Vaelith fists Ciaran’s cock.
“Did my queen spread her legs for this?”
Ciaran gives a brittle laugh. “She begged me not to. Begged that her little hole was too small but squirted like a seasoned whore when I forced her on it. When I pulled her down on every inch and ripped her pretty cunt wide.”
The backing of his chair unravels and becomes a recliner that Vaelith drops back on with Aamon across his chest. Ciaran stays upright, rocking.
But it’s Malakar who steps forward. I watch, whining in my throat as he bends his knees, cock firmly in hand and sinks it in Vaelith.
My husband groans. His hips lift to take more. His knees widen to get Malakar closer.
“I used your whore like a fucking glory hole,” Malakar growls, fucking him hard. Harder. “Bent her over and picked one of her filthy slits still stuffed and warm from all the men she went through before me.”
The words ... the filthy, dehumanizing taunts as they fuck my king. As he pants and looks into my eyes with such fucking pleasure.
He would never let other men have me, but the thought of me used has him feral and I love it.
Love the vine he stuffs into Malakar’s back channel. Then two. He gets four in before the man roars and rails his hips.
More vines.
More.
Filling Aamon.
Coiling around Ciaran’s purple cock.
All four buck and thrash and make the most beautiful sounds. I never want them to stop.
At one point, the boys lose their substance. Their solid matter wavers and they resort to their ghostly apparition. Flickering between visible and none. The transition almost makes me think Vaelith is having a ghost orgy, which almost makes me laugh, but also I want to try it. Want them to sneak up on me in my sleep and take me when I can’t see them. Thoughts for later when they become solid again.
But Ciaran sprays into the tentacles milking him.
Aamon whimpers, “Father!” and cums with a shudder.
Done, Ciaran climbs off and drags Aamon with him.
Then it’s just Malakar and my demon. They seem angry the way they move against each other. But I don’t get a chance to think about it when Ciaran appears before me. The cork is torn free and replaced with his fist.
“Look at your whore, Father,” Malakar mocks over my shredded scream. “Look how fucking wide we’ve stretched her hole and her taking it like she’s meant to.”
Ciaran pumps harder, faster. Pulls out, grabs my hips and fucks me.
“Washed,” Aamon says, coming up next to Ciaran.
Without a word, Ciaran pulls out. But rather than stop, he directs the other man into his place. He wraps a fist around Aamon’s dick and gives it a few strokes.
I think he’s going to guide Aamon to take me again, and he does ... with his fist still curled around him.
Both are pushed in. Cock and fist, and Vaelith snarls. Not anger but pleasure as the bit is torn out of my mouth and my mindless wail rips through the room. My entire body heaves against the binds as the blinding pain sears my opening and invades my channel.
With the tree still firmly in my ass, there already isn’t room, but Ciaran forces me to make space for all five fingers and Aamon’s fully erect cock.
He kisses me, swallowing my plea for no more as he simultaneously pushes Aamon closer. Deeper.
“It’s too much,” I whine, finally able to speak. “Ciaran, please...”
“But look how well you’re taking us,” Ciaran croons, flexing his fingers. Rubbing.
