Chapter 1: The Blindfolded Virgin's Bet
The air in Mac’s bedroom tasted like sandalwood and sweat. A single strip of pale light cut through the half-drawn curtain, carving a jagged line across the bed where Eve knelt. The sheets were silk, cool and slippery under her bare knees, but the mattress beneath radiated a warmth that felt like a living thing. She was blindfolded, a strip of black velvet, and the world had shrunk to sound and touch and the frantic drumming of her own heart.
“Just relax, baby.” Mac’s voice was a low purr against her ear, his breath warm. His hands, heavy on her shoulders, grounded her and sent tremors through her at the same time. “It’s just a game. You know I’d never let anything hurt you.”
She nodded, her throat too tight for words. The hum of bass from a hidden speaker vibrated in her ribs. Somewhere in the room, a floorboard creaked. She wasn’t alone with him. She’d known that when he led her in here, his large hand completely enveloping hers, but the knowledge was a liquid chill in her veins now.
“You remember the rule,” Mac said, his voice dipping, taking on that rough, possessive edge that both frightened and thrilled her. “Your pussy stays mine until the wedding night. Holy. Untouched. That’s our deal, right? For God.”
“For God,” she whispered, the words automatic. Her commitment, her sacrifice. She crossed herself, the gesture small and shaky under the bare shelf of her breasts.
“But everything else…” Mac’s hand drifted from her shoulder, down the curve of her spine, coming to rest on the swell of her rear. A familiar territory. Her face heated beneath the blindfold. “…is mine to play with. Mine to share. Tonight, we play a game.”
He guided her hands forward. Her fingers, trembling, brushed against hot, smooth skin. She flinched.
“Easy,” a different voice chuckled. Deeper than Mac’s. Dar.
Her hands were placed again, palms flat this time, against a solid, muscled stomach. It clenched under her touch. She traced upwards, over a hard pectoral, a collarbone, a stubbled jaw. This wasn’t Mac. Mac was behind her. This was someone else.
“That’s it,” Mac murmured, his lips now on her neck. “Get used to him.”
A thumb brushed her lower lip. She gasped, and it slipped into her mouth. The taste was salt and skin. She froze, her mind a riot of prayer and panic.
“She’s a natural,” Dar’s voice came again, closer.
“Told you,” Mac said, pride and something darker lacing the words. “Now the other one. Don’t be shy, Eve.”
Her left hand was lifted, guided to another body. This one was different—broader, with coarse hair dusting a barrel chest. Will. She knew his laugh, his booming voice in Mac’s living room during game nights. She’d served him lemonade.
Now her fingers curled against his sternum as he exhaled a long, slow breath.
“Good girl,” Mac coaxed. “Now… reach down.”
Her stomach swooped. “Mac…”
“Reach down, Eve. Both hands. Find them.”
A whimper caught in her throat. This was the line, the one she’d drawn in confessionals and in the dark safety of her own bed. But Mac was here. Mac was allowing it. Commanding it. His hands covered hers, forcing them lower, past belt lines, over the rough texture of denim and the soft drape of cotton.
And then she felt them.
Thick, hard lengths, straining against their confines. Heat pulsed through the fabric onto her palms. One in each hand. They twitched at her tentative touch.
A low groan came from in front of her—Will, she thought. From her left, a sharp intake of breath—Dar.
Her own body betrayed her. A slick, unfamiliar warmth bloomed between her thighs, a shocking contrast to the cold dread tightening her chest. She was disgusted with herself. She was… curious.
“See?” Mac’s whisper was a victorious serpent in her ear. “Your body knows what your mind is too scared to admit. You’re made for this, Eve. Made to please.”
He removed his guiding hands. Her own stayed, paralyzed, holding the undeniable proof of the men’s arousal. The room was silent except for the bass and the ragged sound of breathing. Her own, theirs.
