R

Mac has been coming to this cabin in the woods with his best friends and business partners for years, and their planned activities have nothing to do with the brewery they co-own. The three of them are eager to get started on their annual vacation—a week of hedonistic, no holds barred bro banging—but there’s one problem. There’s a blonde in their bed.

Lia needed a place to film content for her new career as an online-based adult performer (porn!), and her friend’s cabin in the snowy Oregon woods seemed perfect. She only has a week to get as much footage as she can, so she wastes no time getting to lights, camera, action. But the three huge men bursting in on her mid-scene were not in the script.

What do you get when you combine three bisexual men, one woman trying to launch a porn career, a double-booked, snowed-in cabin, and a checklist of adult content to film? A week-long bang fest. What do you get when two of those people start catching feelings for each other? That’s a week-long bang fest with a Happily Ever After.

Goldie & The Bears is a steamy romp of a bisexual M/F romance featuring multiple partners (the HEA is M/F, but the banging is MFMM, and MFM, and MM…look, the swords cross, okay?), unexpected love, and of course, a happily ever after.

COPYRIGHT © 2023 solitary vice publications

This book went through several versions in just the ‘thinking-about-it’ stages, before I ever started writing it. In March of 2020 I tweeted: “Quarantine got me thinking about a Goldilocks retelling where Goldie is a size queen who likes group sex with big hairy grunty dudes.” I originally envisioned it as an M/M story, but I am not the person to write that romance (I think it would be awesome, though, so I hope someone with the chops for it tackles it someday soon). But I liked the idea of a girl Goldie, too, so I switched that up and started outlining. But I keptthinking "A woman stranded in a cabin with 3 strangers would not just fuck them no matter how horny she is. SHE DOESN'T KNOW THEY WON'T HURT HER". I mean there's "ok, it's fantasy" and then there's "NO FUCKING WAY", and I couldn’t figure out a way around that. So I set it aside until a few months later when a late night epiphany hit, which settled not only the ‘would she really fuck these three strangers’ question (answer: they’re not strangers, of course!), but also made Goldie a sex worker. 

And a story was born.

Chapter One

Lia Vernon frowned at the lock on the door of the little cabin in the woods. It was electronic, the numbers glowing green in the fading light, all that stood between her and a bathroom. She hadn’t stopped to pee since she’d left Portland, which would’ve been no problem if the heater on her car worked and she hadn’t spent the two and a half hour trip sipping hot coffee to keep warm. Now her bladder was full and her new phone, which held the text from her best friend containing the code to the door, was still in the car.

She hurried back to the aging Civic, her feet numb in her sneakers. She grabbed the phone off the passenger seat, then shuffled her way back to the cabin’s front door. She woke up the phone and tapped in her password with numb fingers—the Oregon coast was frigging cold in February, and she hadn’t thought to bring gloves—and nearly sagged with relief when her screen opened up to Amelia’s text message, with the five-digit code to the lock and instructions for using it. She quickly tapped in the sequence on the lock, hit the pound key twice, and let out a cheer when the lock snicked open.

She grabbed her overnight bag and shoved the door open, shuddering with relief at the blessed warmth. She shut the door behind her, then dropped the bag and looked around. She was in the main room of the cabin, a big high-ceilinged space with golden oak floors. A huge sectional sofa sat in front of an equally huge fireplace, with an open kitchen at one end and floor to ceiling windows at the other. It looked cozy and comfortably luxurious, and she was eager to look around, but it would to have to wait until she emptied her bladder.

Leaving her bag by the door, she went in search of a bathroom.

She found a laundry room and a bedroom before hitting the jackpot with door number three, a tidy little powder room that held a narrow pedestal sink, a gilded mirror, and blessedly, a toilet.

Business taken care of, she washed up and studied the small room with interest. Now that she was able to concentrate on something other than the urgent need to pee, she could appreciate the details of the gold faucet and towel hook, the pale green of the walls, the trio of whimsical and somehow playful prints on the wall. It had the kind of subtle stylishness that usually cost great gobs of money to achieve, and she wouldn’t have been surprised if the faucet cost more than her yearly rent.

