The four jocks: At the lake

by BRK

When Dane and his brother Sean go on a celebratory road trip after finishing college, Sean's best friends, the Fernandez twins, naturally tag along. But their trip takes a strange turn right out of the gate, not least thanks to a game the guys find in their room at the lakeside bed and breakfast.

The Four Jocks, #10 Added Jul 2017 13k views 4.5 stars (15 votes) 5,950 words

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My younger brother and the Fernandez twins have been practically inseparable since the moment they all met back in Sean’s sophomore year comparative lit classes. So when I suggested to Sean that we celebrate our combined graduations from Northwestern—his B.A. and my M.A.—with a two-week road trip, it was a foregone conclusion that Enrique and Dante, the most boyish and bashful Latino hunks you ever saw, would be joining the festivities. That was assuming they wanted to go. I tried imagine them breaking loose from their intense study-now, live-someday mentality and had to shake my head, smiling at the absurdity of it.

At first I was worried Sean might not go for an extended period of automotive confinement with the big bro he saw 24/7 when he wasn’t in class—we both still lived together in the little house Mom and Dad left us. At first he tried to play me when I brought it up at breakfast a week before Commencement, because the fucker knew I’d be nervous about it.

“Aw, geez, Dane,” he whined, falling back against his chair and offering me, entirely incidentally, a chance to observe how big his sculpted chest had gotten lately. He didn’t wear shirts to breakfast, or in general around the house. Actually, neither of us did, though I figured I had less to show off. I was more the defined, hard-bodied type. Though I did have more body hair, if we were keeping score on anything. But it was easier, no shirts. We’re both guys, right? No big deal. A lot of time there weren’t any pants either, because why bother when it’s just us? Boxer-briefs are so much simpler. Less laundry that way, too, and since I was always the one that ended up doing laundry, I definitely appreciated that part of it. Heck, I’d vote for naked if it meant less time sorting colors and pairing socks.

I raised an eyebrow at him as I cut up the short stack of pancakes I’d just served up for us. “What, you don’t want to?” I asked. The truth was, I’d be a little disappointed. I’d been looking forward to us hanging out together, away from the house we’d spent so much time studying in.

Sean eyed me balefully as if this were the dumbest idea in the world, but I knew him. His eyes were twinkling. I narrowed my eyes at him, then, with calculated precision, I picked up the squeeze bottle of imitation maple syrup and doused his impressive chest with it.

“Hey!” he cried out, laughing and jumping up. He tried snatching the bottle away from me, and we ended up wrestling for it until we were both sticky from our foreheads to the waistbands of our Calvins. Finally Sean got the bottle back for a third time and firmly slapped it onto the breakfast table. It was as covered in gunk as we were. “Look at what you did!” he laughed, grabbing my sticky shoulder with one hand and diligently smearing the syrup into my chest hair with the other. He stood back and gestured to himself. “I’m never going to get this off—you’re going to have to lick it off me!”

Instantly I stepped forward and, sticking out my wide tongue, took a long lick up his still-stubbly cheek. “Yecch, you didn’t shave,” I said in mock disgust. “You’ll have to do the rest yourself.”

And because younger brothers always have to win at everything, he stepped forward and licked straight up my cheek, too. “Mmmm, Dane-flavored,” he said, grinning without moving back. I met his dancing blue eyes. He had an inch on me, as well as about twenty pounds these days if I reckoned right, but I was still the older brother, and my arched eyebrow was law.

He smirked at me. “We taking the boat?” he asked.

“Of course,” I answered immediately. We didn’t have an actual boat—he meant my dad’s baby blue ‘65 Chrysler convertible, which I kept as close to cherry as it could get just for situations like this. It does look like a boat and a lot of the time it drives like a boat, but sometimes that’s a good thing.

Sean used a thumb to smudge some syrup across the check he hadn’t licked. “Guys coming?” he asked diffidently, but I knew this was the dealbreaker.

