Chapter 1

James Kinney tapped his fingers on the edge of his laptop, the screen glowing in the dim light of his Chicago apartment. Steam rose from his mug of black coffee, carrying the bitter scent that always sharpened his focus before a big trip. He’d booked the flight to Cardiff on a whim after their last late-night chat, heart pounding at the thought of seeing Carly again—those blond curls, her laugh that lit up his feed. Romance? Maybe. He needed this spark.

Across the Atlantic, Carly DunLeavey lounged on her worn sofa in her Llanelli flat, cigarette dangling from her lips, the smoke curling toward the rain-streaked window. Her phone buzzed with James’s message: ‘Landed in two days. Pick you up at the station? Fancy a proper Welsh welcome?’ She grinned, exhaling a plume that fogged the glass, imagining his charismatic smile in person. Fun-loving as she was, the idea of rekindling something tickled her—shared secrets made it easy, like calling him her panty twin. She typed back quick, fingers flying: ‘Station it is! Can’t wait to show you the real Wales. Pack light, it’s wild here.’

James chuckled, leaning back, the chair creaking under him. Moody thoughts flickered—would she see him as more than a friend now? He pictured hikes through misty valleys, pub nights with her expressive stories. His secret thong hugged him snug, a private thrill amid the packing chaos. ‘Wild sounds perfect,’ he replied, hitting send with a mix of nerves and charm.

Carly stubbed out her cig in the ashtray, curls bouncing as she stood to grab another. Lee’s old texts popped into mind unbidden—rough, demanding—but she shoved them down. This was about James, sweet and friendly James. She lit up again, plotting their first meet: a cozy café, easy talk, maybe a spark.

James’s phone lit up with Carly’s reply almost instantly: a string of emojis—heart eyes, a sheep, a pint glass—followed by ‘Wild it is! See you Thursday noon. xx’. He felt a warm rush, setting the device down to fold his last shirt, the fabric soft against his skin. Outside, Chicago wind howled, but Wales called like a promise. Charismatic as ever, he’d charm her over fish and chips, let the chemistry simmer.

In her flat, Carly paced the cluttered kitchen, phone clutched tight, the linoleum cool under bare feet. Rain pattered harder now, matching her moody flickers—excitement tangled with a nagging pull toward old habits. She texted Lee on impulse, fingers hesitating over the screen: ‘American mate flying in Thursday. Keeping it low-key?’ His response buzzed back fast: ‘Low-key? Nah, I’ll make it proper Welsh. Tell him the station.’ Rough ruddy face flashing in her mind, she bit her lip, fun-loving side intrigued despite herself.

James zipped his bag, glancing at the mirror—short brown hair tousled just right, attractive grin practicing. Boyfriend material, yeah. The thong’s lace edge teased as he moved, his secret fuel for confidence. He imagined her expressive eyes lighting up, their online banter turning real. One more coffee, then bed; tomorrow’s packing frenzy awaited.

Lee crushed his cig outside the pub, muscles tensing under his jacket, dominating smirk curling. Carly’s text was gold—time to crash this Yank’s fantasy. He’d round up the lads, turn ‘welcome’ into legend. Strong hands flexed; this panty boi wouldn’t know what hit him.

Thursday arrived with a drizzle that slicked Cardiff’s pavements, turning the station into a blur of umbrellas and hurried voices. James stepped off the curb at the airport, bag slung over his shoulder, heart thumping as he scanned the crowd. There she was—Carly, blond curls damp and wild, waving from the barrier with that expressive grin, cigarette dangling from her lips like an afterthought.

She crushed it underfoot and launched into a hug, her fun-loving energy wrapping around him like a warm scarf. ‘James, you made it!’ Her voice was all mood and melody, pulling him close. Their lips met soft at first, then deeper, time stretching as tongues danced, rekindling sparks from months of pixels and promises. Hope bloomed in his chest, charismatic charm fueling the kiss that left them both breathless.

Hand in hand, they drove toward the coffee shop near her place, laughing about his flight woes, her latest art project. The bell tinkled as they pushed inside, ordering lattes amid the steam and chatter. Carly’s eyes sparkled, tracing his face. ‘Feels right, doesn’t it?’

Then the door banged open, letting in a gust and a pack of rough lads led by Lee—ruddy-cheeked, broad as a barn door, dominating the space with his crew of seven, all tattoos and smirks. They zeroed in like wolves, chairs scraping as they surrounded the table. ‘Carly’s Yank, eh?’ Lee growled, voice thick with accent, eyes raking James.

James froze, friendly smile faltering under the sudden weight. Carly’s hand tightened on his, her mood shifting to shock. The group’s laughs rumbled low, hands flexing, closing the circle tight.

