by Ashe Barker
I turn my back to Ralf, so now I am facing Piers. His expression is calm, almost pleasant, though his eyes are dark as he allows his gaze to traverse my naked body. His erect cock tents the front of his fine silk tunic. Clearly, I was mistaken in considering him indifferent.
Piers meets my eyes again. “I wonder if we should bind her wrists, too.”
“Please, sir, I would prefer that you do not.” I am not sure why I resist. Perhaps there is a limit on how much vulnerability I am able to endure.
He holds my gaze, his dark brown eyes glinting in the candlelight. “It is not your decision though, is it? You made your choice earlier, when you agreed to marry us. Now, here in our bedchamber, you will simply trust us and obey. Is that not correct, Linnet?”
“Yes, sir,” I whisper, “of course.”
“Good. But I think we will manage without restraining you further on this occasion. Brother?”
Ralf says nothing, just lays the silk scarf across my eyes and ties it at the back of my head. I am in darkness.
Instinctively I reach out, to find Piers’ solid shoulder. He places his hand over mine. “Easy, little maid, we will take care of you.”
I concentrate on steadying my breathing as Ralf moves in close behind me. His arms are around me, his palms splayed on my stomach. He pulls me back against him then draws his hands up my body to cup my breasts.
I allow my head to rest on his shoulder, enjoying the sensual caress despite my nervousness. Piers gets to his feet and takes my face between his hands. He kisses me, plunging his tongue between my lips. The invasion is intimate, arousing. I lift my hands to loop them behind his neck, glad he opted not to tie my wrists after all.
Ralf nuzzles my neck, nibbling and biting. He lowers one hand to cup the wisps of womanly hair at the apex of my thighs. I widen my stance a little, eager for him to explore further. The heady, unfamiliar sensations of our previous encounter come rushing back, flooding my senses and sweeping any remaining trepidation away on a torrent of pure lust. I am in their hands. Quite literally.
“She is wet.” As if to demonstrate the truth of his discovery, Ralf smears the remnants of my juices across my lower abdomen.
Piers breaks the kiss to murmur in my ear, “Ah, such a wanton little bride. Your cunt drools for us already.”
“I… my lord, I…”
“Shhh, love. This is how it should be, between us.” He moves away and before I can protest, I am lifted and cradled in a pair of arms. It must be Ralf but already I am beginning to be unsure. My husband deposits me on the bed and the mattress dips as he stretches alongside me. His hand is again on my stomach, circling, pressing, working its way lower. As he reaches my curls again, I spread my thighs. He mutters something soft and approving, then slides his fingers between my legs.
The caress is both intimate and shocking but feels divine. I arch my back, offering more, pleading for more. He traces the outline of my quim, dipping the tip of one finger inside. He swirls it around in the entrance to my body to leave me gasping with need.
“Sir, please, please…”
“Please what, little maid? What is it you would like us to do?” It is Piers’ voice but from farther away. He is watching, I know it. Is he at the foot of the bed again, perusing my splayed thighs, enjoying the display as Ralf pleasures me with his playful touch? Or maybe he is seated somewhere in the room, patiently waiting his turn on my body. I dismiss that last notion. There is nothing remotely patient about either man.
“Answer me, Linnet. Tell us what it is you want.” Piers is closer now; the voice comes from somewhere behind my head. The mattress dips again and I know he is here. They are both here.
Ralf shifts. I think he is kneeling now, between my knees. There are hands on my inner thighs, pressing my legs further apart and up toward my chest. I am pinned in position, unable to lower my legs if I wanted to. The sensation is different now, hot and wet, a trail of open-mouthed kisses along my inner thigh. Surely he cannot, they would not—
“Ah,” I gasp as a mouth closes over my most intimate spot. It is Ralf. Maybe. I am not quite sure anymore. As suddenly as the sensation commenced, it has stopped. The mattress dips and shifts as both men move about. I am rolled onto my stomach, my knees arranged under me, bent to elevate my bottom.
Will they spank me again? The notion excites rather than unnerves me, though I am uncertain what transgression I might have committed.