I grabbed him by the back of the neck and said, “Wouldn’t have it any other way.” He beamed at me, slapped my cheek gently, whacked my ass a little less gently, and headed for the stairs chanting road trip …road trip …road trip …

And so it was that a week and a day layer, on a bright Saturday morning in June, Sean, Enrique, Dante, and I piled into the Chrysler—which really was, as Fred Schneider once crooned, as big as a whale—and together we set sail for the bucolic north.

Sean still smelled like maple syrup, though I might have been imagining it.

The trip took a strange turn from the outset, as tends to happen around me and Sean whenever we stop planning and leave things to fate. I’d pegged the first week or so of our trip to Lake Raumuo up in northern Wisconsin. My family had gone there a lot when we were younger, and I knew there were boat rentals, hiking, swimming, motocross and three-wheelers, an amusement park, even a few taverns and dance clubs—plus it claimed to be the cheesy-hot dog capital of the world, which would have Sean wanting to live there. I’d packed my guitar and fishing gear too, and made reservations ahead of time at a bed and breakfast I found online that was near the lake. But when we got there after a pretty fun day’s drive (Dante sat up front with me and spent the whole day challenging my knowledge of ‘90s hair metal lyrics), we got to the vicinity of the lake only for us to be completely unable to find the Lakefront Bed and Breakfast anywhere, even with the aid of GPS and smartphone map apps. Being an enlightened man I shied not from asking directions at the Shell station while I filled up our very thirsty whale just as night started to fall. The toothless, gnarled stump of a man behind the counter sent us around the other side of the lake, very possibly just to get shed of us Chicago city-folk. As we pulled back out onto the twisty county road the ringed the lake, Enrique joked from the back seat, “Isn’t this the part of the horror movie where the vacationing family takes that fateful left turn to nowhere and is never seen again?”

“Dibs on being Final Girl,” Sean said quickly, putting up a hand.

“If a scythe-wielding maniac comes after us,” I shot back, taking the right fork at a Y intersection to keep following around the shores of the lake, “I’m pitching you at him and high-tailing it out of there.”

“I like this plan,” seconded Enrique, earning himself a swat in the chest.

In the next half hour we passed a half dozen motels and B and Bs, all of them sternly warning that there were no vacancies. Finally, not long after passing a 24-hour Cheesy Wiener joint, which seemed like a good sign, we came across a weathered but well-maintained and cozy-looking two-story bed and breakfast with a small but tasteful illuminated sign on one side announcing it as… the Lakeshore Bed and Breakfast. I slowed the car and frowned at it.

“Maybe they tweaked the name?” Dante suggested uncertainly.

At this point, I was ready to give up our quest. It was dark, the place’s office was lit and welcoming, and the forbidding “no vacancies” signage spangling the shoreline so far was nowhere to be seen. Pulling into the tiny parking lot, I said, “Let’s see what they have.”

What they had was… strange. There was no check-in clerk—no sign of anyone at all, though the front room was well-appointed in the usual cozy B and B style, and neat as a pin from what we could see. Perched on the front desk, evidently in place of an actual person, was a large pegbard (leaning on a wide leg behind it, attached by a hinge) with a notice on the top that proclaimed the name of the place, the rates ($50 a night, pay upon check-out), and the words “Here are the rooms available:”. Underneath that were twelve small hooks, and from exactly one of them was hanging a pair of keys.

Sean bent forward to read the tiny label above the hook. “Room 7, two kings, linking,” he relayed.

“Wicked,” Dante said.

“Cryptic,” Enrique agreed.

Sean turned to me with shining eyes. “C’mon, let’s check it out!” he said. Of course, he knew already I’d be hard-pressed to deny him anything, especially a mystery, and had the keys in hand and was running up the narrow stairs before I could say a word, the twins hard on his heels.

