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, I was just sitting there, halfway through this godawful microwave lasagna I grabbed from the Netto on Vestergade, when my phone buzzes. It’s a text from Søren. Man, I haven’t seen that guy in ages, not since we got completely trashed at this sketchy bar by the old harbor in Esbjerg. Søren’s the type who only messages when he’s cooking up something, usually a bad idea or straight-up trouble. And, yeah, this time it was both. His text just said, “Yo, got a thing tonight at Mikkel’s place on Strandvej. You in?” I didn’t even think about it. My Thursday night was already a bust, rain pounding against the windows of my tiny-ass apartment above the kebab shop on Torvegade, nothing on but reruns of some boring Danish cop show. So I shot back, “Sure, what time?” and tossed the rest of that sad lasagna in the bin.

Esbjerg, if you don’t know, ain’t exactly a party town. It’s this gray, windy port on Denmark’s west coast, always smelling like fish and diesel, with container ships just clogging up the view. I’ve been here all 34 years of my life, picking up random jobs at the docks or in warehouses when I’m not too hungover to drag myself out of bed. Name’s Jonas, by the way. Just your average dude, probably drank way too much Tuborg over the years. I’m not in great shape or anything, got a bit of a beer gut, and my hair’s thinning faster than I wanna admit. But hey, I get by, mostly on dumb luck and not caring too much.

Anyway, Mikkel’s place is one of those old brick houses near the beach on Strandvej. Looks like the North Sea’s been beating the crap out of it for a hundred years. Strandvej’s quiet, mostly old folks and families, and you can kinda see the water if you look past all the industrial junk. I’ve known Mikkel since high school at Esbjerg Gymnasium. We didn’t do much back then except smoke behind the bike sheds and flunk math together. He’s a big guy, loud as hell, always got some story about a girl or a fight. Last I heard, he was living with this chick named Freja. Never met her, but I figured she’s probably way out of his league.

I threw on a hoodie and my least beat-up sneakers, grabbed a six-pack from the fridge as a sorta peace offering, and headed out into the drizzle. It’s about a 20-minute walk from my place to Strandvej, past all the boarded-up shops on Skolegade and that weird little fisherman statue by the library that nobody ever looks at. By the time I got there, my jeans were damp, and I was kicking myself for not grabbing a jacket. Mikkel’s house had a couple cars out front, a rusty old Volvo and some hatchback I didn’t know. I could hear music blasting through the door, some terrible EDM on repeat or something. I knocked, and this girl, Freja, I’m guessing, opened up. She was shorter than I pictured, with messy blonde hair tied up in a bun and a nose ring catching the porch light. Tank top, leggings, no bra from what I could tell, and this tired look like she’d just been arguing with someone. “Hey, you’re Jonas, right?” she said, barely glancing at me as she stepped aside. Her voice had that rough Jutland drawl to it. “Mikkel’s in the back. Beer’s in the kitchen if you didn’t bring any.” I held up my six-pack like a dork, and she just nodded and shuffled off.

The house reeked of weed and spilled lager, with a faint whiff of something burnt, probably from the kitchen. The living room was a total mess, empty cans all over the coffee table, ashtrays overflowing, and this sagging couch where Søren was sprawled out, joint in hand. He grinned when he saw me, all teeth and bloodshot eyes. “Fuck, man, didn’t think you’d actually show. Thought you’d be jerking off to Netflix or some shit.” “Fuck you too,” I shot back, dropping my beers on the table and cracking one open. There were a few other people I didn’t know, a dude with a buzzcut who looked like he spent too much time at the gym, and a girl with pink streaks in her hair just scrolling on her phone. Then Mikkel came in from the hallway, wiping his hands on a dish towel like he’d been cooking, which I seriously doubted. “Jonas, you ugly bastard, been a while,” he said, clapping me on the shoulder so hard I spilled a little beer. “Meet Freja, my better half, though she’s a pain in the ass most days.” Freja flipped him off from where she was leaning in the kitchen doorway, but she had this smirk like she didn’t totally mean it. Or maybe she did. Hell, I’m not good at figuring out couple drama.

