Six months after the Super Bowl, so much had changed in my life. The guys and I had made a commitment to each other, so we bought a house in an exclusive Philadelphia suburb. It had larges tracts of land, so we had our privacy and the house was so big, we could each have privacy when we wanted it.
Carey and Kyle were still on the Sea-Eagles. For now, Jackson was retired. He wasn’t going back to football as a player, although he thought about coaching. We were planning a trip overseas to see a tiger preserve that we were going to do a fundraiser for. Carey and Kyle had some time off, so they were planning to come too.
My favorite part of the house was a shared balcony on the second floor that connected all our bedrooms. It became a thrill for us to have sex there, not only because it was outside but because there was still a chance of getting caught! Jackson was even able to install a sturdier, free-standing sex swing so we could use that whenever we wanted. I was sunning myself in a bikini, when the guys walked in wearing shorts and a smile. Jackson got the swing ready, so I knew it was time for some kinky fun.
“Mrs. Blake-Ellis-Fowler?” asked Jackson. “Would you be so kind as to have sex with us?”
“Wait, why is my name last?” asked Kyle. “It should be Fowler-Ellis-Blake.”
“That’s alphabetical order, dude. It’s the only fair way,” assured Jackson.
“I think my way has a better cadence,” insisted Kyle.
“Maybe I’ll just keep my maiden name,” said Lexi. “I know it’s a little untraditional, but you know me!”
“Fuck all that! Let’s get it on!” said Carey excitedly. “I need some sugar!”
“Since we’re outside,” I said seductively. “I think we all need a little suntan lotion.”
I poured some of the bottle of the gooey substance on myself and started rubbing. It smelled like coconut and the beach. Kyle came up from behind and grabbed my ass with both hands. He then untied my bikini top. It fell to the ground.
“Oopsie!” I said in my sex kitten voice. “I hope my panties don’t fall off too!”
Jackson kneeled in front of me and grabbed either side of the bikini ties. He pulled them, they untied and my panties fell away. I had just gotten waxed and left a perfectly groom landing strip. Jackson parted my pussy lips gently with his fingers and slurped at my waiting snatch.
“I love eating your sweet pussy,” he whispered. “Tell me to eat your pussy.”
“Eat my pussy, Jackson! Eat my pussy!”
Kyle started kissing my neck and fondling my breasts. I poured some of the suntan lotion onto Carey’s tight chest and rubbed it in. Then my hand drifted down into his shorts and inside. I grabbed his massive cocked and rubbed it in my hand.
“We have to make sure your little man is covered,” I said, pouring more suntan lotion on his cock.
“Little man?” he said jokingly. “Give it a minute!”
I was rubbing Carey’s cock and I could feel it getting bigger. Jackson was going to town on my little snatch and I came once in his mouth. Kyle kissed me deep and twisted my nipples so they would get hard.
“You like that?” he whispered in my ear. “You like me to twist your little titties?”
“Yes, Kyle,” I said seductively. “Twist my titties. I love it! I love it!”
I was getting so turned just standing there and being manhandled. My hand was moving faster and faster on Carey’s shaft.
“Oh, God, yeah!” said Carey. “You’re gonna start a fire on my dick, you’re rubbing so fast!”
Almost on cue, I slid down to my knees. The guys dropped their shorts and stepped out of them. I took a towel off the lounge chair to protect my knees on the hard patio. What stood before me were three hard, throbbing dicks ready for sucking. I took Jackson into my mouth, then Kyle, then Carey. I switched with rubbing the other two. My boys were all nice and hard.
“Oh, my God, such beautiful cocks.” I laughed. “All for me? Thank you!”
“Yeah, that’s right,” said Jackson in pleasure. “Feels so good! Oh! Your hot mouth!”
“You like my tongue on your cock, Jackson? Beg me to suck you. Beg me!” I commanded.
“Please! Please!” he said breathlessly. “Please suck my cock!”
I obliged sucking him as hard as I could. I slobbered down his shaft to his balls. I took turns putting one or two in my mouth and sucking on them. Then I flicked them with my tongue while he moaned. I concentrated on the hole at the tip of his penis where it was most sensitive.