Lee’s smirk widened, his ruddy face inches from James’s. The air thickened with the scent of wet leather jackets and cheap aftershave, drowning out the coffee machine’s hiss. One mate, burly with a shaved head, grabbed James’s arm, yanking him up so fast his chair toppled. ‘Look at this pretty boy Carly dragged in,’ the guy jeered, voice gravelly.

Carly’s expressive face paled, curls bouncing as she shot to her feet. ‘Lee, what the fuck? Leave him alone!’ Her fun-loving spark twisted into moody fury, cigarette craving itching her fingers, but the circle of bodies pinned her back against the counter.

James’s charming facade cracked, a moody flush creeping up his neck. Heart pounding, he tried to twist free, bag slipping to the floor. ‘Hey, easy—’ But Lee’s iron grip clamped his shoulder, spinning him toward the group. Rough hands tore at his jacket, buttons pinging off tiles, shirt ripped open to expose his chest. Laughter erupted, crude and booming, as they shoved his jeans down in a tangle around his ankles.

There they were—his secret on full display: tiny girly thong panties, hot pink lace hugging his hips like a blush. The shop gasped, patrons averting eyes or whispering. ‘Bloody hell, the Yank’s a panty boy!’ another lad howled, phone flashing photos. James’s cheeks burned crimson, charismatic poise shattered into humiliated shock. He yanked at the denim, but knees buckled under the pressure.

They forced him down, pavement-cold through thin fabric, eight pairs of jeans unzipping in unison. Lee’s voice dripped dominance. ‘Welcome to Wales, mate. Open wide.’ Carly watched, wide-eyed, her upset churning toward uneasy giggles as the first cock nudged James’s lips, salty and insistent.

James’s lips parted in a gasp of protest, but the thick head pushed past, filling his mouth with musky heat. He gagged instinctively, eyes watering as Lee’s mate gripped his short brown hair, thrusting shallowly. The coffee shop’s chatter died to shocked murmurs, steam from forgotten lattes curling like smoke signals.

Carly’s hands flew to her mouth, blond curls framing her conflicted stare. Her initial horror cracked—James on his knees in those ridiculous thongs, blushing furiously, cheeks hollowing around the intrusion. A snort escaped her, bubbling into giggles she couldn’t stifle. ‘Oh god, James ... your panties,’ she whispered, half-apologetic, half-delighted, her fun-loving side peeking through the moodiness.

Lee chuckled low, unzipping fully now, his rough hand stroking himself lazily. ‘Told ya he’d fit right in, Carly. American panty-boi’s a natural.’ The circle tightened, another cock slapping James’s cheek—wet, insistent—while the first pumped faster, grunts echoing off the walls. James’s hands clawed the floor, nails scraping grit, humiliation searing hotter than the Welsh chill seeping through the door.

One by one, they took turns, forcing his head from shaft to shaft. Saliva dripped down his chin, mixing with the first hot spurt that hit his throat. He swallowed reflexively, choking on the bitter flood, body trembling in the lace confines. The lads’ jeers blended into a chant: ‘Suck it, Yank! Welsh welcome!’ Carly leaned against the counter, laughter spilling freer now, her expressive eyes sparkling with wicked amusement as load after load painted his tongue.

James’s charismatic spark dimmed under the onslaught, reduced to a blushing vessel, thong riding up as he shifted on aching knees. The shop door jingled—new eyes widening at the scene—but no one intervened, the dominance absolute.

The eighth man stepped forward, his ruddy face split in a grin, belt clinking as he freed himself. James’s jaw ached, lips swollen and slick, but resistance had ebbed into numb compliance—fear and the weight of their stares pinning him down. He parted his mouth wider, tasting salt and sweat, as the newcomer gripped his ears like handles.

Outside, rain pattered against the windowpanes, blurring the faces of passersby who slowed to gawk. Carly wiped tears of laughter from her eyes, her cigarette craving itching at her fingers, but she couldn’t look away. The sweet reunion from moments ago felt like a dream now, twisted into this raw spectacle. Her mood swung again, a flicker of protectiveness warring with the absurd thrill—James, her panty twin, reduced to this.

Lee crossed his arms, watching with dominating satisfaction, his own arousal evident. ‘See, lads? He’s earning his keep in Wales.’ The group roared approval, phones snapping pics that would no doubt spread like wildfire. James’s thong, pink and frilly against his skin, drew fresh catcalls, the fabric damp from exertion and spills.

Swallows came easier now, rhythmic, each gulp a surrender that deepened his blush to crimson. The man’s hips bucked, spilling into him with a guttural moan, and James coughed, cum dribbling down his chin onto the tiled floor. He wiped his mouth with a trembling hand, only for another to nudge him toward the next—wait, no, they were done? The circle loosened, zips rasping shut amid backslaps and laughter.

