This erotic short story was written for SnakkOmSex. If you would like to read Norwegian language stories click here.
For more English language stories click here.

So, there I was, up to my elbows in a crate of half-rotten potatoes at the weekly market in Oudenaarde, Belgium, when I first spotted her. Man, the air stunk of damp dirt and fruit that had gone way past its prime, and my hands were all sticky from digging through the mess, hoping to find something I could actually eat. I’m no fancy cook or anything, just some guy named Pieter trying to pinch a few euros on groceries after I blew most of my paycheck at De Blauwe Koe last weekend. Oudenaarde, well, it’s not exactly the place for thrills, you know? Just a small town with cobblestone streets and a bunch of old brick houses along the Schelde river that look like they’ve been falling apart since forever. But hey, it’s home, and I’ve got a weird talent for noticing the odd stuff that goes down in quiet spots like this.

Her name was Liesbeth, or at least that’s what I heard someone call her a bit later. She was a few stalls over, going at it with old man Van den Broeck over a pile of carrots like her life depended on getting a deal. She had this sharp, don’t-mess-with-me kinda vibe, short brown hair all messy, wearing a denim jacket that looked like it had been through hell. Not hot like some model or whatever, but there was something about the way she stood, confident, maybe a little annoyed, that kept pulling my eyes back to her. Look, I’m not proud of it, okay? I’m just a 32-year-old dude who hasn’t gotten any in months, so yeah, I notice crap like that. My last girlfriend ditched me for some jerk from Ghent, and I’ve been kinda wallowing ever since, picking up random shifts at the brewery on Stationsstraat and drinking way too much Jupiler on my days off.

At first, I didn’t think much of it. Just another Saturday at the market on Marktplein, dodging old ladies with their rolling carts and trying not to get chewed out by vendors for touching stuff I’m not gonna buy. But then I saw her again, over by the cheese stall run by that odd couple from Aalst. She was with another girl, taller, rocking a buzzcut and a leather jacket, looking like she could punch a hole through a wall if she felt like it. They were cracking up about something, heads close, and for half a second, I caught Liesbeth’s eye. No smile, nothing, just this quick, hard stare like she was figuring me out. I looked away fast, acting like I gave a damn about the bruised apples in front of me. My heart was kinda pounding, though. Dumb, right?

I figured that was the end of it, just a random blip in a boring day, but then I bumped into them again outside the Spar on Nederstraat while I was hauling my bag of halfway-decent veggies home. They were leaning against the wall by the bike racks, sharing a cigarette. The buzzcut girl, found out later her name’s Anke, saw me first and gave Liesbeth a nudge. “Hey, potato guy,” she called out, smirking like she knew something I didn’t. I stopped dead, confused as hell, probably looking like a total moron with my bag sagging on my shoulder. “Uh, what?” I mumbled, not exactly winning any charm awards. My Dutch isn’t even that great sometimes, even though I’ve lived here forever. I stumble over words when I’m nervous, and these two were making me jittery for no damn reason.

“You were staring at us back there,” Liesbeth said, taking a drag on the cigarette. Her voice was rough, like she smoked too much or maybe shouted a lot. “Got a problem, or are you just curious?” She didn’t sound pissed, more like she was poking at me, testing if I’d crack. Her eyes were this dark green, and up close, I noticed a little scar on her chin. I’m not gonna lie, it was kinda hot, but no way was I saying that out loud. “I wasn’t staring,” I said, shifting my weight, totally lying through my teeth. “Just zoned out. Rough week.” Complete crap, but I wasn’t about to admit I’d been gawking. My face was probably red as hell, though. I suck at hiding stuff like that.

Anke let out this short, sharp laugh, like a bark. “Sure, man. Whatever you say.” She flicked the cigarette butt to the ground and crushed it with her boot. “We’re heading to ‘t Kelderke for a drink. You look like you could use one. Wanna come with?” I just blinked at her. ‘t Kelderke is this grimy dive bar off Hoogstraat, all sticky tables and cheap beer, the kinda spot where half the town’s drunks end up on a Saturday night. I’ve been there a ton, usually by myself or with my buddy Jonas after work. Never with two random chicks who looked like they could either beat me up or… I don’t know, something else. My brain wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders.