Next, I stuck my head under Kyle’s balls and I licked each one with my tongue. He had gotten into manscaping, so he was complete shaved now.
“So smooth,” I said. “I love to suck you, Smooth Kyle.”
Then switching, I moved under Carey’s ball sack and rubbed my tongue all around. He loved getting oral most of the three.
“God damn, yes. God damn, yes,” he muttered over and over.
Without a word, I stopped and stood. I put my hands on Jackson’s shoulders and jumped up on his cock. There was no need for condoms now, we had been faithful to each other for months. Kyle entered me from behind. While Jackson held me, the two of them fucked me. Carey reached down and rubbed my clit, while kissing me deeply with his tongue. I came on Jackson’s cock so many times I lost count.
“It’s time,” I whispered to Jackson. “You know what to do to me.”
We were experts at this now, so the next move was the swing. Jackson set me down and I got myself strapped in. I took Carey into my mouth. He loved to be sucked and I had gotten better at loosening my mouth muscles to accommodate his mammoth manhood. Kyle slid his erection into my pussy. It felt sooooo nice.
“Oh, yeah, like that! Fuck me Kyle!” I cooed. “Stick your cock in there! Do it!”
Jackson pressed into my tight little asshole. It opened for him like a blossom, his man shaft stretching my little hole. I could feel the head of his penis deep inside of me. Kyle and Jackson’s cocks pressed on my insides making the orgasms more intense.
“Oh, God, so tight!” he said, sliding in. “I love to fuck your ass!”
“Fuck my ass, Jackson! Fuck it! Fuck all my tight little holes!’
“Oh, baby! Oh, baby!” said Carey in delight.
We were getting a good rhythm going. Carey reached down and started flicking my clit as Kyle fucked me. I started cumming almost immediately. His big, manly fingers knew just where to touch me!
“Uhn! Uhn!” I moaned, vibrating in the sex swing. “Fuck me, you dirty boys! Fuck me!”
I was shuddering, but suspended up in the swing that was all I could do. I couldn’t fall, couldn’t collapse on anyone--- The fucking just continued even as I came and came and came! Water was now pooling beneath us. It had ran out of my pussy and all down Kyle’s cock and legs. He pulled out for a second and I squirted on him.
“Uhn!” I squealed. “Yes! Oh, God! Pull my hair!”
Jackson obliged while plunging in and out of me with reckless abandon. My asshole was being ravaged by his strong, hard dick. It made me cum so hard. I didn’t want it to stop, but I had an idea.
“Wait,” I said, almost out of breath. “I want to try something.”
Jackson grunted as he pulled out of my ass.
“What is it, baby?” he asked. “Anything for you.”
“I want you and Kyle in my pussy at the same time while Carey’s in my ass,” I requested. “I want to feel two of you in my pussy.”
“You down?” asked Jackson of Kyle.
“Yeah, why not?”
It took a minute to reposition everyone. Kyle slid into the top of my pussy, while Jackson slid into the bottom. The fullness of their erect cocks made me gasp.
“Oh, God! Yes!” I squealed. “Both of you fuck me!”
The boys obliged and I felt like I was being pumped like a piston. One went in, while the other pulled back. In between there was a moment when both were equally inside of me and I was so full! The tighter fit made me feel their hearts beating. Their cocks were throbbing, pumping blood and pumping me!
Corey was slowly entering my ass from behind. I could feel his giant cock push apart my ass cheeks. I braced myself for the next bit.
“You ready, baby?” he asked.
“Yes!” I screamed. “Stick it in me! Stick it in my ass! Fill me up!”
His massive cock stretched my tight little asshole again and I screamed in ecstasy. I further enhanced the experienced by rubbing my clit and opening my legs as wide as I could. I needed my men to have as much open access to my pussy and ass as possible. I was reeling from all the orgasms. They came in waves, one after another. I didn’t know which cock I was feeling when.
“Ooh! O-oh! O-oh!” was all I could manage to gasp.
“God damn! God damn!” said Carey, increasing speed as he fucked my ass. “Oh, Lexi, your tight ass! I love this tight ass!”
