“Want him to fuck you, babe?” Jack, having finally decided to join in was in front of me and closing in. His hands went to my breasts briefly before joining Jack’s at my pussy. Unlike before, he wasn’t wasting any time teasing me, and was quick to push one finger inside of me. With Sam unrelentingly pushing and circling and pinching my clit and Jack unerringly hitting my sweet spot with each thrust of his now two fingers, I came surprisingly quickly. It wasn’t the shouting orgasm I’d had with Jack when he’d eaten me out, but rather a breathless, straining orgasm as all my muscles contracted and released when I hit my peak.
“Fuck, it’s so good,” I couldn’t help but moan out. I couldn’t say any more as I was hoisted up by Sam and kissed stupid by Jack. I didn’t know what they were doing, but Jack was happy to multi-task as he wrapped my legs around his waist, and kissed me all while, nipping at my lips and licking inside my mouth every time gasped.
Soon I felt the head of a cock at my entrance, and then I realised that Jack was holding me up and open so that Sam could push himself inside of me. I bit down on Jack’s lip as Sam began pushing inside of me. I moaned out loud as he began thrusting lightly, each pump bringing him closer to bottoming out. I could feel Jack gently thrusting his hard cock against my clit, and both men kept getting closer to me, squeezing me between them.
Sam let out a groan that vibrated through my body when he did finally bottom out. I let out the breath I had been holding and reflexively squeezed my inner muscles around the hot hard cock that had invaded it.
“Laura, hnng!” he breathed out and bit down on my neck.
“She feel good, Sam?” Jack asked as he wrapped his arms around the both of us. Jack had decided he’d nuzzle and mouth against my other shoulder, even things up I suppose. I couldn’t do more than whimper and wriggle in their holds, wanting someone to just move.
“So tight,” Sam groaned as he finally, finally, began thrusting with earnest, each thrust hard and rougher then the last. He wasn’t even using me to leverage himself further into me, but rather gripped onto Jack’s shoulders as if he was fucking the both of us – and wasn’t that another fantasy I was just dying to explore.
I scratched my nails down Jack’s chest – he groaned and glared at me without any real menace – before reaching down and wrapping my hands around his dick and holding him against my mound. He smirked as he got the idea and soon both men were thrusting against me, one inside my pussy and the other inside the space I’d made with my hands.
I came pretty quickly after that, just as breathlessly as before, and Sam followed me soon after. Jack was quick to pull me off of his friend’s cock and replace it with his own, and I cried out at the unexpected sensitivity of it. He kissed me until I was breathless, and Sam wrapped his arms around me so I wouldn’t feel the cold water swirling around us.
“Laura!” Jack cried out loudly when he finally came and I whimpered at the hot feeling inside of me and went limp in their arms, happy to just float in this sea of pleasure around me.
***
We didn’t stay much longer at the lake. It was really cold. We all agreed that my cottage was closer and warmer and stocked with good food to eat, so we quickly made our way over there, wet clothes and all. Sam and Jack were always touching me, even if it was just a brush against my ass, or being as outright as to hold my hand. I just had to giggle at the ridiculousness of it all. They weren’t too shy about touching each other either, but they were much more interested in making involuntary noises escape my lips when they touched me. Sometimes it was a whimper and other times it was a giggle because they found out I was ticklish and they were relentless little shits.
The hike back to my cottage didn’t seem as bad now, and we were there quicker than I thought we would. Once inside, it was clothes off once again because we were all soaking wet, and Jack went straight for the fireplace and Sam straight for the kitchen. I went straight for the bathroom to get towels for everyone and somehow we all met in the middle.
Sam had slapped together some sandwiches and Jack had started a fire going now that the sun was starting to set. I handed each of them a towel and soon we fell against the couch, quite content to be cuddled up against one another. I was sandwiched in between them, which I didn’t mind at all.
But I couldn’t leave the silence as it was.
“So you two know each other?” I asked the question from the lake again. Sam chuckled.