I should’ve said no. I’ve got a shift tomorrow, and I’m already broke as hell, but my idiot mouth went, “Yeah, sure. Why not?” Liesbeth raised an eyebrow, like she didn’t think I’d actually agree, but she didn’t say a word. Just nodded and started walking, Anke right beside her. I followed behind like some lost dog, still gripping my dumb grocery bag. We cut through the alley behind Sint-Walburgakerk, that old church looming over us with its creepy gargoyles, and I kept wondering what the hell I was even doing. I don’t know these two at all. For all I know, they’re gonna rob me or something. But there was this weird pull, you know? Like I couldn’t just turn around and go back to my crappy apartment on Broodstraat to nuke another depressing dinner.

We got to ‘t Kelderke, and the place was already half-packed, even though it was barely past noon. Stank of stale beer and cigarette smoke, even though you’re not supposed to light up inside anymore. The bartender, old Geert, gave me a nod as we walked in, he knows me from way too many late nights here. Liesbeth and Anke snagged a table in the corner under one of those tacky neon signs for Duvel, and I sat across from them, feeling like I was at some weird-ass job interview or something.

“Hey, potato guy,” Anke said, kicking back in her chair with this little grin on her face. “What’s your story? You from around here, or just passing by?” I dropped my bag on the floor and shrugged. “Nah, I live here. Born and raised, pretty much. I work at the brewery down the road. Nothing fancy or anything. Oh, and I’m Pieter, by the way.” Figured I’d throw that out there before they kept calling me potato guy all night.

“I’m Liesbeth,” she said, jabbing a thumb at herself. “And this is Anke. We’re just in town for the weekend, crashing with a buddy over on Krekelput. Thought we’d poke around, maybe stir up some trouble.” The way she dragged out “trouble” kinda got to me. Not in a bad way or anything, just… I don’t know, like there was something behind it. Probably just me overthinking, though. I do that a lot.

Geert came over with a round of beers, cheap crap, not even worth mentioning, and we got to drinking. At first, it was kinda awkward. I suck at small talk, always worrying I’ll say something stupid. But these two didn’t seem to give a damn. Anke started telling this wild story about getting tossed out of a bar in Bruges for starting a fight, and Liesbeth kept cutting in with these sharp, sarcastic jabs that cracked me up more than I expected. They weren’t like the prissy girls I usually run into around here, the ones who look at a guy like me and turn up their noses. I couldn’t tell if they were a couple or just tight friends, but there was this… vibe between them, like they could read each other without even trying.

After the second beer, I started to relax a bit. Liesbeth was sitting closer now, her knee bumping mine under the table every so often. I don’t think she meant anything by it, but man, I noticed every single time. Anke caught me sneaking a glance at Liesbeth once and smirked, like she knew exactly what was going through my head. I tried to play it off, took a big swig of beer, but I’m pretty sure I looked like a total nervous wreck.

“So, Pieter,” Liesbeth said after a bit, her voice kinda low, almost like she didn’t want the whole bar overhearing. “You got anything going on the rest of the day, or you just gonna sit here moping or whatever?” There was this edge to her tone, and her eyes were locked on mine, not letting me dodge. I opened my mouth, but nothing clever came out. My head was spinning, and not just from the beer. I wasn’t sure what she was getting at, but I had a feeling it wasn’t just about grabbing another round or heading home to veg out in front of the TV. And honestly? I didn’t wanna know right away, I wanted to find out. So I just shrugged, trying to act all casual even though my heart was pounding. “Nah, no plans. Just figured I’d see where the day goes.” My voice came out steadier than I felt, which was a damn miracle.