My ass and pussy muscles had never been stretched so far. At times, they seized as I had an orgasm. This made the sensation even hotter, so I’d seize again. It was like one big spiral of pleasure. My eyes rolled back into my head, I was gasping to breathe, and I lost all control. Again and again I came and came, shaking and shuddering. It was as if I had put my entire body and soul into the hands of these men and they knew just how to pleasure me. I trusted them utterly.
“I want you to cum!” I demanded. “Cum inside me at the same time! Cum in my ass and pussy! Oh, yes! Please!”
Then, all three exploded inside me. Cum filled my ass and pussy. The hot jism made me quiver even more and deep inside. The guys howled in pleasure and I could feel the massive gobs of gooey sperm running out of my holes as the boys came. I shuddered in the swing for several minutes. The orgasms were earth shattering!
“Ah, fuck! Fuck!” said Jackson cumming.
“Uh! Uh!” Kyle grunted.
“Oh, yeah! Fuck!” strained Carey.
Carey staggered back a few steps and his cock slipped out. I could feel is cum spray on my back, while the rest ran out of my asshole and onto the balcony floor. Kyle pulled out, but I grabbed and pulled him toward me. I sucked the last bit of cum out of his dick.
“Mmm, so good,” I moaned.
Jackson staggered back a few steps too. He flopped down on one of the lounge chairs, exhausted. A stream of jism shot out of his dick as he did so. He was still having minor orgasms as well.
“Holy shit, that was amazing,” he said out of breath. “How does it keep getting better? Six months and it feels so amazing. Even more amazing.”
“I know,” I said, still shuddering from the experience. “Mmm, oh, God. Give me a minute. Oh!”
When it was finally over, spent and exhausted, we retired to Carey’s room. We laid down together and went to sleep.
“I’ve never been this happy,” said Carey. “Seriously.”
“Yeah, me too,” added Jackson. “Except, the only thing that would make me happier is if we could take a special, private trip back to the zoo and let out our animalistic side all together.”
“How could that even happen?” I asked, laughing.
“Oh, I have my ways to make things happen,” Jackson answered.
“I believe you,” I told him, seriously.
Kyle smiled and just nodded.
“I’m happy to have you all,” I said sweetly.
This was my life and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
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- Brandon
Tijeras, New Mexico. The East Mountains. February/ Winter.
Never in my life did I think I would ever agree with those Eastern monks. You know, the ones who say that if you’re looking for a spiritual practice — your place in the world — it can happen when you’re chopping wood and carrying water?
Doing the simple things can be very meaningful. The small things. The important, needful things.
Like what I’m doing right here, right now. Chopping firewood right outside my cabin. It serves an important purpose. The warmth and comfort are the tangible results of its final product – a fire – but the act of chopping the wood to make it also serves as my time to think. My time to reflect on who I am, what I’ve done, and what I’d like to do and be in the future.
You see, I wasn’t always a mountain man, like most people would probably see me as now. If I ever wandered into the heart of Albuquerque from my little mountain sanctuary, they’d think me one of those wild types. Secluded, real down-to-earth and all that, but I used to be the exact opposite.
When I served in the Navy, served my country as a SEAL, I was all over the place. I was where all the action was, whether it was already popped off, or ready to go. I was there, giving my all. Sacrificing not just my time — but also potentially my body and my life — so that other people could remain free. So that other men and women didn’t have to be consumed in fire and flame.
But now I don’t need to be an action hero. I’d be happy just being a hometown hero type. Nice and quiet. Laid-back, but meaningful.
Just like the construction job I’m going to start in a week, I think, bringing down the axe another small piece of wood, splitting it fairly evenly. As evenly as I can manage, mostly using my stronger arm. The arm that hasn’t had the muscles fried in it from running up on the bad side of an explosive.
Not hard labor, but supervising. Guiding. Making sure the guys (or gals) give it their best with each job. Under these thoughts, I’ve cleared the pieces of wood I’ve split. Moved them into my “cut” pile. I take another good-sized log and line it up under the blade. I steady it the best I can with my non-chopping arm, before taking aim.
