62
EZLA
Maybe later, I will feel ashamed, disgusted with myself for giving in like this. But right now, all I can feel is bliss and the hunger for more of that feeling which I have never experienced before.
I want to feel like this forever.
I had got to this point after multiple days of an incessant buzzing underneath my skin that would not cut out, and I decided it was time to quiet it. Yet it has only amplified to new, extraordinary heights now that I have given myself what I desired.
I do not hate it.
“More, more, more,” I chant, feeling that coiling sensation again as two cocks drill into me on either end while my beast of a stalker rubs inside of me with a thick finger.
Their scents swirl around me: something clean and fresh, another spicy and smoky, and the last dark and leathery.
I fill my lungs with them, absorbing all I can of my Bonds.
It is not something I have felt before, this pleasure, and certainly not from him. The monster who keeps me under his thumb by any means necessary. There have been forced orgasms, but they never felt good. I never craved more, never liked the heat that curled through me.
This feels fucking glorious, and I will do whatever I must to keep these men right here in my grasp, just to keep experiencing this.
They will not leave me.
Not even the two innocent ones, the pure two who are too good for this world of savagery. They have willingly given themselves to me, and they will know what it means to be mine soon enough.
“More, Love? Tell us what you need,” the one who is constantly trying to take care of me utters breathlessly.
His hot breath fans against my ear, and his fingers between my legs flick my clit expertly, reminding me of the mental note I have made to hunt down and demolish those who touched what is mine.
I should have been the one to teach him how to do that. He was born to serve me, not them.
But maybe I will thank them before I kill them, because it does feel very nice.
I realise I do not know what I need, just like I do not know why the organ in my chest is as warm as the rest of my burning body.
I have been analysing my responses to each new thing my men give me, each new touch, figuring out what makes my limbs tingle with the most euphoric rush .
. . But it is . . . difficult, at times, to understand what I want when I am only now learning the pleasure a man can give me.
So I huff, frustrated that I do not have the words when they usually come so effortlessly, thinking more deeply before I say, “You. Give me yourselves. All you have. I want . . .” My eyes shift over to my two whores, and every cell within me sings. “Sluts, come here. Play with my tits.”
Exchanging a glance of excitement—and nerves with my Puppet—the two of them scramble forwards.
Alby’s eyes take up half of his face, and that flush of his covers every inch of him I can see—which sadly is not much as he has done his trousers back up.
My wild one, however, is still as naked as the day he was born, and my hungry eyes enjoy my fill of him: those impressive muscles, the golden hue to his light skin, his thick thighs and the heavy cock standing proudly between them .
. . After Tate, Tiger is a close second in size to Scotty, and I cannot wait to have the three of them buried inside of me at the same time.
“Oh! I heard that!” Tiger beams as he reaches me—just as a breath is shoved out of me from an extra-enthusiastic ram of Scotty’s and Cooper’s hips.
Since this very night, it is not occurring to me to keep them blocked out of my mind much anymore.
It is hardly as bad as I thought it would be to have them poking their heads in there from time to time, and it is not too taxing to ensure they do not receive any damning thoughts about my life in the penthouse of horrors.
And outside of it, if the monster who lives there with me deems it so.
“Thank you, Ezzy! My cock says thank you too! I can’t wait!”
His mouth is on my breast in the next second.
One hand buried in Tate’s espresso-coloured hair, tugging at the strands to get his mouth back to my free breast—not that he needs any encouragement—the other sinks into the soft vanilla-streaked strands of Tiger’s, and my order disgracefully comes out as a low moan as my hooded eyes lock onto Alby’s: “Let me feel your lips, slut. Show me how badly you want me.”
With a whimper, he joins the crowd around me, squeezing between Cooper and Tiger and leaning over the latter to eagerly, and delightfully clumsily, press his mouth to mine.
I absolutely adore the inexperience, the lack of jealousy and the flood of contented possessiveness which pours into me every time he and Tiger prove they do not know what they are meant to do, and yet they try anyway.
Tate’s inexperience is less obvious, likely due to all the research I know he has done over the years along with his online stalking of me, but I do experience the same satisfaction with him, if a little differently, considering his behaviour is quite contrasting with the innocent two.
Every ridge of Cooper’s thick cock rubs my inner walls, and the same can be said for Scotty at my back.
I can feel all of them—every vein on Cooper’s length, the slight curve to Scotty’s.
And the added pressure at my front opening due to Tate’s finger has my vision going hazy, which would alarm me in any other scenario, but I have quickly learned it is simply my body alerting me to how eminently agreeably these men treat me.
I know—I was surprised, too, when I realised some men could make me feel good rather than nothing or boundless anger.
My breaths become increasingly raspy, more choppy, and a thrill shoots through me as my body prepares to explode again. And when Alby’s tongue sloppily moves with mine, all needy and deliriously wanting, I find my release, rapture conquering me. The only thing I will ever allow to do so.
Body convulsing, I clamp down around my men, and delectable male grunts and groans of my name feed me in response, warmth flooding my insides as Cooper and Scotty come almost in unison.
Their hips stutter and jerk, their hands on me shaking with the pleasure they are receiving from me and will only ever receive from me from now on if they would like to keep their lives.
“Oh, Havoc . . . fuuuuck . . .” My beast ruts his cock against my thigh and combusts with hardly a touch, painting my skin, and my lips part.
If that had been anyone but one of my Bonds, I would have peeled the flesh from their bones with my Avri daggers.
Instead, desire zaps through me all over again, and I swipe my finger through the mess. Slowly slipping the digit into my mouth, I suck it clean.
Hmmm . . . he does taste nice. Like a true, tantalising man, nothing grubby and foul like the cum I am usually forced to swallow.
Just like Tiger and Alby, Tate tastes good; there is an attractive musk to it that has odd tingles tickling my belly, and his semen most definitely does not make me want to gag or vomit.
Mine.
I do not particularly care if they hear that or not, and the sharp breaths shooting through parted lips tell me they did. I feel that they are awed by my claim . . . obsessed . . . overjoyed.
Falling deeper in love.
Tate’s cock hardens again in an instant.
I know what I have to do now.
For whatever reason, my need to own these men is strong, and I am finally ready to admit that.
I will keep working on figuring out why, keep digging into what these strange sensations are that I consistently feel around them.
The sensations within me that I am intelligent enough to know are not simply lust.
I know what I have to do.
But for once, I do not know if I can do it.