We all take our beers with us as we approach, Rath undressing first to step into the hot tub in his boxers. Tristian peels off his clothes as he walks over, carefully laying his outfit on a nearby chair. He gets down to his boxer briefs and drops them, too.
“These cost two hundred dollars,” he says, holding them up. “All natural and organic fibers cultivated in Peru. I’m not subjecting them to all that chlorine.” He jumps in next, looking pleased when the splash makes her shriek.
I strip down, shucking off my pants. The cold air slaps my ass and I do a full body shiver. All three of them look over, and I shrug. “Commando today.”
I don’t hesitate to get in the water, the blistering heat warming my toes. The hot tub is big, being made for a frat and all. We’ve had more than one party out here, plenty of big guys and their tail of choice packed in ten, fifteen deep.
The water sloshes as I sink under, but my eyes zero in on Story’s tits. Jesus. She’s sitting across from me, between Rath and Tristian, still in the white shirt, but it’s pasted on like a second skin, nipples dark and round beneath the clinging cotton. I feel the blood rush to my cock. From the way Tristian and Rath are staring at them, I’m guessing they know the feeling. But she’s too distracted with feeling the surface of the water to notice.
“Crackly,” she murmurs, swirling her fingers around.
“No offense, Tris,” Rath says, resting his arms on the edge of the tub. “But this is way better than your shitty fire.” He dips his chin toward the glow in the distance, the flames already beginning to die.
“A good fire requires constant attention. You have to feed it, stoke it.” He grins over at Story, watching as her eyes track the paths her hands are making just below the surface. “Kind of like this Lady of ours.”
She flicks him a quick, absent-minded glance. “Did you just compare me to a fire?”
“It’s a compliment.” He kisses her neck, sucking on the skin below her ear. “Trust me.”
That at least gets her attention away from the water. She gasps, tilting her head to give his mouth more space. “What else do you do during these parties? Besides the sledding and bonfires and hot tub things?”
I tip back my beer, thinking of our previous bashes. “There’s Jingle Bell Pong. Which…is basically beer pong, only with bells instead of ping-pong balls.” Come to think of it, “It’s not really a good substitution.”
Tristian gestures to me with the neck of his own beer bottle. “There’s also the thot patrol.”
“Plus, Candy Cocks,” Rath throws in. “And too many drinking games to remember.”
“What’s a thot patrol?” she asks, even though the look on her face says she’s not sure she wants to know.
“It’s where the Lords gather up the hottest bitches to pair off with the highest-scoring LDZs.” Tristian’s fingertips skate down her neck, dipping just beneath her collarbone. “Have to keep the soldiers incentivized, yeah?”
Her forehead wrinkles. “So they, like, go off to have sex with them?”
“Uh…” Rath looks to me for guidance, but ultimately agrees, “Sure, yeah. They go off.” When she narrows her eyes, he buckles. “Well, sometimes.”
Shrugging, I see no point in sugarcoating it. “Other times, they just take them right there in the basement where everyone can see.”
Tristian explains, “When the parties get that wild, private fuck spots are a hot commodity.”
She purses her lips. “Hmm.” It’s a much milder reaction than I’m expecting, which is why I’m caught off guard when she asks, “What’s ‘Candy Cocks’？”
I choke on my mouthful of beer, coughing, but Tristian sends her a smirk.
“That’s a game for the Lady.” His eyes dance as he watches her, beer halfway to his lips. “The Lords and five lucky LDZ brothers all drop trou, hide behind a screen, and then the Lady has to try to guess which cocks are her Lords’。” It’s a gentle description, since most games of Candy Cocks end in the Lady giving a generous amount of head.
Surprising me again, Story just buries a laugh into her palm. “Are you serious?”
“Absolutely,” Tristian answers.
There’s a beat of pensive silence, and then her jaw drops. “You were going to make me do that?!”
“Make?” Rath’s eyebrows climb his forehead.
Quietly, I explain, “No one’s ever had to make a Lady play Candy Cocks before.”