“And to make sure they don’t fuck it up,” I mutter, bringing the ax up and down on this new piece of wood. Unlike the last one, it doesn’t go clean through. The blade gets stuck halfway down, forcing me to wheedle it through. I jam it, with a little help from my number, less-functional hand and arm.
Not the most fun thing to do — too much jiggling and jarring on this side, and I feel like I have a small firestorm in my veins — but it’s gotta be done. This may be New Mexico, and therefore, a little warmer than most places in early February, but it still gets cold at night. Which is falling fast.
Out here for no more than an hour and a half or two, the light has already dimmed from late afternoon into dusk. The evening has arrived. Which means I only have probably another half hour of chopping time before I have to lug all this wood in.
I stand up from the stump I’ve been using as my chopping block, and take a breather. Not necessarily because I’m tired, but because I’ve just remembered I might need to chop some extra wood, for a little modification I need to make on my log cabin.
Part of the railing on the stairs up to the house is getting a little rickety. And I’ve just forgotten which part I thought was leaning too much. So, I’m looking at it now, trying to remember which part I lean into a lot every time I go up and down. It’s definitely on the side of the railing that is on my stronger side.
Figures. Here I use all my inheritance — the money Mom and Dad left me when they passed away — on Grandpa’s old log cabin, and it’s the railing that still needs attention! I chuckle, remembering how Granddad used to bitch about that. How he used to say the railings were ricketier and more unsteady than he was. And he was over 100.
Granddad was always fixing it. Dad told him he should just rip it out. Replace the whole damn porch and stairs, but Granddad wasn’t having it. And I understand why. All of us kids — great grandkids, grandkids and so on — we’ve all had our names up there. Carved into bits and pieces of the railing. Especially as boys, so of course Granddad wanted to keep that. And so did I. That’s why I tried to keep it, even with all the renovating I did.
But if I don’t fix it, I’m gonna end up biting it one of these days. And I can’t risk that happening — anything unexpected happening — right before I’m due to start my new job.
I sigh, looking at my woodpile for a suitable piece. Something I can split into a small, manageable part that can be sanded down and made into a railing. Or at least a piece of connective tissue.
I’ve just spotted the lucky winner from my firewood pile — a small, raggedy-looking piece of log — and lined it up a little off center, for just the perfect cut — when I see something even more urgent than the repairs needed on the railing.
Just through the trees, I’ve spotted a young woman sitting out there on the other side of my little screen of pine. Dressed as she is — in pale white or gray pants and a matching T-shirt — she looks like a ghost. At least she does to me.
Her dark, messy hair is windblown. Part of it seems to be an edgy style; the other part of it, my gut tells me, is the result of desperation. The frayed end of a rope.
My stomach dips, then knots. Though I can’t see the woman’s face, her posture tells me everything I need to know— she could be suicidal, not really “here.” It’s in the way her shoulders droop. Her back bends with the manner in which she hunches over the cliff there. The opening in the mountain range, almost waiting for the rock and wilderness to swallow her whole.
I drop my ax and run for the trees— or, more accurately, for her, on the other side of them. It might just be my eyes — the change in the evening light as it goes from dusk to night — but it looks like she’s wobbled forward, leaned closer to pitching herself over the edge, and I’m not gonna have that. Not while I’m around and can do something.
After all, there’s no such thing as an innocent bystander. Just a silent accomplice.
“Hey, young lady!” I shout, hoping to get some attention. Some response. “Don’t stay like that. You might fall, miss!”
Even at my semi-loud bark — the tone I used a lot when I wanted to get my fellow SEALs’ attention — the woman doesn’t respond. She just continues to face out toward the horizon, toward the drop off below, like she really is a ghost. Like she really isn’t here anymore.
When I get within arm’s reach, I think I see her starting to pitch forward again. And that’s when I make up my mind: whether she hears me or not, I’m going to let her know I see her. I’m going to snatch her from the precipice, before she does something she can’t take back.
I put my arm around her small, frail body and pull back.
And that’s when my ghost girl decides to come to life.