We sat around for a bit, drinking, talking nonsense, mostly dumb stuff like who got canned at the docks last week or if the Esbjerg fB team’s gonna suck again this season. The music was still blaring, way too loud to really talk, but nobody seemed to give a damn. After a while, though, I started noticing something. Freja kept throwing these quick little glances at Søren. Not super obvious, just sneaky looks when she thought no one was paying attention. He’d catch her eye sometimes and give this half-smile, like they had some kinda secret. I’m not an idiot, I’ve seen that shit before. Back in the day, Søren had a habit of messing around with girls who weren’t exactly available, and I wouldn’t put it past him to try something with Mikkel’s girl right under his nose. Mikkel didn’t seem to notice, though. He was too busy going on and on with some long-ass story about a bar fight he probably made up. I was on my third beer when Freja got up to grab another from the kitchen. Søren waited, like, ten seconds before standing up too, stretching like it was nothing, and following her in there.

I was just kinda staring at the doorway, not really caring but also sorta curious, you know? Mikkel was still yapping away, completely clueless, and the other two randoms in the room weren’t even pretending to listen. Then I heard this low chuckle from the kitchen, followed by Freja’s voice mumbling something I couldn’t catch. My gut was like, “Yo, something’s off,” but honestly, did I even care? I mean, if Mikkel’s girl is messing around, that’s on him, right? Still, I couldn’t stop wondering what the hell they were up to in there, probably hiding behind the open fridge door like that’s some kinda alibi. I chugged the last of my beer, crushed the can with a satisfying crunch, and sat there debating, do I get up to take a leak or just wait for the drama to explode on its own? The music flipped to some old Rammstein song, which was a damn sight better than that EDM trash, and I caught myself tapping my foot like a total idiot. Kitchen went quiet, no more laughs, and I started thinking maybe I made it all up in my head. Or maybe not. Either way, the night was starting to feel… sharp, like something was gonna go down whether I was ready for it or not.

I shot a quick look at Mikkel, who was finally wrapping up his long-ass story, and thought about asking if he’d noticed anything weird with Freja and Søren. But nah, that ain’t me. I don’t stick my nose in other people’s messes. Still, I couldn’t shake this vibe, like the whole room had shifted, like we were all just sitting on a powder keg waiting for a match. I snagged another beer, popped it open with a hiss, and slouched back on the couch, my eyes flicking to the kitchen doorway every couple of seconds. Whatever was happening in there, I had this nagging feeling it was gonna spill out eventually, and I wasn’t sure I’d know what to do when it did.

I just sat there on that saggy-ass couch, nursing my fourth Tuborg, the can all cold and sweaty in my hand, while Mikkel kept droning on about some dumb crap from our days at Esbjerg Gymnasium. I wasn’t even listening, though. My eyes kept darting to the kitchen doorway. It’d been way too long now, Freja and Søren still in there, and the silence was starting to feel heavy, like it was weighing on the whole damn room. That Rammstein track was still blaring, all gritty and pissed off, and it kinda matched this weird buzz I was feeling. Not just the beer buzz, but something else, like whatever was brewing was gonna mess things up. I kept telling myself I didn’t give a crap. Not my problem, not my people, right? But my leg wouldn’t stop bouncing, and my brain kept painting pictures of what might be happening just outta sight. Was Søren trying something? Was Freja into it? I know that dude’s got a rep, I’ve seen him sweet-talk girls right outta their boyfriends’ arms down on Kongensgade more times than I can count. And Freja? She’s got this tired, hard edge to her. Doesn’t strike me as the type to just sit pretty if she wants something.

