Small Town Secrets: A Forbidden Romance

by Cassandra Dee

  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.

  But I guess it works. Because yesterday was crazy, beyond incredible, and thank god Jim and Marsha didn’t bust in. What would they have thought?

  Sweet daughter, getting licked by four men.

  Opening her legs, begging for it.

  Pushing her boobies into the mouths of four ravenous alphas.

  Yep, that’s me.

  It would have been disastrous, to say the least.

  So I sit up, determined to put a stop to the constant loop of images in my mind. There’s real life, and yesterday was a dream.

  Suddenly, a loud, rumbling noise sounds outside, making my head pound. Talk about adding insult to injury! What could be going on so early in the morning?

  Squinting, I haul myself to my feet, pulling off my dress and pulling on a threadbare t-shirt that my mom likes to call my “blankie,” since I often wear it when I’m feeling out of sorts. It’s been a part of my life since seventh grade and has a very faded picture of a younger Nick Jonas on the front.

  That hiccuping, rumbling sound fills the air again, so I haul myself to the window, still squinting against the bright sunlight. And oh lordy, but my breath catches then. Because there’s brother number five, working on a motorcycle in the Morgans’ driveway. The bike is oversized, chrome-covered, and built like a beast. Just like the man bent beside it.

  A brick wall, the dude has bulging biceps glistening with sweat as he works shirtless in the late-morning sun. His hair is longer than the other brothers I’ve met, but still richly dark and wavy. And I bet there are sky-blue eyes under his slick, black sunglasses.

  What is it with the Morgan boys? How can they all look like cover models? But all I know is how they make me feel, because as I watch the Adonis outside, my hand moves almost unconsciously, stroking ever so lightly at my clit as my pussy juices flow, soaking my panties.

  These Morgan guys can’t be real. They have to be a figment of my inexperienced and therefore sexually crazed brain.

  But it’s real, oh yeah, it’s real. The man bends toward his bike, head low, almost breathing onto the chrome, and I just about come. Is he going to kiss it? Lick the metal? But as I lean forward, squinting to see, the man howls and jerks back, cradling his hand.

  Shit, what happened?

  A discarded piece of metal lies on the floor now, jagged and rough, covered with blood.

  Oh my god.

  If I can see blood from my second-story window, then he must have really hurt himself. He could be bleeding out.

  Instinctively, I dash for the door, hurtling myself down the stairs and outside. It doesn’t occur to me until I stop that I’m only wearing a flimsy, see-through t-shirt, complete with Joe Jonas’ face on the front.

  And seeing this guy up close does nothing to stop what’s happening between my legs. He’s bronzed and tattooed, hair shaggy around his ears and neck. But yeah, it’s that same coal-black hair, the same penetrating blue eyes.

  Stop ogling! the voice inside screams. Someone’s injured, he needs your help! So I force myself to focus on the hand he’s cradling. A torrent of swear words is filling the air like a hillbilly symphony. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t hear me when I murmur, “Can I help?”

  So louder, I say it again.

  “Hey, can I help? You okay?”

  This time the pained Adonis nods and I hurry over.

  “Keep pressure on it. You got a first-aid kit in your house?”

  Growling like a dog, the man nods and starts walking, heading into the house and up the stairs to a small bathroom. As he cradles his hand, still howling, I dig through the cabinets furiously, throwing things left and right. Oh god, oh god, he’s so close. This bathroom is tiny, and between my curves and his bulky mass, we’re practically touching. In fact, I can feel the steam from his skin, radiating like a star on fire.

  But no, this is wrong. He’s bleeding, for god’s sake, and needs help. What the hell is wrong with me?

  So I turn back, all business.

  “Let go,” are my words, brisk and professional. The commanding tone does the trick, because he pulls his uninjured hand away, revealing a deep gash, with a river of fresh, red blood flowing. To be honest, it gets to me. I’ve never been good with medicine, and wooziness makes my gut churn even as I clean and bandage the wound.

  But at least he’s stopped howling. Instead, those intense blue eyes focus on my frame as I work. It’s so embarrassing! Why oh why did I run out without at least grabbing a sweatshirt first? Or a robe? Or a blanket? Because my boobs push out against the thin material, almost transparent with age. And oh god, but as his eyes drift downward, my pussy gushes again. Yep, right there in the tiny bathroom, I’m running hot and wet like a raging river.

  My hands tremble. Can he smell it? Can he smell the wet pussy scent, my personal musk?

  Oh god, oh god.

  Please, just let the earth open up and swallow me whole.

