I stood at the glass, my reflection faint against the storm—full lips pressed into a frown, arms crossed beneath my heavy breasts, the weight of them pressing against the thin silk robe I had barely bothered to tie. The suite had been booked for a reason: a night of unbridled, marathon sex with a lover who knew exactly how to use my body. But the weather had other plans, and now I was stranded, my skin already humming with unspent need, my thighs slick with the first hints of arousal just from the thought of what should have been happening.
My phone buzzed against the glass side table, the vibration loud in the quiet room. The screen lit up with an unknown number, though the name ‘Sam’ flickered beneath it. I hesitated—had I given him my number? Then it clicked: the guy from the lobby last night, the one with the easy grin and the group of friends who’d been laughing too loudly over beers. He said he was my elementary school friend. I had barely spoken to him, just a nod and a smirk when our eyes met as I checked in. But desperate times, and all that.
“Hello?” My voice was huskier than I intended, the frustration of the day roughening its edges.
“Sara?” Sam’s voice was warm, a little hesitant. “Hey, uh—sorry to bother you. You probably don’t remember me, but we met in the lobby last night. We were in elementary school together, right? I’m here with my buddies for a pre‑bachelor thing.”
I exhaled, leaning against the window. “Yeah, I remember. What’s up?”
“Well, shit’s kind of fallen apart for us, too. The strippers we booked can’t make it because of the storm. We’re all just… sitting here like idiots.” He laughed, but it was strained. “Figured I’d see how you’re holding up, since you’re stuck here too.”
My fingers traced the condensation on the glass, my nails leaving faint trails. “Not great. Had plans. Now I’m just… waiting.” I let the implication hang, watching my breath fog the pane.
“Damn. That sucks.” A pause. Then, quieter, like he was cupping the phone: “Listen, I don’t know how to ask this without sounding like a total creep, but… would you be open to, uh, helping us out?”
My eyebrows shot up. “Helping you out?”
Another hesitation. “Yeah. I mean—we’re all guys, early twenties, and, uh… some of us haven’t actually done anything before. Not like this. And you’re—” He cut himself off, but the meaning was clear.
My pulse jumped. I turned from the window, the robe parting slightly as I moved, revealing the swell of one breast. The idea was absurd. Ridiculous. Hot. I bit my lip, considering. “You’re asking if I’d let you and your friends… use me?”
Sam groaned. “Fuck, that came out wrong. I just meant—”
“Relax,” I interrupted, amused despite myself. “I’ll think about it. Call you back.” I hung up before he could stammer another apology, my mind already racing.
An hour later, after a brunch of eggs, avocado, and a protein shake—fuel for what might be a long night—I found myself in the bathroom, the mirror fogged from the shower’s steam. I stood naked, my skin still damp, my dark hair curled from the humidity. My breasts were heavy, full, the nipples already tight from the cool air and the thought of what I was about to do. I reached for the bottle of scented cream, squeezing a generous dollop into my palm before smoothing it over my flesh. My fingers worked in slow circles, massaging the cream into my cleavage, over the undersides of my breasts, then up to my nipples, pinching them lightly until they ached. The antiseptic followed, cool and tingling, making me gasp as I dabbed it onto my areolas. I imagined mouths there instead of my own fingers, tongues lapping at me, teeth grazing—
A whimper escaped me. My free hand slid down my stomach, between my thighs, finding my pussy already wet. God, I was soaked. I didn’t bother with teasing; I just plunged two fingers inside myself, curling them against my front wall as I worked the cream deeper into my breasts. The dual sensations—my own fingers fucking me, the slippery pressure on my tits—had my hips rocking in no time. I added a third finger, stretching myself, my breath coming in sharp gasps as I pictured the line of men waiting for their turn, their hungry eyes on my body, their cocks hard and leaking.
“Fuck—” The word tore from my throat as my orgasm hit, my knees nearly buckling. I rode it out, my fingers buried deep, my other hand squeezing my breast hard enough to leave marks. When the waves finally ebbed, I pulled my fingers free with a wet sound, bringing them to my mouth to taste myself—salty, musky, perfect.
The water had gone cold by the time I finished bathing. I toweled off slowly, letting the anticipation build, then wrapped a plush robe around myself—temporarily. In the bedroom, I dropped it to the floor and stood before the full-length mirror, turning to admire the view. My breasts were glossy from the cream, my nipples dark and swollen, my skin flushed from the heat and my climax. I ran my hands over my waist, my hips, then cupped my pussy, giving it a possessive squeeze. It would be theirs tonight.
