by Colette Gale
Jane closed her eyes, trying to ignore the incessant, arousing sensation, and to fight back the surge of lust that shot through her at the teasing. Then Dahla grasped her by the hips and pulled her closer, bending her head to cover Jane’s left nipple with full, wet lips.
Jane arched and jolted at the sudden, rough onslaught, but Dahla’s strong fingers dug painfully into her hips and held her in place as she sucked and sucked, the pull hard and long and never-ending—as if she meant to draw every bit of tit into the depths of her mouth. Acute pleasure entwined with pain shot down through Jane’s belly with each long tug, and she cried out, her moan filled with both desperation and need as she shuddered and trembled beneath the other woman’s hands.
Still the woman went on, licking and sucking, her mouth wide and hot, closing around Jane’s entire areola as she drew it in deep, sliding her tongue around and over the tight, sensitive tip. Jane bit her lip, squeezing her eyes closed as the pain-tinged pleasure rose and tightened within her, prickling and hot, arrowing down and down, over and over, faster and faster…until the sharp sting of pain lost out to bold lust and exploded into a long, undulating orgasm, rolling through her body with brutal force.
Jane sagged, half gasping and sobbing as Dahla released her, stepping back with a catlike, satisfied smile on her face. She looked down at Jane’s abused nipple—red and long and taut, glistening and fairly throbbing from the torment—and then she bent toward the other breast.
“No,” Jane moaned, twisting violently away, the ropes chafing her wrists, her feet digging into the mattress as she struggled to put distance between her and that greedy, demanding mouth.
But Dahla was determined, and this time when she closed her mouth around the neglected taut pink nipple, she flickered her tongue lightly over it, then faster and faster and faster until it drew up tighter and longer and became wet and red. Painful waves of sensation once again jolted fiercely through Jane’s body, trammeling down to her overused pip, where it pulsed and swelled violently. Her hips were undulating wildly as she tried to free herself from the restraints, to pull away from this incessant taking and tasting from her…but of course she couldn’t, and so Jane was reduced to little more than uncontrollable jolts and sharp waves of pleasure-pain, over and over and over.
She was sobbing, wet and damp and trembly everywhere, her quim full and hot, dripping with her juices, when Dahla at last pulled away with a loud, smacking suction. Her eyes burned with lust, and as Jane tried to steady her breathing, the other woman knelt in front of her.
Oh, God, no… Jane groaned in desperation, squeezing her eyes closed as Dahla dug her fingers into the soft skin of her thighs and pushed them wider apart. Her quim swelled even more, full and hot, and when the woman’s tongue flicked out to touch her tiny, turgid nib, Jane screamed.
The shock of an orgasm blasted over her like a lust-filled dagger, stabbing her even as the unwanted pleasure rushed through her body. She lost the strength in her arms and knees and sagged, held only in place by Dahla’s demanding fingers.
And then all at once, the woman was gone, torn roughly away from Jane. She dragged her eyes open to see Guri, his own eyes heavy with lust and his mouth tight with desire, in front of her. She didn’t even have the strength to pull back, out of his reach…but to her surprise, he didn’t grab for her.
Instead, he said something sharp and hard as he flung Dahla facedown on the bed in front of his goddess. Dahla gave a sort of laughing gasp and looked up at Jane, kneeling in front of her. Eyes bright and lips parted, she ran a tongue over her mouth as Guri tore away his loincloth to reveal a thrusting erection. Then he pushed Dahla onto her hands and knees in front of Jane…so that her mouth was directly level with Jane’s quim.
With rough movements, Guri knocked his mate’s legs apart and manhandled his cock into place, sliding it deep into Dahla’s pussy with a sudden thrust. She raised her face and grunted with pleasure, looking up at Jane as he shoved into her again. Still breathing heavily, sore and sensitive and yet unable to keep her body from responding to the sounds and images before her, Jane closed her eyes and curled her fingers into fists.
Almost over.
The bed jolted beneath Jane’s feet with every one of Guri’s thrusts, and she shifted and bounced, hardly able to keep her balance, swaying backward then forward as far as her bound arms would allow. As the rhythm became faster and harder, Jane was no longer able to keep her eyes closed.