Finally, I couldn’t sit still anymore. I muttered something to Mikkel about needing to piss, and he just waved me off mid-sentence like he didn’t care. I got up, figuring the hallway to the bathroom goes right past the kitchen, so I’d sneak a peek on the way. The house was old as hell, creaky floors under beat-up linoleum, and the closer I got, the stronger the stink of weed and burnt food hit me. I slowed down passing the kitchen, not even trying to play it cool, just straight-up glancing in. And yeah, there they were. Freja was leaning on the counter, her back to me, and Søren was right up on her, way too close, his hand on her hip like it was no big deal. She was saying something quiet, head tilted toward him, and I caught the edge of a smirk on his face before he spotted me. Dude didn’t even flinch, just raised an eyebrow like I’d interrupted him grabbing a bag of chips or something. “Yo, Jonas, you lost?” he called out, loud enough that Freja turned her head. Her eyes locked with mine for a split second, and I saw something in ‘em, maybe defiance, maybe just not giving a damn. Then she looked away, reaching into the fridge for a beer like nothing was happening. “Nah, just hitting the can,” I mumbled, feeling like a complete moron for even stopping. My face felt hot, dunno if it was the beer or just walking in on… whatever that was.

I kept walking, found the bathroom, this tiny, grimy little hole with a cracked mirror and a toilet that probably hadn’t been cleaned since Mikkel moved in, and locked the door behind me. Truth is, I didn’t even need to go. Just stood there, hands gripping the sink, staring at myself in the mirror. My hair looked like crap, thinning up top, and my eyes were all glassy from drinking. What the hell was I even doing here? I splashed some cold water on my face, trying to shake off this weird knot in my stomach. Told myself to just go back, finish my beer, and bounce before shit got real. But when I stepped back into the hallway, there she was, Freja, alone, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. She just looked at me, not saying a word at first, like she was figuring me out. “You gonna tell Mikkel?” she finally asked, her voice low and steady, that Jutland drawl cutting through the faint thump of the music in the background. I shrugged, trying to play it cool even though my heart was kinda racing. “Ain’t my business. Didn’t see nothing.” She nodded real slow, like she wasn’t sure she bought it, then stepped a little closer. I could smell her now, some cheap perfume mixed with something harsher, maybe cigs. “Good,” she said, her eyes scanning me like she was making up her mind about something. “Cause I don’t need drama tonight. Got enough of that already.” She stopped for a second, then added, “You’re not like them, are you?”

Man, she just looked at me and said, “All loud and full of shit.” I didn’t even know how to respond to that. I’m not exactly smooth with words, never have been. “Guess not,” I mumbled, shifting from one foot to the other, feeling awkward as hell. She was standing so close now, close enough that I could see the little freckles dotting her nose, the way her tank top stuck to her skin. I kept telling myself to just walk away, head back to the living room, but my damn feet wouldn’t budge. Then, out of nowhere, she did something I didn’t see coming. She reached out, her hand brushing my arm, super light, but like she meant it. “Come with me for a sec,” she said, not even waiting for me to answer before she turned and started walking down the hall. I figured she was heading to a bedroom or maybe some random storage room or something. My brain was screaming at me to stay put, but my body? Nah, it wasn’t listening. I trailed after her, the thumping music from the living room getting quieter the farther we went.

The room was tiny, barely anything in it, just a mattress on the floor with a jumble of sheets all messed up, a lamp in the corner throwing off this dim, yellowish light, and a window looking out onto Strandvej. I could just make out the North Sea in the distance, this dark, blurry smudge. She closed the door behind us, didn’t lock it though, and turned to face me. “Don’t get any ideas,” she said, but there was this little spark in her eye that kinda told a different story. “Just needed a break from all the noise for a bit.” I nodded, feeling way out of my league here. “Yeah, sure,” I said, my voice coming out all rough, even to my own ears. She plopped down on the edge of the mattress, patting the spot next to her like it was no big deal. I hesitated for a second, then sat down, the springs squeaking under me. We were close now, like really close, our thighs almost brushing, and I could feel the warmth coming off her. My hands were sweaty as hell, so I wiped them on my jeans, hoping she didn’t catch it.