I was expecting frilly and cramped, but by B and B standards Room 7 turned out to be almost palatial and at the same time reserved when it came to décor, and so clean and tidy it seemed fresh out of the box, despite the building itself appearing venerable enough to have been here in the days of horse-drawn wagons and payments in fish. The room was bifurcated, with slightly different color schemes on each side—the walls were done in rich blues on one side and purples on the other, with the curtains, bedclothes, and other appointments all matching; scrims, now folded and laid against one wall, were available to tacitly separate the two halves of what had probably once been separate rooms, which I figured explained the description of the space as “linking”. We left the screens where they were, as we wouldn’t be needing privacy from each other. At one end of the blue side of the room—presumably the one facing the lake, though it was too dark to see it now—there was a wide bay window so deep it counted as a nook, with a low round table and comfortable cushions arrayed profligately around it. That was the obvious place for us to eat together. The thought reminded me that I was hungry, and probably the others were too. We’d have to go hunting food soon, and I knew just the place to put a blinding smile on my brother’s face.

We brought up our stuff, and Sean insisted we bunk alphabetically, which left me and Dante grinning ruefully at each other on the blue side of the room, while Sean and Enrique whispered gleefully on the purple side. Sean had been on a mission of late to convert the twins into my best fiends as well as his, and—hey, the twins were sweet and pretty comfortable to be around, and I spent a lot of time with them anyway when we were all lounging together on the couch watching terrible movies over pizza and beer on study-break nights and stuff like that. Sean is a force of nature, so it’s easiest just to go with what he’s cooked up if there’s no reason not to. I wrapped my arm around Dante’s waist as we all exited the B&B in search of grub into the pleasantly warm, misty evening. “Think you can put up with me for a few nights?” I asked him.

He blushed slightly but reciprocated my gesture, tossing his strong arm around my neck. The twins were both an inch or two taller than Sean and therefore two or three inches taller than me. That turned out to be an excellent position to drape an arm over my neck, letting the hand dangle in the general vicinity of my chest. It felt nice, and I kind of wanted the arm to stay there. “As far as I’m concerned,” Dante said as the four of us moved together up the driveway, two-by-two, and onto the shoulder of the county road in the direction from which we’d come, “you, Dane, are the sane one.”

“I can be crazy,” I said, pretending to get defensive. “I can be batshit crazy.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Dante said, matching his stride to mine.

“Are you the sane one?” I asked, nodding ahead to where Enrique and Sean were walking together, excitedly debating their favorite Superman actors, of all things. I already knew Sean favored Dean Cain, but he was always a defiant one when it came to the conventional wisdom of pop culture. Enrique was arguing passionately for Brandon Routh, I assumed out of sheer perversity.

Dante squinted at his brother, then offered me a dimpled smile. “Absolutely,” he replied.

By the time we were done accumulating a king’s feast of cheesy dogs, boneless wings, fries, and more from the Cheesy Wiener down the road, plus the requisite case of beer from the liquor store next door (just beating the 9 p.m. closing time), the clouds had burst and rain was pelting down on us as we hurried back to the Lakeshore. We burst into the room soaked, and in much better shape than our food, which had been carefully trussed up in extra plastic bags by the solicitous young men down at the Cheesy Wiener. Consigning the food to the low table we started stripping off our wet clothes, only taking notice of how we were all getting naked together once the four of us had cast our sodden garments into a plastic-lined hamper and were down to our birthday suits. I hadn’t seen the twins naked as recently as I had my brother, and I stole the opportunity of that strange, awkward moment of shared modesty to take note of how their black body hair, though sparser than mine, stood out more starkly on their dusky swimmer’s physiques than the dirty blond hair that spread across my hard, defined chest and trailed languidly down my tanned torso to my uncut meat, which I saw was, at least soft, ahead of the game as it usually was in the company of other cocks, though Sean and especially the twins were thick and long and overall generously provided for, Sean’s fat and cut, the twins long and heavy and uncut like me.

Sean, of course, burst the bubble, striding brazenly to my suitcase and tossing each of us one of my carefully balled Vivid Color boxer-briefs. “These’ll do,” he said as I caught mine. Flashing a smile at the three of us, he added, “No point in us getting all dressed up now, is there?” Murmuring our agreements, we pulled on our briefs and then, our underwear bonding moment out of the way, we dove on the food like ravenous dogs.

