m playing his cock like a fine instrument.

When I think about it like that, it’s all blurry, who’s serving whom, and I actually kinda enjoy that ambiguity. I’m not some meek and passive sex doll, I’m proactively making dear Derek have a great time. Isn’t it wonderful?

Isn’t it just what friends do?

"Phoebe, you're amazing..." Derek says as I continue this luxurious handjob, lavishing his dick with tactile attention.

My own panties are damp now, my nipples hardened through my shirt. I pick up the pace, my hand moving up and down faster, my fingers massaging him expertly.

I want him to feel good, I want to give him everything he wants, and as I watch his face contenor with pleasure, I know I'm one step closer to being a better person.

His breathing speeds up and his grip on the couch tightens. He moans wordlessly, and that's all the encouragement I need to go even faster. I add a little bit of pressure just below the head of his cock, circling my thumb around the sensitive area until he gasps louder.

It’s time.

His cock twitches and quivers in my hand, kept still only by my gentle, firm grip. And then, it begins to pump.

“That’s it,” I say coyly, “so good. Cum yourself into my hand. That’s it, keep going.”

I don’t let him go until he’s fully spent, even as he quivers with over-stimulation towards the end. I make sure to harvest every rope of cum, to milk every last drop out of him. It would be irresponsible to do otherwise: it would simply shorten the time between now, and the next moment of pent-up frustration.

At last, I release his glistening cock, and he shivers as I lean forward to lap at it like an ice cream cone, licking it clean. I lick his cum out of my hand too, for good measure, and then rejoin him on the couch.

For a moment, we both just sit there panting, trying to catch our breaths, and our bearings. Then Derek looks at me with a glimmer in his eyes I haven’t seen before.

"Damn, Phoebe," he says hoarsely. "That was... wow."

I blush, but I also squeal with glee inside. Doing well by doing good. "I... I'm glad you liked it."

He laughs and ruffles my hair. "Liked it? I more than liked it. You're a natural."

I smile shyly at the compliment. "Thanks... I guess I just want to be... good at..." I trail off, unsure of how to finish the sentence without getting all deep. He probably doesn’t want to hear about my radical new outlook on life, at least not right now.

He doesn't seem to notice my awkwardness though, likely still lost in the afterglow of his orgasm. "You were more than good," he says with a lazy grin. But then, his face suddenly darkens, and that of course makes me snap to attention. What could be wrong?

"The guys don't believe me about us, you know?”

I cock my head, trying to figure out which guys he’s talking about. “Oh,” I say at last, “You mean Tyler and Marty?”

“Yeah, sorry,” he says, which almost makes me pout. I don’t want him to apologise. It’s my fault for not remembering who he hangs out with on campus. “They think I'm making it up to seem cool."

"I'm sorry they don't believe you," I say, to buy time. Time to think of a solution. My mind is in full analysis mode, racing in the background, trying to conjure up something that will bring the smile back to his face. How can I fix this? How can I please him?

An idea forms, and the words tumble out before I can stop them. "We could show them. Maybe we can, uh, let them join in some time," I blurt out, surprising even myself. "Marty and Tyler, I mean. That way, they'll see for themselves."

Derek's eyes widen, and he stares at me as if I've grown a second head. "Let them join - what? Phoebe, are you actually being serious right now?"

Uh, yeah? I think to myself. Why wouldn’t I be?

But I need to phrase this gently, of course.

"Yeah, I mean, it's no big deal. We can just have a little fun and prove to them that you're not lying." I say with a shrug. "Besides, if it makes you happy…"

God. That does sound weird though, doesn’t it? Like, those aren’t the lengths friends would usually go to, right? I mean, I know I’m a changed person and all, but still… all of this could be a little…

Little…

The thought dissipates, like mist in the morning sun, at the smile that slowly begins to stretch on Derek’s face. He looks so happy that I would go this far for him. "Only if you’re sure... why not. Yeah. Let's do it." A pause. "You're really something else, you know that?"

Warmth blooms inside me and I smile. But the words also echo strangely in my mind.

I guess I… do feel like…

Something else.

***

I can feel Sylvia's eyes on me as I pack up my books, trying to act normal. I'm not sure why she's being so suspicious lately, but I can't let her know what I'm really up to. Look, I get it, the way I've been acting lately has freaked her out a little bit. But I just wish she got over it…

And if she reacts that way to the fact that I do all the chores at home, or that I’m super considerate with her, how would she react if I told her I’m about to please three guys at once? No, I don’t want to have that discussion.