For a minute, we just sat there, not saying a word, the faint bass of the music vibrating through the walls from far off. Then she turned to me, her face way closer than I expected, and before I could even process what was happening, she was kissing me. It wasn’t some soft, romantic crap or anything like that, just rough and messy, her lips hard against mine, tasting like cheap beer with a little hint of weed. My brain kinda short-circuited for a second, but then I was kissing her back, my hand sliding to her waist, pulling her closer without even thinking about it. She let out this small sound, not some dramatic moan or whatever, just a quick little breath through her nose, and then her hands were on my chest, pushing me back onto the mattress. I didn’t fight it, too caught off guard to do anything but go down, and then she was climbing on top of me, straddling my hips. Her weight felt real, solid, not like some made-up fantasy in my head. I could feel the heat of her through her leggings, pressing right against me, and yeah, I was already half-hard just from that alone.

She leaned down, kissing me again, her hair slipping out of that messy bun and brushing against my face, smelling like some cheap shampoo. My hands just moved on their own, sliding up under her tank top, feeling the warm skin of her back, then down to her ass, grabbing at the fabric of her leggings. She didn’t push me away, just shifted her hips a bit, grinding down against me, and I couldn’t help it, I let out this dumb grunt. It was awkward as hell, my gut getting in the way, my movements all clumsy, but she didn’t seem to give a shit. Her hands were on my hoodie now, tugging it up to get at the t-shirt underneath, her fingers cold as they brushed my stomach. “Fuck, you’re heavy,” she muttered, half-laughing as she adjusted herself on top of me, but she didn’t stop. I wasn’t sure if she meant my actual weight or just the whole damn situation, and honestly, I didn’t ask.

My hands fumbled to the waistband of her leggings, messing around a bit before sliding them down just enough to feel the edge of her underwear, plain cotton, nothing fancy. I could smell her now, not just whatever perfume she had on, but something deeper, raw, kinda musky, her body so close it hit me like a punch. She sat up for a second, yanking her tank top off over her head and tossing it somewhere on the floor. Her tits were small, pale, with dark nipples already hard in the chilly room. No bra, just like I’d guessed earlier. I probably stared too long, looking like a total idiot, before reaching up to touch her, my thumbs brushing over her nipples. She hissed a little, not in a bad way, and leaned down again, her bare chest pressing against mine as she started messing with the button of my jeans. It was a damn mess, her fingers slipping on the denim, my own hands getting in the way as I tried to help out. Finally, she got the zipper down, and I lifted my hips just enough for her to tug my jeans and boxers partway down my thighs. My dick popped free, harder than I thought it’d be, the tip already slick with precum.

She looked at it for a moment, not saying a word, then wrapped her hand around it, her grip firm, not gentle at all. I groaned, way louder than I meant to, my head tipping back against the mattress. She started stroking me, slow at first, her thumb swiping over the tip, spreading the wetness around. It felt good, too damn good, and I had to grit my teeth to keep from losing it right then and there. My hands were back on her hips, trying to pull her leggings down more, but the angle sucked, and we were both fumbling like idiots. She let go of me just long enough to shove them down herself, kicking them off one leg but not the other, her underwear still on, a damp spot showing in the dim light. I reached between us, my fingers brushing against the fabric, feeling how wet she was through it. She sucked in a sharp breath, her hips twitching a bit, and I rubbed harder, clumsy as hell but eager, watching her face to make sure I wasn’t screwing it up.

