Like furious Valkyrie, the storms rolled in on the eve of the weekend. While neighboring states were pummeled into submission, I was totally unaware, oblivious to the tempest of death that obliterated the central and western portions of my home state. That’s because I was likewise being pummeled into submission.

North of us was complete disaster; to the west was utter devastation. The tornadoes rushed southward, leveling homes, businesses, and laying waste to large swathes of land. Turning due east, they came for us, charging toward us like enraged berserkers. Luckily, the smiting, stormy hands of the gods subsided into merely a furious, destruction-causing tempest.

Power was out everywhere, for hours at a time. Branches the size of semi-trucks broke from the trees and kamikazied into homes. Cars were buffeted about like toys. I was blissfully oblivious!

When the storms first hit, I was deeply immersed in the throes of raw, animal, lusty passion. What had begun as an information-gathering conversation the previous night, me trying to discover Glade’s, my boyfriend, sexual fantasies, ended with me confessing that I had enjoyed two guys at once, then the three at once. I confessed, face flushed, that I’d like to try more at once.

“I'll make some calls,” was all he had said.

Less than twenty-four hours later, I was the centerpiece guest of honor in a five-man gang-bang. Glade sat in his ancient, threadbare, comfy chair and watched, smiling all the while, a mug of honey mead in his hand. The five of them took turns molesting me, fucking my hot, dripping pussy, shoving their hard cocks into my eager mouth, and licking, sucking, and nibbling on every square millimeter of my flesh. The power had gone out, candles lit, and I had been so totally possessed by the demons of lust that I didn’t even notice.

When it was all over, having sucked them all to hardness again, so I could have seconds, I was so worn out that as soon as my head hit the pillow, I fell soundly asleep. My poor boyfriend didn’t get any loving Friday night! When the sun appeared on Saturday, I spent the entire day trying to think of something special to do so I could make it up to him. A medieval dark cape in the back of his closet gave me an epiphany.

A pale base foundation under dark, smoky, goth makeup to make me look like a slutty vampire-vixen, wearing only the cape, waiting for him to come home so I could ambush him, was my plan. I vant to suck you, would be drawled out in my sexiest, most wanton, creature-of-the-night voice as I dropped to my knees, taking that monster cock of his as deeply into my mouth as I could manage. That would show him how much I adored him. He’d be so surprised.

Yes, he was surprised. Also, my father was surprised; my mother was surprised! Shit.

Somebody, I won’t say whom, but she has red hair and tends to forget important little details, totally forgot that her parents were coming over so we could treat them to dinner and give them their Yule gifts a week early. Yes, I was mortified! Luckily, my parents are hedonistic swingers, so they got an uproarious chuckle out of it. My slutty mother even asked if she could borrow the cape. I died a little inside.

Thus began my frustrating weekend which grew into a frustrating week. Don’t get me wrong; I heartily recommend that everyone puts a five-person gang-bang on their bucket list. It was just that I craved my boyfriend. He has this sexual aura about him that few, if any, can resist. It’s true; it infuriates me.

Everywhere we go, women are hurling themselves at him, flirting with him right in front of me, and acting like whoring sluts in the hopes that he’ll notice them. All it takes is a glance from him, those gray-rimmed hazel eyes looking deeply into your soul with delight, and I drip, they drip, we drip. That roguishly crooked smile of his makes me, and others, instantly melt. Yes, I had five guys at once and it was pure sex-slut ecstasy; I wanted my one guy, the one that can literally make me pass out from pleasure.

The fury of the weather, my parents, and the aftermath made sex an impossibility. The gods and the forces of the universe, in rare unified alliance, cunt-blocked me!

The storms intensified into a gale-force tantrum, making driving my parents home far too perilous. Even the brief journey from the restaurant back to my boyfriend’s castle-like, Tudor-style abode made me think that I was about to meet Mr. Death. I probably shouldn’t have ordered the Salmon Mousse.