She looked down as Dahla moaned and lifted her face. Jane could see the hot, intense lust in the other woman’s expression, and she wasn’t sure if it was because of her mate or the goddess she worshipped. Guri reared behind her, his own face taut with passion, and she could see just a hint of dark cock pumping in and out from behind Dahla’s arse.
Jane looked away, trying to block out the sighs of pleasure and the sounds of suction and slap of slick, wet flesh. Then fingers curled around her hips once more, and Jane felt Dahla bury her face in her quim.
She tensed and twisted, but couldn’t pull away. Dahla’s tongue flickered mercilessly at her dripping, swollen nether lips, sliding in and around the folds, thrusting deep into the tight depths. Jane squirmed and trembled, arching away as Dahla ate at her tender quim and sucked on her little pearl—all while Guri was fucking her from behind. Jane couldn’t believe her body had the strength to respond yet again, but it did: tightening, growing hot and trembly and tense with arousal once more.
Every time Guri thrust, Dahla’s face jolted harder into Jane’s warm pussy, and the rhythm began to build faster and faster. Her tongue moved just as quickly, just as rhythmically, lapping and thrusting in its own erotic dance, deep and strong against Jane’s hot, sensitive flesh. She strained at her ropes, her arms sore from being jolted with every movement, and the pumping became even faster and harder: bang, bang, bang…
Dahla was gasping and moaning against her nether lips, her fingers tight and strong at Jane’s hips, her face buried deep into hot, musky flesh, sliding in the juices and lapping it up as if she needed it to breathe.
Jane bit back a moan as her pleasure grew stronger, gathering up in that familiar way, spiraling into a blossom of sharp, spiked heat. Then all at once Guri slammed one last time, jamming Dahla powerfully into Jane as he cried out his release, and she exploded into a dark, raging orgasm that wrung her out like a damp rag.
But Dahla wasn’t finished, and she drew Jane’s pulsing little pearl deep into her mouth, sucking hard as if to coax out the last bit of pleasure. Jane cried out hoarsely, half sobbing at the sharp pain-pleasure…and then Dahla gave a moan of release as she fell, shuddering, against her thighs.
There was silence for a moment; the only sounds that of rasping, rough breathing. Jane swayed, half falling off the mattress, held in place only by her trembling arms and the balls of her feet on the edge. Her body was wet and dripping, burning and shuddering, and her pussy was so swollen and hot it felt twice as large as usual. The dull, heavy throb tolled through her torso and limbs like a low, rolling bell.
Her mouth was dry, her hair plastered to her body, her wrists chafed and her shoulders aching, and she prayed the night was over. That there would be no more couples.
But then Dahla pulled back onto her haunches and looked up at Jane, her eyes filled with that same heat.
“No,” Jane whispered. “No.” She tried in vain to free herself, to kick and buck the woman away, but her fingers were too strong, her grip too determined….
And when Dahla rose, climbing up her goddess’s hot, sticky body with her hands and lips and tongue, Jane fainted…succumbing to the welcome oblivion of unconsciousness.
— IV—
Zaren was dreaming.
He was hot, burning, as if he were engulfed in flames. Something seared down his side…fire…and he reached to brush it away, but it wouldn’t stop blazing into him.
His world was dark, shadowy, filled with strong, heavy scents and closeness…so close. He almost couldn’t breathe…
Jane.
He could see her long fire-hair, and he reached out…but the curls fluttered away, filtering through the tips of his fingers. Her sleek, creamy body, her lush pink lips…they danced just out of reach. He cried out for her, reached again…but his body was too heavy and awkward and he couldn’t catch her…he couldn’t touch her.
Jane. Come back.
He was hot and damp, and he struggled to throw off the murkiness, to shove away whatever it was that enveloped him, weighted him down…kept him from Jane…and suddenly there were hands on him. Cool. Firm. Comforting.
Something trickled between his dry, hot lips…cold and welcome.