If the rest of the cabin was as beautifully appointed, she’d be able to get some great pictures here.

Drying her hands, she glanced into the mirror, surprised anew at the reflection that stared back at her. She wasn’t used to the blonde yet, or the shorter length. She’d sat in the stylist’s chair with tightly closed eyes and hunched shoulders, wincing at every snip of the sheers and whiff of bleach, but the end result had been more than worth it. The pale blonde color suited her, and though her hair still fell past her shoulders, the removal of nearly a foot of the formerly brown tresses—and the addition of subtle and costly layers—had allowed the natural waves in her hair to bounce free.

The result was a breezy, sexy look that required very little effort on her part to achieve or maintain. She shook her head, watching her hair bounce and shimmer in the light. Without the heavy curtain of mousy brown hair, her face seemed brighter now, too, the delicate lines of her jaw and cheekbones emphasized by the soft waves. Her neck looked longer, her eyes seemed bigger—although that might also be the lash extensions she’d indulged in at the salon—and her mouth was lush and full.

She pursed her lips at her reflection in an exaggerated kiss, then grinned. This was going to work.

Energized, she left the powder room and hurried back down the hall. Looking over the space with a critical eye, she started a mental list of the best locations for filming. The sofa would work, as would the space in front of the stone fireplace, especially if she could get a fire going. There was an ottoman, a huge square thing in the same soft grey as the sofa. It currently held a wooden serving tray, a handful of artfully arranged outdoor magazines, and a remote control that looked as though it could manage the space shuttle, but if she cleared it off and draped herself over it…yeah, that would definitely work.

Already planning a series of shots, she turned to the kitchen. Tucked away along the front wall of the wide-open space and separated by an island topped with grey stone, it was tidy and spare. Luxurious, with that solid slab of granite and a subzero refrigerator tucked away among the gleaming hickory cabinets, but otherwise utilitarian.

She shrugged. It was fancier than she was used to, and larger than the galley kitchen in her apartment at home. As long as there were dishes in the cupboard, she had no complaints. She wasn’t filming a cooking show, after all, though it might be nice to get some topless baking photos while she had access to the space. If there was one thing she’d learned from all the research she’d been doing, it was that sometimes the most unexpected thing could garner a lot of attention.

Turning away from the kitchen, she scanned the living room again. Though the furnishings were high end and the whole space had an air of quiet luxury, it was lacking in personal touches. No photos, no knickknacks, none of the debris of living that naturally gathered in lived-in spaces. Understandable, since it was a rental, and convenient for her—she wouldn’t have to move any personal items out of the way for filming.

With the possibilities running through her mind, she retrieved her bag and turned back down the hall.

The first room she’d come to on her hurried hunt for a bathroom was a guest room, and she poked her head in again now. It held a queen-sized brass bed covered with a brightly patterned quilt, a pair of nightstands in distressed wood, and a colorful rug over the wood floor. It was a decent sized room, but there was only one narrow window, so shooting there would definitely require one of the lights she’d packed along.

“Doable, but not ideal,” she mused, and continued down the hall. There was another, almost identical room next door, the only difference being that this room held an iron bed rather than a brass one, and a quick exploration revealed a Jack and Jill bath that connected it to the first bedroom. The powder room was across the hall, followed by the small laundry room—she’d definitely have to wash the sheets before she left at the end of the week—before she reached a single door at the end of the hall.

With a silent prayer that this room would be bigger and brighter than the others, she pushed open the door.

With a delighted laugh, she stepped into the room. “This is more like it.”

The room was huge, at least double the size of the guest rooms, with the same toweringly high ceilings as the living room. The bed, an enormous iron four poster with intricate scroll work on the head and foot boards, was draped with a thick faux fur in shades of gray. The pillows plumped high against the headboard were covered in what looked like grey satin, and a quick peek under the fur—it was even softer than it looked—confirmed that the sheets underneath matched the pillows.

But the jewel of the room was the East wall, which, like the living room, was floor to ceiling windows. She’d hate to have to clean those suckers, she thought idly, but the view of the snowy woods would be worth it.

