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He shakes his head. “No. There haven’t been any other women in quite a while.”
“Are you serious?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.
It hardly seems likely with this group of intensely handsome men. They’re basically a rugby team full of sex appeal. I bet if any women in the county know they’re out here, those women are very interested.
“We work all the time,” Charlie explains. “Like, all the time. We don't get out much, you could say. And our tastes are not to everyone’s liking. It takes a special kind of woman.”
I feel them crowding me, urging closer. My heels scrape backward on the wide wooden floor planks and I realize I've backed up into the arm of the sofa. They're all staring at me so intently, I feel their eyes skating along my skin, warming me up from the inside. My thighs brush together, humid and sticky. It's hot in the cabin, almost too hot to breathe.
“Well, you know what they say,” I whisper hoarsely, “all work and no play…”
Something holds them at bay, I feel it. It holds them all back, like caution. Like we've all reached a bridge in the road, some kind of gate. And all I have to do is reach out
, make a move to cross the gate.
Should I? Can I?
“You're really all in this together? All agreed?” I ask one last time, just to be sure.
They nod silently, their eyes careful and expectant.
“Well then,” I say, pushing as much confidence into my voice as I can. “Let me look at you. Like you looked at me… let me see.”
Charlie raises his eyebrows at me, then glances down at the front of his jeans. They all track my eyes as I stare down at the front of his jeans too. I see the bulge there, the suspicious knot where he's got some kind of erection going. I want to see it. I want to see all of them.
He totally understands me. He reaches down and flicks open the button of his jeans, letting them fall to the floor just like that.
I'm transfixed by it: this thick shaft, poking up under the hem of his T-shirt, peeking out at me, winking. It's almost beige all the way along, veiny and thick, curving upward slightly.
Next to him, Tim and Tom execute the same smooth move simultaneously. Their cocks are mirror images of each other: one angling slightly left, one angling slightly right. Their balls are high up underneath their shafts, fringed with a short wreath of dark hair.
Hank reaches into the front of his jeans with one hand, jerking himself slightly as he unfastened the button with the other. They fall down slowly as he drags his cock out in his fist, rubbing his thumb over the tip which is darker brown, flatter and wider.
And last, Stan. He plants his heels shoulder width apart, then unbuttons his jeans with both hands. He bends over to shove them down along with his boxers, all the way down to his ankles. When he stands back up again, he perches his hands on his hips and rocks back slightly on his heels, waving his thick erection in the air.
“Well, what are you going to do with all of these?” he challenges me.
My heart flops once. I don't exactly know, but it's too late to turn back now. Some deep hunger awakens inside of me, making my mouth water. I slide from the arm of the sofa to my knees on the ground in front of them and glance at each of them in turn. I want to see their eyes, at least for another moment before I focus on their cocks.
At hip level, the aroma is almost intoxicating. A manly combination of clean sweat and salt, it's so intense. I almost swoon, but then force myself not to give in. Not to give up. I’m going to cross the bridge.
I twist slightly to face Stan’s fist-sized, thick cock.
And I open my mouth.
“Fuck, Vanessa,” I hear him groan. “Fuck, yeah, are you sure?”
Instead of saying anything, I let my tongue slide out, let it cover my lower lip and open my mouth wider. He shuffles forward, his cock in his fist, his wrist rolling as he squeezes it tightly. With his free hand he holds the back of my head as he guides the head of his erection across the tip of my tongue.
“Oh my God, yeah,” he grunts. “Jesus, I want to fuck that little mouth.”
He's holding back, I can tell. His hand works the shaft while his other hand holds my head still. He's not pushing into my mouth, just restraining himself to the tip of my tongue, rolling that fat knob over my lips over and over again, dousing me with his sticky pre-come.
“Where do you want it?” he groans tightly. “Fast! Tell me!”
“In my mouth!” I barely get out before he's coming over my tongue in hot, graffiti stripes.
Just like clockwork, he lurches back and Hank immediately steps forward. I blink, catching his eyes. He bites his lip and guides his hips forward. Tentatively I reach up and run my palms over his thick thighs, gripping him for balance.
