Chapter Twenty-Four – Fawn #4
Dylan glistens with sweat, breathing hard, his green eyes full of desire. “Put your leg on my shoulder.”
I do as I’m told, my body feeling like it isn’t mine, and all my muscles shake.
His hand finds my knee, lifting my foot to his mouth.
And then, he kisses the curve of my foot, a burning kiss, mouth open, tongue flicking out to taste me.
It’s so out of the blue, like he’s worshipping me.
He thrusts into me, and I choke out a messed-up, dirty sound.
He’s kissing my foot while his cock is buried in my pussy. I’m going to lose my mind.
Dylan growls against my skin. He looks over at Torin, a silent communication passing between them. “It’s your turn, man. I wanna watch you fuck her.” He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. “Be gentle,” he warns.
I hear Torin scoff before I see his expression. “I would never hurt her.”
I’m too out of breath to react, my body shaking. The thought of being dominated gets me excited, though.
Dylan carefully pulls out of me, the condom slick with my wetness, and the emptiness is a physical pain.
“On all fours . . . now,” Torin demands. Gently, he takes hold of my wrists, helping me turn over, and I feel the mattress dip as I get into position. From behind, I hear a condom wrapper being torn open. “Head all the way down. I want that ass high up.”
Preparing myself, I press my head into the mattress, my back arching perfectly for him.
“That’s it. Such a good fucking girl,” Torin praises. “I hope you realize just how much you’re driving me crazy.”
My pussy pulses with a fresh gush of wetness. He reaches down, his fingers sliding through my soaked folds.
Torin growls, a sound that is both dark and excited. “Fuck, Dylan,” he swears, “you left her soaking wet. She’s dripping for me.” He taps the head of his cock at my entrance a couple times. He’s bigger than Dylan, thicker.
This is going to hurt like hell.
“Ready for this, Fawn? Ready for me to split you in two? I know just what you want.”
He doesn’t give me time to respond; he slams into me hard. A scream rips from my throat as I’m filled; the breath is knocked right out of me. He’s buried so deep, I feel him everywhere. My body strains to take him, stretching to the limit.
“Fuck!” he moans. “Your pussy is gripping me like a vise.” His thrusts are slow and hard, making me bite the bed sheet. Each thrust feels like he is marking his territory. “You hear that? Your pussy is making such pretty, greedy noises for me.”
Next to us, Dylan is kneeling on the bed, no condom, stroking himself. “You’re taking him so well,” he whispers, sounding totally amazed. “You’re so fucking right for us, princess. Fuck, we’re lucky.”
I’m a mess, praise hitting me from all sides. Moans keep spilling out, a high, shaky sound that shows how good this feels.
Torin leans down, his sweaty chest touching my back. Instinctively, I lift my head, and he pulls on my hair. “Open your mouth, Fawn,” he orders.
I obey, parting my lips, and he spits straight into my mouth, the saliva coating my tongue.
Before I can even swallow, Dylan is there, the tip of his cock pressing against my lips. “Princess, I’mma need you to keep that mouth open for me.” His voice a sugary command. “There’s a good girl. Now I’m gonna fuck it.”
A drop of saliva runs down my chin as I nod.
Slowly, he slides in. It’s way too much, and I gag instantly, tears welling up.
My lips feel like they’re going to split wide open, but I manage to seal them around his cock.
Loud slurping noises fill the room. Dylan doesn’t slow down; he moans, a sound that shows how much he likes this.
“You sound so hot with your mouth full like that.”
My face bobs up and down as I feel every vein on my tongue. Torin continues to fuck me hard from behind. I’m being filled, taken over, every part of me.
Torin leans back in and presses his mouth to my ear. “You’re doing such a good job, taking us.”
All I can do is moan around Dylan’s cock. Torin fists my hair and forcefully pushes and pulls my head on Dylan’s cock. “Let him see those pretty brown eyes while he fucks your mouth,” he demands.
My eyes fill with euphoric tears as I look up at Dylan. He pushes a strand of hair behind my ear. “Fuck, princess, you’re gonna make me come harder than ever; just keep doing exactly that.”
With a free hand, Torin’s fingers find my clit from behind, rubbing frantic circles as he thrusts into me. “I want you to orgasm . . . again, this time on my cock.”
I can’t orgasm again.
My mind is gone, reduced to a primal need to make them happy, to make them come. Dylan’s pace quickens, even more frantic as he fucks my mouth.
Over and over, they thrust in sync.
Torin shifts his angle slightly, and on the next deep thrust, his finger moves at rapid speed on my clit. An orgasm hits me without warning, a violent, soul-shattering eruption. A gush of hot liquid flows from me, soaking Torin’s cock and the sheets beneath us in a torrent.
Did I just squirt? I’ve never—
I scream around Dylan’s cock, the sound muffled and choked.
It feels like Torin is hitting my cervix with his cock. He rises off my back and grips my hips, his fingers digging into my skin.
“Fuck, Fawn—”
Thrust.
“I’m—”
Thrust.
“Coming!” he moans, his movements turning rough as he slams into me one final time, as deep as he can, his cock jerking inside me as he climaxes. I feel the hot pulse of his cum through the condom.
