Ciarán’s long teeth slid over her folds, but it was his broad tongue through them that made her whimper as she continued working her mouth over Moss’ cock, which he graciously held for her. Whenever she’d slip off the tip of him with a satisfying slurp, he’d smear her saliva and his pre-cum on her cheeks with his cock. Mindful of her request to watch the hair, he gathered it over her shoulders and held it in a tail out of the way of her face.
Maya wasn’t sure what she’d become in these last few minutes. It wasn’t something she’d ever imagined she’d be. The things they said and the things they wanted her to do… All of them were filthy and degrading, but she didn’t feel degraded.
Instead, she almost felt liberated, free to just let things happen and free to do things she’d never thought possible, because she knew the outcome would be worth it. The Tall Man and the Short Man were obviously fierce predators in their own right, yet it was surprising how much of a gentleman Ciarán was. And Moss, for all his posturing, didn’t balk when it came to taking care of her pleasure as well as his.
Sweat dripped down her cheeks, thighs and back from the demons’ heat and from her need in spite of the working air-conditioning. She moaned as she licked up the length of Moss’ erection. Though she thought Ciarán’s cock was a spectacular work of Greek art, Moss’ was far more within her comfort zone, and she could cover more ground. As exciting as it was to bear the weight of a huge cockhead on her tongue, she preferred the control she had when she had the use of her whole mouth to torment Moss. She undulated her tongue over the underside as she sucked back to the tip then bit at the ridge of the head. Moss shouted, bucking his hips, which dragged her teeth over his cock more.
He slapped her cheek lightly, this time with his hand, guiding her off him with his fist against her cheek and a wide grin showing too many teeth. “There’s a woman,” he repeated in praise. “Now prepare yourself, sweetheart. Ciarán wants inside that tasty pussy.”
Somehow the sensation of Ciarán’s thickness through her labia intimidated her more than his teeth over the same flesh.
“Shit,” she breathed. “I don’t know. I don’t think…”
“Shhh.” Ciarán could wrap his hands almost completely around her waist, and he rubbed deep into her sides and up to her back and shoulders.
Maya’s eyelids fluttered closed. There was something she’d been needing lately. Moss petted her hair, soothing her further.
Then, before she could awaken enough for the doubts to return, Ciarán arranged the head of his cock at her entrance and let gravity slide it in. He didn’t push all the way. If she had to guess, her cunt had swallowed at most about one-third of his cock, but already she felt like her shared wineglass had been filled to the brim. Any more and she might flood over.
Every breath came out a moan, and Ciarán tightened his hands almost to bruises on her. His claws left tiny, stinging dents. Maya suspected they’d broken the skin. But those sensations were nothing in comparison to the cock splitting her through the middle.
“Oh, yeah,” Moss muttered. “So tight. You’re dripping, woman. Your cunt begs for his cock. Take her deeper, Ciarán. Show her what magic feels like.”
She intended to tell them she already knew what magic was like and it usually sucked in a bad way, but then Ciarán’s hands slammed to the floor at her sides, and his cock eased deeper than she thought was possible, stretching and stimulating nerves she hadn’t known existed—and maybe they only did when he was inside her.
Maya dropped her forehead against her arm to brace herself as she brought her hand between her thighs and rubbed her clit furiously. Every downstroke brushed the base of Ciarán’s cock as it pushed—Lord have mercy—even farther in. She wailed her climax, clamping her muscles around Ciarán. He was more controlled than most men, but he was still a man, and his moan was like a roar bellowing through the tent as he thrust to the base.
She could only scream louder as the climax continued to climb, and when he moved inside her it climbed still higher and wrapped her more tightly around him until she finally seemed to burst inside and in her mind, like opening a bottle of champagne.
As soon as she finally relaxed, the tension unraveling, Ciarán reined himself in, panting furiously.
“That’s right, sticky little trollop,” Moss said. He dipped down to kiss her smeared cheek and bite her full, swollen lip, which she’d been biting herself on her way to her climax. “Demons do it better. Now, be a good girl and take your medicine. All of it.”
