Chapter 4
Max
I can hear my wife getting ravaged. My sullen, hot, smart wife, getting her back blown out and her thoughts driven out of her pretty, pale skull.
My heart hammers at the sounds echoing through the grotto, pushing out to the cliffs.
Mr. Davis stands next to me, arms folded. Listening, waiting, watching the dark shadows as they play off the edge of the cave and reflect back to us.
We can’t see them, but we can see enough.
My cock grows hard. I bite the inside of my cheek, wanting only to rush in there and either rescue her or save her from the ruthless dicking she’s taking.
It happened so fast, too. She walked down there, and within five minutes Brooklyn’s screaming like someone’s battering her insides.
“You’ll have your moment, Maxwell,” Mr. Davis says.
He sounds like a father when he calls me “Maxwell.” No one calls me that, so I scowl at him.
Patting me on the shoulder, the older man smiles. “Don’t look so disheartened, my friend. Brooklyn will emerge from the grotto a new woman. A happier one. A hornier one. Think of what that means for you.”
My mouth falls open.
I’d never thought of it like that.
I’m not the smartest guy, but I’m protective. That’s where my initial resistance comes from—the flexing of my body when I hear Brook getting pounded into oblivion.
Then her wailing turns to gurgles and choked sounds, and I know she’s getting face-fucking into oblivion. The fleshy claps continue unabated.
I wonder to myself how long I’ll have to wait before I can go in there and fuck herself. Maybe clean up after the other five men.
“Know who’s down there?” I ask.
Mr. Davis shrugs. “We have no cameras in the grotto, obviously. Your guess is as good as mine. But remember, you were the one who brought her here . . . knowing what her fate was.”
“I was trying to be nice. I knew where she’d want to go this morning—she loves caves and ancient shit. Castles and old houses. It just made sense.”
Mr. Davis smiles past his silver beard. “Well, I made sure to plant someone who I thought might entice your wife. Seems I was right.”
I blink at him. I haven’t seen anyone go into the grotto besides Brooklyn, and there are clearly two people fucking her now.
Who could they be? I wonder.
Turning around at the sound of voices, I spot three men making their way toward us: Tyson, Brent, and Drew.
The three remaining hunters.
“Fuck,” Tyson snarls, pushing back his hair and showing the edge of his spray tan at the top of his forehead. “I’m always the last one to the party.”
“Last one to arrive, last one to leave,” Drew says, slapping him on the shoulder. Katie’s husband winks. “I’m just excited to finally get a new pussy to claim.”
“Yeah, well, she’s not only yours,” says Brent, the dark-skinned Italian dude with the sinister good looks. He has tattoos all over his body, and they draw my attention as the three approach from the pathway, to the edge of the cliffs, to the mouth of the grotto where I’m standing with Mr. Davis.
Brent was the guy I took Katie with—the first duo to wreck the new girl. It was a fun time, and I sort of like the dude, only because he doesn’t seem to take himself too seriously.
A guy that good-looking could easily take himself too seriously.
Drew and Tyson move past me, eager to get inside the cave.
Brent stops at my side, standing on my left with Mr. Davis on my right. He elbows me, hands on his hips. “The wait must be agonizing, Max my boy.”
I frown. “Don’t antagonize me, Brent.”
He blinks over at me, dumbfounded. “Huh? I’m not. Sorry.”
My shoulders sink. “It’s okay. Turns out I’m more of a cuck than I realize.”
Brent sighs. “Well. If it makes you feel any better, while those four ravage your wife, I’ll suck your dick.”
Now it’s my turn to blink, dumbfounded. “Wait—what?”
“You must take Brooklyn, Brent,” Mr. Davis grunts out, taking a step back from us.
“I plan to,” says the man sharply, throwing Mr. Davis a grin. “I can do both, sir.”
Mr. Davis sighs, running a hand through his silver hair. It’s nice seeing the older proprietor of Isle Honeydew caught off-guard for once. As if this was not in his plan and . . .
Wait. Brent offered to suck my cock.
“Are you being serious?” I ask.
He shrugs. “Why not? You have a nice dick. I already stroked it for you to get it ready for Katie.”
“That’s . . . gay as hell, man.”
“No it’s not. I’ll show you.”
Without further ado, Brent gets on his knees in front of me. Right there on the bluff.
I’m too astounded to stop him when he peels my board shorts down to my ankles. Too confused to do anything other than watch down my front as my cock swings in his face, and he smiles.
“Nice,” Brent mutters.
He grabs my thick cock, lifting it. Puts his mouth to my tip, and I grow erect in seconds—shamefully.
“F-Fuck,” I groan. Hearing my wife getting her insides battered, with this stranger I’ve known for two days on his knees ready to throat my dick . . . it does something unbelievable to me.
By the time Brent has my cock down his throat, bobbing his head pleasantly along my length, stroking the root of my dick while stuffing his maw full, I’m already ready to bust.
“Shit, Brent!” I yell.
I pull out of his mouth. My cock flexes, swings, slaps his face, and precum spills across his handsome dark cheek.
He smiles up at me.
If he went on any longer, I would have spewed cum all over his face. As it stands, I’m still ready to pump my dick once and launch some ropes across that stupidly attractive mug of his—try to wipe the smile off.
“Seems you liked it,” Brent laughs. “Almost prejacked down my throat.”
He laughs again, heartily, and turns around while dusting his hands off—as if to say his job is finished.
But now I’m standing here with blue balls. My cock is throbbing. When he turns, my eyes zero in on his tight ass through his board shorts, and I have half a mind to yank them down and plow into his ass.
But that would definitely be gay, I’m pretty sure, and this was already borderline.
Brooklyn would have loved to see it though.
He disappears into the grotto, where the sounds from Brooklyn are starting to become raspy, ravaged, like she’s being used by too many men for her to handle.
Like she’s in the process of breaking.
But when Mr. Davis pats me on the shoulder, reminding me that my time is coming soon to reclaim my wife, I find my mind drifting back to the sight of that handsome dude on his knees, gobbling my cock like he owned it.
My wife and my new intimate friend Brent are both bisexual menaces. Without a doubt.
Crazy thing is, I’m starting to think I might be, too.