The Wife #7
The words sent a jolt through me. My body responded instantly, my cunny clenching around Bramstock’s cock, my breath coming in sharp, desperate gasps.
For the first time since he’d begun to move, Bramstock spoke, amusement in his growl. “Your seed is in her ass, milord, but mine will fill her cunny.”
“Yes,” Robert blurted in excitement, lifting his mouth from my nipple to meet my eyes, his expression shifting to a question. “He can fill you, Louisa?”
Dimly, his question—the meaning—drifted through my fog of pleasure. I knew he was asking my permission, and I wanted it so very badly. I wanted to be their good girl.
But some semblance of my old self—my proper self—made me moan, “A baby…”
And my husband sucked in a breath the same time Bramstock, still fucking me, chuckled. “Yes, Countess. I’m going to fill your cunny, and if my seed takes tonight, then the next Earl of Marchon could very well be my get. Isn’t that right, milord?”
And Robert nodded eagerly, his bright gaze on my face. “Please, Louisa?” he murmured, his fingers never once stilling in their quest to bring me pleasure.
How could I argue, when it was what I wanted? With a moan of surrender, I nodded, dropping my head back to the mattress, giving myself completely to their control and use.
“Good girl,” murmured Bramstock, whose thrusts increased in speed.
And it was immediately echoed by my husband as his mouth moved across my skin. “A good girl. Our good girl. So perfect.”
Yes!
Robert’s fingers stroked my clitoris, bringing me closer to pleasure as Bramstock fucked me. My arse was full, and with each plunge, I imagined I could feel the valet’s thick cock pressing against the plug inside me.
I moaned and squirmed against their touches, so close to my release, my body coiling tighter with each thrust. My husband’s tongue was on my breasts as he stroked me.
“Come for us, Louisa. Let him feel your tight little cunny squeeze his cock.”
Bramstock’s voice was a dark growl. “That’s right, Countess. Show us how much you love my cock.”
I couldn’t hold back. My orgasm crashed over me, my body convulsing as waves of pleasure tore through me. Robert’s name tore from my lips, my fingers digging into his shoulders as I rode out the storm.
And through it all, Bramstock never stopped.
His cock drove into me, deep and hard, his grip on my thighs unyielding. Robert’s lips found mine, swallowing my cries as my body shuddered beneath them.
And then, with a guttural groan, Bramstock was coming. I felt his seed—hot, thick—filling me, spilling out of me as my inner muscles convulsed around him. I hadn’t expected to be able to feel him cum like that, and the sensation was simultaneously thrilling and filthy.
I was filthy.
I lay beneath my husband’s kisses and strokes, being filled by another man’s spend—with Robert’s blessing!—and adored it.
I was a harlot, wasn’t I?
I lay there, my body still trembling from the force of my climax, my breath coming in ragged gasps. Robert’s fingers traced lazy circles on my skin, his lips pressing soft kisses to my shoulder, my collarbone, the curve of my breast.
“Such a good girl,” he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction. “You took him so well, Louisa. So perfectly.”
His praise sent another shiver through me, my cunny still throbbing. I could feel his seed—his—spilling from me, warm and thick, a filthy reminder of what we’d just done.
Bramstock’s cock slid from me with a wet sound, and I whimpered at the loss, my body already craving more. I forced my heavy eyes open just in time to see him grip the base of his shaft, his fingers spreading his release across my curls, my swollen lips. Marking me.
His. Theirs.
A few hours ago, I’d been merely a wife. Now…now I knew what it was like to have two men touching me, to feel another man claiming me.
Harlot.
A small grin tugged at my lips as I smirked at the part of me who was horrified by the impropriety. Yes. I was a harlot. Their harlot.
Robert’s hand stilled on my breast, his breath hitching as he watched. His cock, so hard again, twitched against my thigh. His fingers tightened on me, his gaze locked on Bramstock as the valet turned toward the basin.
Perhaps I ought to have been embarrassed—spread out like this, used and dripping, my husband’s valet casually cleaning himself while my body still hummed with pleasure. But all I felt was a strange, heady thrill.
Bramstock returned with the warm, damp cloth.
His movements were efficient, practiced—the same hands that had just fucked me now cleaning me with practiced ease, as if this were part of his role.
The cloth dragged through my folds, wiping away his seed, and I bit my lip to stifle a moan at the sensation.
He was a servant, someone used to tending to another’s body like this.
But tonight, he was our master.
And Robert and I had both loved it.
My husband’s fingers were still on me, stroking my skin, but his attention was fixed on Bramstock. His cock was fully hard now, leaking against my hip, his breath coming faster.
Bramstock stood over us, his dark eyes sweeping over our flushed, pleasured bodies. There was no shame in his gaze—only satisfaction. Approval.
Then he nodded, a single sharp dip of his chin.
“Come here, milord,” he said, his voice a velvet command. He gestured between my legs. “And fuck your wife. But don’t come in her cunny; tonight, that is mine.”
A whimper escaped me. Robert didn’t hesitate. He moved immediately, his hands guiding me onto my hands and knees as Bramstock settled beside me, his fingers trailing down my spine.
“Tonight, Countess,” he murmured, his touch igniting my skin, “we’re going to teach you all about being a dirty little harlot.”
I should have been scandalized. I should have protested.
Instead, I arched into his touch, my body already aching for more as the plug in my arse made my cunny throb.
And as Robert positioned himself behind me, his cock pressing against my entrance, I realized with a thrill of anticipation…
I couldn’t wait.