He grunted when she accepted his cock in her mouth again, taking it like a thirsty woman gulped water, and as Ciarán started moving inside her again, she moaned her double-edged arousal through Moss’ cock.
Moss jerked his hips. She briefly gagged, but Moss stroked her forehead in apology and got hold of himself.
Ciarán’s movements were like red lightning within her, and as his thrusts became more forceful, he pushed her mouth down Moss’ cock. Her saliva dripped down Moss’ erection, smudging on her chin.
After a few minutes of trying to control how deeply they went into her, trying to set the rhythm, she realized how much easier it would be if she just let them pass her between them. They were far more in sync with each other than she could ever hope to be, and allowing them to have her however they wanted made everything else just fade away.
All that was left was the tornadic pleasure tightening once more around Ciarán’s impossibly massive cock as it stoked her hotter and stretched all her nerves to their breaking point—not to mention the intensely erotic, carnal experience of being taken, being used, being fucked, an instrument of pleasure for all parties. It grew even more intense when Ciarán grabbed her thighs and lifted her knees off the ground to make the angle easier for him, so that she was braced only on her forearms. Now she couldn’t take control even if she wanted it.
Bell’s voice, soft as it was, carried to her as though on a breeze, whispered in her ear, “Do not come. Save it for me, Maya. Draw out the pleasure and let them have their way, but you do not come. If you do, I shall devise a punishment for you—and you’re already marginally aware of the breadth of my creativity.”
Bastard. But the reminder that Bell was there, face to face with whatever fantasy had inspired this little interlude, shuddered a new shock of pleasure through her that curled her fingers and toes.
“You first again, brother,” Moss said. It gratified her to hear strain in his smart-ass voice. “I still need to mark those tits.”
By this point, Ciarán could slam himself deep into her cunt every time, his balls striking her clit with each thrust. He ground into her now, clenching her thighs so hard she would have giant hand—and finger-shaped—bruises in the morning that she’d have to hide from prying eyes in some way. She could conceal hickeys with her hair, but her skirt wasn’t long enough to cover any dark marks on her thighs.
It was all Maya could do not to come. She clamped her muscles around him to keep herself in check. It only served to mold her cunt around every vein and ridge as his cock jerked inside her, spilling copious liquid heat that mimicked her arousal further. She whined, clenching her fingers into fists in the sawdust.
“Let her down, Ciarán,” Moss said. He pulled his glistening, wet cock from Maya’s mouth and began to stroke it with long, firm pulls. “You’ve already had her twice. Now get up on your knees, woman.”
Maya whimpered as Ciarán withdrew from her, leaving her unbearably empty. At the same time, the speed with which her flesh assumed the shape it had been in before Ciarán had taken her was truly an odd experience.
Her first impulse was to move her hand from her clit to where her cunt closed on hollowness that she wanted filled again, to bring herself to the climax that Ciarán’s cock had given her once and had promised a second time.
But Maya restrained herself and gingerly climbed to her knees. Blood that had been flowing down to her head from her position rushed away to join the rest of it between her legs. Her vision briefly blackened,
and she held her forehead until the light-headedness faded and she could see again. Moss laughed at her, but the wicked edge to his dark eyes had softened.
“Hold her hair back, Ciarán,” Moss said. “And you, sweet thing, lift up those marvelous breasts. Let me see them.”
She leveled her steely glare at him, but she cupped the undersides of her breasts and plumped them up for him.
“I’m going to mark your girl, Bell,” Moss said. He sped up his hand over his flushed erection. “I think we’ve given her a taste for demons. What do you think, Ciarán?”
Ciarán kissed the top of her head as Moss grunted out his climax. Semen struck her chin. Moss aimed lower for the rest of it. A few thick strings hit her breasts. The last bit of cum made a thin line on her stomach. Ciarán’s seed suddenly released from her cunt and dripped down her thigh.