“Yeah. We’re brothers...well, half-brothers. Different fathers. Been waiting for weeks for this dog to get back in town,” Sam said fondly and reached a hand across to Jack to ruffle his hair good-naturedly. Jack scoffed and swatted his hand away.
“I was going to surprise you and wait at the junk yard for you to pick up your part, but you didn’t show up,” he pouted, but smiled as he looked down at me, “though I can’t say I blame you for leaving me hanging.”
“I couldn’t have left you hanging if I didn’t know you were waiting for me,” Sam protested. It sounded like an argument the two had had before.
“So when did you realise you were both screwing me in one way or another?” I asked, interrupting whatever little scuffle might start.
“Hey, I only screwed you today, Jack here jumped the gun,” Sam was quick to say, not really answering my question.
“I didn’t hear her complaining about me jumping the gun,” Jack retorted easily, a challenge in his voice.
I sighed and rolled my eyes. Men. Brothers. They both stopped abruptly when my hands ran down each of their thighs. They both looked down at me, suddenly very interested in what I had planned. I only smirked up at the both of them before forcing my legs apart and dragging my hands back to my own pussy, slowly teasing myself.
“You raise a valid point,” Sam murmured, and soon both men had a leg hooked around their elbows and two fingers each inside of me, and for my part I could only cry out, my hands gripping painfully tight at their necks as they stretched me opened and teased at my clit with their thumbs.
“How long did you say you were gonna be here for?” Jack asked, his voice a little muffled as he sucked a mark into my neck.
“Hnng,” was my answer as Sam wrapped his lips around my nipple and bit down.
“Mmm, that’s okay. I’ll ask later,” he hummed into my skin, and I cried out when he pushed down on my clit the same time Sam curled his fingers and hit my sweet spot head on.
Three weeks. Well, two and a half. Two and a half weeks of this.
I wondered if they were available on work weekends too?
Secrets of Salem:
Sins of the Witch
By Brittanee Farrow
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Sins of the Flesh
“Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live,” the Reverend intoned. “The Bible commands we root out this evil, and act with absolute force to eliminate the servants of Satan. Witness the harm worked on the youth of our community. Biting and pinching by invisible agents, thrashing about in fits, rending their clothes—we are under attack for the very fate of our souls.”
The heat of panic reverberates among the congregation—women become pale, men look angry and impassioned.
Reverend Parris continues shaming the congregation. “We are born into sin, working at every moment to overcome our base nature. It is our sacred duty to root out the devil where we find him, even amongst our families and ourselves.”
Even while he rants about the fate of our souls, I find my attention divided. By now most women my age are married, keeping house and bearing children, but my family’s past hinders any such contract. My father divorced my mother, citing adultery. In truth, he wanted to be with another woman, but my mother was still found guilty, and so my father was free to marry a new wife while my mother was whipped.
He left me behind, arguing there was no way to know if I was truly his daughter, so I have little to offer a husband. Coupled with my
living situation, I am unequivocally undesirable. In all honesty, I do not so much yearn for marriage. It ruined my mother, for no reason other than a man’s boredom. It might be a change to the monotony, but I am more curious about the physical aspects of marriage.
Marriage holds little value for me, but men…men are another story. I can feel myself grow hot beneath the layers I wear, achy at the sight of him: Zachary Grove. From here I can see the broad outline of his strong shoulders, and I picture them without clothes. In town, I have seen how strong and muscled his forearms are and how large his hands are. His golden hair falls in a soft wave, and I long to run my fingers through it, knotting the tendrils around my fingers as I pull his lips to mine.
It makes me want to jump out of my skin—the desire to be subdued by him occupying every spare moment. But I am invisible to him. So I watch from a distance, burning with the need to be filled.
After church, I walk with my mother and our maid, looking upon the others as they pass. The women bow their heads, feigning submission and piety, but they are only bored. Men pass with puffed out chests, standing tall and straight. Since posture is taxing, it can be seen as work, for men at least. Women who stick out their chests are vulgar.