The soft murmur of a voice. Voices.
Hands pressed gently at him, soothed and smoothed, massaged and stroked, and he felt himself losing the fight, easing back onto…something. Soft. Like a nest…
Or a bed.
Bed.
The unfamiliar word settled strong and stark in his foggy mind, and he suddenly had an image of something that was a…bed. High off the ground. With four tall poles at each corner. In a…place. A room. With walls not made from trees and…
He frowned in his memory, pain shooting through him at the temples as he tried to remember… The searing pain in his side and leg returned. Heat. Agony.
Zaren shifted restlessly, reaching out for something. He saw the bed again, and Jane lay on it. Her glorious hair was strewn around her, spread over white mounds of…clouds? Soft and rumpled and inviting. She smiled and beckoned and he reached for her…
But the dark, slushy pain seized him again and his mind melted into shadows and heat. He rolled and slept and moaned, fighting to get back to her.
And then Jane was gone, and another woman, dark-haired and heart-faced, was there…beautiful and soft, smiling at him…
Mother.
The thought was dragged from somewhere deep inside him, and Zaren stilled his mind even as his physical body burned and fussed and fought.
Mother. He clung to the word, the image, and the woman bent forward as if summoned. Something glinted at her throat, something round and shiny, and he could see it…he recognized it… He reached out, his hand lifting…and then it fell heavily onto his belly when nothing was there but air.
The soothing hands were on him again, the cool touch, the trickle of icy water, the scents and taste of freshness and bitter. Something poured down his throat, smooth and cold.
Zaren drank greedily, reaching for the wrist of the hand holding whatever vessel had been brought to his mouth, keeping it in place as he gulped his fill. He saw shadows, heard voices through the dimness, and his mind was foggy and soft.
But… Jane.
Where is Jane?
He could see only shadows, and the faint glow of orange-yellow flames in the corner of a dim place with dancing, shifting walls. The burning in his side had eased, but he was restless and the hands…many hands…soothed him. Brushed him. Massaged, stroked, rubbed… He sighed, stretched. His abused body melted beneath the touch.
They were everywhere. Hands. Small. Delicate. Busy.
He arched and tried to move away when they settled there…at his thing…the thing that shifted between his legs and now began to grow stiff and long and thick.
Jane.
He reached for her, called out for her. Someone pushed him back down when he would have risen, and those hands…they were everywhere. He thought he heard murmurs, voices, and from a distance perhaps a soft giggle followed by a low sigh that ruffled against his skin and made him feel hot again…but in a way that was very far from pain.
And those hands…they brushed over his stiffening length and Zaren tried to bat them away, but they were determined—and more hands massaged and stroked his face, his shoulders, his arms, his legs. But then fingers, suddenly closing around him tight and firm, caught him by surprise.
A shock of pleasure rushed over him, and Zaren’s eyes bolted open, his heart racing. The place was murky and dark, the glow of fire in the corner revealed the shape of a woman…no, two women…next to him. Both dark-haired, with small, insistent hands that were touching him everywhere. They lifted his sac and fondled it, brushed over the sensitive hair growing on his thighs, his bush.
Where is Jane?
He tried to speak, tried to lift himself up, but he was too weak…and that one pair of hands was still tight and warm around him, enclosing the part of him that swelled and filled. When they moved again, sliding up and down along his lengthening rod, he gasped and felt a hard, powerful throb of response against those tight fingers. A sizzle of heat rushed through him, and he fell back with a moan. Stroke…stroke…slide…
Jane.
He wanted Jane, not this woman…these women…there were three of them now, somehow. The one had hold of his rod, sliding up and down his length with long, slow movements. Something glistened and dripped from the tip, and Zaren felt his arousal growing. She brushed a thumb over the slick, sticky droplet and smoothed it over the engorged head of his cock as her hands continued to move faster and faster. He couldn’t hold back a moan, and felt his body growing damp with sweat, weak with need.
