The two of them together make me come no fewer than three times. I’m not even quite sure what the count is, because all of the sensations start overlapping into what feels like the world’s longest climax.
As I’m coming down from a peak, Jay slips into me from behind, his cock filling me in one long, steady thrust. I cry out in pleasure, my mouth still full of Jonathan’s cock, and Jonathan starts to come, hot spurts shooting down my throat.
It’s an unforgettable night of indoor fun.
The next morning, while scrolling on his phone, Brendon asks if I’ve ever been to the maritime museum that’s about an hour north of Four Points.
“No, I haven’t.”
“Want to go check it out? It looks interesting,” he says.
Maybe I’m stereotyping, but I would have assumed that men who thrive on thrilling adventure travel wouldn’t also be interested in museums. I strongly suspect he’s looking for indoor activities for my benefit, and I wish he wouldn’t, but it’s also a sweet gesture.
“Sure,” I say, realizing that I’d probably go anywhere with these men — anywhere except on their dangerous adventure travels.
The museum turns out to be nice, with exhibits on the history of commercial fishing, whaling, and even pirates, but it’s not nearly as exciting as our indoor activities from the night before.
On our drive back to the beach house, we pass the miniature golf course on Four Points that Jay and I talked about the day before. “Wait, there are cars outside,” I say.
Brendan, who’s driving, looks at me in the rearview mirror. “What?”
“Four Points Mini Golf.”
“It’s open?” Jay asks.
We’re far enough up the road now that I can no longer see it, but I’m sure I saw several cars in their lot. “It might be,” I say. “Anyone up for a game of mini golf?”
“Christine and I used to play when we were young,” Jay explains. “She mistakenly remembers being the one who usually won.”
“Ah, longtime rivals,” Jonathan says. “I think we need to go settle things, then.”
“It’s pretty sunny out today,” Brendan says, though he moves into the left lane to make a turn.
“I have sunscreen in my bag, and my big, floppy sun hat is in the back,” I say.
Brendan circles back, and as soon as the place comes into sight, I confirm that there are people on the course playing.
“I haven’t played putt-putt since I was a kid,” Corbin says.
“It’s been years for me too,” Jay says.
“Do any of you play golf?” I ask, unclasping my seatbelt as Brendan parks.
“We don’t,” Jonathan says.
“We thought we’d take it up in retirement,” Corbin says with a laugh.
“I do, and I have an excellent short game,” Jay says.
“What does that mean?” I ask.
“It means I’m going to beat you,” Jay says, reaching over the seat to grab my hat.
Once we’re outside, Brendan and Jay supervise the application of my sunscreen. I slather it on my face, even though the hat will keep me covered, and Brendan joins in, smoothing it over my arms and my neck, while Jay holds the tube and distributes more when needed.
“I never realized sunscreen application was a three-person job,” I joke.
“The more, the merrier,” Brendan says, sliding his slippery hand along the round collar of my shirt, and dipping his fingers down into my cleavage as he covers me with SPF.