Chapter 9: The Snowed-In Cabin
The little turboprop shuddered through a wall of white, and Cherry Valentine pressed her forehead to the cold window, watching the wing vanish and reappear in sweeping gusts of snow. The pilot's voice crackled over the intercom, something about Aspen being closed, a diversion to Denver, and Cherry felt the whole assignment slipping sideways.
"No," she said, loud enough for the flight attendant to glance her way.
Three days after the beach in Honolulu, her skin still held a ghost of bronze, and her strawberry-blonde hair had lightened in the sun. She'd packed for a ski-resort feature, expecting powder shots and hot cocoa interviews with the instructors and patrollers who kept the rich and reckless alive on the slopes. Instead, the plane was fighting a system that had rolled in off the Continental Divide like a white curtain dropping over the whole state.
A man two rows up was already on his phone, barking about missed connections. Cherry checked her own phone, no signal, then dug through her bag for the small notepad where she'd written the name of the lodge, the contact, the whole itinerary. The pilot came on again. Whiteout conditions. They were setting down at a private strip near a community called Crested Hollow, a smaller resort nestled in a valley that the storm had apparently not yet completely buried.
Crested Hollow. Cherry had never heard of it.
An hour later, she stood on a windswept tarmac with six other stranded passengers while a bus with chains on its tires growled toward them through the blizzard. The driver, an old man with a white beard and a wool cap pulled to his eyebrows, opened the door and waved them in.
"Storm's got teeth tonight," he said. "Gonna be three days, maybe more, before any flights move. You folks need somewhere warm."
The small lodge they reached was a massive timber structure that seemed to grow out of the mountainside itself. The sign above the door read CASCADE PEAK CHALET in carved letters, and warm golden light spilled from every window, promising heat and refuge against the howling dark. Cherry climbed down from the bus, her wheeled suitcase bumping over packed snow, and pushed through the heavy door into a blast of warmth and woodsmoke that made her shiver in pure pleasure.
The interior was a cathedral of timber and stone. A double-height ceiling soared above a great room furnished with leather sofas and sheepskin throws, and the fireplace at the far end was enormous, a stone hearth that could have swallowed a car, with logs crackling and popping in orange fury. A massive fur rug lay before it, cream-colored, thick as a winter coat.
And the place was full of men.
Cherry stopped just inside the door, snow melting on her shoulders, and took them in. There were six of them she could count at first glance, spread around the great room and a bar at one side. They were all in varying states of gear, fleece pullovers, flannel shirts, thermal layers unzipped to show chest hair, and they all had that particular look of men who lived on mountains. Tanned faces, wind-chapped cheeks, built shoulders from hauling gear and wrestling boards through powder. They turned as she entered, conversations pausing, and Cherry felt the familiar electric hum start low in her belly.
"Well now," said the nearest man, pushing up from a leather armchair. He was tall, with sandy hair cropped close and a grin that showed a chip in one front tooth. "Didn't expect to see a new face tonight."
The older man from the bus clapped him on the shoulder. "Got a whole planeload of folks stranded up top, Dave. This one here got lucky. She's the only one who wanted to come to the lodge instead of waiting it out in the terminal."
Dave's eyes raked over Cherry, and she could feel the assessment move down her body. She'd worn a cream cable-knit sweater, tight enough to hug her breasts, and though she'd switched to dark ski pants for the flight, the curve of her hips was still visible.
"Cherry Valentine," she said, stepping forward and offering her hand. "Freelance journalist. I was supposed to be doing a feature on the ski resort out of Aspen, but the weather had other plans."
"For real?" said another man, coming over from the bar with a bottle of beer in hand. He was younger, maybe mid-twenties, with dark curly hair and a lean face that broke into a quick smile. "No shit. I'm Ben. That's Dave, and over by the fire are the rest of the crew. We run the snowboard school and the patrol hut up the ridge. This is our end-of-season kickoff."
