Page 92 of Smut Lovers
Chapter Three
Raine
T he Owl’s words stick with me throughout the long, exhausting night, even though I don’t see him again after he peels himself off me and then, inexplicably, pulls my skirt back down.
The orgy — I guess that’s the term, although I’d never considered the logistics of one before and it goes a lot differently than I envision it — doesn’t last much longer before everyone disperses.
But the sprawling beach house that seemed gigantic this morning, with its two wings of bedrooms and entire complement of common rooms, is suddenly tiny.
No matter where I go, there are people having sex or people waiting for me to show up so we can have sex.
The billiard room, the library, the kitchen. I turn it into a game.
Bang in every room on the Clue board.
I win, I guess.
It makes sense in its own way at night, but I’m feeling shell shocked when I drag myself out of bed on the wrong side of noon. We have the day to ourselves, and the other girls invited me down to the beach, but I can barely move. I ache all over, and I take advantage of the on-site masseuse.
You’re mine now, right?
That’s what the Owl said. And I agreed.
Why did I agree to that? I’m not his. I never was, not even at that moment.
I’ve let one man decide my life for me, and even knowing that his decision worked out, and even knowing that it was my own decisions that ultimately ruined me, letting that man control me is my biggest regret in life.
Giving up my autonomy is my biggest regret.
But I agreed with the Owl. I poured my heart out to him for ten terrifying seconds.
Ten liberating seconds.
There was nothing liberating about what happened yesterday, what will happen again tonight, but . . .
For ten embarrassingly weak seconds, I wanted to be his, and he told me I was.
He said he’d destroy my pussy too.
My hope is the masseuse will massage away my thoughts, but every inch of my body is tender.
It’s been years since I had a massage last — my cousin’s bridal shower when I was an undergrad, I’m thinking — so I refuse to give up on it, and the masseuse gives me the most sympathetic look when he helps me off the table afterward.
“I promise everyone is sore after my massages, but it’ll be worth it tomorrow!” he attempts to assure me, but there’s not a lot of confidence in his voice.
I doubt it’s due to his skills so much as it is what’s going to happen between now and tomorrow.
Yesterday’s dress is already on its way to the dry cleaner, and I saw several rips and broken straps from the other women.
I’m debating what to wear tonight, longing for my compression tank and yoga pants, knowing a party dress is more appropriate, hoping whatever I pick survives, when the tablet displaying the time in my bedroom chimes.
I peek out of the closet to see that the second night officially begins in one hour and I’m expected in the locker room.
Huh.
There’s a gym with a small indoor pool. I think it’s one of those endless pools with the current for swimming laps without having to take up the space of a full pool, although this one is wide enough for at least four people.
When I found it yesterday, Callie and the Lion were fucking in it while the Badger and the Wolf sat on the edge and watched.
I didn’t want to get tossed into that genetic material soup, so I snuck out through the single locker room, wishing I could hide in the dry sauna awhile but unsure of when they’d come back in.
It’s like a Final Destination movie when I report to the locker room now and the Badger, dressed only in a towel, directs me to lose my dress and take a seat in the sauna.
He probably saw me peek in on the pool last night and decided not to pursue me, but everything here is glass doors.
He could have seen me lingering at the sauna’s door.
I wrap a towel around myself out of habit, and it turns out to be a wise decision because the Badger doesn’t turn the heater on until we’re already inside. I watch him fiddle with the settings and then pull a small bottle out of a cupboard before returning to me.
He’s tall. Everything was so surreal yesterday and the men were all in similar suits, so it was hard for me to focus on anything but the masks.
And I’d made this assumption that the men would all be physically lacking in some way, something obvious enough that it would scare away even the most shameless of gold diggers.
I can’t speak to the Badger’s face, but he’s tall, tan, and toned.
When his back is turned to me, I can see he’s got frosted tips.
He cares about his appearance and has the resources to fix anything to his liking, so I have to assume he’s attractive enough.
When he drops his towel, I can’t say I’m not impressed. He’s hung.
And yet he’s paid millions of dollars for a sex party in hopes of impregnating one of the women. This is insane.
I consider asking him about it. I’m trying to come up with the politest phrasing of what the fuck, my guy and hoping he’ll be good to chill for just ten minutes to answer questions when he says, “You’re the main event tonight, sweetheart.”
Okay, I don’t like being called sweetheart. Not without a drawl as Southern as sweet tea. I hate it almost as much as I hated the Owl saying I was his last night, even if just thinking about it now has my core clenching in hopes of a repeat of that orgasm. But I can’t focus on that.
“Seems like you’ve got me hidden away, actually.
” There are a ton of more public spots here.
There’s even a theater with a stage and sex props.
And I’m in no way complaining, but it was made obvious last night that there are younger, hotter crowd favorites here.
I’ve never been the main event for everything in my life.
And because I am apparently in a Final Destination-themed porno, there’s a woosh from the locker room door opening the moment I speak.
The glass between us is frosted, but I see the silhouettes of two more masked men.
They chat casually, their voices too muffled for me to hear their words, as they undress.
The Badger distracts me with a yank of my legs, scooting me to the edge and spreading me wide.
The sauna bench is clearly designed for this, the seat high and front face of the higher level sloped so I can lean back as he says, “Not my idea. Whole plan’s a little weird for my taste, but fucking’s fucking. ”
Yeah, maybe for him.
And now I’m stuck thinking about who’s the weird one and wishing I’d paid better attention to what everyone was doing last night, but I was too overwhelmed.
Before I can think too hard on it, he slaps a dollop of lube onto my pussy, but I’ll give him credit because he smiles at me and gives me soft words of encouragement that aren’t overly misogynistic.
