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“That’s my job, Cyrus,” she says, but she doesn’t sound mad about it.
She struts over to Toxic—the green haired man—and kneels between his legs, running her hands up his thighs. Toxic’s own girl helps open his belt and?—
“You like to watch?” Mack whispers in my ear. “Come with us.”
I don’t answer, but I do let them lead me deeper into the heart of their lair, which is maybe answer enough. I never thought of myself as being particularly voyeuristic, but it turns out maybe I just never had the opportunity to find out.
We come to a door with a wooden plank that has ‘Scrapper’ burned into it. The loud music from the party quiets when we step inside. Scrapper flicks on a floor lamp, bathing the whole room in a soft golden glow. It’s basically a studio apartment, with one main room and a couple doors that I’m guessing are for bathrooms or closets. It’s nothing fancy. A large bed, a kitchen table with a few chairs, and a sofa and coffee table facing a TV mounted to the wall. But what catches my eye is that each piece of furniture looks totally unique.
I run a hand over the coffee table, which is a massive plank cut from the center of a tree with only enough finishing to make it smooth and rich. It’s gorgeous. “This is amazing. Did you make all this?”
Scrapper looks a little uncomfortable. “It’s a hobby.”
“If you want to admire some wood, let me bring up the Playroom,” Mack says. He plays with his phone for a minute before the TV turns on, and a video fills the screen.
There’s probably five guys in the room, and two very happy women who are extremely good at multitasking. I forget all about the furniture and stare at all the filthy action happening on the massive bed they’re all piled on. There’s nothing staged or polished about the video or the people in it. The men are fit and attractive, and so are the women, but it feels real. Real bodies, with real scars and real breasts that obey the law of gravity. It’s one of the sexiest things I’ve ever seen. And that’s when I realize I’m hearing the same low, thudding bass in the background that was playing at the party.
“Wait, is this live? Here? D—do they know we’re watching?” I stammer. Every inch of me is flushed and sensitive, craving to be touched.
“See how he’s licking her pussy?” growls Reaper in my ear. “That’s happening right now, and they’re in there because they want to be watched. They’re hoping the brothers are fucking or stroking off to what they’re doing.”
I shudder as Scrapper slides his fingers into my hair, then makes a fist so he can angle my head just right for Mack to kiss me. Reaper puts a hand on my exposed stomach and starts finding his way upwards. The three of them cooperate like they're a practiced team. I have no illusions of being the first girl they've done this with, as long as right now they’re touching and watching me like I'm the only girl in the world.
“I’ve never done anything like this before,” I whisper.
“You’re a virgin?” Mack asks, his mouth on my neck freezing.
“No!” I shake my head in denial. “But I feel like I might as well be compared to what you’re probably used to.”
“If you don’t want to fuck, you don’t have to. You get that, right?” Scrapper’s expression is dead serious. “We want to show you a good time, not freak you out.”
On the screen, one of the girls helps position the hips of the other girl as she slowly sinks onto a long, hard cock. The biker’s hands are wrapped around her waist, and her hair cascades down her back in chestnut waves. On either side are more men, with their cocks in their hands, stroking as they watch and wait their turn.
I can’t believe I’m seriously considering this, but… when will I ever get the chance again, judgment free? Nobody will ever know.
Curiosity has always been my downfall. I’ve never been able to turn away from something that tickled my interest. It’s what made me want to go into journalism in the first place. I can get paid for being nosy? Sign me up!
“Then you better start slow.” My voice is deep and husky as I kick off my heels.
Mack's lips are soft, but his kiss is hard. His thick beard tickles my face. I open up for him, letting his tongue find mine and chase it around until my legs wobble and my knees are weak. A hand finds one of my breasts, under my top but over my bra, exploring and teasing the nipple through the thin fabric. Another is undoing the button on my jeans, working them over my hips until they fall and pool around my feet.
Everywhere, there are hands. Touching, exploring, learning what makes me moan, while Mack kisses me stupid.
With my eyes closed and my arms wrapped around Mack's neck, I relax into the feel of six strong, rough hands stroking me. I thought it was Reaper under my shirt, but when I peek, it’s Scrapper’s hazel eyes that are watching me. Reaper is behind me, running his thumbs up my back along my spine and fisting my hair, holding me in place for them to use. My bra goes slack, unhooked by someone’s clever fingers.
“Fuck, you have nice tits. I want a shot at those before they get all messy,” growls Reaper as he watches Scrapper touch me. That gravelly sound sends excited chills through my body.
Mack spins me around, kissing my neck as he holds me to his chest and gives the others full access to my front. My bra joins my jeans on the floor and wet heat envelops one of my nipples. Scrapper has taken one into his mouth, teasing it hard with languid strokes of his tongue and sharp nips with his teeth. And then the other side is captured too.
“I think you’re all overdressed.”
They've gotten me down to just my panties, and I haven't even gotten to get a good look at them yet. If I only get one night, I’m not going to waste it being shy. I reach back for Mack's fly, using my hands to explore for it. I find his thigh, then slide my hand over. The bulge I find straining against his jeans makes me draw a surprised breath.
He chuckles, his hot breath skating over my neck while I explore the length of him, unbelieving. “Beautiful, you only had to fucking ask.”
I watch him with hungry eyes as he moves into view, my pulse thundering as Reaper cups my breasts and Scrapper slides his fingers over the front of my panties. Mack grips his shirt by the hem and peels it up over his head, baring a massive expanse of hard, tattooed flesh. He has so much ink, but it all cuts off very precisely around his wrists and collar. Does he have a job that frowns on tattoos? That would be strange for a biker, wouldn’t it? He throws his shirt aside and undoes his belt, then the button and the zipper. With a cocky grin, he pulls his pants down but leaves the boxer briefs. The way his thickness stretches the fabric has my mouth watering.
“Almost there,” he says teasingly, and points down with a finger.
