Snow hissed against the cabin windows, wind howling like a living thing. Inside, the fire crackled in the stone hearth, throwing gold light over bare skin and tangled limbs. Vikram and Manisha had rented the remote mountain cabin for a “quiet weekend.” Rohan and Tara had shown up with a bottle of aged scotch and a grin that said quiet was never on the menu.
They’d started with cards—strip poker, because of course.
By midnight, the table was littered with discarded clothes: Manisha’s red lace bra dangling from a chair, Tara’s silk panties crumpled on the rug, Vikram’s shirt half-buttoned and soaked with sweat, Rohan’s jeans kicked somewhere near the door.
The firelight painted them in flickering amber.
Manisha knelt on the thick bearskin rug, back arched, breasts swaying as Vikram fed her his cock. The head was flushed dark, slick with her spit; she took him deep, throat working, eyes watering. Saliva dripped down her chin, pooling between her tits.
Behind her, Rohan had her hips in a bruising grip. He’d been teasing for what felt like hours—fingers in her pussy, thumb circling her clit, tongue tracing the rim of her ass until she begged. Now he lined up and slammed home—one brutal thrust that buried him to the root. Manisha’s moan vibrated around Vikram’s shaft, the sound raw and filthy.
Tara watched from the couch, legs spread wide, two fingers buried in her own cunt. The firelight glinted off the wetness coating her thighs. When Rohan’s rhythm turned punishing—hips snapping, balls slapping Manisha’s clit with every stroke—Tara crawled over, sliding beneath Manisha in a 69.
Tara’s tongue found Manisha’s clit instantly, licking in tight, frantic circles. She tasted Rohan’s pre-cum where it leaked from Manisha’s stretched hole, then sucked the swollen nub hard. Manisha bucked, gushing into Tara’s mouth, the orgasm ripping through her so hard her thighs shook.
Vikram pulled out, fisting himself, eyes dark. He hauled Tara up by the hair, bending her over the arm of the leather couch. Her ass was round, perfect, already marked with Rohan’s handprints. Vikram spat on her hole, working the saliva in with his thumb, then pressed the head of his cock against her tight ring.
Tara pushed back, taking him slow—inch by inch, the stretch burning sweet. When he bottomed out, she was panting, pussy clenching around nothing. Rohan moved in front, sliding into her cunt in one slick thrust. The double penetration made her scream, the sound swallowed by the storm outside.
Vikram and Rohan found a rhythm—hard, deep, alternating strokes that filled her completely. Tara’s nails clawed the couch, her body rocking between them, sweat dripping down her spine. Manisha recovered, crawling over to lick where Vikram’s cock stretched Tara’s ass, then up to suck Rohan’s balls into her mouth.
The cabin reeked of sex and pine smoke.
The fire popped, sending sparks up the chimney.
Manisha straddled Tara’s face, grinding her soaked pussy against Tara’s tongue. Tara ate her greedily, nose buried in her clit, fingers digging into Manisha’s thighs. Vikram reached around, pinching Manisha’s nipples hard, twisting until she sobbed.
Rohan came first—deep in Tara’s cunt, hips stuttering, cock pulsing as he flooded her. The clench triggered Vikram; he pulled out, painting Tara’s ass and lower back in thick, hot ropes. Manisha followed, grinding down hard as Tara’s tongue speared inside her, her orgasm crashing in waves that left her trembling.
They collapsed in a heap on the rug, the fire’s heat licking their skin. Snow tapped the windows like impatient fingers.
Manisha’s laugh was husky, wrecked.
Tara licked a stray drop from Vikram’s thigh.
Rohan pulled the throw blanket over them, but no one bothered to cover up.
The storm raged outside.
Inside, the night was just getting started.