There was a dresser across from the bed in rich mahogany that matched the nightstands, and a single oversized chair angled in front of the windows. If she could get the angle right and figure out how to avoid the glare off the windows, it would make one hell of a backdrop. As would the bed, she thought, and turned back to study it. She was glad she’d borrowed Amelia’s tripod, but she thought she might be able to rig her phone up to the headboard or footboard for another point of view.

There were two other doors in the room, one which led to a walk-in closet that was nearly the size of her apartment at home, empty but for extra blankets and pillows stacked on a high shelf. The second door led to a bathroom with double sinks, a walk-in shower, and the biggest soaking tub she’d ever seen, all in gleaming white.

It was as bereft of personal touches as the kitchen, but the thick towels stacked on the shelf below the sink were the same grey as the bedding, as was the fluffy rug in front of the tub. Her bright pink bubble bath and shower gel would stand out against the gleaming white tub, and there was plenty of room to set up both the tripod and the ring lights.

With an ever-expanding list of filming possibilities in her head, she turned back to the bedroom and scooped up her bag. She unpacked quickly, using the expanse of empty shelf space in the closet to lay out the half dozen lingerie sets she’d brought along, as well as the flannel pajamas, leggings, and sweatshirts she’d packed for comfort. She dug out her phone charger and plugged it in to an outlet set just above a shelf, likely created for just that purpose, and left her phone charging while she moved to the bathroom to unpack her toiletries.

With her clothes and personal items unpacked, she tucked her bag on a shelf in the closet and headed back outside to gather the rest of her things.

By the time she’d unloaded everything and pulled her car into the garage, darkness had fallen, though it was barely five o’clock. There was none of the ambient light she was used to in the city—headlights of passing cars, shop lights, street lamps—so it seemed even darker. She shoved the boxes of props and equipment into the closet, then unpacked the single bag of groceries she’d brought with her. It didn’t seem like much when she had it tucked away in the enormous refrigerator, but if she was careful, it would last the week.

She made herself a simple meal of scrambled eggs and toast, ate it at the island, then washed her dishes. She was tempted to dig out her e-reader and curl up in front of the fireplace, but knew she’d end up falling asleep, and she wanted to get at least one scene done before she turned in for the night.

If she was going to turn this idea into a money maker, she would have to be disciplined. So she promised herself that she’d enjoy the fire tomorrow, and headed back to the bedroom.

She shut the door behind her and started unpacking her setup. The two ring lights she’d bought online were easy enough to put together, and she set them upat the footof the bed before retrieving her phone. She climbed onto the middle of the bed to take a few test selfies, fiddling a bit with the unfamiliar settings. The phone was brand new, the Pro version that had just come out, and she wasn’t quite used to it yet.

The pictures looked great, confirming that the ring lights had been an excellent investment, so she started setting the scene. The faux fur was luxurious and would feel amazing against her bare skin, but she had no idea if it was washable, and replacing it because she’d gotten come and lube all over it wasn’t in her budget. She tossed the fur onto the floor—maybe she could use it in front of the fireplace tomorrow for some lingerie shots—and turned back to the bed.

The grey sheets were soft and slick, not satin as she’d previously thought but a high thread count cotton, and she decided to leave them in place. She could wash them when she was done.

She shifted the pillows around, plumping them up then stepping back to check how it looked behind the lights. When she was satisfied, she unpacked the tripod.

It took a bit of fiddling, but she had the phone fixed to the tripod and set up at the foot of the bed in fairly short order. She wished she’d taken Amelia up on the offer to loan her a camera, but she’d thought the phone would be enough for her to handle. It would be nice to have another camera at the head of the bed, nice and high, for a bird’s eye view. She eyed the setup for a minute, considering, then shrugged. For her first attempt she’d do it like this, then when she got more comfortable, she could play with it a little.