Maya had been come on by men before. The urge to mark in that way somewhat baffled her. Sometimes it made her think that her previous boyfriends believed she really was dirty in a bad way and that they liked her like that, made dirty by them. It was totally wrong that demons using her like this didn’t affect her the same way as the human men in her life. She couldn’t figure out why it didn’t. She couldn’t figure out why, after Moss had finished, Maya willingly brushed sawdust off her hands onto her thighs and moved her fingers through the thick liquid, rubbing it into her skin.
“You are a filthy girl, aren’t you?” Moss muttered, licking his teeth as she swirled his cum around her tight nipples, all over her full breasts, until it had dried too much to spread. He leaned in and licked her chin clean. He hesitated then kissed her lips lightly. But not too long. He scurried back, and Ciarán helped her to her feet before she’d even realized she’d been lifted up.
“I believe you aren’t finished yet, Maya,” Bell said. At some point, he had removed his trousers and just sat there with his tousled, fae hair and his beaded belt. “You’ve been very good, no punishment needed. So, a reward instead.”
Maya stumbled a little as she went to him. He viewed her in all her grimy, dirty, wet, smeared glory.
“Climb up here,” he said softly, taking her hand and inviting her onto the chaise with him. “Ride me until you can’t anymore. Take your pleasure from me. I wish to see you break apart.”
He held himself as she straddled him. When she sank down over him, she sighed. In comparison to Ciarán, Bell seemed doable, not to mention he stretched her open again, and when he withdrew, things wouldn’t immediately tingle back into place. She’d experience his effect on her body much longer.
“Kiss me,” he whispered. He curled his hand around her neck to pull her down. Maya moaned. This was something that had been lacking with the other two demons—maybe something they hadn’t been allowed to give her. This was for Bell alone—this closeness, this intimacy, this ownership that reached deeper than Ciarán’s cock and marked her better than Moss’ cum. Tears joined the mess on her face as she moved over his cock and sucked on his tongue.
He pulled back slightly and stared at her as she fucked herself on him, her thighs working past the welcome abuse Ciarán had rendered.
“Maya,” he whispered. He framed her face with his hands, stroking through the damp hair matted on her temples. “My beautiful Roman flower. Let go.”
As though she had been waiting for his permission, a trembling moan passed through her lips. She clung to his shoulders and fluttered and tightened around his erection. And with her climax, he filled her with his own, but that seemed almost secondary to him.
She trusted she’d given him exactly what he’d wished for as he embraced and held her shuddering body against his long after their lust had faded.
Chapter Seven
Another day, another faire.
Different costume, though. Simpler, practically A-line, this time in dark red leather because Sasha still didn’t want her in brown. It laced up like a corset from her navel to just below her breasts, showing the skin of her abdomen between the lacings. The thick straps of the dress held her breasts in—more or less—but the skirt stopped just barely above mid-thigh. Expertly tailored, as usual, to hug her curves and cover everything legal. She didn’t know how Lady Sasha managed it. She would have preferred much more length in the skirt, but at least it was something new.
Before he’d stored them away, Bell had also given her a peek at what she could expect when they started doing far more hard core adult entertainment for kink shows and conventions and Burning Man. He’d been thoroughly amused with how she’d fought not to rain holy hell upon him when he’d shown her some of the other things Lady Sasha had made for her.
She was beginning to understand the game—please the jinni. Make it not about her, although sometimes he made it about her. Operative words—he made it about her. It was as infuriating as it was exhilarating, and he seemed to relish her frustration. At least she could please him in that way without even trying.
These costumes she wore for him—and would wear for him—sometimes made her feel like every day was slutty Halloween. She’d done the latex nurse and latex devil and bordello corset thing before, but she usually reserved that crap for October.
And every day, Bell took in the view without hesitation, looking her over as though he didn’t already know what was underneath the leather—as though the costume left anything to the imagination anyway. She would wonder how he hadn’t grown tired of her already, except she hadn’t grown tired of him either, even though they’d gone at it like animals in heat for three weeks.