Carly stepped closer finally, her voice a mix of tease and tenderness. ‘You alright there, panty boi?’ But her eyes danced, the giggling feminist in her emerging, even as James knelt there, spent and exposed, the coffee shop’s aroma now laced with something far more primal.

James looked up at Carly, his face burning hotter than the Welsh chill seeping through the door. Strings of saliva and worse clung to his face, and he nodded shakily, throat raw. “Yeah ... just ... fuck,” he muttered, voice hoarse from the onslaught, avoiding the leering eyes around him. Carly agreed, “That was brutal!” Carly stifled a giggle.

Lee barked a laugh, clapping a heavy hand on James’s bare shoulder, fingers digging in just enough to remind him who ran this show. “Welcome to proper Wales hospitality, Yank. You’re a natural cock-slurper.” The rough crew chuckled, one wiping his phone screen with a smug grin, already uploading the evidence. The coffee shop owner hovered nervously behind the counter, muttering about calling the coppers, but Lee’s glare shut him up quick.

Carly crouched down, her curly blond hair falling forward as she brushed a thumb across James’s cheek, smearing the mess but offering a spark of her old warmth. Her fun-loving side bubbled up again, though moody flickers crossed her pretty features—part thrill, part unease at Lee’s dominance. She fished a napkin from her pocket, dabbing gently. “My panty twin, taking it like a champ. Didn’t know you had this in you.” Her expressive eyes twinkled, cigarette craving making her fidget, but the giggle escaped anyway, light and infectious.

James shifted on his knees, the thong riding up uncomfortably, every muscle screaming from the prolonged position. Charming facade cracked, he felt the charisma drain into humiliation, yet a twisted spark ignited—her attention, even mocking, felt like the hope he’d flown here for. The men dispersed slightly, zipping up and grabbing leftover pints, but Lee’s shadow loomed, promising this was just day one.

Outside, thunder grumbled, matching the churn in James’s gut as Carly helped him to his feet, her touch lingering on his waistband.

James stumbled as Carly pulled him toward the door, the cold pavement biting his bare knees through the thin thong. His short brown hair stuck to his forehead, sweat mixing with the sticky remnants on his skin. The coffee shop’s bell jingled mockingly behind them, Lee’s crew spilling out into the evening drizzle, their rough laughter echoing off the brick walls near Carly’s house.

Lee strode ahead, ruddy face split in a dominating grin, tossing keys to one of his mates. “Drive him back to Carly’s. Panty-boi needs his beauty sleep—big day tomorrow.” The group hooted, one burly guy shoving James playfully but hard enough to make him lurch into Carly’s side. She steadied him, her medium-length blond curls dampening under the rain, expressive face caught between a moody frown and that emerging giggle.

“This is insane, Lee,” Carly said, lighting a cigarette with shaky fingers, the flame flickering in the wet air. Smoke curled up as she exhaled, fun-loving spark igniting despite herself. “James is my friend, not your fucking toy.” But her voice lacked conviction, eyes darting to James’s flushed cheeks, the way his charismatic charm twisted into blushing submission.

James wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, attractive features marred by humiliation, yet he shot her a moody glance—part plea, part defiant spark. The secret thrill of her knowing his panty habit now felt weaponized, arc bending him from hopeful boyfriend toward something rawer. “Carly, I ... we can still...” Words failed as Lee’s van pulled up, engine rumbling hungrily.

She squeezed his arm, cigarette dangling from her lips. “Crash at mine tonight, panty twin. We’ll sort this.” But as they piled in, Lee’s hand clamped James’s thigh, promising no escape from the daily ritual ahead.

The van lurched forward through Cardiff’s narrow streets, rain smearing the windows into blurry streaks. James huddled in the back seat, thong riding up uncomfortably against his skin, the taste of salt and musk lingering like a bad dream. Lee’s grip tightened briefly on his thigh before releasing, a casual dominance that made James’s stomach twist with fresh embarrassment. Carly sat beside him, her cigarette smoke filling the cramped space, mixing with the scent of wet leather and cheap aftershave from the guys up front.

At her terraced house, the door creaked open to a cozy clutter—mismatched cushions, half-read books on the sofa, fairy lights strung haphazardly. Carly flicked on the kettle, her curls bouncing as she moved, expressive eyes avoiding James’s gaze. “Tea?” she offered, voice light but moody undertone creeping in, fun-loving facade cracking just a bit.

The next morning, James nodded, wrapping a throw blanket around his waist, charismatic charm dimmed to a moody slump on the bed in the spare room. He hoped her touch earlier meant tenderness, a spark to reignite them. The mattress dipped as she slid in beside him minutes later, cool fingers tracing gentle circles over his butt cheeks through the thin fabric. His heart raced—maybe this was it, her way of reclaiming him from Lee’s chaos.