Snowed In
"He drives up to get his wife from her book club retreat. A blizzard traps them all at the cabin. Five BBW women who've been reading erotica all weekend—and one man to make their fantasies real."
The call came at 6 PM.
"The roads are closing," my wife Sarah said. "You need to come get me now, or I'm stuck here until Monday."
I looked outside. Snow was falling in sheets, already six inches deep. The mountain cabin where her book club met was an hour away on a good day.
"I'm coming," I said.
I should have checked the forecast.
The book club is five women.
Sarah. Her best friend Margaret. Margaret's sister Denise. And their neighbors Ruth and Patricia. They meet once a month, but this weekend was special—a retreat at Ruth's cabin in the mountains.
"What have you been reading?" I'd asked when Sarah packed.
"Erotica." She'd grinned. "The really dirty kind. We're doing a whole weekend of it."
I'd laughed. Made a joke about needing notes.
I wasn't laughing now, driving through a blizzard with zero visibility, praying I'd make it before the roads closed completely.
I made it.
Barely. The truck fishtailed twice on the driveway, and by the time I parked, the snow was falling so thick I couldn't see the cabin twenty feet away.
Sarah met me at the door.
"Oh thank God." She pulled me inside. "I was so worried—"
"I'm here." I stomped snow off my boots. "Let's go before it gets worse."
"About that." Her face was strange. "The highway patrol just called. Road's closed. All of them. Until at least tomorrow afternoon."
"So we're stuck."
"We're stuck."
I looked around the cabin.
Log walls, stone fireplace, cozy furniture. And five women in various states of wine-drunk relaxation, all of them looking at me like I was an unexpected gift.
"Ladies." I nodded. "Looks like you have a guest."
"The only man in a cabin full of women." Patricia fanned herself dramatically. "However will we survive?"
Laughter. Nervous, charged.
"What have you all been reading?" I asked.
They exchanged glances.
"Maybe it's better if we show you," Ruth said.
The books were scattered on the coffee table.
Erotica, like Sarah said. But not just any erotica—BBW erotica specifically. Stories about large women being worshipped, pleasured, desired. The covers featured curves and confidence.
"It's our theme," Margaret explained. She was the biggest of the group—three hundred pounds of warm, soft woman. "Stories where women who look like us are the fantasy."
"Not the fetish," Denise added. "The fantasy. The goal. The prize."
I looked at my wife. Sarah was smiling.
"We've been reading all weekend," she said. "Talking about what we want. What we've never had." She stepped closer. "And now you're here."
"Sarah..."
"I've been thinking about this since we started." She took my hand. "Thinking about sharing you. Showing my friends what I have."
"You want me to—"
"I want you to do what you do best." She kissed me. "Make us all feel like the women in those books."
I looked at the others. Patricia—fifty-five, two-forty, watching with hungry eyes. Ruth—sixty, two-seventy, already flushed. Denise and Margaret—sisters, both massive, both leaning forward in anticipation.
And Sarah. My wife. Offering me to her friends.
"All of you?"
"All of us." She smiled. "Starting with me."
Sarah stripped in front of everyone.
She'd never done that before—never been naked in front of anyone but me. But now she was peeling off her sweater, her bra, standing in the firelight while her friends watched.
"God, Sarah." Margaret's voice was thick. "You're gorgeous."
"I know." Sarah looked at me. "Show them."
I crossed to her. Kissed her while they watched. My hands found her breasts—heavy, familiar, perfect—and she moaned against my mouth.
"On the rug," she whispered. "In front of the fire. They can see everything."
I laid her down on the thick bearskin rug. Spread her thighs. And with five women watching, I buried my face between my wife's legs.
Sarah came in ten minutes.
Screaming, shaking, her hands pulling my hair while her friends gasped and murmured and touched themselves through their clothes.
"That's what the books describe," Ruth breathed. "But seeing it..."
"It's better," Patricia finished. "God, it's so much better."
"Who's next?" Sarah asked, still trembling. "Who wants to feel what I just felt?"
Margaret's hand went up first.
Margaret was different from Sarah.
Bigger. Softer. Her body spread across the rug like a landscape, and I explored every inch. Her belly, her thighs, the vast expanse of her breasts. She cried when she came—actually cried—and said no one had ever touched her like that.
"I told you," Sarah murmured, stroking her friend's hair. "He's good."
"He's a god," Margaret sobbed. "Jesus Christ, he's a god."
I took them one by one.
Denise on the couch, her legs over my shoulders while her sister watched. Ruth bent over the armchair, gripping the leather while I took her from behind. Patricia on the kitchen counter, knocking dishes to the floor.
Each one different. Each one desperate. Each one crying or moaning or screaming their pleasure while the others watched, touched themselves, waited for their turn.
And Sarah—my wife—in the middle of it all. Orchestrating. Encouraging. Getting wetter with every woman I satisfied.
"Now all of you," she said when I'd made my way through the group. "Together."
Five women.
One man.
The rug wasn't big enough, so we spread blankets across the cabin floor. Bodies everywhere—massive, beautiful, demanding. Someone's mouth on my cock while I ate someone else's cunt. Hands touching me from every direction. Moans filling the air like music.
I lost track of who was who. It didn't matter.
Sarah found me in the middle of it, climbed on top of me while Margaret sat on my face and the others touched wherever they could reach.
"This is what I wanted," she gasped, riding me. "This is what I've been dreaming about all weekend."
"All weekend?"
"All my life." She kissed me through Margaret's thighs. "And you're making it real."
We went until dawn.
Swapping positions, partners, combinations. At some point, Ruth declared that I needed to finish inside each of them—"for tradition," she said, though I was fairly sure she made that up.
I did anyway.
Five women. Five times. Each one taking me deep, clenching when I came, holding me inside them while they shuddered.
By the time the sun rose, we were a pile of exhausted bodies on the cabin floor. Sweaty, satisfied, tangled together in ways that would be hard to explain.
"The roads are open," Sarah murmured, checking her phone.
"Do we have to leave?" Patricia asked.
"Not yet." Sarah curled against me. "Not for a while."
Epilogue: Three months later
The book club still meets.
But now it's at our house. And I'm a permanent member.
"Same rules as the cabin?" Margaret asks when they arrive.
"Same rules," Sarah confirms. "He's here for all of us."
They don't read much anymore.
They don't need to.
The fantasy became reality.
And it's better than any book.