"There's more of us out back in the bunkroom," Dave added. "We got a full house tonight. Was supposed to be a party for the crew, but the storm killed the road and half of everyone's girlfriends couldn't make it up."
Cherry looked around again, counting. Dave, Ben, and now she could see three more around the fireplace, one sprawled with a book, two playing cards. "How many total?"
"Twelve," said Ben, and there was a glint in his eye that Cherry recognized. "Twelve men, one lodge, and a blizzard that's gonna keep us all locked in together for three days minimum."
The electric hum in Cherry's belly sharpened into a pulse between her thighs. She could read the invitation in their casual postures, the way Dave had shifted to block her path with his body without actually touching her, the way Ben was looking at her sweater. These were mountain men, isolated, bored, and suddenly presented with a pretty woman who had nowhere else to go.
"Oh," Cherry said, and let her smile widen into something more deliberate. "Well, I guess I'll just have to make the most of my stay. I don't suppose any of you would be willing to give me an interview about the resort?"
Dave laughed, a low sound. "Honey, the only thing I'm interested in interviewing right now is whether you know how to keep warm in a place like this."
"Lucky for you," Cherry said, "I've had a lot of experience with cold nights. I know exactly what works."
She let her hand drift to the hem of her sweater, just a small tug, testing the water. The room went quiet. Even the card game at the fireplace had stopped, and now she could see all of them turned toward her, their eyes hungry in the firelight. It was that look she knew so well, that collective intake of breath when a possibility presented itself that no one had expected.
Ben moved first. He set his beer down on a side table and came closer, stopping just a foot away. "You know what works?" he asked.
Cherry looked up at him, then at Dave, then at the growing crowd of men who had risen from their seats and were drifting toward the warmth of the hearth, and toward her. "I know that the fastest way to warm someone up is to get skin against skin. And the best way to do that when it's freezing outside is to make sure everyone's body heat is working together."
"Shit," said Dave, shaking his head with a grin. "Did we just get propositioned by a journalist?"
"Does that bother you?" Cherry asked.
"Not even a little."
The fire crackled and popped, throwing wild shadows across the vaulted ceiling. Outside, the wind screamed and hurled snow against the windowpanes, but inside, the temperature was climbing by the second. Cherry could feel the heat building between her thighs, the slick anticipation soaking her underwear as she looked at the men gathering closer. She could already pick out details, the thick forearms of the older one with silver in his beard, the lean runner's build of a man with a shaved head, the eager way Ben was already unzipping his fleece.
She took a step back, toward the massive fur rug in front of the fire, and began pulling the cable-knit sweater over her head. Her breasts bounced free, heavy and full, the dark pink of her nipples hardening instantly in the touch of cool air before the fire-heat found them. She let the sweater fall to the floor and reached for the waist of her ski pants.
"My recorder's in my bag," she said, grinning as she popped the button on her pants. "I'll get to the actual interview questions later. For now, I'm more interested in warming up the whole crew."
Dave groaned and was on her before her pants even hit the floor, his body pressing her back toward the rug. His mouth found hers, hot and demanding, and Cherry melted into it, feeling the scrape of his stubble, the stink of woodsmoke and beer on his breath. Around her, she heard the rustle of clothing being shed, the low murmurs of surprised laughter and approval from the other men as they caught on to what was happening.
"You're a goddamn gift from the storm," Ben said from somewhere behind her, his hands finding her hips as Dave pulled back to breathe.
Cherry laughed, breathless. "Wait until you find out I'm insatiable. I'm not just warming you up. I plan on draining every single one of you dry before this blizzard lifts."
The fur rug was soft under her back as Dave lowered her down. She arched, rubbing her bare shoulders against the cream pile, and reached for the zipper of his thermal pants. The fire painted everything in flickering gold, and the circle of men around her, now completely naked, was a ring of hard cocks and hungry faces that made the pulse between her legs throb harder.