  Because sure enough, those masculine nostrils flare, blue eyes growing brighter. And my traitorous body responds.

  A deep tingle starts in my belly, growing as it becomes an ache in my womb. I’d beg if I had to, get down on my knees and do whatever they wanted. Whatever this man wants.

  But first things first. I finish wrapping his hand but make no immediate move to step away. Because where would I go? He has me pinned between the wall and the sink, there’s no space in this tiny upstairs bathroom.

  So I clear my throat, trying to think of something to say. My words come out like a croak.

  “Hey,” I manage. “Hope that’s okay.”

  Oh god. Why do I always come off as nervous and inexper
ienced? Maybe it’s because I am nervous and inexperienced, and a slow grin covers the dark man’s face, those eyes flashing dangerously.

  But talk about bad timing. Because as we stare at each other in the bathroom, the air electric, who materializes but Matt, Tim, Will, and Trent, four looming forms in the hallway.

  “Yo man,” Tim growls. “What’s going on in here?”

  “How’d you get your hands on our girl so quick?” adds Will with a frown. “Goddamn bro, talk about moving at light speed.”

  And finally, Trent claps the strange man on his back.

  “I see you’ve met our neighbor Macy. Welcome to the club, Ford.”

  Ah ha, so his name is Ford. I steal another glance at the dark man. Sure enough, he’s weathered around the edges, older than his brothers, but just as good-looking in a worn-in, mature kind of way.

  And in reply, Ford grunts, never taking his eyes off me.

  “Yo,” is all he says. Clearly, not a talker, even if that hot gaze is crawling all over my form, making me heat up from the inside. Oh god, is this the girl I’ve become? Or maybe I was always like this. Maybe these huge, dark-haired gods woke something inside that was asleep before. But unfortunately, the “real me” is a chubby, shy, nerd-girl who likes to cook and can’t hold a conversation, especially not with gorgeous men.

  So I stammer again.

  “Hi,” comes my murmur. “Good morning.”

  And it’s a good morning too because my nips point straight at the men, fluid beginning to seep down my thighs. Oh god! Why do I have to be creaming right now, with five guys staring at my bod? Why, why, why? I should be taken to jail and put there until I learn to control my responses.

  But the brothers don’t look disturbed at all.

  “Hey honey,” drawls Matt, eyes appreciative. “Think you forgot something.”

  I’ve forgotten my name, my age, where I live, and all my important stats. But no matter.

  A blush creeps over my cheeks.

  “I know, your brother was bleeding so I just ran out of the house,” comes my stammer. “It was an emergency.”

  Trent smiles lazily then.

  “No worries, Ford’s in good hands now. I’m a doctor, I can take over.”

  I nod gratefully.

  “I’ll just be going then,” are my soft words, trying to make for the door, clearing out some personal space. “I’ll leave you guys to it.”

  But not one of the men budges.

  “Baby,” says Trent again, that deep voice sensuous. “You have blood on you now. Don’t you see?”

  And gasping, I look down. Because oh no, there’s red everywhere. It’s smeared on Joe Jonas’s cheek, on my knee, even a bit on the inside of my thigh.

  And woozily, my head begins to spin again. Taking a deep breath, I grab onto the edge of the sink.

  “No worries,” comes my breathy pant. “If you’ll just give me a minute to get changed, I can take this off and get some new clothes and ….”

  But the world is crowding me in, all five brothers coming closer now. As if in a dream, we squeeze into the tiny space, the door shutting softly behind Matt. And then one man reaches out to stroke the curve of my ass. Who, I’m not even sure. But the feel of a firm, male touch on my butt makes me jump, eyes wide.

  “What’s going on?” comes my gasp. “Who did that?”

  The men chuckle, five sets of blazing blue eyes on my body.

  “It doesn’t matter,” growls Ford gently, that voice rough yet soft at once. “But you’re dirty honey, from bandaging my wound. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

  And at that moment, another set of big male hands reaches forwards and lifts the hem of my nightie, the soft material covering my vision for a moment before being torn off.

  I gasp, my breath hitching, now standing before them in only sopping panties, boobies out and at attention. God, is this really happening? Am I living in a dream that will never stop? Is this summer going to be one encounter after another, the Morgan boys my personal harem?

  But it seems to be true. Because five sets of male eyes are looking at me now, running over my curves hotly, eating it all up. And in return, my nips poke out even further, begging to be sucked. My pussy gushes again, the trail down my thigh a tell-tale signal of want.

  But they don’t touch me. Instead, the men form a circle, towering over my small frame, almost blocking out the light.

  “There’s a shower,” Matt urges, voice low. “Go ahead and get clean.”