“Now the game,” Mac said, his voice shifting, hardening into the tone he used when he wouldn’t be argued with. “I’m gonna bring my boys around. One at a time. You’re gonna take them in your hands, just like that. You’re gonna feel them, taste them if you want. And you’re gonna guess which one is mine.”
She shook her head, the blindfold soaking up a sudden, hot tear.
“If you guess right…” Mac’s hands returned to her shoulders, squeezing. “We stop. We all leave. You and me, we go get waffles like nothing happened.”
“And… if I’m wrong?” The question was a ghost of a sound.
The silence that followed was thick, charged. Another floorboard creaked. Someone shifted.
Mac leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of her ear, his words for her alone yet echoing in the still room. “Then you lose the game, baby. And that pretty little virgin pussy of yours? It won’t be virgin, or yours, anymore. It’ll belong to all six of us. Right here. Right now.”
A choked sob broke from her. The cocks in her hands seemed to swell, thickening at the promise.
“First one,” Mac announced, his voice lifting, including the others.
Her right hand was empty. Then, a new heat was placed against her palm, wrapped in her fingers. Smooth skin, a prominent vein, a weight that made her wrist ache. She explored, heart hammering against her ribs. It was different. Smaller than Will’s, but harder than Dar’s. She brought it closer, her breath hitting it. A clean, soapy scent. Jam. The quiet one.
She shook her head. “Not you,” she whispered.
“Good,” Mac said, and the cock was withdrawn.
Another was presented. This one was already leaking, a sticky bead at the tip that smeared across her fingers. It jumped in her grip, aggressive. Lamar. The party animal. She could almost smell the cheap beer and arrogance.
“Not you,” she said, more confident now, a desperate hope kindling.
“Two for two,” Mac said, but his voice held no relief, only a growing hunger.
The third was enormous, a brutal, thick weight that filled both her hands. Dre. Rough. She remembered him once fixing a cabinet in Mac’s kitchen, his hands surprisingly gentle with the wood. There was nothing gentle about this.
“No,” she breathed.
“Three.”
The fourth was… familiar. The curve, the particular ridge just below the head. Her lips parted. She knew this shape in the dark, from the times she’d touched him there, granting the one sinful allowance. Her heart leapt. “Mac. This is you.”
A pause. A snicker from somewhere in the room.
Mac’s hands left her shoulders. “Open your mouth.”
Hope, sweet and dizzying, flooded her. She obeyed, parting her lips. The head of the cock pressed against them. She tasted pre-come, musky and specific. She took him in, just a little, the way she had before.
And then a thumb, calloused and not Mac’s, brushed her cheek.
Her certainty shattered.
“Wrong,” Mac said, the word final as a judge’s gavel.
Terror, cold and absolute, doused the hope. She tried to pull back, to spit it out, but a hand—Dar’s hand—cupped the back of her head, holding her in place.
“That’s Dar, baby,” Mac said, and now his voice came from further away. He was moving, pacing. “You just chose my best friend over me. You wanted it to be him.”
She was crying in earnest now, tears streaming from under the blindfold, mixing with the salt on her lips. The cock in her mouth pushed deeper, an invasion, and she gagged.
“Rule is the rule,” Mac said, and the bed dipped near her feet. He was sitting, watching. “You lost, Eve. Now you pay.”
The cock withdrew from her mouth. The blindfold was ripped away.
The sudden light was a blow. She blinked, her vision swimming into focus. Mac sat at the foot of the bed, shirtless, his own erection proud and thick in his hand, stroking it slowly as he watched her. Ringed around the bed, silhouetted against the pornographic prints on the walls, were Dar, Will, Jam, Lamar, and Dre. All shirtless. All hard. All staring at her with a hunger that stripped her bare more effectively than the silk camisole she wore.
Dar, whose cock she still held, smiled down at her. It wasn't a friendly smile.
“Her rules are done,” Mac said, his eyes locked on hers, dark and utterly without mercy. “Now it’s our turn.”