My Cabo trip with four other married couples turned into a solo mission when my boyfriend got hit with an unavoidable work conflict. Since we've all been close for years, I said, "Whatever, I'm still going."

Our rental was amazing—a huge deck, beautiful pool, and a fully stocked outdoor bar that quickly became my command center. The wives are all great, but they're older and deep in mom mode. They mostly stayed covered up at the pool, while I spent the whole week feeling myself—no kids yet, body on point—rocking a bikini and happily soaking up the sun and the attention. Their energy level was definitely "early bedtime" after a couple glasses of wine. I'd often stay up late, changing into skimpy little outfits and stay in up for another drink two with the boys.

The atmosphere would get charged fast, and we'd inevitably start swapping sexy stories. Eventually, one of the guys got up the nerve to mention he’d heard that my mouth and tongue skills are legendary and that they were all jealous of my boyfriend. He joked that he wished he could experience it. Maybe it was the wine, but I suddenly had this crazy, bold, spontaneous idea—a way for all of them to indulge, completely anonymously.

"You know what? I'm going to crash out here on the big living room couch," I announced with a mischievous smile. "I'll get comfy. If any of you feel like it, you can each find a way to quietly sneak out at some point tonight and give it a try in the complete darkness." Their eyes went wide and it wasn’t long until they all decided it was probably time to head to bed.

Once they dispersed, I killed all the lights and settled onto the couch. The room went pitch-black—perfect for total anonymity. Since the night was still very warm, I ditched the blanket and slipped out of my clothes, deciding to sleep in just my panties. I sprawled out on my side, my mouth right at the edge of the cushions, a dark, inviting target. I could practically hear the silence of the house as the men lay in bed with their wives, debating whether to make the move.

After about 20 minutes I finally heard the first set of footsteps. Slow, deliberate, nervous. I felt him kneel right in front of me, his breath heavy. His cock found my lips—thick and warm. I parted my mouth just a touch, my tongue twitching.

He slid inside. He gripped my hair and started to move—slow at first, then picking up speed. I purred softly, using my tongue with practiced, teasing ease. My lips were tight around him, sucking gently as he drove into my mouth with growing urgency. He tried to keep his moans muffled, but his hips were snapping against my face as he used me. I took him all the way, swallowing every hot, thick pulse of his release. I milked him until he was spent, and he withdrew with a soft gasp, his footsteps fading back toward his wife without saying a word. I had no idea what husband it was.

I lay there, catching my breath, my mouth warm and throbbing. But I knew there would be more. The next one came quickly. No hesitation. His cock was already hard and twitching. My mouth was still slick, and he pushed right in, pushing my head into the couch to get my mouth at the perfect angle. This guy was faster, more frantic, his moans deeper and more primal. I loved the adjustment. I worked my tongue along his shaft, sucking gently, as his balls slapped against my chin—a wet, echoing sound in the quiet house. He came fast and hard, filling me up until I had to swallow to keep it from spilling.

The next two came one by one. I completely lost track of who was who; my focus was just on the feeling, the taste, and the delicious way they needed me. Not a word was spoken. They were all different—rough, gentle, quick, slow—but the underlying hunger and moans of please were the same.

By the time the last one was done, I was breathless. My mouth was throbbing, my throat coated in their proof. I pulled the blanket up, a smirk on my face, and drifted off with the taste of them still lingering.