I don’t like lying… I mean, historically I’ve had no problem doing it, but it doesn’t fit well with my new, positive, generous disposition towards life. But I see no other choice here.

Besides, I guess, if it stops her from feeling worse, lying is justified. Her well-being matters, right?

"Hey, Phoebe," Sylvia says, sitting up. "Where are you going?"

"Um, I just have to run an errand," I say, trying to sound casual. "I'll be back soon."

"Another errand?" Sylvia raises an eyebrow. "On a Saturday night?"

I shrug, avoiding her gaze. "Yeah, it's no big deal. Besides, studying on a Saturday night isn’t exactly a blast either, haha."

Sylvia doesn't look convinced, or swayed by my poor attempt at humour, but she doesn't push it. Thankfully.

I breathe a sigh of relief as I leave the library and take a deep breath of the cool night air. The brisk breeze feels refreshing against my skin.

It’s soothing… though, not as much as the foggy mist of happiness cocooning my thoughts right now.

I’m doing well by doing good. Of course I am. Why else would I have ever agreed to something like this?

I head towards the remote corner of campus where Derek, Marty, and Tyler are waiting for me. I check my phone for the millionth time to make sure I haven't gotten any messages about a change of plans. Nope, everything is still on, isn’t that just dandy? Haha!

Oh, God. I must really be on edge if I sound like that to myself. Nervous energy bubbles up inside me, but I remind myself that this is for Derek. I mean, his own friends don’t believe him, that’s awful. If I can do something to help with that, it would be selfish not to!

Besides, it's not like this is something completely new. I mean, yeah, it's been me and him so far, but how different can it be with two more guys? I've watched enough porn to know the gist of it.

I walk at a briskier pace, mindful to not run late - that would be so impolite. For some reason, I find myself thinking of the pendant. I’ve barely laid eyes on it since I first got it. It’s tucked away at home somewhere. Should I return it?

Anxiety spikes at the thought, for some reason that eludes my grasp. Every time I reach for it, it retreats back into the mists. A part of me - the old Phoebe, maybe - is screaming at me to turn around, to call the whole thing off. But I keep walking. For some reason, I can't bring myself to back out now.

Ugh, I can be so dumb sometimes. I shouldn’t be thinking about that! I should focus on what's about to go down.

…

No pun intended.

As I approach the maintenance shed, my heart starts racing. I can't believe I'm actually going through with this. But I can't let Derek down. He needs me to prove to his friends that he's not lying about our encounters. And I need to please him.

I knock on the door and it creaks open. Derek is standing there with a grin on his face. Marty and Tyler are lounging on a pile of old blankets in the corner.

"Hey, Phoebe," Derek says, beaming. "You made it!"

I nod, feeling a flutter of excitement in my stomach. "Yeah, I'm here."

Derek takes my hand and leads me in, turning around towards his friends, as if to say, see? I told you, I was being truthful. Just seeing him so validated is enough to make me stand a little taller. I’m doing something worthwhile, something selfless.

I don’t know much about his friends. I locked horns with Derek quite a bunch over the years, but I never interacted with his buddies. Marty is bookish and stout, and behind his thick glasses, he looks more nervous than I am. Tyler is tall, lanky, and seems to be taking it all in rather coolly. He eyes me with a… calculating gaze.

My antennae are firmly up, and receiving. Different persons will have different needs. I need to be attuned to that.

"So, what do you guys want me to do?" I ask, clapping my hands together to get the situation moving along.

Marty looks to the other two, uncertain. Tyler just studies me, very closely - he probably still suspects this is some sort of prank, that we’re not really being serious.

That leaves Derek having to do the honours. He takes me by the hand, very gently, and guides me to kneel in the center of the blankets as the three of them surround me.

Marty goes red as a pepper as Derek begins caressing my body. I meet Derek’s deep kiss as he unbuttons my blouse. He circles me, then, and fumbles a bit - whether because of the dark, or inexperience, I don’t know - before finally removing my bra, exposing my breasts.

Marty stares wide-eyed, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. Tyler gives an approving nod. "Very nice," he says. “If she’s bullshitting, at least that’s dedication to the act.”

“It’s not an act,” Derek says, and I blush at how nice he is. Defending the honour of my word, my honesty, my innocence. People can count on me. I’m a trustworthy person. A good friend.

I’m selfless.

“Alright,” Tyler says with a shrug. “In that case…”

His hands reach for my breasts. I exhale when his skin makes contact with mine. I’m doing well by doing good. Doing well by doing good, yes.