Liesbeth’s mouth twitched, not really a smile, more like she was sizing me up right then and there. Anke snorted into her beer, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “Alright, then,” Liesbeth said, shoving her empty glass aside. “Let’s get the hell outta here. This place is starting to smell like old Geert’s armpits.” She got up without waiting for me or Anke to say anything and headed straight for the door. Anke followed, tossing a crumpled five-euro note on the table, and I hurried after them, grabbing my grocery bag like it was some kinda security blanket. My head was buzzing a little, two beers on an empty stomach will do that, but it wasn’t just the booze. It was the way Liesbeth moved, all sharp and confident, like she knew exactly what she was after. I wasn’t sure if I was part of that plan or just tagging along, but no way was I backing out now.

We stepped out onto Hoogstraat, the afternoon sun hitting hard after the dim bar. The street was pretty dead for a Saturday, just a few old dudes shuffling toward the bakery and a couple of kids ripping down the cobblestones on their bikes. Liesbeth lit up a cigarette, the smoke curling around her face as she turned to me. “You got a place nearby, or what?” she asked, cutting straight to it. No games, no fluff, just a question that hit me like a slap. “Uh, yeah,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck like an idiot. “Over on Broodstraat. It’s nothing special, just a little flat above the butcher shop. Smells like sausage half the time, but it’s home, y’know?” I was rambling, I knew it, but she didn’t seem to mind. Anke raised an eyebrow, smirking again, and I felt my face go hot. I wasn’t sure what they were expecting, but I had a pretty good guess it wasn’t just to sit around swapping weather updates.

“Sounds good enough,” Liesbeth said, flicking ash onto the pavement. “Lead the way, Pieter.” That tone again, half challenge, half something I couldn’t pin down. My stomach flipped, and I nodded, starting down the street with them following behind. We passed the old post office and cut through that narrow alley by Café Den Trap, the one that always stinks of piss no matter how much they try to clean it. I kept waiting for one of them to say something, to break this weird tension that was building, but nope. Just the sound of our steps and the occasional drag of Liesbeth’s cigarette.

My place isn’t exactly a dream home. It’s a tiny one-bedroom on the second floor, up this creaky-ass staircase that sounds like it’s gonna give out any second. I fumbled with my keys at the door, feeling their eyes on me, and finally got it open. The air inside was stale, mixed with that faint meaty smell from the butcher downstairs on Broodstraat. Dishes were stacked in the sink, a couple of empty Jupiler cans sat on the coffee table, and my unmade bed was in plain sight through the open bedroom door.

Look, I’m not a total mess, okay? I’m just… busy, or maybe lazy, depending on how you catch me. I turned to mumble something like, “Hey, sorry about the chaos,” but Liesbeth was already brushing past me, her eyes scanning my place with that same sharp, nosy look she had at the market. “Not terrible,” she said, kicking her boots off by the door like she owned the joint. Anke followed suit, shrugging off her leather jacket and tossing it over the back of my beat-up couch. And there I was, standing like a moron, still clutching my grocery bag until Anke cracked a laugh and snatched it from me, plopping it on the counter. “Chill out, dude. We’re not here to rate your interior design game.” I tried to laugh too, but man, my nerves were fried. My palms were sweaty as hell, so I wiped them on my jeans, wondering what in the world was even going on.

Liesbeth wandered over to the tiny window by the street, peeking out for a sec before swinging back around to face me. She was closer now, close enough that I could smell the cigarette smoke on her breath and notice how her denim jacket hung kinda loose on her frame. “So,” she said, her voice dropping low again, “you gonna get us a drink, or are we just gonna stand here awkward as hell?” I perked up, thankful for something to do. “Got some beer in the fridge,” I muttered, digging out the last three cans of Jupiler from my stash. I handed them over, and we popped them open, the sharp crack echoing in the dead-quiet room. Took a few sips, but nobody bothered to sit. The vibe was… heavy, you know? Not some deep, poetic crap, just this weird, unspoken tension sitting between us. Liesbeth kept staring at me, her eyes dipping to my mouth for a split second, and I swear, my body reacted before my brain could catch up. I’m not proud of how quick I get worked up, but damn, it’s been a minute.