Saturday night was spent fuming over my inebriated, slutty mother trying to seduce my boyfriend then heading upstairs, into the very bed I was hoping to be properly pounded in, to get what sounded to be the best fucking of her life from Dad. Yes, I get off listening to people have sex; my exception to that kink is my parents. Rather than get ravaged into sweet oblivion by that thick, monster cock of Glade’s, I tossed and turned on the torturous couch, listening to my mother screaming out sex-talk so dirty and vile that I need years of therapy. In other words, no sex for me!

Sunday was consumed by surveying the local storm damage and taxiing the parents back to their home. The Grotto, Glade’s favorite restaurant a few miles up the road, was damaged by a fallen tree that fell less than an hour after we had left. The farm of Bill, his closest neighbor, the only one, actually, looked like a post-war newsreel. The roof of his barn was shredded, most of the outbuildings were laid low, and two of his cows and some goats were missing. The two-hour drive to my hometown, which I call Hell, where my parents live, took more than an extra hour, each way, due to the storm damage.

To my horny chagrin, by the time we navigated through the closed roads, devastation, downed power lines, and fallen trees, I was exhausted from the long day, falling asleep before we even made it home. Again, no sex. At least we had power; most others in the area were not so lucky.

Monday morning came and I awoke, feeling a bit grungy, but finally well-rested. My boyfriend, who I swear never sleeps, was already up and about. “What I Like About You” by the Romantics could be heard through the window. Looking out, Glade could be seen, shirtless in December, no less, dancing and prancing about, singing to the music, cleaning up the fallen timber and other debris.

His tight, compact muscles bulged in the glow of the morning sun; his hair cascaded around his face as he moved. His biceps bulged when he picked up a fallen limb as big around as my waist and tossed it into a growing pile near his fire pit as if it were weightless. I’m not saying I’m so shallow as to get hung up on looks, but he’s definitely eye-candy.

I’m also not saying that I need sex every day, or two times a day, or preferably three or four times a day; I’m just saying that he makes me uncontrollably horny and I want sex every day so badly that I can’t contain myself. When I lack a lover, I tend to masturbate at least ten times every day, on a slow day. When I have one, I only masturbate ten times a day on a horny day. It had been four days since I had that magic cock of his! By my math, that meant he owed me anywhere from eight to sixteen hard poundings, hot fucks, and sex so primal that tears of passion smear my makeup.

I considered the fresh coffee, orange juice, and cheese omelet on the tray next to my bed—he always cooks me breakfast before I wake up—and went back to voyeuring my lover. I’d like to say that I slowly ran my hands over my body, tweaked my nipples into horny pleasure, and got myself off gently and slowly. I was so fucking horny that I slammed my nude tits against the window sill and rubbed them harshly against the cold, hard wood. I quickly moistened a finger from my dripping cunt and plunged it into my asshole, without reservation, while my other hand tugged, pulled, and slammed on my clit. I came almost instantly, screaming and moaning.

I was further frustrated by the fact that my boyfriend promised to help his neighbor, Bill, repair the damage to his farm. My day was spent pouting around the house, playing with myself, and whining to my online friends. I was so fucking horny that I would have jumped at any chance for cybersex, which is usually not my thing. Instead, I sent naughty selfies to Glade and some of the guys from Friday’s gang-bang because nobody wanted to play with me. The aftermath of the storms had become a booty-barrier.

Long after dark, with me chomping at the bit for some cock, Glade came back in. I was crestfallen when Glade said that he promised Jim, the owner of the Grotto, that we’d go over and help him and the staff clean up and repair the damage. Let’s just say that it was a long night with very little sleep, the total opposite type of sleepless night that I was so desperately needing. Again, no fucking sex!

