by Sinclair,Ava
Iris glanced down, blushing. She’d been longing for them since the three had been reunited. In fact, her desire had been building all day, and she’d come to realize that mating with them had changed her biology in some way. She could not be in the company of her mates without her pussy pulsing, as if trying to remind her that it was ready to be filled. The insistent throb only increased now as Zios smiled teasingly and slid his huge knife slowly and deliberately back into its sheath, a teasing look in his eye.
“True,” Utak said, walking over to join the brother who’d already reached their mate. “What cakes could taste as lush as our Iris’ flesh? What wine could be as sweet as her arousal?”
The words had Iris feeling weak in the knees. When Utak swept her up and carried her to the bed, she raised her arms when he set her down so Zios could skim off the gown she wore.
Her mates were instantly on her, one latched onto each sensitive breast, nursing her nipples insistently as she wound her fingers into their hair. As they suckled, each put a hand between her legs, and she felt her slick thighs fall apart, welcoming fingers that stroked and probed and fucked her.
But it wasn’t enough. She was writhing with need, her body covered now with a fine sheen of sweat. Her hair loose, it billowed like a cloud around her. Iris’ breath was coming in rapid pants as she began to beg them to fuck her.
In her mind, she realized she sounded like the whore Ingus Sprang had wanted to make her, but she felt no shame in playing the wanton to her strong Trogarian chieftains. She reveled in being open, in being used by them, by being the plaything of their desire. She found victory in each moan they breathed onto her skin, knowing that in her surrender lay a unique power. They not only wanted her as she wanted them, they needed her.
They’d rolled her over, pushing her hair aside to lick and nibble her neck. Teeth and tongues gently scored then laved their way down her back, nipping at the dimples above her buttocks, then nipping at the buttocks themselves in that way that made her toes curl, and continuing down to place soft gentle bites on the backs of her thighs before tickling the backs of her knees with their tongues until she giggled and squirmed.
One brother stopped those wiggles by driving a finger into her pussy, holding it there, while the other—she’d lost track of who was doing what by this time—finished his oral examination by sucking on each one of her toes.
Now they were lifting her languid body to all fours, spreading her legs wide. Fingers already lubricated by her arousal were pressing into her bottom hole, probing and stretching. She remembered the night she’d been punished with the wooden plug Zios had shoved into her bottom. The memory combined now with the feeling of one finger from each man inserted, thrusting, stretching her bottom ratcheted up her excitement level to new heights.
What was happening to her? Her pussy was clenching at the thought of being filled there, too, of submitting to their fingers, of submitting to more.
A cock shoved into her pussy. She sighed. It was Zios’. She could tell the difference now in size and girth and movement. Utak was longer and thinner, but moved with slower, easier strokes. Zios’ cock was shorter but thicker, and he always took her with the kind of slamming force that left her feeling exhausted and deliciously sore.
Utak’s cock replaced his brother’s. They worked her in tandem, and then Zios was straddling her, facing his brother and holding her by the hips, his large hands grasping and pulling apart her bottom cheeks to completely expose and widen her back passage. She felt stretched, lewdly exposed, and loved it. She looked back; Utak’s cock was dripping with pre-cum and her arousal; he rubbed both along the length of his shaft and then nudged her bottom hole. The head entered just barely, and already she could feel the stretch, the sting, and the reflexive attempt of her sphincter to contract against the fleshy invasion.
But Utak was persistent, pressing and pressing as Zios coaxed her to push out against the pressure, promising Iris that it would open her up and allow Utak inside. She did, not believing, but finding it was true. It was a seemingly impossible fit, but he slid in as her body seemed to gain what she could only describe as a supernatural ability to fit him.
The thrusts were slow and deep. Zios, still straddling her, reached under Iris to pinch and stroke her clit as his brother slid in and out, in and out. Iris felt herself awash in the sensations. She was slowly moving with Utak, following the motion of his thrusts, the motion of his brother’s hand. His cock was soon pulsing; he was preparing to come, and each pulse pushed outward against the walls of her back passage, the pain and pleasure so exquisite now. Utak’s cry sounded like victory as he came; she felt the flood of his seed deep inside this place that had never taken a man’s cock, and it thrilled her that she’d just lost her second virginity on this special night.
But they were far from done. Utak removed his spent cock from her bottom as Zios moved from his position, ready to crown her pussy with his seed.
Iris was ready, ramming the denied passage onto the huge, thick cock. She could still feel the heaviness of Utak’s seed inside her as Zios began to ready his to spill. She was a receptacle, a holy vessel for her men. Hands moved reverently over her body as Zios pumped into her, hard, long strokes that drove her face-first into the soft cushion.
“You are ours,” Zios said, slapping her ass with his hand. She moaned, welcoming this pain as well.
“Teach me,” she moaned, and the slaps rained down now, punishing slaps that stung her. But she could feel the possessiveness in them, the control she was craving, the dominance that only added to the spiraling excitement that grew and grew and grew until the wave of pleasure crested and broke and rolled over her, buffeting her even as Zios streamed himself into her in hot gushes of his cum.
The three sank down to the cushion, sated and spent.
“When we next take you, it will be under the stars on Trogar, in a stone house on the fertile hillsides where our son will be born and learn to walk, where he will be lifted in the air and presented to the All that Is, where he will tame and ride his first gyrand.”
