Cabin vignettes

Ashley paced on the front porch, repeatedly staring out into the woods lit by the high afternoon sun. Her forehead crumpled with worry lines as she took out her phone for the eightieth time, only to see no missed calls and a good signal for being so far from the city. She groaned, fall forward against the railing and holding her there with her palms.

Brandon, where are you? You said you'd be back for lunch... she thought, as her stomach twisted. Some part of her felt that this was punishment for her encounter -- no, wait, encounters now, fuck -- with Zack. She unconsciously shifted her legs to the memories... Zack's cock spearing her cunt in the shower after she sprayed herself with his cum only moments before. Then, during their efforts to distract themselves with cleaning, Zack had gone to grab something she had dropped from behind her. She had been bent over already, and he had reached around her body for it, so her prone ass had bumped directly into his apparent hardon. Before she knew it, she was screaming his name into one of the couch pillows with her shorts around her ankles and his hand now reached around her to claw at her breasts. Her pussy still twinged from that pounding, and she cursed herself for enjoying the sensation.

Her memories ended there, and the next thing she knew, she awoke to Heather and Zack talking in the living room. She must've passed out and Zack took her to the bed she shared with Brandon. Her boyfriend. The man she should be having sex with and not anyone else.

"Fuck," she whimpered to herself. Guilt rose inside of her, flushing her cheeks and stinging her eyes. She sniffed, wiping away the starts of those hot tears, but her eyes were leaky sieves. She hunched over and trembled, barely gripping the railing as she sobbed. "I'm sorry Brandon... please, tell me you're okay..."

Zack and Victoria sidled net to each other on the couch, trying to chat with each other. Depressingly though, both realized that their interests didn't seem to align. Zack enjoyed playing video games with Gavin and Chloe, but Victoria never considered them entertaining, asking, though playfully, why so many heroines needed to be in the skimpiest clothes possible. Victoria then expounded on her love of art and the theater, but Zack couldn't profess an interest. In the end, their hopes of trying to build some common ground degenerated into a series of one-sided conversations.

They went quiet for a while, with Victoria nestling into Zack's shoulder and his arm wrapped around her back. He was warm and cozy, and kind enough to let her enjoy it, but deep in her mind, her encounter with Gavin simmered. His touch, his taste, his... adoration of her in those moments, she felt completely alive. Hell, she even flashed him her breasts, and he was about ready to dive in before his senses returned.

Part of her had been disappointed, the part that wondered exactly how sex felt, what a boy's hard cock would be like inside of her, and if she would actually enjoy her first. She always wanted a gentle lover, willing to go at her pace, and thought that current her history that had been impossible... but now, suddenly, she had two choices. Both Zack and Gavin stopped in their own ways for her sake, and both wanted nothing more than an enjoyable time for all.

Still though... a nagging difference poked at her brain. Gavin seemed to worship her as they made out, lavishing an excruciating amount of attention on every inch of her he touched and tasted. She had gotten drunk on that level of desire, and the heat of her thighs made her want more from him. None of this was meant to diminish Zack's lovemaking skills this morning which had been more than adequate for her needs, and she saw his crush on her through those cute puppydog eyes he had only for her, but... Gavin just felt different. Their time this morning felt so perfect, and she wondered if she could ever feel like that with the boy who cradled her right now.

Maybe she could. Their relationship was nascent, it could grow over time and really she only fooled around once. But... then, well, it had been only once with Gavin, and she was hooked...

Kurt scuttled back to the room he shared with "the ginger," still with that smirk plastered on his face. Heather had frowned at him for the entirety of lunch, while failing to engage anyone else in conversation. To Kurt, it appeared like she had been flailing in open water, trying to rid her mind of their act this morning. Flustering his typically unflappable cousin was now complete in his mind, and with a hot fuck to boot, he mentally scratched her name off of his literal "to do" list.

He stretched out on the bed and starting feeling quite horny. Their time in the clearing was magical, a test of wills and wits. Sure, leaving him alone with a badger like that was dickish, but he'd do it all over again if it meant that kind of fuck again. Heather was a damn good match for his stamina and drive, the memory of spearing her cunt made Kurt's tool rise for the occasion again.

Guess blood is thicker than water, Kurt mused, reaching into his pants. As he played with himself, he contemplated his act of ****, surprising himself with how nonchalant he seemed to be by it. Still, he wondered why he was ever to begin with. It's not like he'd be having brats with Heather -- what a nightmare that would be -- or any of his other cousins, and many of them were particularly delicious eye candy. They were women and henceforth sluts for cock, certainly his, so what did it matter they shared genes in common? His mind faded into a reverie of a few more relatives, fawning over his cock as they sucked him dry, and submitting to him as he penetrated their dripping cunts.

Heather soon materialized around his member, and suddenly they were back on the hill again, Kurt ramming into her from behind. Kurt pumped himself faster as his daydream self reached deeper into his sex-starved cousin, muttering to himself. "You fucking want this, Heather."

"I do," came the reply, but not in Heather's voice. Kurt's mind looked down on his imagination and found Heather's hair was now brighter, her skin warmer with a fake tan, and her boobs decidedly smaller. Not-Heather turned around, and the fantasy detonated around Kurt, sending his real body catapulting from bed to the floor.

He stared down, breathing heavily as his cock deflated faster than he ever thought possible. He sneered and balled a fist, smashing it into his thigh.

"Melanie..." he hissed, then spat Heather's name again and again in long strings of words like "bitch," "cunt," and, interestingly the most common one, "why."