Tyler’s eyes widen a little when I don’t flinch away from his touch, and then, they narrow again. He cups my tits firmly, teasing my nipples. Marty watches raptly, his eyes roaming over my kneeling body.

“Are you convinced now?” Derek asks.

"Maybe,” Tyler says, thinking. Then, he looks me square in the eyes, as if in challenge. “I think it's time you showed Marty a good time," he says. “He hasn’t really been getting any.”

I want to scold Tyler for talking about his friend like that. That’s not very nice! He must be feeling terribly! Then again, it’s not so bad. He is getting me to take care of Marty’s feelings, so all in all, that’s pretty considerate, right?

With one fluid motion, I get up and slide out of my trousers. Save for panties and socks, I’m stark naked now. I drop back to my knees as I shuffle closer to Marty, looking up at him through my lashes as I gently pull down his zipper. He sucks in a sharp breath, watching me with disbelief in his eyes.

I give him an encouraging smile as I reach into his pants and pull out his cock.

It's already starting to harden as I wrap my fingers around it. I stroke him slowly, feeling his cock throb in my grip. Marty lets out a low groan, but he’s not relaxing into the handjob. He’s tense and taut like a violin string.

"Relax, Marty," I say. "Let me take care of you."

I lean in, running my tongue along the underside of his cock.

Marty shudders, one hand coming down to rest lightly on my head. He pulls it back right away, as if he’s done something wrong… but, seeing no reaction from me, he tentatively puts it back there.

How nice. It’s so unfair that girls neglect him. Time to make him feel good. My pace is slow and sensual as I explore every inch of him with my lips and tongue, learning what makes him gasp or moan.

When I finally take him into my mouth, sinking down on his cock, Marty cries out sharply. His thighs tremble under my hands as I start to bob my head. My tongue swirls skillfully, lips sealed tightly around his shaft.

I glance up to see him staring down at me, eyes dazed, mouth hanging open. He looks amazed that this is really happening. I feel a flush of pride that I can make him feel such powerful sensations.

I lose myself in the steady motion, focused only on Marty's pleasure. I take him deeper, sucking ardently. His moans grow louder, hands tangling in my hair. I can tell he's close now, even if it’s only been a few minutes.

That’s okay. The poor dear has probably been pent up for quite some time.

"I'm gonna...gonna..." Marty groans. His cock pulses and then he's flooding my mouth with spurts of hot, salty cum. I swallow it down eagerly, determined to milk every last drop from him; then, I lick him clean, gently, as he pants for breath.

When I finally pull back, I smile up at Marty, thrilled to have satisfied him so thoroughly. I want to make sure he doesn’t feel inadequate for having busted his nut so rapidly, and he smiles back at me - mission accomplished.

Doing well by doing good.

"How was that?" I ask sweetly.

He opens his mouth to respond, but the words don’t seem to come out.

“It was fast,” Tyler says at last, behind me. “But it was also convincing.”

I turn around to find him - and Derek, too - beginning to strip down, their hard cocks pointed at me. Expectantly. Waiting to be serviced.

Tyler moves closer, running his hands down my sides and along my thighs. "I gotta admit, I'm surprised you're going along with this Phoebe. Didn't take you for the type." His fingers brush over my panties, making me shiver.

"I'm full of surprises," I say breathily.

“That you are, it would seem.”

Tyler grabs my chin, staring into my eyes intently. Meanwhile, his other hand continues to tease me. The fingers slip under my panties, probing my cunt. I gasp and arch into his touch. "Mmm yeah, you're definitely into this," he says.

My breaths come faster as he strokes and teases me… but my mind never slows down. What does Tyler want? Why is he being so analytical?

I think he wants to push me. I think he wants to know for sure that this is real, that I won’t say no. And if my interpretation is correct, the only selfless thing to do is to say it out loud - that he can fuck me. No, that I want him to fuck me. That’s what he really wants and needs to hear, after all.

And therefore, it’s what I must say.

"I want you to fuck me," I say, looking up at him through lowered lashes. He seems taken aback for a moment before his expression darkens with lust.

"Please, I want to feel you inside me," I say, sliding my panties down. At last, it seems, his hunger wins over his self-control. He circles behind me as I position myself on all fours, and grasps my hips, positioning himself at my entrance.

I feel the head of his cock tease me, sliding up and down along my wet slit.

“Well, since you asked so politely…”

He slides into me, slowly at first, letting me adjust to his size. I gasp at the fullness, the sensation of being stretched and filled completely. My pussy clenches around him eagerly and I push back, taking him deeper.

"That’s what you are, aren’t you?" He asks, gripping my hips tighter as he begins to move. “Polite.”