She didn’t try to stop me, just bit down on her lip and pressed herself against my hand, her fingers clawing into my shoulders. We were a tangled mess of arms and legs, clothes half-on, half-off, the old mattress groaning under us while music thumped faintly through the walls from somewhere downstairs. My breathing was all over the place, heavy and rough, and hers came in these quick, sharp gasps as I slid a finger under the edge of her underwear, feeling how wet and warm she was. My dick was aching, pressed hard against her thigh, and I knew there was no turning back now, unless someone walked in on us. Thing is, the door was still unlocked, and the idea of Mikkel or Søren stumbling in just made my heart pound even faster. I had no clue where this was headed, but I sure as hell wasn’t stopping. I was half-laying on that crappy mattress, jeans bunched down around my thighs, dick out and throbbing, while Freja was over me, her underwear sorta on, sorta off, her breaths coming fast and uneven. My finger was still inside her, feeling that slick heat, moving in and out without much finesse ‘cause, honestly, I’m no expert at this stuff. She didn’t seem to care, though, her hips were rocking against my hand, her nails digging into my shoulder right through my t-shirt. The room stank of old sheets and her skin, this raw, heavy smell that hit me harder than the cheap Tuborg I’d been drinking. “Fuck, just do it already,” she grumbled, her voice low and kinda pissed, like I was dragging my feet. She shifted, yanking her underwear the rest of the way down with one hand, kicking it off into some dark corner of the room. Now her pussy was right there, bare, just a small patch of hair above it, shining a little in the faint glow of the lamp. I could see everything, the pink of her, how swollen and ready she looked, and my mouth went dry even as my dick twitched hard against my stomach. I fumbled for a second, my brain playing catch-up with my body, trying to remember if I had a condom stashed in my wallet. Pretty sure I didn’t. “Uh, you got anything?” I mumbled, my voice sounding stupid as hell, all rough and thick. She shook her head, looking annoyed, her eyes narrowing like I’d just asked the dumbest thing ever. “Just pull out, okay? Don’t be a fucking idiot.” I nodded, not about to argue, ‘cause at that point, my brain wasn’t exactly in charge.

She didn’t wait for me to figure it out, just moved herself, straddling me again, her knees sinking into the mattress on either side of my hips. She grabbed my dick, lining it up with her, not messing around with any of that teasing crap. That first touch of her against me, all hot and slick, made me groan so loud I’m pretty sure someone in the house could’ve heard if they were paying attention. She didn’t hesitate, just lowered herself down, taking me in bit by bit, her face scrunching a little, not pain, just getting used to it. I felt every damn inch, the tight heat of her around me, no barrier, just skin against skin, and I had to clench my jaw to keep from losing it right then. “Shit,” I breathed out, my hands gripping her hips, probably too tight, fingers digging into her skin. She didn’t say a word, just started moving, slow at first, rolling her hips in a way that made my eyes damn near roll back in my head. Her tits bounced a little with each move, small but kinda heavy-looking, and I couldn’t stop staring even as my hands slid up to grab them, thumbs brushing over her nipples again. She hissed, leaning forward a bit, her hands pressing against my chest, shoving my hoodie up more so her palms were on my bare skin, cold against the sweat starting to form there.

It wasn’t smooth or sexy or any of that movie bullshit. My gut kept getting in the way, making it awkward when she leaned too close, and my jeans were still caught around my legs, messing with how much I could move. The mattress squeaked like it was dying every time she came down, and I was grunting like some kinda animal, trying to match her pace but mostly just thrusting up all sloppy and desperate. Her pussy was so wet I could hear it, this slick, dirty sound every time she moved, mixing with the smack of our skin against each other. I could smell it too, musky and sharp, her arousal and mine all mixed up with the stale air of Mikkel’s shitty spare room. After a minute, she picked up speed, her breaths turning into short, harsh pants, her nails scratching at my chest now, probably leaving little red marks I’d notice later. I slid one hand down between us, finding her clit with my thumb, rubbing circles that were likely too rough, but she didn’t say anything, just gasped and ground down harder, her thighs shaking a bit. “Fuck, yeah, right there,” she muttered, finally giving me some kinda direction, and I kept at it, feeling her tighten around me, squeezing my dick in a way that made my balls tighten up. I knew I wasn’t gonna last much longer. No chance. Not with her riding me like that, not with how her pussy felt, bare and gripping, every slide in and out pushing me closer to the edge. “Gonna, shit, I’m close,” I warned, my voice all messed up, barely getting the words out. She nodded, not slowing down, her eyes half-closed but sharp, like she was chasing her own high. “Don’t fuck it up,” she snapped, and I got the hint, pull out, don’t be stupid. My thumb kept working her clit, faster now, and I felt her start to shake, her movements getting all jerky and uneven. She made this low, rough sound, not a scream or anything fake, just a raw noise from deep in her throat as she came, her pussy clamping down so hard I almost lost it right there inside her. I bit the inside of my cheek, hard enough to taste a little blood, holding on by a damn thread as she rode out the last of it, her hips slowing down but not stopping completely.