And on top of that, Bell had also been spending more time with Valorie since the night Bell had handed Maya off to Ciarán and Moss.
But Valorie knew now. Maya couldn’t say how she knew Valorie knew rather than just suspected. Women’s intuition—although it was nothing that Valorie had said.
That wasn’t to say that Valorie didn’t make her displeasure known. Maya’s couch had become a virtual minefield. Maya had even found a coral snake in it one time that made Maya worry that Valorie hadn’t known what she was handling—or worse, that Valorie had known.
She’d apologized to the snake after she’d cut it in two with a butcher knife. What else was she supposed to have done? At the time, Bell had been quite busy with the very woman who had put the snake in her makeshift bed. No, Bell was no help. He was getting everything he wanted without interfering.
Maya didn’t just have to contend with venomous snakes, though, which would have been bad enough. There were toads that pissed themselves in defense when she picked them up to toss them outside. There were wolf spiders.
Valorie was obviously not a member of PETA.
There were nonliving torments as well. Some of Misha’s knives had stabbed into the cushions from beneath, pricking her back and buttocks before she’d realized that she’d almost slowly impaled herself in her sleep. And itching powder. Valorie had actually pulled the stupid itching-powder-in-the-blanket trick.
Maya was glad Valorie hadn’t yet wished that looks could kill.
Then she’d wonder how many wishes Valorie had left.
Maya was this close to slapping Valorie’s pretty face and challenging her to an old-fashioned duel to get the animosity out in the open and out of her system. Valorie looked younger than Maya, but according to Kitty, she was significantly older. She should have known better than to be this juvenile.
But Maya had suffered her share of tacks on her chair and weird app sounds when she’d taught teenagers. Reptiles, amphibians and arachnids didn’t scare her. Coral snakes did, but she chose to believe that Valorie had been threatening her off, not intentionally risking her life.
However, it was starting to get harder to believe the best of Valorie’s jealousy. Because, frankly, Valorie’s actions mystified Maya almost as much as Bell’s did. Bell had his jinn nature to explain his inexplicability. What was Valorie’s excuse? Wrathful glares, dangerous retribution, petty vengeance…for what? For a cruel man like Bell, whose fault this was to begin with?
If Maya weren’t so stubborn herself, she might have drawn Bell aside, informed him of what was going on and told him to focus on the woman he’d already had before Maya had come along. She might have surrendered.
But then Bell would look at her like he was doing now, the summer sun beating down on his tent, cooled only by a fan moving the air around, and the two of them all alone. Business was usually hopping in the early evening, but for some reason, groups chattered past the tent entrance, their shoes crunching the grass and dry dirt. No one came in.
“Come here.”
She hated and loved when he did that, made himself sound like he was right at her ear when he was on the other side of the tent. She could almost feel his breath rustling over the hairs on the back of her neck. Kitty had chosen a loose braided knot today to lift her hair up in the humidity. Straightening it would have been a fool’s errand.
“Bya inja. Come to me, Maya.”
The tent entrance flapped closed by itself.
“No way. There are people right outside, Bell. Someone could walk in at any moment,” Maya said.
“They won’t as long as the tent is closed,” Bell said. He unfurled his fingers, and as though she was tied with marionette strings, she stood from her chair and went to him.
He took her by her wrist and eased her gently but inexorably into his lap.
“It’s okay for me to have you during the day too, you know,” he said, caressing her cheek before possessing her chin and drawing her down to kiss him.
As always, she was chocolate to his warmth, humming with the lazy fever that twisted deliciously within her. Their tongues met in a sultry slide. He smoothed his palm over the leather at her waist, over her stomach, teasing just above her mound. He loosened his grip on her chin and made his hand a choker over her neck, a claim rather than a threat. He didn’t squeeze, but breathing became harder for her anyway. After a little more of this, he could start to unfasten the ties of her painted-on dress and take her on the spindly little table where he did tarot and palm readings. She wouldn’t give a furry damn who saw.
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