Chapter 11 #3
And Marrow—sweet, reverent Marrow—breaks his patience.
He groans against my shoulder, teeth sinking hard enough to bruise, and suddenly he’s fucking into me with the same hunger as the others.
No more slow cadence, no more gentle stretch—his rhythm pounds against Bonehead’s, double filling me so thoroughly I can’t even tell whose thrust is whose.
I’m screaming, choking, sobbing, every sound broken into pieces as they wreck me together.
“More,” Bonehead growls, as if my body hasn’t already given him everything. He lifts me up and slams me down, using me like I’m nothing but his perfect hole.
“Louder,” Skully demands, yanking my hair to force my cries around his cock. “Let the neighbors hear what we’re doing to you.”
“Deeper,” Marrow whispers hoarse, thrusting until his hips crash against mine, fingers bruising my ribs. “I will leave no part of you untouched.”
And me? I can’t answer, can’t beg, can’t think.
My body is theirs, my voice stolen, my mind a haze of sugar and sin.
I came once, but it doesn’t matter—they’re taking it as an invitation, as consent carved in blood, as permission to ruin me again and again, harder, rougher, wrecking me until the line between pleasure and obliteration disappears.
The rhythm breaks down into chaos, each of them chasing me harder, faster, rougher. My body’s a ragdoll between them, and I love it—love being their altar, their playground, their crime scene.
Bonehead grinds up into me with the force of an earthquake, every thrust a seismic event.
His growls get louder, rougher, until he’s babbling my name like it’s the only word he’s ever known.
“October, October, October,” he chants, forehead slick against my shoulder.
He fucks me like he’s trying to bury himself inside for eternity, like if he pounds hard enough he’ll never be able to leave me.
Skully snarls when my throat convulses around him, fingers knotted in my hair so tight it stings.
“That’s it, Baby. Choke on me. You like being used?
You like knowing you’re nothing but a mouth and a mess for us right now?
” He thrusts sharp and vicious, every stroke hitting the back of my throat until my mascara burns rivers down my face.
He laughs when I gag—the bastard—but his laugh is broken, desperate.
Marrow…holy God, Marrow loses himself. His reverence catches fire and burns down into something fevered.
His hips slam harder, deeper, no hesitation now, his silken voice shredded with need.
“Beloved,” he gasps, biting my shoulder as his thrusts rock me forward onto the others.
“You take us all—you take us too well—saints would weep to see this.” His hands slide to my stomach, pressing down to feel himself and Bonehead moving inside me at once.
The sound he makes when he feels it—the shuddering moan—is enough to tip me over again.
I come hard, sobbing into Skully’s cock, body clenching like I’m trying to trap all three of them forever. It hurts and it’s bliss, and I’m laughing through it, laughing like a lunatic, like this is exactly how I always imagined dying: ruined and adored.
They take my orgasm like a fucking challenge.
Bonehead bellows, pounding harder, faster, his cock battering me open like a ram through a door.
Skully jerks my head up and down like a puppet, groaning through his teeth as spit dribbles down my chin.
Marrow’s thrusts turn merciless, his hand circling my clit with reverent cruelty, wringing every last spasm out of me while his cock drives deep.
My body is breaking, burning, blissed beyond sense, and they’re nowhere near done.
“Again,” Bonehead growls, like he can order me into it.
“She will,” Skully hisses, smirking through his own ragged gasps. “Look at her. She’s addicted.”
“She is divine,” Marrow breathes, and his voice is wrecked, ruined, breaking with every thrust.
They’re right. I’m gone. Absolutely gone. Every nerve fried, every thought burned out, every part of me screaming yes, yes, yes.
I follow their orders so well, I can’t tell where one orgasm ends and another begins—my body’s just writhing, clenching, breaking in waves. My throat’s raw, my cunt’s trembling, my ass stretched to burning, and still they won’t stop. Not until they’ve wrung me out completely.
Bonehead breaks first. I feel it in the way his thrusts go wild, sloppy, hips hammering like he’s lost all rhythm.
He roars into my throat, teeth scraping at my pulse as he slams deep one last time and pours into me, cock pulsing so hard I see stars.
His come floods me, hot and endless, dripping down my thighs as he shudders, growling my name like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered.
Skully isn’t far behind. The second my throat spasms around him again, he hisses, “Fuck, Baby, that’s it,” and drives in to the root, holding me there while he empties down my throat.
I gag, choke, tears streaming, but I swallow greedily, drunk on the taste of him, on the way his whole body jolts as he spills.
He drags me off only when he can’t stand it anymore, watching his release smear down my chin with a wicked, ruined grin.
“Messy girl,” he pants, thumb dragging it across my lips, “goddamn perfect mess.”
Marrow lasts longest, the most patient of us, but when Bonehead collapses behind me and Skully spills down my throat, the sight undoes him.
He slams deep, burying himself to the hilt, fingers bruising my hips as his reverence shatters into raw hunger.
“Beloved,” he sobs, breaking against me.
His cock pulses, hot and relentless, filling me until it overflows, his breath hitching against my spine.
He doesn’t stop kissing me, even as he comes, pressing worship into my damp skin with every groan.
The bed is a battlefield—sticky, soaked, ruined with candy, sweat, and come. My body’s wrecked, bruises blooming, throat raw, skin shining with bite marks and spit. And I’m laughing. Laughing like a lunatic, head thrown back, voice cracking as they all slump around me in varying shades of wreckage.
Bonehead still growls “Mine” into my neck like a broken mantra.
Skully smirks through gasps, dragging his thumb across my smeared lipstick. “Best horror movie marathon I’ve ever had.”
And Marrow, trembling as he kisses my shoulder, whispers, “If this is sin, I will never repent.”
I collapse into them, sticky and spent, the TV still flickering nonsense shadows across our bodies. Onscreen, someone screams. In bed, I giggle, drunk, sore and holy.
“Sequel?” I croak.
Three voices answer, overlapping without hesitation.
“Yes.”