Anke broke the silence, slamming her can down with a little clink. “Alright, screw the small talk. You in or not, Pieter?” She stepped closer, her buzzcut making her look even more intense up close, and I realized she wasn’t just asking me. She shot a glance at Liesbeth too, like they’d already hashed this out between themselves. My brain kinda stalled, scrambling to keep up. “In for what?” I croaked, though deep down, I knew exactly what she meant. My voice sounded rough, so I cleared my throat, feeling like a complete idiot. Liesbeth smirked, setting her beer down too. “Don’t act clueless. You’ve been staring at us like a creep since the market.” She stepped right up to me, so close her chest almost grazed mine, and I could feel the heat radiating off her. My heart was hammering so loud I figured they could hear it. “So, yes or no? We’re not here to mess around.”

I swallowed hard, my mouth dry as hell even with the beer. “Yeah. Yes.” That’s all I could choke out, but apparently, it was plenty. Liesbeth grabbed the front of my shirt, none too gentle, and yanked me into a kiss that was more teeth than lips. Her mouth tasted like smoke and cheap beer, her tongue pushing against mine like she was staking a claim. I groaned without even meaning to, my hands landing on her hips, fingers digging into the denim. She pressed herself harder against me, all solid and warm, and yeah, I was already getting hard, straining against my jeans. Then I felt Anke behind me, her hands slipping under my shirt, rough fingertips scraping over my skin. “Damn, you’re tense,” she muttered, her breath hot on my neck as she bit down, not too hard, just enough to make me flinch.

Liesbeth pulled back from the kiss, her lips shiny and a bit swollen, and shot a grin past me at Anke. “Told you he’d be game.” After that, they moved quick, like they’d done this a hundred times. Liesbeth tugged my shirt off, chucking it somewhere on the floor, and started fumbling with my belt while Anke kept at my neck, her hands sliding down to grab my ass through my jeans. I was half out of it, trying to keep pace, but my body was way ahead of my head. My belt hit the ground with a loud clank, and Liesbeth shoved my jeans down just far enough to slip her hand into my boxers. She wrapped her fingers around me, no messing around, just a solid grip that made me hiss through my teeth. I was already leaking a bit, and she smeared it with her thumb, letting out a low, kinda pleased hum. “Nice,” she said, almost like she was talking to herself, then pushed me back toward the couch.

I stumbled, jeans still tangled around my thighs, and flopped onto the cushions with a grunt. Liesbeth climbed on top, straddling me, still wearing her jacket but her shirt riding up just enough to show a sliver of pale skin and the edge of a black bra. She ground down against me, the rough denim of her jeans rubbing over my boxers, and I could feel myself throbbing under her weight. My hands gripped her thighs, holding on tight, while she leaned down to nip at my collarbone. Anke knelt beside us, yanking my jeans the rest of the way off, then tugged my boxers down too. My cock sprang free, heavy and flushed against my stomach, and I felt stupidly exposed, but the way Anke licked her lips wiped that feeling away real quick. She didn’t mess around, spitting into her hand and wrapping it around me, stroking slow but firm. “Fuck, you’re thick,” she muttered, and I groaned again, my head falling back against the couch.

Liesbeth was still grinding on me, her breath hot against my chest, and I could smell the faint, raw scent of her sweat mixing with the stale air of my place. I reached up under her shirt, fumbling like an idiot with her bra clasp, my fingers shaky from nerves and straight-up want. She let out a short, rough laugh and helped me out, shrugging off her jacket and pulling her shirt over her head.

Man, her breasts were small, but firm, ya know? The nipples stood out, hard and dark against her pale skin. I didn’t even think about it, just leaned in and sucked one into my mouth. She let out this sharp hiss, her fingers twisting into my hair, pulling just hard enough to make it sting a little. And then she started rocking against me, harder, like she meant it. Meanwhile, Anke was still working me with her hand, her grip all slick and tight. I swear, I was about to lose it if they didn’t ease up. But nah, they weren’t slowing down one bit.