He takes his time spreading the lube around, and through his mask, he maintains eye contact with me until I allow myself to sink into the sensation and tip my head back.
He uses a single finger to push the lube inside me and doesn’t rush to add another.
A way better start than yesterday, marred only by, “Mmm, he said you’d be tight. ”
Damn, probably the pencil-dick Cobra, then.
Nothing seemed too weird about him, just seemed kind of like an asshole, the sort of guy who would spout meaningless promises in the night and forget your name the next morning as he was pushing you out the door.
Everything’s unusual here, but most of the men seemed reasonable last night.
Taking advantage of the situation, for sure, but they at least had manners.
Even the Owl held me afterward despite how aggressive he was. And after he worked me so roughly with his hand, his cock was thick enough it felt like it was going to split me in half.
No, that’s ridiculous. I’m sure I was just overstimulated.
The Badger is far more cautious, slowly stretching me, slowly building me toward orgasm.
Not even pulling my towel away, although his other hand grazes over the terrycloth to gently stimulate me.
I’m riding high, loving the build, when he replaces his fingers with his lube-slicked cock, and for the first time this weekend, it feels just right.
I don’t even notice the door open; it’s the shadow casting over me that has me opening my eyes.
It’s no longer just the Badger; the Peacock and the Ram have joined us.
They’re not jostling for position though, and I don’t sense that they’re lining up.
The Peacock strokes my cheek as the Ram lifts my hand and kisses it.
There’s a caress across my collar bone and a squeeze of my thigh.
Someone says, “Are you going to let us take care of you tonight, Raine?”
No one said my name yesterday except the Owl.
It was so quiet I didn’t realize anyone had caught it from him, although I had that babbling incident, and who knows if anyone picked it up from that.
I nod, and someone’s hand goes over my throat, just a graze of the thumb along the sensitive flesh, as the Badger adjusts his angle to push more deeply.
As the temperature rises, so does the humidity of the room.
It’s the dry sauna, but there are four bodies in close proximity, and it’s not long before my hands are being guided toward the men.
They’re slick with sweat, their shafts hard and ready for me.
I close my eyes and let myself melt, and when I come, it hits so delicately I barely realize it beyond the bliss.
The Badger groans over me, grabbing either side of the top bench as his cock jerks within me. He withdraws soon after, and before the Ram takes his place, I discover that there are naked masked men all around us. It feels like an ancient fertility ritual.
I guess it’s a modern fertility ritual.
The Ram’s cock is bent at enough of an angle to rub something inside me that has my body jolting beneath him, but I’m tuned up enough that it feels good.
Great. More of the men gather around me, touching me all over.
It could so easily overwhelm, but there’s a calmness to it all, a comfort.
They’re not crowding me, not controlling me; they’re containing me. They’re my skin. They’re essential.
The Ram finishes inside me. The Lion takes his place.
He fucks me harder, but I need it harder.
He touches me more roughly, but I want it rough.
He finally tugs my towel open, and immediately, the other men touch my breasts with their hands and their mouths, but the Lion pushes them away to pump his final jets of cum across my chest.
It makes me tingle. I want more. “Please?” I beg, thrusting my tits out to make a better target.
“You sweet thing,” the Lion chuckles. “It’s just begun.”
That doesn’t seem right, not when three of them have already finished, but then men on either side lift me up from under my arms. I look around, confused, my body heavy and weak, my mind swimming.
The only reason I know it’s the Peacock who slides under me is the bold blue of his mask.
I’m set right back down on his lap, and I whimper as my weight settles down on his cock.
Only for a second, though, and then the fullness feels just right, and I can rest my back against his chest. I’m dizzy with pleasure, but our bodies are both so slick with sweat from the sauna that we slide easily against each other.
The Cobra steps between my legs. “Look who’s changed her mind,” he muses, a cruelty to his tone. I don’t have the energy to tell him he could have tried harder yesterday. “You want my cock now, don’t you?”
I’m not sure I’d even be able to feel his cock after the others I’ve taken, so I brush the comment aside.
Until he attempts to slide his cock into my already-stuffed pussy.
I cry out at the sudden flash of pain. I go upright, attempting to push him off, but then everyone’s grabbing me, holding me in place.
“No, no, no!” I cry, thrashing in their grips, fighting against the Cobra and the Peacock, but my limbs are all caught up.
The men don’t let me go, but they’re not cruel.
Most of their words are a garbled blur, but their tones are calming.
I really don’t like the Cobra; no matter how many times he tells me I just need to relax, I wanna fight him.
The Peacock counters him by pushing him away for a moment and slides one finger in next to his, then a second. It doesn’t burn nearly so badly.
“Stretch for me, babygirl,” he murmurs.
“I can’t,” I whimper.
“I know. You’re so goddamn tight still, but you can stretch. You’re taking my cock and fingers so well, aren’t you?”
“No,” I pout, but my body makes its own decision, my pelvis pivoting to take him deeper. He chuckles softly, and I feel him nod by my shoulder.
This time, the Cobra slides in with far less resistance.
I start to lose track then. I feel drunk, like each time they come inside me is another shot to my bloodstream.
They continue to take their turns, but I can no longer tell who’s who and I no longer understand my body’s responses.
My thoughts just sort of flatline, blips here and there as positions change and cocks are replaced, as the cum builds up in me, on me, under me.
I can’t say I lose consciousness, but there’s a point where I’m no longer responsive.
I’m a bubble.
I’m floating on a breeze.
I am beautiful nothing.
And then a shock of cold has me gasping like I’ve forgotten to breathe. My body lays supine on what I swear is a stone altar, and though I flail, I cannot escape the cold.
Leaning over me is the Owl.