45. Dakota #2
The first press of both heads against my entrance rips a gasp out of me. It’s more than the plug, more than fingers, blunt double pressure demanding entry, and I sink by inches, my thighs shaking, my body protesting and surrendering in waves.
“That’s it,” Dante breathes behind me. “That’s it, baby, look at you, taking two cocks in that tight ass like you crave us 24/7.”
“She’s barely got the heads in,” Cruz says from somewhere to my left, voice wrecked. “Sweetheart, you should see yourself. Stretched around both of them. Filthiest, most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
I pause halfway down, panting, sweat sliding between my shoulder blades. Eli’s thumb finds my clit and circles, gentle, adding pleasure to balance the burn.
“Breathe,” Eli murmurs. “You’re doing so well. Taking us so well.”
“So proud of you,” Dante says against my spine, pressing kisses between my shoulder blades. “So beautiful. A little more, baby. You can do it.”
I bear down and sink and sink and then my thighs meet their laps and I can’t breathe. Can’t think. Two cocks buried completely in my ass, stretching me, filling me, claiming me from the inside out, and I have never in my life felt so possessed. So owned. So absolutely theirs.
“Fuck,” I choke out. “Fuck, I’m… you’re both…”
“We know.” Eli’s forehead presses against mine, his breath ragged. “We feel it too. God, princess, you’re so tight it hurts.”
“Don’t move. Just give me a second.”
Nobody moves. Dante’s arms wrap around my waist from behind, holding me steady, and the three of us breathe together, connected in the most intimate way bodies allow.
“Color,” Eli demands.
“Green. Green. Cruz, get up here. I need more.”
“Jesus Christ.” Cruz climbs onto the couch, straddling my spread thighs, his huge body crouching over all three of us. “You hear her? Two dicks in her ass and she needs more. Greediest little thing in Virginia.”
“Your greedy little thing,” I fire back.
“Damn right you are.” His cock nudges my pussy, and even after everything, the stretch when he pushes in punches the air from my lungs. Three cocks. Two in my ass, one in my pussy, only a thin wall between them, and my whole body is nothing but nerve endings and need.
“I can feel you,” Dante groans. “Cruz, I can feel your cock through her. Fuck.”
“That’s the point, brother.” Cruz’s grin is feral, sweat already beading at his temple. “Brady. Get over here. Your girl’s got one more spot open and she’s crying for it.”
I am crying. Tears slide down my cheeks, not from pain, from the sheer overwhelming everything of it, and Brady appears in my blurred vision looking half-terrified and fully gone.
“Angel.” He cups my face. “You sure? You’re already…”
“Brady Williams, if you don’t get inside me right now, I will never forgive you.”
Cruz barks a laugh. “You heard the lady.”
The logistics take work. Cruz shifts his hips, Brady angles in from behind Cruz’s braced body, and my legs are spread wider than I thought possible, and then the head of Brady’s cock presses in alongside Cruz’s and the world whites out at the edges.
“Slow,” Eli commands. “Slow, Brady. Watch her face.”
Brady slides in inch by inch, and my body opens for him because it has no other choice, because I want it, because I asked for exactly this, and then he’s seated and I’m full.
Four cocks. Two in my ass. Two in my pussy. Every inch of me stretched and claimed and owned by the four men I love.
Nobody moves. Nobody breathes. Five bodies locked together in a configuration that shouldn’t be physically possible, suspended in candlelight, and the tears keep coming and Eli kisses them off my cheeks one by one.
“Talk to me,” he whispers.
“I’m perfect.” My voice breaks on it. “I’m so full. I’m so full of you and there’s nothing else. There’s no room for anything else. Just you. Just my men.”
“Just us,” Dante echoes, rough.
“Forever,” Brady says.
Then Eli shifts his hips, the smallest movement, and the sensation ripples through all five of us at once. I cry out, raw and broken, and they take it as permission.
The movement is nothing like regular sex.
They can’t thrust—the position won’t allow it—so they rock, shift, pulse, tiny motions that detonate like bombs.
Every micro-thrust drags four cocks against every nerve I have, and my body clenches around all of them, and every clench makes one of them groan, and every groan makes another one twitch inside me, an endless loop of sensation.
“Squeeze like that again,” Cruz grits out, “and I’m not gonna last five minutes.”
“She can’t help it,” Dante pants. “She’s coming apart. Aren’t you, baby? Falling apart on our cocks.”
“Yes—yes, I—”
“Then fall apart,” Eli orders, thumb pressing hard on my clit. “Come for us. Come with all four of us inside you. Show us who you belong to.”
The orgasm doesn’t build. It detonates, crashing over me without warning, my body clenching around all four of them, contractions so violent they blur into pain and back into pleasure, and I scream, actually scream, the sound bouncing off Dante’s walls, and their hands are everywhere, holding me, grounding me, voices tumbling over each other.
Cruz groans. “That’s it, sweetheart.”
“Good girl, good girl, so good,” Dante encourages.
“Fuck, princess, you’re crushing me,” Eli growls.
“Don’t stop, angel, give us another,” Brady demands.
The second one hits before I come down from the first. The third overlaps the second. I lose count, lose language, lose everything except the continuous wave rolling through me, crest after crest with no pause between, and I’m babbling, the words torn from somewhere below thought.
“I love you. I’m yours. I’m yours, don’t stop, please, please…”
“You’re ours.” Eli’s control is cracking, his hips jerking in stuttered pulses. “Ours, princess. Nobody else’s. Ever.”
He comes first, pulsing deep in my ass with a groan that sounds like it’s ripped out of his chest, and the flood of heat triggers another orgasm in me, and my clenching drags Dante over the edge seconds behind him, both of them filling me together, and I can feel it, I can feel everything.
“Oh fuck,” Cruz gasps. “Oh fuck, I can feel them coming, I can’t hold it.
” He shatters, driving up into me as deep as the position allows, spilling with a shout, and Brady lasts maybe three seconds longer before he buries his face in Cruz’s shoulder and follows, and I milk all four of them through contractions I couldn’t stop if my life depended on it.
The collapse takes coordination. Brady eases out first, then Cruz, then careful hands lift me off Dante and Eli, and everything leaks out of me at once, obscene amounts of it, and I’m too far gone to feel anything but drunken satisfaction.
I end up horizontal on the couch, barely conscious, floating in the warm dark space between bliss and oblivion.