Man, the second she started to ease up, I grabbed her hips and lifted her off me. There was this wet, sloppy sound as I slid out, and I barely got her out of the way before I was done for, shooting hot and messy all over my stomach and the crumpled-up mess of my t-shirt. I let out this loud, kinda ugly groan, my hips jerking up into thin air as I just… let go. The relief hit me hard, like a damn punch to the gut. There was a lot, way more than I thought, all sticky and warm, pooling on my skin and soaking into the fabric. Freja just stared, breathing heavy, her chest going up and down like crazy, not saying a damn thing while I tried to catch my breath. My dick gave one last twitch before going soft. We just stayed like that for a beat, her still kinda on top of me, my hands resting loose on her thighs now, both of us sweaty and completely wrecked.

There wasn’t any of that soft, mushy crap, no long looks or whatever people think happens after. Nah, she just shifted off me, grabbed her tank top off the floor, and yanked it back on without even glancing my way. I sat up, wincing a bit ‘cause the mess on my stomach was starting to cool, feeling all gross and sticky. I pulled my jeans back up, not even bothering to clean up proper, honestly, what was I gonna use in this shitty room? My t-shirt was toast anyway, so I just tugged my hoodie down over it, hoping it’d cover up the worst of the mess.

“Better get back before someone notices,” she said, her voice flat as hell, already standing by the door, fixing her hair into that messy bun again. She didn’t even look at me, just cracked the door open a little to peek out into the hallway. I could still hear the music thumping, some new track I didn’t know, and Mikkel’s loud-ass laugh coming from the living room. Guess no one missed us. Or maybe they did and just didn’t give a crap. “Yeah,” I mumbled, standing up on legs that felt shaky as hell, like I’d just sprinted around Esbjerg Harbor or something. I followed her out, and the hallway air hit me cold after the stuffy heat of that room.

She didn’t say another word, just walked ahead of me back toward the kitchen like nothing even happened. Grabbed a beer from the fridge like she’d been there the whole damn time. I kinda hung back for a sec, then headed for the bathroom again. Needed a minute to splash some water on my face, try to look less like I’d just screwed my buddy’s girl in his own damn house. When I got back to the living room, Søren was sprawled on the couch, smirking at me like he knew exactly what went down. Maybe he did. I didn’t ask, didn’t wanna know.

Mikkel was still talking absolute nonsense, completely clueless, and the other two randoms hadn’t budged an inch. I snagged my last beer from the table, popped it open, and plopped down. My skin was still buzzing, and I could still taste Freja’s mouth on mine, lingering like a bad habit. No one said a word about us disappearing, and I sure as hell wasn’t gonna bring it up. I took a long swig, staring at the peeling wallpaper across the room, watching the gray drizzle streak down the window outside on Strandvej.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, probably some stupid spam text or a reminder about a shift at the docks tomorrow. Didn’t bother checking it. Just leaned back with my beer, wondering if that kebab shop below my apartment would still be open when I finally dragged my tired ass home.