  I gulp.

  Oh god, can I do it?

  Can I shower in front of the hottest men I’ve ever met, letting them see my everything?

  And the real Macy takes over then because with a soft nod, I reach down. Slowly hooking my fingers into the sides of the thin elastic, I pull my panties down, the cotton easing to my knees.

  And oh god, it’s embarrassing. Because a thin strand of pussy cum connects my hole to the soft fabric, clear and juicy, evidence of my need.

  “Yessss,” comes the hiss of the men. “Yes sweetheart. Just like that.”

  And like in a slow-motion scene, Will reaches past me and turns on the shower, steam filling the space quickly. We’re in a sauna now, a dreamland with mist wafting about, their forms like huge sentinels, focused on me alone.

  I give in then, opening the clear glass door to the shower and stepping in. Oh god, the hot water feels good, beating down on my oversensitive skin. As I lean back to wet my hair, my tits jut proudly and a collective moan rises from the men.

  “Perfect,” rasps one.

  “Absolutely perfect,” agrees another.

  Emboldened by their noises, I take the soap and rub it over one nipple, then the other, encouraging those peaks to rise, even playing with them a little. The soap is slick against my skin, a clean aroma rising to fill my nostrils. I can almost pretend I’m in a dream, some sequence where my wildest fantasies come true, dirty yet satisfying.

  Because here I am, performing for a crowd of gorgeous alphas. And I love it, I adore the attention, soaking it up like a sponge. So with a sweet smile, my fingers trail downwards, lightly tickling my belly until slipping into my slit. Oh yeah, that’s it. The soap greases my folds, and going with the flow, I pull my pussy open, showing the men my insides. It’s so amazing, being here with them, and sure enough, another collective groan rises in the bathroom as my pink petals come into view, glistening and full, my insides dripping already, hole winking with need.

  But the men are in charge, and they don’t let me forget it.Ford’s deep voice cuts through the quiet. “Turn around, baby girl. Let us see that juicy ass.”

  Like a slave, I turn, my back to them and bend over, my bottom round and heavy. Dropping my head, I wash up and down my legs, then reach back and pull my ass cheeks apart, giving them a peek of my swollen pussy lips, emphasized by that brown pucker on top. As if on cue, my butthole winks then, telegraphing a message.

  I want you, it whispers. All of you.

  Come get me, it repeats. Put it in.

  Oh my god, oh my god. There’s a moment when I feel like I’m in a dream. A dirty, dirty, wet dream. I’ll wake up and it will all have been a figment of my teen imagination. I can’t be this girl, this little whore, showing a group of men her most secret of places.

  But it’s real alright. Because five sets of blue eyes are glued to my asshole, watching ravenously as it contracts and opens, as my pussy lips swell even further, clit standing straight up. They want this. The Morgans absolutely want this, one hundred percent.

  So I decide to go for it. Standing up once more, I grab the shower head. It’s the kind that’s flexible with a long metal cord, and I blast the water at my chest, letting it pummel my boobies.

  But that’s not enough. Turning back to the men, I lean over, showing my holes again, letting them look right up my pussy and ass. Wiggling a bit, I taunt them, giggling over the hissing sound of spray.

  Want this big boys? I mime. Want this?

  Their collective groans rise
in the air again, the men stroking their shafts furiously now, eyes glued to the show.

  And slowly, I bring the shower head up so that it’s pointed right at my hole. Oh yeah. The pulsing water is just the thing, and moaning musically, my head lifts, eyes closed. Oh shit, it feels good on my clit, my heavenly bead hard like a rock, begging to be stroked.

  And I go for it then. Bringing the shower head up until it’s only an inch away, I blast it full force at my clit before turning to my anus, and blasting that too. One-two-one-two. Oh yeah, the water makes me scream, rushing towards the peak at a hundred miles an hour.

  “Unnnnh!” comes my inarticulate cry. “Oh oh oh!”

  And like a slut, I double down. As my pussy and ass spasm, I pull the showerhead away so that the men can see everything, a full-on show. Oh yeah, the juice falling in torrents from my cunt. The hot clamping and clenching as both my holes go crazy, begging for dick, needing them so badly. With another scream, I throw my head back and this time, my pussy literally ejects juice, squirting like crazy, hitting the shower walls with clear streams of fluid.

  “Unnnh!” is my shriek, body trembling wildly. “Ohhhh!”

  And like a miracle, the men come as well. A chorus of groans fills the small space, rising hotly in the air.

  “Fuck!” roars one.

  “Godddamn,” grunts another.