Halfway through our meal, with four dogs, two small fries, and three beers already under his belt, Sean started looking around the room curiously. “There’s no TV,” he observed.

“Perhaps we’re meant to converse, like in olden days,” I said dryly, around what I had already judged to be the best boneless wing I’d ever tasted. I was staring at Sean’s chest again, I realized, and hastily looked away. He was directly across from me and it was hard to take my eyes off it tonight, but maybe I shouldn’t be so obvious in my appreciation.

“Or play board games,” Dante put in, running a hand over his long, wet hair. It was habitual for him—usually he couldn’t keep his hands away from it for long, and often didn’t notice he was brushing his hair back or running his fingers through it in thought. I’d wondered once or twice what it would be like to have long, shoulder-length hair like Dante, instead of the businessman’s cut I usually kept my brownish-blond locks in, Enrique’s close-cropped style, or the shaggy, gelled-up club look Sean favored for his own blond mess. “Or card games,” Dante was saying. “Pinochle. Euchre. Canasta. Our Aunt Maria loves canasta.”

“What the fuck is canasta?” Sean asked, laughing with his mouth full.

Dante took a deep breath. “Well—” he began.

“Actually there’s a box under the table,” Enrique said. “It might be a board game or something.” The rest of us were sitting on the cushions with our legs folded Indian-style, but he had his ranged loosely in front of him, and his feet must have made contact with something hidden underneath. Stooping low to reach under the table, he pulled something out with some difficulty. Straightening up he exhibited his find: a small sky blue wooden box with plain silver littering on top that spelled out “THE GAME”.

“Perfect,” gushed Sean. “Open it up, let’s play.”

“Or I could teach you all canasta,” Dante persisted. “It’s really—”

“We only have one deck of playing cards in our gear,” Enrique interrupted him patiently. “You need two decks for canasta.” Dante tsked but said nothing further.

“The Game it is!” Sean said.

“Just one round, or hand, or whatever,” I put in, feeling, as ever, the need to be the voice of reason with this crew. “It’s been a long day and we should get to bed soon.” For some reason my eyes strayed to Dante on my left as I said this. The bashful hunk colored slightly and ducked his head. Maybe he felt the same strange impulse I had started sensing in myself since we’d first arrived in this room: that sharing a bed together tonight, curling up together and sleeping in one space, was something we needed to do.

This feeling made me turn to look at Enrique on my right, feeling a slight pang of guilt at favoring one twin over another. He, however, was watching me with a knowing expression, one corner of his lips curled, and it was my turn to turn away in embarrassment. I took a long pull of my third beer and waited to see what would happen next.

Sean had already unboxed the game and was skimming the instruction card, murmuring to himself. I caught the words “Unaware? I don’t get it,” before he looked up and addressed the rest of us. “Okay, here’s the deal,” he said. He read from the card: “In each round, the player whose turn it is, or host, reads a card and each of the other players answers in clockwise order. The host then determines which answer is most desirable and kisses the person who gave that answer, after which it will become official.” I felt a very strong urge to exchange glances with Dante at that, but instead I concentrated on dipping and meticulously consuming the last of the boneless wings. “No round can be undone,” Sean continued reading, “but answers in a subsequent round can be used to reverse answers in a previous round. The host rotates with each turn to the right. For best results, play while lightly intoxicated.”

“It’s like it knows us!” Enrique said, and as one we all drained our beers together, upending the cans over our upturned mouths as if it were the nectar of the gods (which, sad to say, it wasn’t). Enrique, who was sitting closest to the case, distributed new cans to all of us, which we all ceremoniously opened and christened together.

“You might as well get us started, Sean,” Enrique said, reaching for a couple of waffle fries.

“Okay,” Sean said. He pulled out all the cards and shuffled them, then cleared a space in the middle of the table and set the deck there. Taking the first card, he read: “What feature of the person on your left would you like to have for yourself?”