Neither speaks and I am sure this is deliberate, another ploy to confuse me. It has worked but I do not care. I am focused only on my needy quim and the overwhelming desire that they touch me again. Soon.
I grunt as a hand grips my hair and yanks back my head. “Open your mouth.”
It is Ralf’s voice but I do not know if it is his hand in my hair. No matter, I obey the command.
The smooth head of a cock brushes my lips. It has a musky scent, and leaves a moist trail across my mouth. I poke out my tongue to lick it.
“Good girl.” The grip on my hair tightens. It is painful now, really hurting but it never occurs to me to protest. Instead, I strain to push my head forward to take the cock into my mouth.
“Wait. You shall have it when we are ready.” Ralf again, his tone clipped and stern. I pause in my efforts, contenting myself with lapping at the juices leaking from the wide, flared head which teases me, dangling just out of reach.
An arm circles my stomach and lifts my bottom up even higher. A hand, from the front, spreads my nether lips whilst another hand caresses me from behind. Fingers thrust into me, in and out, in and out, first two, then more, three perhaps, or even four. It is uncomfortable, stretching me until my entrance burns with the pressure but still I am bucking and writhing within his grip, their grip, wanting more.
The fingers, which have been holding the lips of my quim open, now slide back to circle my most sensitive spot. They press there, squeeze, rub. I am shaking from the rush of pure pleasure as the feeling builds and crests, just as it did the other time. On this occasion though | know what to expect. I will not be taken by surprise this time.
“Oh, sir, that feels so good. I want…”
“Wait!” The command is punctuated by a hard slap on my bottom and the hand in my hair twists savagely. “We will tell you when to take your release.”
“But I cannot help it. If you touch me there, I will—”
“You will control yourself, or bear the consequences.” It might be Ralf’s voice. I am no longer certain. What I am sure of, though, is that I must do as I am told, however difficult that may be.
I squeeze my inner muscles around the fingers once more thrusting inside my clenching channel, which elicits a low chuckle. I have no idea which of my men it is but I do it again. The sounds of my arousal are unmistakable as the fingers plunge in and out and I cringe with humiliation that they should hear such damning testimony of what a trollop I am. Despite my mortification, my arousal builds again and threatens to overwhelm me. I am beyond desperate, dreading the thrashing I know it will earn me but helpless to stem the flow of lust now gathering at my core.
It stops. Suddenly, without warning, the fingers are dragged from my channel, and the arm circling my waist and holding me immobile is gone. The fist tangled in my hair holds me in place and I remain still, waiting as the bed shifts again.
I let out a small cry as the lips of my quim are parted gently. Thumbs perhaps? I do not know. Something large, wide, and solid is at my entrance, pressing, demanding to be let in.
At the same time, the cock teasing my mouth surges forward. I open wide to accept, manage to suppress my gag reaction as it hits the back of my throat. I am breathing through my nose… just.
The pressure ramps up and my quim opens to admit the demanding intruder. Slowly, carefully, he inches forward until he reaches the flimsy obstruction blocking his way. He pauses, pulls back a little, then drives his cock deep, ripping the barrier as he does so. My cry of pain is lost, muffled by the cock filling my mouth. The rod fil
ling my quim is fully seated and only now does he pause to let me adjust.
Long seconds roll by. Hands caress the curves of my bottom, then either side of my spine. The strokes are soothing, calming, intended to reassure me as both my quim and my mouth are filled, stretched, impossibly full. I concentrate on just breathing, slow and even as the discomfort subsides, then shifts, transforms to become something else, something demanding, hot, insistent. I squeeze my inner muscles, shift my hips a little.
The cock filling my quim eases back a little, then more, until it has almost entirely withdrawn. It drives deep again, the stroke long and steady and matched by the withdrawal of the cock in my mouth. As my channel is stuffed, my mouth empties. The rod in my mouth pushes deep again, right into my throat, as the shaft in my quim withdraws. They are working in tandem, alternating their thrusts, one filling me as the other withdraws.