I walked to the bed, my steps deliberate, my ass swaying with each movement. The sheets were already turned down, the pillows plumped. I climbed onto the mattress, kneeling in the center, my back straight, my breasts jutting forward. The storm raged outside, but in here, the air was thick with the scent of my arousal and the promise of what was to come.
My phone buzzed again. Sam’s name flashed on the screen. I answered, my voice a purr. “I’ve got rules.”
A beat of silence. Then, breathless: “Anything.”
I smiled. “One at a time. No group shit. Everyone sober. Condoms—always.” I paused, letting the next part sink in. “One hour each. But if you finish early, you get in again. And we all wear masks. No faces, no names beyond what I already know.”
Sam exhaled sharply. “Done. But, uh… You should know. None of us have actually fucked before. Like, at all.”
My laugh was dark, delighted. “Even better.” I reached for the blindfold on the nightstand, trailing it through my fingers. “Early dinner until dawn.” I was happy, as I still had a couple of hours to set up my bedroom for the sexual rendezvous.
The doorbell’s chime sliced through the quiet hum of my anticipation, sharp and unexpected. I had been adjusting the pillows on the bed, my fingers lingering on the cool silk, when the sound jolted me upright. A flicker of irritation—too early—but beneath it, a hot pulse of excitement. I hadn’t even finished preparing the room. The toys still lay scattered on the nightstand, the dim lighting not yet perfected. Fuck. I snatched the robe from the foot of the bed, the fabric whispering against my skin as I wrapped it around myself, knotting the belt with hasty fingers. The silk clung to my damp thighs, the residue of my earlier orgasm still slick between them.
I padded barefoot to the door, the plush carpet muffling my steps. The peephole revealed three figures—tall, broad-shouldered, their breaths fogging the cold air of the hallway. Sam stood at the front, his spiky brown hair slightly disheveled, his hazel eyes darting as if he expected me to slam the door in their faces. The other two loomed behind him, their postures tense with barely contained eagerness. All three wore masks—plain black fabric that did little to hide the flush creeping up Sam’s neck. I exhaled slowly, my own mask dangling from my fingers. So it begins.
I slid the chain free and turned the handle, the door swinging open with a quiet sigh. The warmth of the suite spilled into the hallway, carrying the scent of my arousal—musky, thick, impossible to miss. Sam’s gaze dropped to the V of my robe, where the fabric strained against my breasts, then lower, to the shadowed cleft of my thighs. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Uh. Hey. Silky.” His voice cracked. “We, uh… came early. Sorry.”
I arched a brow, letting the silence stretch. The other two shifted behind him, their shoulders brushing, their masked faces tilted just enough to catch glimpses of me. I could feel their hunger, raw and untamed. It coiled in my belly, sharp and sweet. “Early,” I repeated, dragging the word out. “I suppose that means you’re eager.” I stepped back, gesturing them inside with a flick of my wrist. “Come in. But the rules haven’t changed.”
Sam stumbled over the threshold, his friends nearly knocking into him in their haste. The door clicked shut behind them, sealing the suite in a sudden, charged stillness. I reached up, tying my mask into place, the silk cool against my flushed skin. The fabric molded to my face, leaving only my lips and the sharp green of my eyes visible. I turned, letting the robe gape open just enough to tease—the curve of my hip, the swell of my breast, the dark blonde thatch between my thighs. Sam’s breath hitched. One of his friends—taller, his mask riding higher on his forehead—let out a low, rough sound.
“There are five of you,” I said, my voice smooth, deliberate. I traced a finger along the edge of the robe’s collar, watching their eyes follow the movement. “But only three now.”
Sam nodded, his fingers twisting together. “Yeah. Uh… the other two will be here later. Three of us are here until evening, then I’ll come back with the other two, and we’ll stay till dawn.”
My lips curled. Two sessions until dawn. Those thoughts sent a shiver down my spine. Hours. Hours of this. My pussy clenched, already aching at the thought. I let the robe slip from my shoulders, the fabric pooling at my feet in a silent challenge. Sam’s breath came faster, his chest rising and falling under his shirt. The other two froze, their stares burning into me—my nipples, tight and swollen; the damp glisten between my thighs; the way my fingers toyed with the mask’s tie, as if considering removing it entirely.
“Get comfortable,” I murmured. Then, louder, a command: “Sam. Bedroom. Now.”