His thrusts start slow, but quickly build in pace and intensity. I meet each one, our bodies coming together again and again. The pleasure builds within me and I moan loudly, wanting more. Not more cock; not more sex; but more self-abnegation.

I want to please.

I want to give myself other to other people’s wants and needs.

I want to be a selfless, better, happier person.

And as Derek circles around me and presses his cock to my lips, I get exactly that.

I part my lips and take Derek into my mouth eagerly, sucking and licking him as Tyler continues pounding me from behind. I've never felt so deliciously needed before, so completely devoted to others’ enjoyment rather than my own.

My tongue swirls around Derek's shaft as I take him deeper, eager to give him the same mind-blowing sensations that Tyler is giving me.

I relax my throat, suppressing my gag reflex until my nose is pressed against his abdomen. I hold him there for a few seconds, massaging the head of his cock with the back of my throat, before pulling back and repeating the process. Marty is stroking himself as he watches it all, wide-eyed.

God. I used to be such a recalcitrant bitch. I made a religion out of contrarianism. It was so difficult for me to think about things from other people’s points of view. To see their needs.

And look at me now, being spitroasted, taking it like a fucking champ, out of nothing but selflessness. It comes so easy to me, now.

I’ve changed.

Tyler is gripping my hips so hard I know there will be bruises later. But I don't care. I want the marks. I want the reminders on my body of how helpful and nice and sweet I’ve been to Derek and his two friends.

Tyler’s powerful thrusts rock my entire body, I can feel my breasts bouncing wildly with each slam forward. The lewd sounds of flesh slapping on flesh mingles with our collective moans. I've never felt so utterly and perfectly filled in both ends.

My own climax builds within me but I don't chase it, keeping my focus on the hard cocks penetrating me front and back.

"I want a turn with that pussy," Derek says, withdrawing from me. Tyler, behind me, does the same, with a wet squelching sound, and the two switch places. I find myself confronted with Tyler’s cock, glistening with my own juices.

I have no second thought about parting my lips and taking it into my mouth.

Derek teases my entrance with his tip before slamming inside me. I cry out, muffled by the cock in my mouth. He sets a brutal pace, his balls slapping against my clit with each thrust. I clench around him as intense pleasure shoots through me.

"I told you guys, she’s fucking incredible," Derek says with a grunt. He reaches around to roughly grope my breasts. Tyler grips my hair tightly, forcing himself deeper down my throat. Drool drips from my chin and tears sting my eyes, but I don't resist.

Openness is an important part of being selfless.

The familiar heat coils inside me once more, radiating outward from my sex. Sensing I'm close, Derek moves his fingers to my clit and starts rubbing fast circles.

Then, I tip over.

My pussy clamps down on Derek as a powerful orgasm rips through my body. I let out a long, muffled moan around Tyler's cock. Derek continues to pound me through it, chasing his own release. With a few more erratic thrusts, he buries himself to the hilt and I feel him pulsing inside me as he fills me with his hot cum.

Tyler pulls out of my mouth and strokes himself rapidly. I nod my assent - he likes the idea, so I like the idea - but it takes him a blink of an eye to finally climax himself.

The first rope hits me, and then the second, and then he’s streaking my face and hair with thick spurts of his cum.

I collapse forward, thoroughly used and satisfied. The taste of cum lingers on my tongue as it drips down my chin, and I can feel the load in my cunt too, and most of all… I feel the glowing happiness that comes with making other people so, so happy.

Something still nags at me, even now. It insists that this isn't who I really am, that I would never act this way normally. But the mist seems to glow brighter, whispering that this is all I want.

That this is all I need.

***

I’m suddenly afraid.

The bathroom door creaks open, and I freeze, like a scared animal. My hands are still cupped under the faucet. There’s still some cum sticking to my face.

And there, in the doorway, stands Sylvia.

Her eyes are wide behind her glasses, her lips pressed together in disapproval, her arms crossed. She’s tapping her foot, angrily, and I feel dread in the pit of my stomach, because there is only one reason for her to be here now.

"I saw everything,” she says, slowly. “Nice work on that errand.”

My heart sinks. I don’t know what’s worse, the fact that she caught me, or the fact that she looks so disappointed in me. So soon after I betrayed her trust, I have to feel like this, again? I guess I’ve been an idiot. I should have just told her the truth. But she was being so inquisitive about it, and…

"Uh... Sylvia, I can explain," I stammer at last, though I’m not actually sure that I can.