Dave's cock sprang free when she got his pants open, thick and curved, the head already glistening. Cherry took him in hand, stroking the velvety shaft while Dave groaned above her, and Ben knelt at her side, his own erection jutting toward her face. She didn't hesitate. She took Ben deep in her mouth while she worked Dave's shaft, tasting the salty musk of him, feeling the way he bucked at the sudden wet heat.
Ben tasted of cheap beer and sweat and pure male. He was clean, but the scent of a long day was on his skin, and Cherry breathed it in as she worked her tongue around the head of his cock, sliding her lips down the length of him until she felt him hit the back of her throat. He groaned above her, hands fisting in her hair, and she let him hold her there, feeling the thickness stretching her jaw.
Dave was still in her fist, and now another man knelt at the foot of the rug. The older one with silver in his beard, his cock thick and heavy between his legs. Cherry released Ben with a wet pop and turned to Dave, pulling him down by the hips until he knelt between her thighs.
"Inside me," she said, and there was no coyness in her voice, just plain demand. "All of you, eventually, but I need you now."
Dave needed no further encouragement. He slid his hands under her ass, lifting her hips toward him, and Cherry felt the blunt head of his cock press against her slick opening. He pushed, and she took him in one long, slow thrust that made her gasp and claw at the fur rug beneath her. He was big, stretching her, filling her completely, and the heat of the fire and his body and the hard length inside her combined to send a shudder of pleasure through her core.
"Fuck yes," she moaned, bucking against him. "That's it. Don't be gentle."
Dave wasn't. He drove into her with hard, punishing strokes, his hips slapping against hers as the other men watched and waited. Ben crouched beside them, stroking his cock, and Cherry reached out with one hand to pull him toward her mouth again.
She took Ben down her throat while Dave fucked her, the rhythm of his thrusts synchronizing with her swallowing. The silver-bearded man knelt near her head, and she looked up his hairy torso at the thick cock bobbing in front of her face. She released Ben with a gasp, drawing a frustrated groan from him, and took the older man's shaft between her lips instead.
He tasted older, muskier, and his cock had that same thickness Dave had, blunt and circumcised. Cherry worked her tongue along the underside as Dave thundered into her pussy, each thrust rubbing against a spot that sent sparks up her spine. She was dripping, soaking the fur beneath her, and she knew she was dangerously close to coming already.
"I'm gonna come," she gasped around the shaft, pulling back to speak clearly. "Fuck, I'm so close, Dave, don't stop."
"Cum for me then," Dave growled, and he drove into her at a different angle, grinding along her front wall. Cherry's body arched off the rug, her spine bowing, and she came with a scream that was swallowed by the older man's cock when he shoved it back in her mouth moments later. The orgasm ripped through her in waves, clenching around Dave's driving shaft, and she heard him roar as the tightness of her climax pushed him over the edge.
Hot, sticky seed flooded her pussy as Dave came with deep, grinding thrusts, pumping into her until she felt him pulsing and softening inside her. He pulled out with a wet sound, and Cherry's hole gaped for a moment before the next man stepped up.
This was the lean one with the shaved head. He had a long, thin cock, and he wasted no time positioning himself between her thighs. Cherry was still trembling from her orgasm, the aftershocks rippling through her, and when he pushed inside, the mingled slickness of Dave's cum and her wetness made him slide in easily.
"Holy shit," Shaved Head breathed. "You're still clenching."
"Get there," Cherry said, grinning up at him through the firelight. "I've got ten more of you to work through after this."
She lost track of the order after that. The fire crackled and the wind howled and the fur rug grew wet and stained beneath her. They took turns in her mouth, her cunt, and when one of them, a burly man whose name she caught as Rusty, flipped her over onto her stomach and drove into her ass without preamble, she cried out and pushed back against him, taking him to the root.