The entire staff of the restaurant was there, most of them grimy because the power was still out in the general area, except for Glade’s and Bill’s houses. My boyfriend, always full of chivalry and generosity, invited them all over to his place to shower and get warm. Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for charity and the community coming together, but I was less than pleased about the platoon of waitresses, every single one of them trying to get their hooks into my boyfriend, coming over to shower and hang out. Hell hath no fury like a Krystal denied sex and put into competition with horny, Glade-stealing waitresses!

I was, thankfully, more exhausted than pissed off, falling asleep in the car once more. It was so warm and peaceful, hair-metal power ballads playing on the stereo, that I barely remembered pulling out of the restaurant parking lot. I awoke to breakfast in bed, again, and noise coming from downstairs. Wrapping myself in my new, satin robe, I descended the stairs to discover three of the guys from last Friday, one clothed, one shirtless, and the third wearing only a towel in the dining room, talking and laughing with my boyfriend.

Hugs, kisses, fondles, and a quick, wanton flash of my nudity beneath the robe started the day off right. Regretfully, my boyfriend needed to help Bill with some more repairs and finding the last lost goat. That left me in his house, alone, with three men in various states of undress. Yummy.

The third one, Sam, I remembered well. He had a magnificent tongue and a thick cock. He went up to shower. I chatted with the other two for a short while, dropping innuendo that they either didn’t pick up on or decided to not pick up on. Then I remembered that there weren’t towels in the bathroom. I excused myself and went upstairs to rectify the situation. Telling the boys to make themselves at home, I promised them I’d be back in a few minutes.

Grabbing a stack of fresh towels from the linen closet I went to see if the bathroom door was locked; it wasn’t. Not bothering knocking, I opened the door and made to put the towels on the counter. However, the glass to the shower door is mostly transparent. I’d be lying if I said I intended to avert my eyes. He had that nice, thick cock in my pussy a few nights ago; that gives me the right to look.

He was facing the shower front, his back mostly turned to me. My eyes feasted upon his tight, young buttocks as I watched him wash. He ran the soap over his big biceps then slowly over his well-muscled chest. I watched as his hands traveled down his stomach towards his nice manhood. Running his hands over the bar of organic soap until they were frothy, he placed the soap on a shelf and then proceeded to wash his cock, stroking it up and down.

I was nude beneath my robe; my hands instinctively copied his motions. As his hands moved to the base of his cock, my fingers plunged inside my dripping pussy. When they moved towards the tip, my fingers moved out from inside me. My right hand was dancing over my clit, bringing me close to orgasm. I was thankful that the sound of the shower drowned out the squishing sounds and my muted moans of pleasure.

I was getting close to orgasm, lost in my horny passion. My fingers fucked me fast and deep; my hips began to buck wildly. There’s something extra naughty, taboo, about seeing somebody doing something sexy when you’re not supposed to. His cock was semi-hard, his head thrown back, his hand stroking faster and faster. That was my reward for kissing him passionately and wearing only that thin, short, satin robe, my nipples poking up through the fabric. I could feel my orgasm building, lost in the throes of forbidden voyeurism.

“Hey! Don’t use all the hot water,” was shouted from downstairs.

He stopped stroking himself and turned towards the door, my vantage point, sighing. I made a hasty exit, cursing my misfortune.

“I’m finishing up now!” I heard him yell out as I ducked into Glade’s bedroom.

Fine then, I thought to myself. If I can’t get any orgasms I’ll make them suffer as well.

My hair quickly brushed, nipples tugged on until they stood out firm and proud, the tie of my thin robe loosened to the point of scandal, I purposely stomped down the hall, making sure my heated, full, boobs bounced considerably.

Suppressing a smile as all conversation ceased, replaced with open-mouthed stares, with my approach I said, “You’ll need to wait a few until the water heater catches up. Sit with me; keep me company.”

Legs parting now and then while I perched on a kitchen stool, I gave them the barest, briefest flashes of my soaked, overheated pussy. Spilling fresh coffee on my new robe, accidentally on purpose, I just had to wipe it clean with a wet towel. Silly me, that made the robe wet, plastered it to my swollen tits.