She nudged the camera and the lights a little closer to the footboard, then checked the view of the bed again. Satisfied with the setup, she slipped into the bathroom and shucked off the loose leggings and sweatshirt she’d worn for the drive. She’d worn a snug cotton tank in lieu of a bra, something she was grateful for now as it meant she wouldn’t have to worry about pressure marks. There were some faint marks from the waistband of the leggings, but they’d fade quickly enough.

She didn’t have to do much with her hair, thanks to the excellent cut, but she fluffed it up anyway, using some spray to give it extra volume. For her makeup she wanted a natural look, which ironically took more time than if she’d just gone for a vampy smoky eye. She played up the greyish blue of her eyes with layers of shadow and liner, grateful that the lash extensions meant she didn’t have to fuss with mascara. She added a little blusher, just enough to simulate the faint flush of arousal, then slicked her lips with a soft, shimmering pink that would make it stand out. The resulting look was perfect, a wide-eyed seductresswith fuck me hair and a pink, pouty mouth.

Satisfied with her face, she picked up a bottle of lotion and smoothed a thin layer over her body, then stepped back to take in the full effect. Her skin was pale white, her summer tan having faded months ago, and the hint of shimmer from the lotion made it glow. Her makeup was flawless, her hair perfectly tousled. Her nipples were already puckered and darkened with arousal, drawing attention to her small, A cup breasts, and she lifted her hands to pinch them. Her nails, short and painted a deep purple for contrast, scraped against the sensitive flesh, sending a little shiver racing over her skin. She liked it so much she did it again, loving the jolt of arousal that shot to her pussy. She played for a minute, working herself up and watching the way her body responded in the mirror. It looked good, she decided, wondered idly if she ought to get her nipples pierced. It might make them stand out more, especially with her boobs being so small, and she could have fun with different kinds of jewelry.

“Food for thought,” she murmured, and dropped her hands to her butt.

She was a small woman, barely five foot two and delicately built, but she’d been blessed with an abundance of ass. Round and firm and way out of proportion to her small breasts, it made finding jeans that fit a challenge and sometimes drew more attention than she was comfortable with, but it was definitely something she could show off on camera.

Her newly waxed pussylooked healed, which was a relief after the screaming agony of the waxing and the angry red bumps that had appeared immediately after. The waxer—a tiny little woman with a booming voice—had assured her that the bumps would fade within a day, and Lia was relieved to see that she was right. She didn’t know much about producing porn, but it didn’t strike her as a good thing to have her pussy covered in red welts.

And if it was a good thing in certain circles, well, they weren’t circles she was ready to run in.

“Pussy, good. Boobs, good. Ass, excellent,” she murmured. “Hair and makeup, check.”

She drew in a deep breath and let it out slow, staring into the mirror. She could see excitement in her eyes, anticipation and yes, a little bit of fear. It only made her more eager to get started.

She flashed a grin at her reflection. “Let’s go make some porn.”

* * * * *

John MacMahon—Mac to his friends—shouldered the door to the cabin open, stepped inside, and headed straight for the kitchen, leaving his two friends to clamor in behind him. He had twenty pounds of ribs that had been slowly thawing since they’d left Portland, and he wanted to get them in the fridge. Normally he wouldn’t worry about it, but the trip had taken three times as long as it should have, thanks to the weather and Theo’s insistence that they stop to eat, and if he lost twenty pounds of premium pork, he was going to be pissed.

“Are the ribs okay?” Arthur called out over the thump of bags hitting the floor.

Mac gave a non-committal grunt and unzipped the bag. He reached inside for one of the packages, relieved to find that while no longer frozen, it was still cold. “They’re fine.”

“Told you,” Theo said smugly, making Arthur laugh and Mac glower. “Now, aren’t you glad we stopped for dinner?”

“No,” Mac said, and began to unpack the meat.

Arthur shoved the three huge duffle bags on the floor further into the room and shut the door behind him. “Give it up, T. You know what he’s like when his schedule gets disrupted.”

“Hey, I stuck to the schedule,” Theo protested.

Mac rolled his eyes and fought off a grin. Finding the meat still cold had gone a long way toward easing his irritation, but he wasn’t quite ready to let Theo off the hook. “How is a two hour stop over at Camp 18 ‘sticking to the schedule’?”