I had had enough beer already that it took concentration to sift through Sean’s rapid-fire recitation of the rules and pull out the information that play proceeded clockwise. I turned to Dante, pleased that the others did as well, confirming my assessment. Dante looked at me, but slightly indirectly, from under his long, dark lashes. “Confidence,” he said, with painful honesty.

I stared at him. “Dante—” I began, but Enrique broke in, “Nope! No back-talk.”

I turned on Enrique, surprised. “That’s not a rule!” I said, reasonably sure of this.

“No. Backtalk,” Enrique insisted, eyes twinkling.

“Fine,” I said, amused. “Then my answer is ‘The ability to make up rules for all of us’.”

Enrique snorted a laugh. “Good luck with that,” he said. Then he aimed his smile at Dante and said with a wink, “I already know my answer: ‘A sexy brother’!”

“Fuck you!” Dante laughed and threw a waffle fry at him. I had half a mind to say “You already have one,” but I guessed that was the beer talking. Anyway, Enrique obviously already knew that.

I looked up at met Sean’s glinting blue eyes, and felt an urge to get lost in them. “Well?” I asked. “Who’s your choice?”

He stared back at me for a second, his full lips parted. Then suddenly, as if on an impulse, he leapt forward and grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me into an amazing, gut-twisting kiss. I might have expected a brief peck, at least if my brain had been working straight, but Sean worked his lips into mine in a way that swelled my already chubbed cock to rigid hardness. The twins, of course, were laughing and clapping, but I was barely aware of them, and when Sean’s tongue slid across the seam of my lips, prompting me to open for him, the others ceased to exist. We shared a long, deep, exquisite kiss, while I caressed his cheek with one hand, and he kneaded my neck with his. At last we broke, but remained close for a moment, our panting breaths gusting across each other’s swollen lips, his blue eyes filling my vision.

“We should do that more often,” I said recklessly, not sure where the thought had come from, but owning it once it was out.

“Okay,” Sean said, his smile lighting up those beautiful eyes, and he pulled me in again for another kiss. This one was sensual but short, and before long he was sinking back into his seat, flushed and beaming, leaving me to fall slowly back into mine. Out of the corners of my eyes I caught both Dante and Enrique adjusting impressively long and thick erections in their brightly colored borrowed boxer-briefs, and as I settled into my cushions I realized we were all hard and very, very aroused.

“Your turn, bro,” Enrique said, his voice slightly hoarse. He glanced at Sean, and Sean looked away from me to meet his gaze, biting his lip in a rare show of reticence.

Dante took a card, cleared his throat, and read: “What do you guess the person to your right does well, that he should be able to do twice as well?”

I felt a need to lighten the mood, but with arousal so heavily in the air, beer on my brain, and the weird draw I’d been feeling toward Dante, I didn’t get very far from the physical. My brain looked ahead to the bed we’d be sharing shortly, and that must explain my answer. “Hold me close,” I joked.

Dante ducked his head again, but this time he was smiling as he blushed. “Oh, he’s very good at that already,” Enrique teased.

“Shut up,” Dante said. I noticed he had one hand in his lap, the curled knuckles pressed firmly against the obvious hard-on he was sporting down there. I wondered if he was thinking about our bedding together too, and suddenly I felt an urgent need to wrap my fist around my own rebellious erection. Instead I turned to look at Enrique, who, once again, was observing me with amusement. I thought he might give another flippant response, so I was surprised when he offered, “Play the guitar.”

I grinned at him. “So you think I play half as well as I should, huh?” I baited him.

“That’s right,” Enrique agreed equably.

“Bitch,” I said, finding one of the few remaining waffle fries and tossing it at him. It might have been the very one Dante had already pelted him with.

“Will everyone stop throwing food at me?” Enrique demanded. Instantly we all grabbed at whatever foodstuffs were right in front of us and made ready to let loose at him. “You’ll be sorry—” he started to say, a second before he was covered in fries, ketchup, hotdogs and cheese.