I reach out my hand, clawing the air for something, anything to hang on to. I locate a hard, naked male thigh and wrap my fingers around it as best I can. A firm grip on my wrist dislodges my hold, only to turn my hand palm up and interlace fingers with mine. He is stroking my hair from my face, offering reassurance as he fucks my mouth.
I settle, the sensations in my sensitive channel rekindling as the trauma of penetration recedes into memory. Now it is all about heat and intensity, the twist and tingle of pleasure as my body reshapes and my senses realign. I roll my hips, my inner muscles convulsing. I am helpless, carried along as wave after wave of delight scorch through me. I drag my hand free in order to grip the shaft of the cock between my lips and pump it hard. I am sucking, wrapping my tongue around the head, swallowing the juices as their salty flavour fills my mouth.
A low growl reaches me but I have no idea at all which man has uttered it. The cock in my mouth jerks hard and instinctively I tighten my grip and hollow out my cheeks still more. Seconds later, a ribbon of viscous fluid spurts into the back of my throat, momentarily choking me. I swallow, frantic to clear it and gasp for air as the second stream follows. It is less this time and I am ready. I work my throat to clear it and lap at the cock to catch any remaining drops.
I give it up with reluctance, moaning as the huge cock slides from between my aching jaws. My quim is still full and I realise that I had been permitted a brief respite to enable me to concentrate on what else was happening. That is over and the pounding resumes in earnest. They talked about fucking me and this is it. This is what it is like to be thoroughly and soundly fucked, so deep, so hard, I almost forget my own name. My body is convulsing again, harder now, tumbling helplessly toward my release.
“Come now, little one. Come for us, Linnet.”
It is Piers, I think, though I am not certain. Perhaps it is his breath whispering across the back of my neck. The words are all I need though, enough, more than sufficient to tip me over the edge. I am falling, spinning, weightless. It is like before but so much more so now. My body is shuddering as wave after wave pulses through me, starting at my inner core and rushing out to my fingers and toes. I am moaning, tears on my face dampening the blindfold as I thrust my hips back against the man whose cock is still driving deep into me, seeking yet more friction. He delivers one final, powerful thrust, then holds still. Heat fills me, wet, sticky hotness, as his seed spills into my throbbing channel. His shout is guttural, hoarse. He slumps forward, his chest against my back as I, too, collapse onto the bed.
A kiss on the nape of my neck, then he is gone, his cock sliding from me as he rolls away. I reach for the blindfold but a hand stays mine. The bed shifts again and I know I am alone on it. I roll to my side.
“You may remove the blindfold now.” That was Ralf’s voice, I am sure of it. I reach for the knot at the back of my head and tug it loose, then blink as dim candlelight fills my vision again. I push myself up on one elbow and peer around the room.
They are together, beside the window, both gloriously naked, their expressions decidedly smug. Ralf is first to speak. “I believe it is safe to say our little bride has been thoroughly deflowered.”
“Indeed,” Piers agrees. “Are you all right, little maid?”
“Yes, sir, thank you.” In truth, every muscle aches, inside and out. But even so, I am without doubt very much all right.
Chapter Eleven
“She is still sleeping. I suspect you may be losing your touch, brother.”
I shift and stir among the bedclothes, reaching for my blanket as a chill whispers across my body. I am naked and sore in some most unfamiliar places. I roll onto my back as the owner of the voice makes further observations.
“No, she continues to slumber. I believe she may even be snoring. Perhaps you would appreciate some assistance?”
The offer is met with a low growl. I squeal as my legs are eased apart and something warm and moist is applied to my quim.
“What…?” I open my eyes to see Piers’ handsome features just inches from my face. Ralf is not in my line of view but from the delightful sensations emanating from between my legs, his whereabouts are not in doubt.
He licks me again and I arch my spine, letting out a moan of appreciation as I do so.
“Ah, it would seem you have her attention at last. I had begun to think we may need to resort to sterner measures.” As Piers speaks, he eases my shoulders from the pillows and slides in behind me. I am now cradled between his legs as Ralf lies on the bed, his shoulders between my spread thighs. He continues to swirl his tongue around my entrance for several moments before adopting a change of strategy. He uses his thumbs to open me, then darts his tongue inside.