Theo strolled over to the kitchen island and sat on one of the bar stools. “Is anybody hungry?”

Mac just stared at him, incredulous, as Arthur burst out laughing. “How can you possibly be hungry after that meal?”

Theo turned his head to grin at Arthur, his thick blond beard parting to show a flash of teeth. “I’m not. Are you?”

Arthur shook his head, coming over to perch on the bar stool next to Theo. “I probably won’t be hungry until breakfast,” he replied, and Mac grunted in agreement.

“Okay, then,” Theo said, and held up a finger. “There’s no need to fix dinner tonight, so we can cross that off the schedule. And we can move sex up the list, so that means we’re actually ahead of schedule.”

Arthur was laughing again, his big body shaking. “How do you figure?”

“We had, what, an hour and a half in the car after the restaurant?” Theo went on, grin widening. “That’s digestion time, baby. If we ate now, we’d be too full to fuck for at least two hours. This way, one quick trip to the bathroom and we’re ready to go.”

“Since when are your trips to the bathroom quick?” Arthur wanted to know.

Theo shrugged. “Relatively speaking.”

Mac shook his head, trying to hold onto his scowl. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

Theo winked. “You’re lucky I’m cute.”

Mac gave up with a laugh. “Get the rest of the groceries over here, will you?”

“I got ‘em,” Arthur chimed in, shifting his bulk off the stool and ambling over to the door. He scooped up the half dozen canvas grocery bags in one big paw and carried them to the kitchen. Blue eyes twinkling, he set them on the floor in front of the fridge. “So, are we going to fuck, or what?”

“You’re asking me?”

Arthur shrugged, his broad shoulders shifting under his worn flannel shirt. “I know he’s up for it.”

Mac snorted. “He’s always up for it.”

“True,” Theo said cheerfully.

“Get the groceries put away first,” Mac said, growing more cheerful by the minute as anticipation replaced irritation. “Then, since I don’t have to make dinner, yes, we can fuck.”

“You heard the man, Arthur,” Theo said with a leer. “Unload the groceries.”

Arthur snapped to attention and gave a sharp salute. “Yes, Sir.”

“Ooh, I love it when he goes all Army on me,” Theo purred. “Did you bring your uniform? Maybe we can play don’t ask, don’t tell.”

“Pervert,” Mac accused.

Theo’s eyes, a darker, more intense blue than Arthur’s, danced with good humor. “Would we all be here, on this annual fuck fest in the woods, if I wasn’t?”

“He’s got a point,” Arthur said drily, moving behind Mac to open the door to the huge refrigerator. “Uh, Mac?”

Mac set the last package of ribs aside and began to fold the insulated bag. “Yeah?”

“Did you already put some groceries in here?”

Mac glanced over his shoulder. Arthur stood in front of the open fridge, his thick torso blocking Mac’s view of the interior. “No. Why?”

Arthur stepped aside. “Because someone did.”

Mac frowned. The fridge was huge, and the food that was there didn’t take up much space. But the fact that it was there at all made the hair on the back of hisneck stand up.

Theo came around the island to stand next to Mac. “Did Henry leave some supplies behind?”

Mac shook his head. “I talked to him this morning. He told the cleaning service to leave the heat on so we wouldn’t have to warm the place up, but he specifically said there weren’t any groceries beyond some pasta and jarred sauce in the pantry.”

“Which means, what?” Theo asked. “Someone else is here?”

Mac stepped back from the refrigerator and glanced around. Nothing seemed wrong or out of place, but it was hard to tell. Henry used the cabin himself several weeks out of the year, but the rest of the time he rented it out, so he deliberately kept it free of personal items.

Theo was beside him, eyes narrowed as he, too, examined the space. “Everything looks okay. And the door was locked.”

“Tire tracks,” Arthur said.

Mac turned to look at him. “What?”

“There were tire tracks in the snow on the driveway when we pulled up.” Arthur shut the fridge, his mouth set in a grim line. “They were pretty fresh, but I just figured they were from the cleaning crew.”