Iris smiled. In her mind’s eye, she could see it all, and knew that the three of them were sharing a collective vision, and that when she laid her eyes on Trogar for the first time, it would look familiar because she had seen it before.
She nestled between her mates, whose brawny arms were circled around her on either side. Iris listened to them breathing, felt one chest rise against her back as she watched the other she was facing fall. She felt safe, protected, cocooned.
And then, she felt something else.
She sat up with a cry, both hands going to her pelvis. It was a feeling she’d never felt before, a feeling she would try years later to describe but fail to, even when asked by the son who—at that moment—quickened with the life spark.
“He lives!” She was looking down, and began to laugh, and then cry with happiness. She looked to first Zios and then Utak as they sprang awake and sat up on either side of her. “He lives!”
She laughed again through her tears, and the brothers leapt to their feet, hugging one another and then reaching to raise her up together into their arms, holding her close, hands on her belly now. They were more than a mated trio now. They were a family. And they were going home.
Epilogue
She tried to remain calm. As the mate of the chieftains, after all, Iris often set the example. And Alben wasn’t the only youngling who would sit his first gyrand today.
Still, the sight of her small, sturdy lad reaching hand over hand to draw the freshly caught young animal toward him was enough to make her feel faint. The gyrand reared and bellowed; when it came down, its huge padded feet slammed the ground so hard it shook.
But her son kept hold, and on either side, her mates reassuringly held her hands.
The animal was exhausted after the long battle in which it had dragged Alben all over the arena. Gyrands, while having incredible stamina over ground, lacked it in situations where they were forced to leap or fight
. The long neck lowered now as Alben said the secret words only male younglings knew, although that would change after the next harvest when the daughter who watched in the seats below would, for the first time, join the training with other females.
Iris had managed to change the way the Trogarians saw females. Theirs was still a patriarchal culture, but the males listened more now, and young females were taught to fight and ride after both Iris and Nora had passionately argued that in the event of an attack when the males were away, they should know how to defend their homes.
And the males had learned that learning these things did not affect the softness or respect shown to them by their female mates. If anything, Trogarian males were revered more than ever for this show of trust.
The gyrand was closing its eyes, the first sign of acceptance as Alben rubbed its head. The crowd was hushed as they watched the ancient practice play out. If the gyrand accepted Alben as its master, it would lie down to be mounted.
Sometimes the animals did not yield, and younglings were forced to wait until the following harvest to try again. The pairing could not be forced; the animal chose the master as much as the master chose the animal. It was the accepted way. Still, Iris said a silent prayer to the All that Is for the animal to yield. Alben wanted this so badly.
The front knees folded, and she could feel her mates squeeze her hands, the first sign that they, too, were as anxious as she was. The back legs folded. The animal was down, and turned its head to nuzzle Alben as he walked to the side.
The first test was complete. But the second—this was what tried a mother’s courage.
As soon as Alben climbed onto the gyrand’s back, it exploded with the force and agility one would not expect of such an oddly proportioned animal docile enough to run for days and ride quietly in spaceships when properly tamed.
This one was especially agitated, throwing its head like a club as it madly bucked around the arena. When that didn’t work, it made a wild dash across the arena, slamming on brakes just before hitting the wall, sliding and then turning on a dime to run the other way.
Alben was holding on, and—much to his fathers’ delight—smiling, the white teeth a flash in his tan face. The spectators roared now. Never had they seen such a display, at least not in recent memory. Alben was holding the fur of the gyrand with one hand, his free hand now using the lead that ran from the animal’s head collar to whip it across its flanks, left and right, left and right. The blows weren’t hard, but when the gyrand slowed down, the beating stopped. When it sped up, the youngling thrashed him with such force that after two more laps the animal made the obvious connection and moved from a gallop to a lope to a slow trot.
Alben rewarded it with long rubs up and down the neck. And when the gyrand stopped, the young rider reached into a pouch at his side and held out a piece of fruit. The long neck craned around to take the treat. Two more laps around the arena and Alben slid off. Now he walked away, the third test. And as he did, the gyrand followed, its nose at the youngling’s back.
Alben turned, and the gyrand put its chin on his shoulder. Alben reached up, hugged it around its neck, and scratched its ears. And stepped back. The rubbery lips of the gyrand ruffled Alben’s hair. He laughed. It crooned.
The bond had been made. Until one died, they would be together.
It was a good day. All the younglings had been accepted by their gyrands, but it was Alben’s training of his that was the talk of that night’s feast.
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to stand it when Lavos’ time comes.” Nora fed the chubby youngling sitting on her lap a sweet grub. “I thought I was going to have a heart attack today just watching Alben.”
“It wasn’t so bad,” Iris said, and beside her, Zios gave her a mock stern expression.
“Perhaps I should lash your bottom for lying. I felt you shaking as I was holding your hand.”
Iris laughed at this and nodded. “Very well. Perhaps I was a little scared. But I am so proud.”
“As you should be,” Nora said, then fell quiet. “You’re a strong woman. And you—we—have strong men by our sides. I can think of nothing better, in this world or any other.”
The End
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More Stormy Night Books by Ava Sinclair
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