Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 56736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
And frankly, she’s not doing super well. The brunette sags heavily against me as I lift her in my arms, standing to full height. We’ve had our fun, and it’s important to do a clean sweep now. We take care of our women, especially girls as sweet and innocent as this little brunette.
So with long strides, I take the stairs two at a time. Nudging a door to the right with my foot, I peer inside. Oh yeah, this is her room. Or her childhood room, more accurately, because it’s still covered in posters of boy bands and puppies in baskets. I want to laugh, but there are more important things right now.
My brothers trail me into the space as I lay her gently on the bed. Oh god, she’s beautiful, like a sleeping princess, skin flushed, a dreamy smile on her lips.
“Trent?” she asks in a dazed voice. “Matt? Tim? Will?”
And it’s too much. I can’t resist. Leaning forwards, I pull her top down once more, going in for a kiss. Matt, Will and Tim do the same, worshipping that pinkness, her crests still hard and sensitive, our mouths popping off one after another. Those ruby nipples gleam wetly, pointing skywards.
“Ummm,” she murmurs in her sleep, pressing her thighs together. “Ummm.”
My brothers and I share knowing smiles. Because goddamn, the girl came from just a tiny bit of breast play. We didn’t touch her pussy or massage her asshole, nor stroke any other sweet spot. So if Macy’s this good from just that much, what’s she gonna be like when we touch her elsewhere? What’s she gonna be like when we put our cocks in those sensitive holes?
With one last look, our massive bodies file out of the room, still hard and painfully aroused. But one thing’s clear now … we’ve found our girl, and we’re teaching her a lesson this summer.
CHAPTER FOUR
Macy
Oh god, oh god.
I startle awake on top of my blankets, tits hanging out of the dress I wore yesterday. Did I seriously let four guys play with me like that last night?
Because I’m a bookworm, a huge nerd. There’s still a Harry Potter poster in my room, for Christ’s sake. I cook and I study and I read. What I don’t do? I don’t let four hot, much older men get me off just by playing with my private spots.
But it happened. It wasn’t just a dream. Matt, Tim, Will, and Trent. More than half of the week, by my count, all focused on me, all worshipping my body. It was so delicious, amazingly mind-blowing. Who knew sex could feel like that? Suddenly, my body roars to life, thighs clenching once more. Because oh god, it was good. I’d come like a hurricane, blasting everything in sight, panties sopping wet.
But for some reason, the boys never pulled out their hard cocks. And what cocks they must be. I saw the ridges in their jeans and shorts, they were unmistakable, enormous and proud, like four replicas of Thor’s hammer just waiting to pound and conquer every pussy in the world. Ted and Maddy Morgan must have done a voodoo ritual to get boys that well-hung.
Slowly, I shake my head again, still dazed from the memories. What in the world happened last night? I mean, my neighbors spent the entire afternoon making sexual comments, but I assumed that was just their personalities. They’re like their own little fraternity – the Seven Brothers of Sin.
And I know that what I did was definitely not normal. Not by an inch. Not by a tenth of an inch. But it felt so good. It was amazing to be feasted on, and they’d loved my body as much as they’d loved the food I prepared. The men had sipped and nuzzled, their only goal to make me come.
And come I had, like a champ. Holy cow. How can I be acting like this? So slutty and yet … so satisfied.
Because I have to admit that I loved it, every single second. I loved being the focus of four men, their eyes worshipping, hands caressing. And their mouths. Oh god, the memory of those mouths on my breasts, caressing my hard nips, licking along the soft bulbs makes me cream even now.
Oh god, oh god.
It really was me.
And it really happened.
I rub my eyes with the heels of my hands, stretching out, a little bit dazed. Thank god my parents didn’t come home when Boobfest was raging in the kitchen. Holy shit that would have been a different kind of shitshow.
And speaking of parents, what kind of parents tell a kid how much they’ve missed her and then just go about their empty-nester-business like said kid isn’t even home? Marsha and Jim were out late last night and I suspect they’ve left again, off to bridge club or country club or golf or whatever it is people do when they’re early retirees. If you ask me, they were just waiting until I flew the nest because “real life” started then.