“Oh, sweet Lord,” I gasp.
“Quite so, little maid.” Piers reaches for my knees to draw them up toward my chest as well as easing them further apart. It is his intent to ensure I am fully exposed to whatever Ralf chooses to do.
As a way of greeting the day, I can find no cause for serious complaint with this treatment.
My release is swift and powerful, surging through me as I shiver and tremble in Piers’ arms. He murmurs encouragement to me, at the same time holding me immobile as Ralf completes his work. Afterwards, I lie limp and sated, Piers’ arms loosely wrapped around me as Ralf moves around the room searching out discarded clothing from last night.
“Do you not have servants to attend to such matters?” I enquire from the comfort of Piers’ embrace. “I am sure that Joan…”
Ralf casts a sensual smile my way. “Our servants have been instructed not to enter this chamber unless specifically instructed to do so. I suggest you ensure your maid understands this also. We desire privacy, for reasons which I believe are obvious and will have to shift for ourselves in some respects if we are to have it.”
“I see. Thank you.” I appreciate their consideration and have no problem in tidying up after myself. I am, after all, accustomed to such a role. “Would you like me to help?”
Piers kisses my neck. “No, little maid. We would like you to rest for a while and join us down in the great hall only when you are quite ready. Ralf and I have matters we must attend to, as will you in due course as you take up your duties as our countess but on the morning after her wedding, it is our view that a bride is entitled to a little extra time in her bed.”
“Oh, well, in that case, why did you not allow me to sleep on?”
Piers chuckles as he cups my breast in his palm and rolls the nipple between his fingers and thumb. “We are starting as we intend to continue, Linnet. Every morning from now on, you will be woken in similar fashion. On most days, one or both of us will fuck you, but we are ready to concede that perhaps on this occasion you would be too sore to truly appreciate such treatment.”
“I see. But I am not sore, not really.” I have no idea why I said that. My quim is decidedly tender and my jaw still aches from the exertions of last night. But despite my discomfort, I am oddly disappointed that they are not already plunging their cocks into me.
Piers laughs out loud at this, a rich, warm sound
I am unaccustomed to hearing from him. “Ah, so eager, such a wanton little strumpet. You will enjoy it all the more for waiting a while, my lady. Perhaps by noon you will be sufficiently recovered to spread your delectable thighs for us again.”
“Er… which one? I mean, which of you…?” I assume it will be whichever of them did not fuck me last night.
Piers eases his long frame from the bed, setting me gently back against the pillows. “Ah, little one, perhaps we will take turns. We both enjoy watching your performance almost as much as sharing the event with you.”
I redden but do not see fit to make further comment. Instead, I content myself with watching their display as each man retrieves his clothing and puts it on. I seem to experience no difficulty in knowing one from the other when they are facing me; something in their distinct expressions, their mannerisms sets them apart from each other. Yet as I admire their rear views I have to accept that in every aspect of their appearance they are pretty much identical. They share the same wide shoulders and sharply chiselled chests, though, of course Ralf’s body still bears the marks I left there. His wound has healed well though and whilst it will leave a scar, I am thankful to have created no lasting damage. I settle myself against my pillows to better appreciate the sight of two pairs of taut buttocks, narrow waists, and muscular thighs. Both men’s legs and arms are corded with solid strength, born, I suppose of hard work and punishing exercise both here at Egremont and elsewhere on the battlefields of England.
I know both have seen much action in the service of successive monarchs, though they appear to have thus far eluded the call to arms to defend the faraway city of Jerusalem. I resolve to ask if it is their intention to join that fray, though I sincerely hope it is not.
Too soon, they are clothed once more and on their way. The show has ended. Each drops a quick kiss onto my lips, then they leave via the shared solar. Any passing servant will observe only that they emerged from the solar together rather than from our bedchamber. In the coming months and years we will no doubt all of us become adept at obscuring the true nature of our relationship.