Ask for your clothes

Suddenly overcome by a wave of modesty you open the door enough to stick your head out, asking the men to pass you your clothes. A part of you hopes that they drag you out of the bathroom and use you ruthlessly, but you push that thought down.

"Uhh, there's a bit of a problem," Pete says. "Last night when...well last night, your clothes got pushed near the fireplace. Some sparks must have fell on them and, well they're pretty much ruined. Here, take this t-shirt of mine. It should cover you up." He hands you a white t-shirt, and you shrug into it. It falls to mid-thigh, looking like a kind of baggy dress. Better than nothing, you think, and step out of the bathroom.

"We go some breakfast going," Mike says, gesturing to a chair at the table. "Scrambled eggs, some bacon, toast. Sit down and help yourself."

"I'll get you more coffee," Steve says, putting a fresh cup down beside you.

You blush and nod thanks, and suddenly ravenously hungry you devour the food in front of you. Scarcely looking up, you're embarrassed by your behaviour last night, and embarrassed by how much you enjoyed it. You feel a fluttering warmth growing in your belly, and try to tamp it down. The men make some conversation with each other, pausing occasionally to ask if you need more food.

Finally, there is a bit of a silence, with a couple of the men clearing their throats.

"Looks like the rain isn't going to let up," Pete says. "The storm seems to have settled in. Looks like our hunting trip is kind of a mess. I walked out to your car this morning while you were still sleeping. We can get to it and pull it out with a winch. If you want, we can get you out and you can try and join your friends for camping...." He lets his voice trail off, and you look up at him as you chew a piece of toast, a question in your face.

"Or you can stay here through the weekend, and we'll pull you out when we head back to the city," he says, appraising you. "If you don't mind hanging out with us, that is."

You look at each of the men in turn, their faces watching you, their eyes hooded and eager.

You put the toast down and stand, walking back to the sleeping bag in front of the fire, looking back over your shoulder at them and peeling the t-shirt off. Looking at them from under your lashes, biting your lip, running your hands over your sleek body. Then kneeling, raising your ass in the air, putting your hands behind you.