With their eyes glued to my hard nipples, I told them, “Hot water should be ready by now. I’m going to go put something on that isn’t soaked to the point of being see-through.” Shaking my ass invitingly, I went upstairs. I knew they could see up my rope from behind as I climbed the stairs. The thought brought a smile to my lips and a waterfall to my thighs.

I heard Michael humming as he made for the shower. Mike is a pervert; like I should talk. During my gang-bang, he wanted to wrap his shaft in my hair and cum on my ass. He has an average-sized cock but above average endurance; I had no complaints. Looking over my shoulder as we exchanged hot, eye-fucking glances, I dropped my robe, exposing my back to him, as I walked into my boyfriend’s bedroom and swung the door closed with my heel. I timed it perfectly. Just a hint of my exposed behind, then “slam.”

I hurriedly tore off my robe and grabbed the first vain attempt at modesty I spied, one of Glade’s long, white t-shirts. Pulling it over my head, I went on tiptoes to the bathroom door. The shower was running, the door was ajar. Sex-Ninja-like, I crept in. Michael must have been pretty worked up by my slutty displays. He was under the shower head stroking his already erect penis.

I watched silently, my fingers pumping my needy cunt, matching his pace. My fingers thrummed my clit, teasing it, making it pulsate with passion. He was stroking himself faster and faster, then slowing down. I refused to slow down, overcome the need for another orgasm.

“Krystal, you’re so fucking hot,” he moaned out. That did it for me!

Usually, I scream my head off and flail about when I cum. However, because I have an addiction to masturbating in public places with people around me, I have also mastered the fine art of cumming my brains out in silence. I was an X-rated mime as my knees buckled, causing me to grab the towel holder so hard it almost broke out of the wall. Wave after wave of pure sexual pleasure ran through my body.

The force of my voyeur-inspired orgasm made me squeeze my eyes tightly shut. When I opened them again I saw that Mike was seconds away from orgasm. I watched him cum, pumping his cock so fast that his hands blurred, so hard that I could hear the fapping sounds above the shower. I made a quick escape to the bedroom and got myself once more in mere seconds.

A repeat of the teasing, this time with me in solely the white shirt, netted me more slutty attention. To my disappointment, Lee, the last guy, closed and locked the door. I was denied the voyeuristic thrills of the forbidden. Glade returned, having found the wayward goat, named Gotmez Addams, and bade his friends goodbye.

“You waltzed around the house wearing only that,” he said appreciatively. “Those lucky bastards!”

Finally, after days of sexual frustration, we had some alone time! I was so horny I was about to burst. Finger-fucking myself didn’t quench the fire between my legs; spying on his showering friends while I fingered myself only made me want it more.

“Finally, I can get that cock of yours!” I exclaimed. “Get naked for me so I can show you who’s the lucky one.”

A car horn blared out from outside. Goddess-fucking-damn-it!

“Let me guess,” I spat, my blood boiling almost as hot as my aching pussy. “That’s the entire staff of The Grotto, coming to use your shower and hang out.” I forced a polite smile.

“You must be psychic.” He beamed. “Luke is also bringing us lunch.”

It felt as if Atlas had asked me to hold something for him while he ducked out to run a quick errand. My sigh conveyed my mood.

“I guess I’ll fucking get dressed, then.” I surrendered.

Looking out the window, I saw the gaggle of waitresses, carrying food at least. Not a towel, shampoo bottle, or bar of soap among them. Luke, the chef, was also there. None of that stood out to me. What did catch my attention was that each and every one of those toned, supple, sexy, young women were dressed like sluts about to go clubbing. They were dressed to show off their physical charms.

I mentally ran through my mental Rolodex of clothing I had at Glade’s. Desperate times called for desperate measures; the waitresses were obviously desperate to steal my boyfriend from me. It was time to fight fire with fire.