The other two women were on either side of his torso, their hands massaging his shoulders and face, their bodies brushing against him with warm lips, tickling nails, and soft skin. Heat and pleasure filled him, beating back the nagging pain at his side, and he lay there, weak and yet thrumming with pleasure, unable to push away his attendants. Soft, moist mouths settled on his jaw, his shoulders, his arms…even over the nipples of his muscular male teats, and made him shiver and tremble.
One of them took his hand and pressed it to her…smoothing it over the hard tip of her own teat, and Zaren yanked away with what little strength he had.
I want Jane.
But the women were insistent and he was too weak and confused—was this a dream?—and when the stroking on his rod became faster and tighter, he could no longer fight the hot, surging pleasure. It rolled through him like a massive wave, and his breathing rasped and became more labored. He rolled his head from side to side, reached out into the air, trying to break free of whatever murkiness claimed him.
It should be Jane who touched him like this, Jane whose hands stroked and teased…but his body cared about nothing but the rhythm, the sliding up and down, faster and faster…faster…
All at once a storm washed over him. He reared up a little, grunting as seed spurted from his pulsing rod and a white blaze of pleasure burst from him.
Zaren collapsed back onto his pallet, dimly aware of soft, excited voices and murmurs…of the hands that still stroked and massaged and scratched him. His body thrummed and vibrated, sated and yet strangely empty and dull.
“Jane,” he managed to say. At least, he thought he whispered her name. But no one seemed to notice.
Instead, the hands remained there, adjusting him, rubbing his skin, brushing back his long, coiled hair from where it clung to his face, massaging his fingers and smoothing over his chest as if he’d accomplished some great thing. He wavered, somewhere between sleep and consciousness, the dull aching burn at his side a reminder of…something.
Then his eyes bolted back open, and his body became sharply aware…for they were rubbing his relaxed cock again, this time with something greasy and slick. It smelled pleasant, and felt even more pleasant on his sensitive skin…
Zaren realized he was growing hard again. A gentle prickling sensation from the cream seemed to awaken his rod, to make it lift and twitch—so soon? He shifted, moving his hips to shift away, but strong, practical hands pushed him back down onto his bed even while others massaged and stroked his cock back to life.
His chest rose and fell rapidly as lust built, his blood surging back to fill his rod…this time more urgently, with a dull, throbbing heat.
And when he was hard again, jutting up, filling the slick hands that curled around him, he closed his eyes and waited for the long, smooth, steady strokes to bring him to the peak again.
But some
thing changed—the woman shifted, her hands moving away. He relaxed, more than ready to slide back into repose despite the throb between his legs, for he wanted no one to touch him besides Jane.
When the woman’s mouth closed over him, Zaren surged, pushing weakly at the invading sensation with a low growl. But his head thudded painfully, and the searing injury in his side screamed with shock. Hands forced him back down as that hot mouth slid down over him, deep into her throat.
He groaned, deep and low like an angry cat, and blood and seed bolted through him to that hard place. He couldn’t ignore it, couldn’t beat back the hot pleasure from long, warm, sleek movements over him. Up and down, up and down…his world became centered there, heavy and hard and engorged. He felt himself fill and swell, and her mouth become tighter around him, hotter and damper, and he heard the soft moans and sighs surrounding him as she rose and fell.
Faster and faster…Zaren’s eyes rolled back in his head and he gasped and moaned, suddenly moving his hips to drive deeper and deeper, hard and frenzied and so hot and full…
He cried out like an animal in death, felt himself explode into the warm mouth around him, then fell back, trembling and shuddering and spent.
And then she was there: warm, soft, familiar.
Jane.
— V—
When Jane became aware of her surroundings once more, she found she’d been released from her bonds and was curled up on the altar-bed.
She was blessedly alone and could only guess how long she’d been so. A bit of light filtered through the crack around the door, and the small fires in the braziers had sunk into nothing more than coals. Was it morning, then?
Her body ached—her arms, her legs, her shoulders, and especially her breasts and abused nipples. The little pip hooded inside her quim felt full and swollen, pressed between her legs as she slept. As she drew herself up onto her hands, hair tumbling over her face and shoulders, Jane heard a tortured cry—something like an animal in pain.