Seven Brothers of Sin

If there’s one person who’s not going to like me, it’d be Sam. Who am I, some little tramp living next door who’s seduced his siblings? I could be an imposter, a pipe dream, a big fat zero.

But that’s all wrong. I’ve misjudged. Because the billionaire is fierce, taking in my curvy form, bent over and open to him.

“You’re perfect,” is all he says, and with one swoop, it’s done. I jerk my hips back just as he pushes in, and the fit is insanely intimate. That big cock does it for me, and the excitement can’t be contained. I’ve been fucked by seven brothers in the space of ten minutes, my pussy dripping wetly the whole time, and it’s too much for a nubile teen virgin. My pussy explodes then, spasming hotly as I scream.

“Matt! Tim! Will!” comes my shriek.

“Say it, say it,” is the answering male chorus. “Say our names.”

“Trent! Ford! Smith! And Saaaaam!”

Just like that, I erupt completely, holes pulsing, vag squeezing Sam’s pole for dear life, spasming hard. And the alpha can’t take it. Young, hot twat, wet as fuck, exploding around him? No man is a match for that, and Sam comes like a firehose then, sperm blasting in hot lashes all over my insides.

“FUCK!” comes that animalistic roar. “Fuck!”

At the same time, the brothers surround me. They’d been stroking themselves as I worked the dick wall, and the remaining six Morgans spurt as well, ribbons of sperm coloring my back and ass, dribbling downwards to drench my pussy and anus.

“FUCK! Shit! Fuck!”

The male roars are raucous, shaking the house down to its foundation. How can our parents not hear? It’s like a circus in here, seven men crowded around a single female, cumming on my innocent, nubile body.

But I want it. I want it so much, the hot splashes of semen feel right as they fall like warm rain on my body. This is the culmination of a dream come true, the climax of the teasing that’s been going on for days now. I cry out, eyes closed, loving the feel of hot cock in my puss, six more dousing me with virile baby batter. I want this. This is the real Macy, and it’s everything that I could possibly wish for.

But like a nightmare, my mom’s voice rings out then.

“Yoo hoo! You guys down there? Macy, it’s time to go home! Toodle-doo sweetheart, come on, giddy up!”

Marsha’s voice is like a jolt of cold water to the face. Immediately, Sam pulls out of my cunt, wiping his dick before stuffing it back in his pants. And the brothers move like panthers, silent, swift, slick until it’s just me standing in the center, still nude, trembling and wet, pussy aching, spasming with small aftershocks.

“Sweet thing,” Smith grunts. “Let’s get you ready.”

Normally, it takes at least five minutes for me to get dressed. But with seven men helping, I’m clothed in a flash, the purple dress back in place. Holy smokes, did that just happen? Looking at the Morgans, they’re calm and collected, not a hair out of place.

And they look right back at me, blue eyes blazing.

“You’re gorgeous,” rumbles Will.

“Absolutely perfect,” adds Ford.

“And completely ours,” says Smith with finality.

Taking a deep breath, shivering uncontrollably, I turn towards the door. My mom’s still out there, already saying her goodbyes to Maddy and Ted, and I know she won’t wait much longer. But just as my hand touches the knob, I turn back to the men.

“Yes, I’m yours,” comes my murmur, looking them full in the eyes. “I belong to you. All of you.”

Because it’s true. I can’t say if this is right or wrong, it’s still too new and fresh. But I know what feels right. It feels good to be with these men, to let them touch and caress me, to spend time with them talking about my hopes and dreams. And if there’s seven of them? It’s even better, with a diversity of viewpoints and a multiplicity of support.

So with another smile, I leave the rec room, stepping lightly. My mind continues to whirl, trying to absorb what happened. But one thing is absolutely clear. These are my men … and I’m their woman, until the end of time.

***

All I want to do is collapse on my bed and sleep for a week. And maybe get up once in a while, thinking about the Morgan boys. Because oh god, it was good. The stuff of dreams come true, my wildest fantasies taking life in the dirtiest way.

But no such luck. I can’t disappear into the atmosphere because there’s all sorts of stuff dripping into my panties. Gunky stuff. Gooey stuff. Shower. Now. Mandatory, not optional.

So slowly, I carefully lever myself up from the bed, limping to the bathroom. Oh god, my pussy’s sore. But it feels good under the pounding water, and at least I’ve got my thoughts to keep me company. The first of which is, did that really just happen? Did I really engage in play with the men from next door? All of them?