Page 3 of A Little Thankful

Once we were all inside and safe and warm, with an abundance of pies to eat… the owner of Sweetie Pies didn’t want what was left of her pies to go to waste, so between us we had about ten… and we settled in for the night.

The guys gave me the only usable bedroom in the place, while they made due on the sofa or the living room floor. Fortunately, there were plenty of blankets and pillows, but no other beds.

Things changed once we settled in for that first night.

Good things.

Fun things.

Sexy as hell, things.

One night led to another night, and entire days of being stuck.

During that time, I’d had sex with each individual guy at one point or another. After all, there wasn’t much else to do. I couldn’t help it. They were too fucking adorable, and they were so uncomfortable out in the living room.

I’d assured them we didn’t need to use condoms. I couldn’t get pregnant, and was clean of any STD’s. They assured me they’d all been recently tested and were also clean which they did every six months. It seemed to be a common thing for single folks these days, at least common if you were sexually active, which I wasn’t, but I’d still had several tests.

By the third night, we were set to get out in the morning. Hunter, being a local fireman, had the inside scoop on road conditions, and once we were out, we’d all go back to our own lives.

That was our agreement.

No strings.

Plus, we made a pact that whatever happened in this cabin, stayed in this cabin… or some such bullshit.

“I don’t know guys. This sounds a little too kinky for this down-home girl,” I told them after I knocked off my third glass of wine for the night. One thing about my grandparents and their cabin, they seemed to love their wine.

They stocked plenty of paper products, and cleaning supplies. However, they didn’t stock much by way of food other than some cans of tuna, canned peas, Mac and Cheese, and instant oatmeal, but they stocked plenty of wine… several cases of red, white and bubbly.

Probably what kept them so young and healthy.

“Since when are you a down-home girl?” Mace asked, as he tugged his black, tight t-shirt over his head, revealing a chest that I couldn’t help but run my hands over.

We were in the master bedroom, which was actually the only room with a king-sized bed or any kind of bed in the entire house. The cabin belonged to my grandparents, but my mom had decided to renovate it about three months ago. Unfortunately, she had to leave for Singapore before she could finish it.

Thus, the lack of beds or much furniture of any kind. We’d had to make due, and believe me,duewasn’t all we made. We had a lot of sex over the course of the three days, but we’d never attempted group sex, which was what they were proposing.

Getting caught up here had taught us one thing, we were more similar than we’d ever imagined. And that similarity happened to be me liking all three of them, and vice versa.

Or was it that we’d simply been stuck here? I couldn’t tell, but whatever it was, I’d never had so much sex in my entire life.

And let me just say, not only did I have an abundance of raw, hot sex, but it was the fucking best sex I’d ever had.

Mind blowing sex.

Incredible sex.

Nirvana sex, if that was even a concept.

So, the prospect of doing all three of them at once caused my mind to explode and my pussy to salivate with the mere mention of all those dicks and male hands coming at me at one time.

“I transitioned into a down-home chick ever since I discovered I love country music and drove over to Sweet Whiskey to listen to some of my favorite bands play at Dirty Coyote,” I told him as Hunter, who had already slipped out of his shirt and jeans, busied himself with unbuttoning my shirt to reveal my lacy soft-pink bra. His hands slowly ran over my breasts, as he teased my nipples into getting hard as pebbles.

Dirty Coyote was the country dance hall that had put this entire area on the map. It was also where I’d learned to let go of my uptight way of looking at life. I’d been sneaking off to thedancehall for the past couple of years. Arty never knew, neither did my parents who hated country music of any kind.

“It hardly makes you a country girl,” Forrest said as he stripped out of his clothes, while he knelt on the bed next to my legs.

“I think it does, so that’s all that matters,” I shot back.

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