Ravished by the Beasts
I asked, afraid of the answer.
He shifted nervously, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Those? Ah . . . those are sex toys," he replied as if they were everyday household objects.
I couldn't stop gawking at them. It looked as if he had looted a sex shop and brought it back to the cabin. A friend of mine had once hosted an Ann Summers party at her house, and I was guilt-tripped into buying a vibrator. You can’t exactly leave those parties empty-handed — it’s rude. My silicone bad boy took three weeks to arrive. When he came, he needed six AA batteries to power up. So, I nicknamed him Buzz — the ten-inch pussy tornado who boasted six-speed settings, a rotating shaft, and a double-pronged clit ti
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