“The cleaning crew was here this morning,” Mac said slowly. “They’d just arrived when I talked to Henry.”

“It’s been snowing on and off all day,” Theo pointed out. “Their tracks would be covered by now.”

The three of them stared at each other for a beat before Arthur spoke. “I’ll check the garage.”

Mac turned to Theo as Arthur strode across the room. “If there’s someone here, who do we call?”

“What, like the sheriff or something?” Theo ran a hand over his hair, tugging at the pony tail he wore at his nape. “I don’t know. We should probably call Henry first. It’s his house.”

“Right.” Mac turned when Arthur slammed the door to the garage shut. “Well?”

“There’s a beat-up Honda in there with snow melting on the roof.” Arthur’s face was set in heavy lines. “Someone’s definitely here.”

Mac looked at his friends. “What do we do?”

“We go through the house and find whoever’s here.” Arthur walked past them into the living room. “You both have your phones on you?”

“I’ve got mine,” Mac said.

Theo patted his hip pocket. “Same.”

Arthur grabbed the fireplace poker. “Keep them handy in case we need to call for help.”

“Shit,” Theo scoffed. “If we can’t take whoever’s here, 911 isn’t going to be able to help.”

Arthur shot his husband a look, the fireplace poker held aloft. “Just keep your phone handy.”

By unspoken agreement, Theo and Mac let Arthur and the fireplace poker take the lead. He may have barely risen above the rank of private, first class, and his army days were long behind him, but it was still more experience than the two of them had put together.

“I love it when he gets like this,” Theo murmured to Mac as they followed Arthur down the hall. “All stern and commanding. It’s fucking hot.”

“Can you keep your mind out of the gutter at least until we figure out who’s in the house?” Mac grumbled.

“Fine, but as soon as we do, I’m jumping his ass. You can have the fireplace poker.”

Mac choked on a laugh.

Arthur checked both smaller bedrooms, found them empty, then stepped into the powder room. “Sink’s wet,” he announced. “And the hand towel is damp.”

“Well, at least we know our intruder washes his hands after he goes pee-pee,” Theo said.

“Why are you like this?” Mac wondered out loud.

“Good clean living?” Theo ventured.

“If the two of you wouldn’t mind shutting the fuck up so I can hear,” Arthur interrupted in a low whisper.

“Hear what?” Theo whispered back.

“That,” Mac murmured. He angled his head, straining to hear, as the noise came again. It was soft and muffled, and sounded like… “Is that a mattress creaking?”

“They’re in the big bedroom.” Arthur shifted his grip on the poker and crept down the hall, Theo and Mac close behind.

Arthur pressed his ear to the door. “I think they’re fucking.”

“Seriously?” Theo looked annoyed, then intrigued. “Let me hear.”

He nudged Arthur to the side and pressed his ear to the door. “Oh yeah, totally fucking. Sounds like someone’s getting close to the big finish, too.”

Mac could hear the muffled sounds coming from the other side of the door, soft moans and whimpers that made his gut tighten with envy. “I think it’s one person, jerking off. I only hear one voice.”

“Me too.” Arthur pressed harder against the door. “I think it’s a woman.”

“Shit.” Theo jerked back. “Now what?”

“What do you mean, now what?” Arthur glared at his partner. “She’s still trespassing.”

“Yeah, but…” Theo shrugged, clearly uncomfortable. “I can’t roust a girl while she’s rubbing one out. It feels…”

“Rude,” Mac put in.

“Yeah, that.” Theo nodded.

“So, what? You want to wait out here in the hall, listening at the door until she comes, and then roust her?”

“Good point,” Mac muttered.

“Look, no matter who it is, they’re not supposed to be here. And if we’re talking about manners, it’s pretty fucking rude to waltz into an empty cabin and jerk off in someone else’s bed.”

Theo snorted. “That’s funny.”

Arthur stared at him. “What’s funny?”

“It’s like Goldilocks and the three bears,” he explained in a whisper, “but like, for porn.”

“What?”

“We own Three Bears Brewery, so we’re the three bears,” Theo explained. “And she’s Goldilocks, coming into our cabin when we’re not home and trying out all the beds until she finds one that’s just right.”