My observations are interrupted by a young man who gallops into the town, his clothes stained and generally disheveled from his vigorous ride. As he dismounts, his eyes survey the periphery, briefly finding mine before they continue on. I’m instantly captivated, wondering who he is, where he comes from, and why he’s in Salem, but my mother takes an arm and pulls me along, gently.
Back at our home, we sit down to a simple meal of salt pork and bread. One of mother’s clients stops by, and brings news of the arrival along with some torn clothes.
“His name is Aaron Pryor. Both his mother and father have passed on, so he comes to find fellowship in Salem. He is a fisherman.”
I picture his dark hair and agile frame drawing in fish. He dismounted from his horse more gracefully than I’ve ever seen, and though he is slim, there is power in his stride. My mind wavers between Aaron and Zachary, until I’m drawn into the conversation.
“Eden, we have some mending to do. Best start before the light is gone for the day.”
“Yes, mother. Thank you for calling, Mrs. Rowe.”
The afternoon is spent in mind-numbing quiet, doing whatever mending or sewing we’ve been hired for, then seeing to our own clothes. While we work, Rashi, our maid, cleans the dishes, sweeps the house, freshens the mattresses with clean hay, and then leaves to complete some errands.
It’s nearly dark, but Rashi is not back, and I wonder where she has strayed to, so I ask mother if I can quickly search for her.
“You must be back before dark,” mother insists. I am cloaked and given a lantern, just in case, and I then set out to find Rashi. The public places are deserted, and I walk through town, peering in the open windows just to check, but I do not see her dark face. It stands out against the pale white most women bitterly fight to keep, and the soft tan the farmers have.
I’m on the edge of town when I realize Aaron is watching me from the porch of the boarding house. His eyes are dark and intense, staring as though they could see through my petticoat, and I blush. He smiles, seeing my reaction, and walks back into the boarding house. I’m not sure why, but I stand there until I see a light come on, three windows back on the side of the building. His hands part the curtain, and find me still watching. Part of me wants to walk up to that window and climb in, but I remember Rashi and turn to search the woods, keeping close to town.
As I circle around the woods surrounding town, it’s not long before I smell smoke. In a clearing, I come upon a fire. Rashi is stripped to the waist, circling the fire wildly, leaping and chanting as though she is possessed. I am spell-bound, watching her with an interest never before felt. Everything is so vivid, from her gleaming brown skin to the red streaks across her breasts, the ecstatic movements of her body to the strange words she utters. My feet are rooted though my eyes panic, trying to capture every motion, every detail.
Her hands fly out, flinging items into the fire, then powders, and the embers change color. A voice that seems to come from nowhere utters a warning: “You are not alone.” For the first time Rashi looks around, seeing me amongst the trees and bushes.
“I guess you’ll be wantin’ to report this,” she asks, her chest heaving, eyes holding mine.
“No. I want your help.”
Rashi pauses for a second, then nods. I have been living with a real, live witch.
Dreams and Nightmares
Her dark hands close around my wrists, drawing me closer. The fire still dances, crackling and spitting.
“What power do you seek, child?” She searches my eyes, curious.
“I want to make men fall in love with me, lie with me, all at my own will.”
Rashi dabs something wet and sticky on my forehead, then begins to chant.
“Look upon this girl, a slave to her world, and set her free. Give her power over men’s minds, urges they cannot find release for, except in her arms.”
The deep voice from before emanates from the flames and channels through Rashi’s speech. “What would you offer for such a gift?”
“Life’s blood, spilled upon your flames.” Rashi grabs a rabbit from a small wooden cage near the fire, holding it by the scruff of its neck, and slides a dagger under its throat. Blood sprays at first, then falls in a cascade, hissing as it hits the fire.
“So be it,” the fire rumbles again through Rashi.
“Thank you for your gifts,” she reverently whispers, bowing to the fire. She then douses the flame with a bucket of water, and gathers up any remaining artifacts. We walk to the edge of town before I realize she is still topless.
“Rashi—your dress!”