Then Liesbeth slid off me for a sec, just long enough to kick off her jeans. She had these plain black underwear on, already damp, right there at the crotch. No messing around, no shy bullshit, she just shoved them down and climbed back on top. Her bare skin brushed against me, right against my cock, all wet and hot. No condom, no chit-chat about it, just straight-up skin on skin. My brain couldn’t even process it, couldn’t care less. I grabbed her ass, pulled her closer, my hands rough. She positioned herself, the tip of me nudging against her, so slick and ready. Then she sank down a little, tight as hell, and I groaned, loud, my hips jerking up without me even meaning to. She muttered a curse, shifting a bit to adjust, then started moving, taking me in deeper with every roll of her hips. Anke was still right there, her hand now resting on Liesbeth’s thigh, watching us with this hungry-ass look in her eyes. I knew this was just the beginning, man.

I was half-gone already, lost in the heat of it all. My hands were glued to Liesbeth’s ass as she rode me, her body clenching tight around me with every damn move. She wasn’t holding back, not even a little, and I didn’t want her to. Each time she came down, it was sharp, almost like a slap, her hips slamming into mine with this wet smack that bounced around my crappy little flat. Her breathing was rough, coming in short gasps, and I could see sweat glistening on her collarbone, catching the faint light from the window. My chest was heaving too, my dick throbbing inside her, raw, no protection, nothing. Yeah, I knew that was stupid as fuck, but the thought barely stuck. All I could think about was how slick and hot she felt, how she gripped me like a damn vice, pulling me closer to the edge every second.

Anke wasn’t just chilling on the sidelines anymore either. At some point, she’d yanked off her shirt, showing off her lean, muscled body, a few old tattoos curling around her ribs. She leaned in, grabbed Liesbeth’s face, and kissed her hard, their tongues all messy and obvious. Her other hand slid down between us, and I felt her fingers brush against me where I was buried inside Liesbeth, then move to rub at her clit, fast and rough. Liesbeth moaned right into Anke’s mouth, her rhythm stumbling for a split second before she ground down on me even harder, her nails digging into my shoulders. That little sting of pain mixed with the pleasure, sharp enough to keep me grounded, to stop me from blowing it right then.

“Fuck, keep going,” Liesbeth muttered, her voice all hoarse, pulling back from the kiss to look down at me. Her dark green eyes were glassy, pupils huge, and her short hair was plastered to her forehead with sweat. I just nodded, barely able to string a thought together, and thrust up to meet her, my hips snapping hard enough that the old couch creaked under us. My balls were tight, aching like hell, and I could feel that pressure building, that knot in my gut about to snap. Anke’s fingers were still at it, the slick sounds mixing with our grunts, and the air was thick with the raw, musky smell of sex, not pretty or whatever, just real, like bodies doing what they do. Liesbeth’s movements got all jerky, her thighs trembling against mine, and I could tell she was right there, so close.

“Come on, Pieter, fuckin’ give it,” she growled, her voice slicing through the fog in my head. That was all I needed, man. I gripped her hips tighter, probably hard enough to leave marks, and slammed up into her, chasing that edge. She gasped, her head tipping back, and I felt her tighten around me, pulsing as she came, her whole body shaking. That did it for me, I couldn’t hold on. I groaned, deep and rough, as I came inside her, hot and messy, my cock twitching with every spurt. No pulling out, no thinking, just pure instinct. I could feel the wetness between us, my cum mixing with her slickness, dripping down onto my thighs as she slowed down, riding out the last of it.

For a moment, we just sat there, panting like we’d run a marathon. Her weight was heavy on top of me, my dick still inside her, softening now. The reality of what I’d just done started creeping in, but I shoved it down. Not right now, nope. Anke pulled back, wiping her hand on her jeans with a little smirk. “Damn, that was quick,” she said, half-teasing, half like she was impressed or something. I didn’t have the energy to throw anything back at her, just let out a shaky laugh as Liesbeth finally slid off me. A trickle of cum followed, staining the couch cushion, but she didn’t seem to give a shit. She just grabbed her underwear off the floor, pulled them on, wincing a bit as she adjusted herself.