Sean was laughing. “I think my answer has to be ‘Provoke people’,” he said, vastly amused as Enrique groused, though he clearly found the whole thing as funny as we did underneath his façade of pique. Sean was already raiding the huge consignment of napkins the Cheesy Wiener guys had given us to start cleaning up his friend. Maybe that was why, with Enrique and Sean occupied, Dante only hesitated a second before picking me. Echoing Sean he snaked his fingers around my neck and pulled me gently into a kiss. It was tentative at first, but swiftly became deeper, and then profoundly passionate. It was like every cylinder of arousal in me was firing all at once. Our tongues were stretching into each other’s hot mouths before we even realized it, our dicks straining so hard I could almost feel his as urgently as mine. We broke our kiss unwillingly, and only because it was necessary to breathe.

I stared hard at him, huffing, and saw uncertainty kindle in his dark eyes. For some reason I found his worry that he’d gone too far endearing, and I assured him, “You can do that whenever you want.”

One of his right hands was on my cheek, the other on my bare shoulder. I pressed my own right hand over that one and smiled at him. A fire burned within me to be held by him tonight, as I took in his strong, bulging shoulders, his thick chest, and the powerful muscles of his upper arms, all soon to be wrapped around me tight as we slept the cool night away.

“What about me?” Enrique asked with a crooked smile. I turned to him reluctantly and saw that he had both sets of equally muscular arms crossed over his own prodigious chest.

“Yes, you too,” I sad placatingly. “You can all kiss me whenever you want. Now can I take my turn?” Without waiting for an answer I reached for the top card in the deck.

Enrique, meanwhile, seized my left hand and began kissing and tonguing the back of it. When I aimed an arched eyebrow at him, he said, “What? You didn’t say it could only be on the mouth!”

“I like this plan,” Dante said suddenly, and when I looked over at him I saw there was a hunger in his eyes that seemed to be trouncing his habitual reticence. Before I’d looked away he had sidled close to me and begin gently kissing and nipping around my right shoulder. At the same time he slid one of his left hands surreptitiously into my lap and began stroking my thigh millimeters away from my quivering hard-on. I ignored both twins and my own brother, who was shaking with silent laughter, and, heaving a great sigh as if someone much put-upon, took a look at the card I’d selected. “What’s the most obvious physical characteristic about the person to your left?” I read. “Should it be increased or decreased?”

I looked at Enrique. He’d given one flippant answer and one serious one, and I guessed from the glint in his eyes as he made love to my hand that he was heading back around to flippant. But he surprised me again. He turned to Sean and said, “His ability to turn us on. Increased.”

“What?” Sean sputtered. “I don’t—”

For an answer, Enrique pulled my hand down and pressed the palm against his massive, iron-hard erection in his briefs. “Feels like you do, bro,” I told him saucily.

“You both do,” Dante said, sounding distracted by the kissing and lathing he was enjoying around my shoulder and upper arm. “Your bodies. Your cocks. Your smiles, your beautiful faces.”

“We jerk off thinking about you both,” Enrique told us soberly. “A lot.”

“All the time,” Dante confirmed. He looked up from my shoulder, his eyes meeting mine, while the hand he had in my lap snuck carefully around my own huge erection. Instinctively, I did the same with Enrique’s, and he hissed in pleasure.

“You’re not as shy as you think you are,” I said, meeting Dante’s gaze.

He squeezed my cock hard, and pleasure shot through me. “Not about this,” he murmured against the hard surface of my delt, his eyes staying fixed on mine. “Not anymore.”

“Okay,” I said, nodding, feeling a little dazed. I looked up to see that Sean was still looking stunned. “I guess we turn them on,” I observed.

“I guess so,” Sean responded, staring at me.

“Your turn, bro,” I said.

“My—? Right, right.” He took a second to remember the question, then looked to his left, looking over Dante. “Well, mine clearly is those amazing arms you guys have,” he said, still sounding a little dazed, “which I’m kind of jealous of, by the way. And they definitely shouldn’t be decreased, so I’ll say increased.”