Her ass was tight, even from the spate of encounters she'd had in the past weeks, and Rusty was thick. She gritted her teeth against the burn and arched her back, letting the sensation transform from pain to pleasure as he worked himself in and out of her. His heavy balls slapped against her wet lips with every thrust, and Ben, the curly-haired one, lay on the rug beneath her, his cock between her lips so that she was sandwiching a double load of hard flesh.
The men were not shy. They grouped around her like she was a gift, sharing her body with a rough camaraderie. Shaved Head came in her mouth while Rusty took her ass, pulling out at the last second and spurting across her cheek. Ben took her cunt when Rusty pulled out, filling her with cum-slick strokes.
And through it all, Cherry took them, one after another, in every position. She knelt over a fourth man, riding him while a fifth stood behind her, pressing his shaft between her buttocks until Rusty's cum lubricated the way, then sliding deep into her ass from behind. She gagged on cocks and swallowed eagerly, coating her throat with loads of come as she counted the men she'd serviced.
Eight. Nine. Ten.
The logs in the fireplace broke and reshifted, sending up a shower of sparks, and the golden light caught every body in motion on the fur rug. Cherry was on her back now, legs spread wide, with the silver-bearded older man kneeling between her thighs, his silver-flecked pubic hair shining with slickness as he drove into her soaked pussy.
He was the eleventh, and he came with a roar that drowned out even the howl of the blizzard, pumping his seed into her with a ferocity that made her grind back against him, chasing one more peak. Around her, the other men sprawled on the rug and on nearby furniture, their bodies slicked with sweat and come, watching the final act.
When he pulled out, Cherry collapsed onto the fur, her chest heaving, her skin coated with a sheen of sweat that caught the firelight. Her thighs were thoroughly slick, a smear of mixed come and moisture coating her skin with a rich musk that hung in the warm air. She looked around the circle of twelve men, all still in varying states of readiness.
"I count eleven," she said, her voice hoarse but satisfied. "Who's the lucky twelfth?"
Dave, who was collapsed on the sofa with his head tilted back, raised a lazy hand and pointed toward the far door. "That's him. Bunkroom's through there. He was getting firewood."
From the hallway came the sound of heavy footsteps, snow being stamped off boots, the slam of a door. A figure emerged into the hearth light, dusted with snow, a bundle of logs in his arms. He was broad, dense, with dark skin that gleamed like wet stone in the firelight, and a face that broke into a slow grin when he took in the scene before him.
"Well, hell," the man said, dropping the logs on the floor. "Looks like I missed the party."
Cherry sat up on the rug, letting her breasts sway free, and the slickness on her thighs gleamed as she shifted. She crooked a finger at him.
"Get over here," she said. "I saved the last dance for you."
The last man took her to the edge of the hearth rug and pressed her down firmly onto a thick sheepskin piled at the side, one massive hand spanning her hip while he positioned himself behind her. He drove into her cunt with a single thrust, thick and heavy, and Cherry arched, reaching her peak again under this new pounding. He was the biggest she'd had that night, a dense, powerful thickness that filled her in a way even Dave couldn't match, and each stroke pressed against her front wall until she was gasping.
Wait, she thought, counting again mentally, trying to track back through the blur of the night. Dave, Ben, Silver-Beard, the ninth and tenth and the rest. Her count had been off, and this was the one she'd missed. No matter. He was the last one, and he had endurance as well as size, riding her steady and deep as she cried out beneath him in blazing pleasure.
She came a final time when he finally spilled inside her, a shattering climax that squeezed the seed from him and made him shout. She collapsed, spent, with the weight of him on her back, his breath hot against her neck, surrounded by eleven satisfied men and the crackling warmth of the fire.
Thunder rolled somewhere distant, muffled by the snow. Cherry smiled into the fur and felt the twitch of his softening cock inside her, the heavy warmth of his body a blanket that beat any sheepskin the lodge could offer. Outside, the storm raged on, sealing them in the cabin for three days. And Cherry Valentine, warm, wet, and utterly content, was already thinking about what the morning might bring.