He looked expectantly at Mac and Arthur, who just stared back at him. “What?”

“Anyway,” Arthur said pointedly. “She’s trespassing, and therefore she has no right to privacy. I say we go in there while we have the element of surprise on our side.”

“You mean now? right now?”

Arthur nodded. “Right now. I’ll go in first, and you two come in behind me. Once we’re in we spread out, at least three feet between us. The bed will be in front of us, the bathroom to the right. Theo, you make sure she can’t escape into there.”

“What the fuck am I supposed to do, tackle her?” Theo wondered.

Arthur ignored him. “Mac, you put yourself between the bed and the windows.”

Mac rubbed suddenly damp palms against his jeans. “Okay. Are we just going to bust in?”

Arthur shook his head. “We’ll move quietly. Don’t say anything until I do. Got it?”

Mac nodded. “Got it.”

“This is a mistake,” Theo warned.

“Are you with us or not?” Arthur said, exasperated.

“Oh, I’m with you. I just want it on record that I thought it was a mistake when it all goes to hell.”

Mac thought Theo was probably right, but he couldn’t think of any good alternatives.

“All right.” Arthur lifted the fireplace poker over his shoulder like a baseball bat. “Here goes. Remember, quick and quiet.”

Arthur turned to face the door, his hand on the knob. Mac glanced at Theo, stifling another laugh when the other man mouthed “so hot” behind Arthur’s back. Arthur lifted a hand and held up one, two, then three fingers, then smoothly opened the door and stepped inside, Mac and Theo right behind him.

For a moment, Mac wasn’t sure what he was seeing. The room was like he remembered it; king sized four poster bed, wall of windows showcasing the dark woods outside. But there were lights set up at the bottom of the bed, as well as what looked like a phone on a tripod aimed at the king-sized bed’s only occupant.

Goldilocks, Theo had called her, sight unseen. He wasn’t far off.

Her hair was indeed blonde, a pale gold that stood out starkly against the gray of the sheets. Her eyes were closed, thick lashes making shadows on delicate cheekbones flushed with color. Her mouth was lush and pink, shining slick in the bright lights. As he watched, dumbfounded, her teeth sunk into the plump lower lip on a whimpering moan that went straight to his dick.

She was naked in the middle of the big bed, her petite frame dwarfed by it. Everything about her seemed small; small breasts, forming tempting little mounds. Small nipples, hard and pink, and a tiny waist he could probably span with two hands.

Her feet were planted on the bed, narrow and delicate, her toes tipped with dark purple color. Her legs werelong despite her petite size, muscles rippling under soft, pale skin as she used them to pump her hips high.

Her hands were as small as the rest of her, the fingernails painted the same glittery purple as her toes, and they were busy between those taut thighs. One hand gripped the base of a dildo, dark pink and gleaming wet, while the other was working the little nub of flesh at the top of her bare mound almost feverishly.

He dimly thought that Theo had been right, she was nearing the big finish. She was pumping the dildo in and out of her cunt in short, hard strokes, her fingertips a blur over her clit, and the soft moans and whimpers they’d first heard out in the hall were getting louder. She was working herself to what looked like a huge orgasm, and she was doing it in front of a camera.

Before he could even begin to process it all, he heard Theo mutter, “Holy fucking shit”. And so did she.

Her eyes popped open, narrowed as she tried to see past the lights. Then they went wide, she let out a blood curdling scream, and fell off the bed.

Then all hell broke loose.

Goldie & The Bears is a fairy tale retelling with Lia, a sex worker heroine and Mac, the bisexual hero, plus the hero’s two bi/pansexual friends who are also his business partners and occasional fuck buddies. While the HEA is between Lia and Mac, everybody bangs everyone else in this story, mostly on the page and mostly on camera for Lia’s porn site. There is discussion of the heroine’s reasons for choosing to do sex work, which include financial need, and discussion of the possible social and economic ramifications of being a sex worker. There is some mild kink that includes edging, rope play, and playful domination & submission.