I was still trying to catch my breath, my jeans and boxers bunched around my ankles, feeling kinda exposed and honestly a little dumb now that the rush was fading. Anke stood up, stretching like none of this was a big deal, and started pulling her shirt back on. “You got anything stronger than beer in this dump?” she asked, already poking around in my tiny kitchen cabinets without even waiting for me to answer. I mumbled something about a half-empty bottle of jenever in the cupboard above the sink, my voice all rough, and she grunted like she was pleased when she found it. Liesbeth was perched on the arm of the couch now, lighting up another cigarette like we hadn’t just gone at it like animals two minutes ago. She took a long drag, blew the smoke up toward the ceiling, and glanced over at me. “Not bad, potato guy,” she said, that smirk of hers barely there, but enough to make my face heat up all over again.

I didn’t really have a clue what to say to that, so I just gave a little nod, yanking my boxers back up while trying not to think about the sticky mess on my thighs. My flat reeked now, smoke and sex mixed with that usual greasy sausage smell wafting up from the shop downstairs. I knew I’d be stuck with this stink for days. Anke wandered back in with a bottle of jenever and three random shot glasses I didn’t even know I had. She didn’t ask, just poured us each a shot, handed them out, and raised hers with this big grin. “To weird fuckin’ Saturdays,” she said, and we clinked glasses. The liquor burned sharp down my throat, cutting through the fog in my head. I slammed mine back in one go, wincing as it hit my gut, and dropped the glass on the coffee table with a loud clink. Liesbeth took her time, sipping slow, eyeing me over the rim of her glass. There wasn’t anything warm in that look, though, no sign of… well, anything more than what just went down. And honestly, I was cool with that. I didn’t need promises or any of that crap. Had enough of it with my ex, y’know?

We just sat there for a while, not talking much, passing the jenever bottle back and forth until it was pretty much empty. Outside, the afternoon light was starting to fade, throwing long shadows across the room through my dirty-ass window on Broodstraat. I could hear the faint hum of cars down the street, some random shout from a passerby now and then. Life in Oudenaarde just kept rolling on, same as ever. My body felt heavy, totally drained, but my brain was already racing, thinking about the mess I’d have to clean up later, my shift at the brewery tomorrow, the fact that I didn’t even have Liesbeth or Anke’s numbers. Probably wouldn’t see either of ‘em again once they left town. But whatever, didn’t matter. This wasn’t about forever. Hell, it wasn’t even about tomorrow.

Anke was the first to get up, snatching her leather jacket off the couch. “We gotta get back to Krekelput,” she said, glancing at her phone for the time. “Got a friend waiting on us for some crappy dinner thing.” Liesbeth nodded, stubbing out her cigarette right on the edge of my coffee table, rude as hell, but I didn’t say shit about it. She got up too, shrugging her denim jacket back on. I just stayed where I was, half-dressed, watching them get ready to leave like I wasn’t even in the room. “Catch ya around, Pieter,” Liesbeth said as they headed for the door, her voice flat, not a whiff of a goodbye kiss or any of that nonsense. Anke threw me a mock salute with that smirk of hers, and then they were out. The door clicked shut behind ‘em. I could hear their footsteps creaking down the stairs, fading out to the street, and then… nothing. Just the quiet of my flat, the low hum of the fridge, and this dull ache in my muscles from gripping too damn hard.

I didn’t move for a bit, just sat there staring at the empty shot glasses and the stained cushion on the couch. My grocery bag was still sitting on the counter where Anke had dumped it, probably full of mashed-up potatoes by now. I thought about getting up, maybe cleaning the place, or hell, jumping in the shower and rubbing one out to shake off the last of this tension. But I didn’t have it in me. Instead, I grabbed my phone off the table, scrolled through some dumb stuff on socials, and saw a text from Jonas asking if I was up for a beer at De Blauwe Koe later. I shot back a quick “maybe,” not locking myself in, and tossed the phone down. Then I noticed Liesbeth’s cigarette butt on the table, ash all smeared into the wood, and for some stupid reason, I picked it up and chucked it out the window. Watched it land on the cobblestones below, right near some stray cat sniffing around the butcher’s dumpster. Fucking poetic or something, right? Nah, just another Saturday in Oudenaarde. And I’ve got work in the morning.