"Explain? Explain?? What the fuck, Phoebe?" Sylvia says, her voice rising. "What the fuck was that?"

Well, that’s easy to answer at least. “It was a fun time,” I say.

The response seems to utterly stupefy her. Her mouth - and her fists - open and close in angry disbelief. "A fun time? You can barely stand Derek, and you don’t even know those two losers! And you’ve lied to me!”

“I’m sorry about lying,” I say, delicately, gently. “But Syl, you’ve been so… nosy about this stuff. It really does feel like you can’t believe I’m trying to be less selfish now.”

She throws her hands up in frustration at that. It hurts like a slap. Why can’t I make her see?

“What the fuck does selfishness have to do with any of this?”

“You know, I could ask you the same thing,” I say, throwing my chin up. “Why are you so worked up about my sex life?”

“Because that’s not what bothers me, Phoebe, come on! You’re like this with everyone, you, you… it’s like you can’t say no anymore!”

A stunned silence follows her words. It’s like she herself has said more than she realised. She brings a hand to her mouth, and I feel… the room seems to be spinning a little… I stumble forward, and I almost lose my balance.

“Of course I can say no,” I manage to say at last. “It's hard to explain, but ever since I visited this one store… I mean, I was always so selfish before, only caring about my own needs. But now I see how good it feels to make others happy. I just want to be a better person.”

Sylvia rolls her eyes. What do I need to say to get her to take me seriously? "A better person? Phoebe, you're acting like a fucking doormat. A pushover. You're letting them walk all over you.”

She covers her face with her hands. "You know why I feel so shitty about this? Because it feels like it’s my fucking fault. Ever since I got angry at you, it’s like you’ve been on a crusade of self destruction. I didn’t want this for you. I didn’t!”

Oh.

Oh. She feels guilty. That makes me feel absurdly guilty in turn, and I feel tears pricking at my eyes… but at least it gives me somethong to work with, a clear issue to remedy. A direction. I need to make Sylvia feel better. Nothing else matters right now.

“This isn’t about you, I promise, Syl,” I say, softly.

“Isn’t it?” She asks. “I know you've been going through a hard time lately,but this isn't the answer. Doing things just to please other people, losing yourself in the process...it's dangerous, Phoebe."

“I’m not losing myself,” I say, defensively. “Syl, come on, it was just sex.”

“The sex isn’t the problem,” she says. I’ve never seen her this shaken and upset, or this assertive. “It’s why you did it. Be honest. Was it because you were horny?”

“Well, I was, once we got going, but…” I think for a second, trying to pick the combination of words that will hopefully placate her. “Derek needed a favour, and I was happy to help.”

“A favour.” Sylvia says, dryly. “So you think letting a bunch of horny jocks use your body and cover you in jizz is doing them a favour? I mean, I guess that’s technically right. Do you really not realise how you sound?”

"It's not like that," I protest. "They were so grateful afterwards. I could see how much they needed that release. And it made me feel powerful in a strange way, being able to give them something they desperately wanted."

“I swear to God,” Sylvia says, “you’ve always been good at rationalisations, but today you’re overdoing yourself. You used to come up with totally valid reasons to never lift a finger, and now… ugh! It’s like I said. You can’t say no anymore.”

I feel a flash of anger at that, this time. But I won’t yield to such a self-centered emotion as anger. This is my friend. I need to patch things up with her. I need to make sure she’s doing well.

"Look, Sylvia, I get why you're worried," I say carefully. "This whole thing probably seems really sudden to you. But I’m still me. Don’t you think you’re being a little over-dramatic?”

She fixes me with a hard stare, not speaking for several seconds.

And then, she says, curtly, “Let’s find out. You said Derek needed a favour. Well, I need a favour, too. I would very much like you to step through this door, get in the car, and drive back to my place. We’re going to sit in my room and we’re going to have a talk about this, even if it means staying up through the night. Will you do that for me?”

I open my mouth, ready to protest - but the words die on my lips. She's right. I owe it to her to explain what's going on.

"Okay," I say with a small sigh. "Let's go talk."

Before I even realise what I'm doing, my feet are carrying me through the door, my hands fishing the car keys from my pocket.

Wait.

This isn’t… right, is it? It’s not how this is supposed to go. I’m supposed to say no, to prove a point. I’m…

I can feel the mist closing in. I can feel the train of thought I could use to rationalise this. It’s there, ready to kick into gear, but it doesn’t take over, this time. Not with Sylvia’s gotcha grin as she watches me step over the threshold, out of the bathroom, and into the hallway.

What is happening to me?

I feel…

Afraid.