She looks down and laughs, then covers herself. It is well and truly dark, fortunately for us, because she would have drawn attention that way, dark skin or not.
We make the short walk back to my home, but I am shy around Rashi after this experience and don’t speak. I want to ask if the magic worked, if I now have power over men; instead, we walk as quietly as possible. Some windows remain open, and any words might drift in. Now is not a good time to be thought a witch.
Before we reach the door of my home, Rashi whispers a single word:
“Soon.”
It is enough to give me hope.
That night, my dreams are vivid—Aaron and Zachary swirl through my mind. I picture them bathing, skin glistening with water. Zachary is strong and wide, his jaw square and strong. Aaron is tall and slimmer, with a sloping jaw and pointed chin. Both are so handsome, but my mind struggles. Which do I choose? As I turn to either man, the other begins to walk away, but when I chase the other, the first begins to leave.
In the end, Zachary is the image I’ve been pining for, so I focus on him. Slowly, he begins to remove his doublet, then the long linen shirt underneath. All that remains are his breeches, but the image fades before he is fully unclothed.
When I wake from my dream, my shirt is stuck to my back with sweat. The house is still dark and I am drowsy, but yearning. I reach between my legs, finding the peak of my ache, and slowly begin to circle the little bead. I can feel my heart speed up, my breath grow haggard as the sensation builds. I’m close to finding release, but I stop.
It’s always so secretive. Little movements in the dark while the town sleeps. What I want is a partner. Another person who wants to please me and does anything to achieve that end. The ache resumes and I am hungrier than ever for caresses that will send me over the edge, but I wait.
Next morning, when my mother sets out to deliver the mended items and newly made ones, Rashi and I sit close together, knitting and talking.
“Did it work?” I whisper. “Is the power mine?”
“The power is within you,” she corrects. “But power can move between people; just as it was given to you it can be taken.”
“So how does
it work?”
“You need to get something from the person you want,” she explains. “Hair is best, but clothes will do. Then you sew a little doll, and take something of yours, hair if you have his hair, a bit of your clothing if that’s what you got. Then, you make circles over a candle flame. The words are ‘For you, I yearn; For me, you burn’.”
“How long will it take?”
“Not long. But after it starts workin’ you got to keep that doll somewhere safe.”
I hadn’t realized I would need to keep any traces of the magic. There are few secret places in my house, so I begin to plan where I can hide the doll; it must not be found.
Our discussion is interrupted by commotion outside, and we both run to the door. Mary Selwicke is bound, thrashing between the two men who walk her through town. A third walks behind yelling “Witch!”
In the center commons, she is made to stand on the stage, while the men explain the meaning of it all.
“We found her in the woods, just outside town. There was a fire recently put out, and in that fire we found bones. Blood spatters stained the charred wood. And the smoke smelled like potions.”
One of Reverend Parris’ daughters bursts through the crowd, slobbering and raving. “She’s pinching me. Ow! Ow! And biting.” The girl falls to the ground, writhing and screaming, pointing at the stage where Mary Selwicke stands.
“Kill the witch!” a voice from the crowd screams.
“Burn her, or we’ll all burn!”
“STOP!” a voice shrieks. Mary Selwicke’s mother quiets the crowd with her bone-chilling screech. “My daughter is not a witch. I sent her to the woods for some sticks to put in our hearth-fire. She must have come upon that foul scene.”
“We must test her,” Reverend Parris intones, stepping up onto the platform. “For now she will be restrained on suspicion of witchcraft.”
My eyes meet Rashi’s, and we both sense the fear of the town. For month’s we’ve been afraid of Indian attacks, sickness that has spread nearby, and trying to set up food stores for the coming winter. Witches are becoming the scapegoats for these problems, and finding the remnants of last night’s voodoo has tipped the scales. The theory has become reality in more people’s minds and only death will relieve their fears.
ROMANCE: Party of Three: A Lustful Collection of Menage Romance (Menage Romance, Bisexual Romance, Stepbrother Romance) Page 8