Dylan throws his head back and groans, his thrusts becoming erratic. “Uhhhh! I’m—” he shouts, slamming his cock one last time into the back of my mouth. He comes, and I taste the salty flavor on my tongue.
“Swallow, princess.”
I do just that, and I savor it.
Dylan then gently pulls his wet cock from my mouth, a string of saliva connecting us for a second. He looks down at me. “You’re fucking incredible.”
Torin is still buried deep, the post-orgasm sensitivity making every tiny movement an intense, painful pleasure. He lets out a deep breath as he carefully pulls out.
My legs give and I sink onto the bed. I’m broken in the best way possible. Just as I’m about to fade, Dylan takes my face in his hands, bringing me back.
“You okay, princess?” he questions.
Nodding, I manage one word. “Ye-yes.”
My inner thighs are soaked, and my breathing hitches.
Torin gently flips me over, but the hem of the flannel lifts. Too high. Above my navel. My stomach and stretch marks are exposed. Letting out a high-pitched scream, I attempt to pull the flannel down, but my hands are trembling so much, I lose my grip.
Not this. Anything but this.
Just as I’m about to tumble off the bed, Torin grabs my wrist. “Don’t.” His voice is fierce and protective. “Don’t you dare be ashamed.”
“I—” My voice cracks. “I don’t . . . I don’t want you to see—”
Dylan’s expression is soft but unyieldingly serious. “Please don’t hide your stretch marks from us. They’re a gentle reminder of every moment that shaped you. They’re goddamn beautiful.”
The breath that leaves me is unsteady. “I hate them. Jason hated them. He used to say—”
Torin cuts in, “We’re not Jason, and we never will be.”
Dylan’s eyes glittering with something like anger — but not at me.
My body trembles, and for a moment, I think I might die from having two people look at the parts of me I’ve spent my whole life burying.
Then, something unexpected happens: they both kneel at my side as I lie there, not touching me — just lowering themselves until they’re eye-level with my stomach. Torin lifts his gaze to mine first. “May we?” he asks.
It’s barely a whisper, but the respect in it hits me so hard, I press my lips together and stare at a fixed point so my eyes don’t betray me.
They lean into me, worshipful and gentle. Torin lays a gentle kiss right on a stretch mark. Dylan’s on the other side, planting a kiss on a line as if it’s something he’s admired for a long time.
I start sobbing — not out of fear, but from relief, and it just bursts out of me. They’re not touching me sexually. They’re touching me as if I am something holy.
Torin nudges his forehead gently against my abdomen. “You don’t have to hide anymore,” he whispers against my skin.
Dylan intertwines his fingers in mine. “Every piece of you is worthy and beautiful. Even the parts someone else made you hate.”
Tears spill from my eyes from the overwhelming sensation of being seen and worshipped.
Dylan dries the tears from my cheeks with the softest caress of his thumb and then leans to place a kiss on my forehead. “Don’t cry, princess. You’re safe with us.” His words sound like a vow.
Torin’s voice follows. “She always will be,” he states. “Because she’s ours now.”
The words melt into me before I can even process them.
Ours.
Not owned, but claimed in a way that feels like being protected.
Torin climbs up from the bed, opens the bedside drawer, pulls out a soft towel, and kneels back down beside me.
“Hey,” he whispers, “let’s get you cleaned up.
” His movements aren’t rushed as he moves the towel over my wet thighs.
My pussy is throbbing, and my body feels too light, too heavy, too everything.
I’ve turned into sexually exhausted Jello.
Dylan puts his arm under my back and sits me up. The room shifts, and I sway.
His hands grasp my waist to steady me. “Easy, I’ve got you.”
Torin continues, gentle as can be, his brow knotted in concentration but his fingers cautious, as if he’s afraid of hurting me.
Dylan moves again, walking to a side table against the other wall. He grabs a water bottle, twists the cap open, and returns to me. “Open up for me, princess.”
I want to laugh because he said that earlier, but I’m too weak. My lips open and he’s already there with the bottle, his hand cupping my jaw while I drink.
“Good girl,” Dylan praises, brushing his thumb across my cheek. “Just breathe.”
Torin sits beside me now, his large palm resting over my thigh, reminding me I’m not alone, not floating away. “Here’s me thinking we were gonna fuck you all night.”
I can go again . . . I think. I just need to pull myself together.
“We . . . we can. I . . . I gotta go to the bathroom . . .” I try to voice.
Standing turns out to be more of a task than I thought. The room tilts, my knees dissolving, the mattress rushing back up to meet me.
Torin barely blinks. In a fluid motion, he lowers himself, slipping one arm under my knees and another around my back, hoisting me up wedding style, secure, close. My arms automatically wrap around him. I’m just too exhausted to do anything.
“What you need to do is rest. I’ll take you to the bathroom,” he says.
Dylan is already moving around the room, stripping away the soaked, rumpled sheets. “I’ll switch out the bedding while you look after her,” he states over Torin’s shoulder.
Torin carries me down a dimly lit hallway, and my head presses against his chest. His skin is warm and damp, and I can feel his pulsing heartbeat beneath my cheek.
It’s strong and steady. It’s actually kind of soothing.
His arms wrap tighter around me each time I shift, as if he’s trying to keep me from slipping free.
I’ve never felt safer in my life.