Why would Oathran Alicei stop? He was the Divine Dragon Lord. Why couldn’t he, of all people, fuck his wife with his brothers at the town square—
His cock dug deeper.
William’s veined, draconian length dragged against Eastiel’s textured Peter as he pushed forward, the ridges of the dragon catching on the spikes of the lion, creating a friction that made both n silently gasp.
The squishy surface of William’s hard cock head pressed harder along and against that sensitive bundle of nerves deep inside Cecilia, the weeping slit pulsing, leaking, coating her inner walls with fresh, warm slickness.
And he pushed Eastiel along with him, each forward roll of Oathran’s hips shoving Peter deeper inside her as well, the two shafts moving together like a single instrunt of pleasure.
His thrust grew stronger.
Faster.
The slow, possessive roll of his hips accelerated urgently. His peak was building, they could all feel it through the bond, the coiling pressure at the base of his spine, the tightening of his sac, the way William’s veins swelled thicker and bluer and hungrier with each passing heartbeat.
He was close. Too close. The friction of his brother’s spikes against his frenulum, the tight clutch of his wife’s cunt around him, the maddening audience of a man who may or may not be watching—
He’d show him anyway, watching or not. His Goddess. The exact way they worshipped her. Showing it all off.
His brothers followed.
Arkai’s hips snapped forward, Johnny plunging deep into her back entrance, the head of his cock still kissing that second gate, still pressing, still teasing the tiny, velvety ring that fluttered and gave and clenched around him.
He chased the depth, the friction, the heat of Oathran’s building climax transmitted through the bond and reflecting back into his own body.
Eastiel, still sprawled on his back, still gripping Arkai’s hips like a lifeline, thrust upward in counterpoint to Oathran’s downward stroke.
Peter’s textured spikes raked against William’s foreskin in a rhythm that was half cooperation, half competition, two brothers racing toward the sa finish line, each one pushing the other faster, harder, closer.
SLAM—
HOLD—
Oathran and Eastiel bottod out completely inside her, and Cecilia Araceli’s soul dissolved, no sound.
Simultaneously, symtrically, the dragon’s full length and the lion’s full length buried to the hilt in her cunt, their bases pressed flush against her spread lips, their heads bumping against the deepest reaches of her, their veins throbbing in counterpoint.
Cecilia’s body arched between them and the swell of both cocks filling her to absolute capacity made her vision dissolve into white static.
Oathran silently ca first. With effort.
The corded muscles of his neck strained, his head thrown back, his slit-pupiled eyes still locked on the guard’s as he poured into her.
Richard, still grasped in Cecilia’s hand, spasd and released in tandem, twin gouts of hot, thick, opalescent seed splashing against her belly and breasts and nipples.
William was buried deep, and the flood that filled her was hot. Copious. Endless. Thick ropes of white that painted her inner walls and Eastiel’s cock, pooling in her depths, triggered a chain reaction of pleasure so intense it bordered on pain.
His hips kept rolling. Kept thrusting. Milking every last pulse of his release into her while his eyes never left the guard’s face, silently challenging him, daring him, showing him what a divine dragon could do even if the human could not see it.
Eastiel followed a heartbeat later.
The sensation of his elder brother’s release flooding around his own shaft, hot and thick and everywhere, was too much. The textured spikes of Peter stiffened one final ti, and he buried himself as deep as he could go, his golden eyes rolling back, his mouth open in a silent, gasping roar.
His release erupted, thick, creamy, leonine spurts that mixed with Oathran’s flood inside her, that overflowed and leaked down her thighs, that splashed hot against the fur coat beneath them.
His hips jerked upward, grinding, chasing, extending his peak through sheer willpower until the last pulse had been wrung from his body.
Arkai was last.
Johnny, still kissing her inner gate, swelled. The head of his cock flared against that tiny, velvety ring, and then pushed through. The second gate gave. Opened. Welcod him into the deepest channel of her body with a clench so tight and hot and willing that Arkai’s life flashed behind his eyes.
His release poured directly into her colon, thick, pulsing jets of wolf seed that painted her deepest walls, that flooded the fluttering ring until it overflowed, that filled her so completely she could feel it in her throat.
His teeth sank into her shoulder. His hips kept pumping. And his crimson eyes, half-lidded and drunk on pleasure, flicked toward the guard who still stood right there, halfway through the barrier, watching or not watching, seeing or not seeing.
They still did not fucking know.
"Hey, Brad! What are you doing spacing out over there?"
The guard’s partner called from across the square, his voice bright, impatiently waiting for his colleague to finish whatever unimportant task was delaying their cider break.
Brad, the guard who had trespassed into their invisible sanctuary, turned toward the voice. The motion was casual and unhurried. It seed his mind was entirely elsewhere.
"Oh." His voice drifted across the square. "Just looking at the fountain."
He gestured vaguely toward the frozen cascade, the ice-sculpted water caught mid-fall, glittering in the pale afternoon light. The sa fountain where Oathran’s fur coat was spread and where three kings were still buried inside their wife.
"It’s frozen and pretty." he paused. "I don’t know why it reminds of my wife."
His partner barked a laugh. "Oh, right. You t her here, did you not?"
"Yep." Brad’s voice was warm now, fond. "Missed her. Can I go ho early?"
"Fucking newlyweds."
The partner sounded exasperated. He sounded like a senior who had endured many complaints about missed wives and was prepared to endure many more.
Brad stepped away.
His boots crunched against the frost-crusted cobblestones. The barrier sealed behind him, a ripple of displaced air. He did not look back or pause. He simply walked toward his partner. His mind filled with mulled cider and an early dismissal, then the wife he missed and the fountain where he had once fallen in love.
He... didn’t see them.
The two guards disappeared into the flow of foot traffic. The square resud its cheerful rhythm.
And Cecilia—
Cecilia passed out cold.
Her body went limp between them. Her hand slipped from Richard’s shaft. Her head lolled against Oathran’s chest, her breath shallow and steady, her expression slack. Her nervous system had been pushed to the limits today and declared a temporary shutdown.
The last aftershock of her climax rippled through her inner walls, fluttering and spasming, and then she was out. Gone. Dead to the world. Sleeping the sleep of the thoroughly ravished.
For a long mont, no one moved.
Then—
[Alright, Brothers. We’ve officially arrived to a new low of depravation.]
...
[Don’t say that when you are still rubbing Elder Brother’s cock inside our wife’s cunt.]
...
[...sorry.]
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