We all looked at Dante. Whether it was on his mind because he was finally holding it in his hand, or because he’d always prized my equipment, his answer was “Cock. Increased. Mega-increased.”

And then he kissed me. But he also used one of his right hands to draw his brother into the kiss, and since, at that moment, Enrique was engaging in a kiss with Sean, that meant that we all managed to end up on a long, passionate kiss together, one that lasted for a very long time.

When we pulled apart and fell back against the cushions propped against the walls of the large, round nook, I felt almost delirious with simple pleasure. I smiled around at our little gathering. The twins were naked and boned the way they always were around us, taking turns stroking their prodigious erections with one of their six hands, their mighty upper arms rubbing together like boulders in a raging flood as they did so. Their carved abs and thick pecs were already painted with the jizz from orgasms they could barely control around us, which was insanely hot. Sean and I were naked too, since we’d had to shuck our wet clothes after the storm; the immense size of my cocks meant that underwear was out of the question, especially since Sean, of course, turned me on the way he did everyone else, so that my cocks were as helplessly hard and on the verge of spurting around him as Dante’s and Enrique’s were. Sean was just as permanently boned by me as I was by him, and he liked to go without underwear too, in emulation of his big bro.

We both loved being able to make guys boned and on the edge just by being near them. I thought back to the two cute guys working at the Cheesy Wiener when we’d come in to get food. They instantly boned up when we approached the counter together, the buff fratboy type at the register trying to adjust his crotch without calling attention to it. Then Sean had to take things up a notch and lift up the front of my shirt, flashing them the monster erections I always have thrusting straight and tall up out of my pants, and they lost it, of course, cumming uncontrollably in their pants right then and there. They tried to give us the food for free, and while I insisted on paying we found lots of extra stuff in the bags when we got back, plus a folded piece of paper with both guys’ names and numbers.

I closed my eyes for a moment, enjoying the sensation of Enrique and Dante both using a couple hands each to stroke my towering cocks, before turning to Enrique. “Last turn before bed,” I suggested. “We can play another round tomorrow.”

Enrique used yet another hand to retrieve a card. He read: “What should the person opposite you have, that all of the players should have as well?”

“That’s easy,” Sean said, eyeing me with deep desire. “Gigantic cocks.”

Enrique grinned widely. “He wins!” he exclaimed, and pulled Sean in for a fierce and hungry kiss.

Dante and I gaped at them. “Wh—wh—” Dante sputtered. He turned to me. “Can he do that? Can they do that?”

I shrugged, turned back to watch them go at it. “Sure,” I said, “why not?” Then I turned back to my own twin, and gave Dante a fond smile. He had five of his hands wrapped around his enormous twin erections, stroking idly while they spurted little fountains of precum, but he still hand one hand wrapped firmly around one of my monsters, just as Enrique did. I gently prized Enrique’s hand away so that I could stand up, drawing Dante up with me and embracing him firmly. Sean, noticing what we were up to, did the same, pulling Enrique up from the floor while Dante wrapped all his arms around me, holding me tight, and I enjoyed the bliss of our bodies together, our chest-high cocks jostling wetly between us, as we kissed long and languidly, Sean and Enrique doing exactly the same.

We were just getting ready for bed when a knock came at the door. It was John and Justin, of course, the hotties from the Cheesy Wiener, flushed and sheepish even as they moved into the room and pulled off their uniforms and then wrapped themselves around me and Sean, almost like they couldn’t help themselves. Fortunately the beds were big enough for me and Dante to enjoy holding each other and getting each other off even while we slept even as Justin held onto me from behind and had his own fun. I found out the next day that he was a pretty good kisser too, though not nearly as good as Dante, or Enrique, or Sean, who kept their promise and kissed me, hard and deep, whenever they wanted. And even the next day Enrique tasted like waffle fries, and Sean, somehow, still smelled like maple syrup.

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