11. The Carriage （No Brakes, No Space, No Dignity） #2
The third orgasm hits like a freight wagon. Cinder actually screams loud enough that I hear Mira curse from the driver's bench, and both of us groan as her body seizes around us.
"Three," I confirm.
"Still going," Slade says through gritted teeth.
Outside, the animals have gone quiet with awe.
"That sounded like it hurt," Nibbles whispers.
"In a good way," Squeak clarifies. "That was definitely a good-pain scream."
"How can you tell the difference?"
"Experience, young one. Experience."
One-Eye turns his head entirely around so he's facing backward, staring at the road behind us. "I see nothing. I hear nothing. I am simply a crow on a carriage roof, traveling peacefully through the countryside."
Bastard honks in agreement. Denial is a valid coping mechanism.
Inside, we've found our rhythm.
Slade and I move together, when I push in, he pulls back, keeping her constantly full, constantly stimulated, constantly on the edge. Wreck has managed to squeeze in at an angle, his cock sliding against her lips whenever she turns her head.
"Four," I announce as she clenches again.
"Five," Slade adds thirty seconds later.
"How are you counting when you're inside her."
"Multitasking," I say.
"Focus on fucking, not math."
"I can do both."
Cinder grabs Wreck's cock and shoves it into her mouth just to shut us up.
The carriage hits another rut. A big one.
For one terrifying moment, the entire vehicle leaves the ground. When it lands, all three of us slam deeper simultaneously.
Cinder comes so hard she actually sees colors. I know because she tells us afterward.
"Six!" we shout in unison.
"Oh my gods, they're keeping score," Mira groans from outside.
We are. We absolutely are. This is a team effort and team efforts require metrics.
The journey is approximately forty-five minutes. By minute twenty, we've made it to twelve.
The positions have gotten increasingly creative.
At one point, Wreck is hanging half out the window for leverage. I make a mental note to discuss safety protocols later, but right now his angle seems to be working.
At another point, I'm braced against the ceiling with both hands while Cinder rides me reverse. The ceiling is not designed for this. I hear wood creak ominously.
Slade discovers that the small decorative shelf can, in fact, hold his weight if he's careful. He's not careful. The shelf breaks. We don't stop.
"Thirteen."
"Fourteen."
"Fift… no wait, she didn't finish that one."
"That counts, her legs were shaking."
"Legs shaking isn't confirmation."
"Both of you shut up," Cinder screams, coming again.
"Fifteen," we say together.
Outside, the rats have started a betting pool.
"Twenty gold says they hit thirty before the castle," Squeak announces.
"Thirty? In forty-five minutes? That's insane."
"Have you met the lady? She's been waiting for this. She's going for the record."
"What's the record?"
"I don't know, but she's about to set it."
Susan and Gerald have fallen asleep in Mira's lap, exhausted from their emotional reunion. Even chaos ferrets need rest.
Bastard is preening his feathers with studied disinterest.
One-Eye has given up on denial and is reciting ancient poetry to himself. I catch fragments through the carriage wall. Something about darkness and the void. Fitting.
The carriage rocks.
And rocks.
And rocks.
By minute thirty, we've hit twenty.
Cinder is barely coherent. She's stopped forming complete sentences about ten orgasms ago. Now she just makes sounds, whimpers, moans, the occasional scream when one of us hits a particularly good angle.
"Twenty-one," Slade pants.
"Twenty-two," I confirm.
"Is she still conscious?" Wreck asks.
Cinder bites his shoulder in response.
"She's conscious."
By minute forty, we've reached twenty-seven.
The carriage springs are making a worrying sound. One of them has already given out. The vehicle is listing slightly to the left.
I don't care. I'm too focused on the way Cinder feels around me, the way she keeps coming back for more despite being thoroughly, comprehensively wrecked.
"Twenty-eight."
"Twenty-nine."
"Thirty."
"We hit thirty!" Squeak cheers from outside. "Pay up, Nibbles!"
"The castle is in sight," Mira calls back, her voice hoarse. "For the love of all that is holy, please be finished."
We're not finished.
By the time the carriage pulls to a stop at the castle steps, we've hit thirty-one.
The rats announce this to anyone within earshot.
"Thirty-one! Thirty-one! We counted every one!"
"The lady is a champion."
"The carriage will never be the same."
Guards approach, then immediately retreat when they hear what's still happening inside.
"Should we... announce them?" one guard asks weakly.
"Absolutely not," Mira says, climbing down. Her legs are shaking. Whether from the drive or from what she's heard, I can't tell. "We're going to stand here, look at the sky, and pretend this carriage is empty until they decide to emerge."
"How long will that take?"
A particularly loud moan echoes from within.
"Thirty-two," we chorus.
Mira closes her eyes. "I have no idea. But I'm going to need a lot more wine."
The carriage continues to rock.
The guards continue to pretend it doesn't exist.
And I, Ash, eldest brother, the one who's supposed to have self-control, keep fucking our lady with my brothers until she's ruined beyond repair.
Forty minutes later, the carriage door finally opens.
Cinder emerges first, barely dressed, hair destroyed, legs visibly shaking, wearing an expression of absolute blissed-out satisfaction. She has to hold the door frame to stay upright.
"Thirty-seven," she announces to no one in particular. "Thirty-seven orgasms. In a moving carriage."
I did the math wrong somewhere. I was counting thirty-one. But she was the one experiencing them, so her count is probably more accurate.
"I am never riding with anyone else again," she adds.
I emerge next, pants barely on, chest covered in scratches and bite marks. I lift Cinder into my arms because she clearly cannot walk.
"We'll get to forty-seven tonight," I promise.
"I'll die."
"What a way to go."
Slade slides out looking significantly more composed, though his shirt is entirely missing and his trousers are on backward. "I believe we've proven our worth, my lady."
Wreck tumbles out last, pantsless, holding both ferrets, grinning like a man who has achieved enlightenment through sex.
"Best. Carriage. Ride. Ever."
Gerald chitters proudly.
Susan purrs.
Bastard emerges with dignity, honking once at the assembled guards as if daring them to comment. None of them do.
The rats scramble out of my pockets, how they got back in during the activities is unclear, and immediately begin recounting the experience to anyone who will listen.
"Thirty-seven! Thirty-seven! We counted every one!"
One-Eye lands on my shoulder, looking approximately seven hundred years older than he did that morning.
"I," he says slowly, "am billing the crown for emotional damages. Physical damages. Auditory damages. And whatever category covers 'forced to witness things no bird should witness.'"
"Worth it," all three of us say in unison.
Cinder, still cradled in my arms, looks up at the castle and then at the three of us.
"Inside," she orders. "All of you. We're getting married tomorrow, and I want to hit forty-seven before the ceremony."
I carry her up the steps. Slade and Wreck follow. The animals trail behind in a parade of chaos.
Mira watches us go and takes a long drink from her wine cask.
Behind us, the carriage lets out one final, exhausted creak, and one of the suspension springs falls off entirely.