by Entangled
His hard length pressed against her belly, full and ready once again, and for a moment, she thought he meant to shove it inside her as well. Jane cried out at the thought…and at the insidious pleasure unfurling inside her. But instead, Jonathan’s cock remained trapped between her belly and him as Kellan shoved and stroked in short, hard thrusts.
The dark, unsettling pleasure rose deep inside her and the hot water leached energy from her. Jane struggled to breathe, but Jonathan had her imprisoned against his lips, his tongue sleek and demanding, smothering her cries…of protest, of pleasure. The closeness of her world pressed down on her, her limbs trembled and felt leaden. She closed her eyes, grateful to sink into a foggy pool of lust as the unfamiliar sensations grew stronger, overtaking her consciousness.
Kellan’s rhythm jolted into her from behind, slamming her forward. She felt full and impaled as his cock moved in its tight channel, faster and harder. Jane clung to her fiancé, but could do little to keep herself from being buffeted about like a rag doll. She was hot, she throbbed and shuddered, she was tight and breathless…and that dark pleasure, so different and strong, swelled and swelled, rolling through her until she screamed her release against Jonathan’s lips.
The explosion was fierce, Kellan’s and her own. Sharp and deep and it dragged her into nothingness…her eyes wouldn’t open, her strength gave out, her body collapsed. Jane succumbed to the intensity of the heat…the sweet smoke…the unfamiliar, uncomfortable pleasure that still twitched through her body.
The last thing she remembered was Jonathan, arching sharply against her belly, and his long, deep groan of fulfillment.
— III—
No sooner had Mr. Darkdale left the treehouse parlor than Efremina turned her attention to other matters.
It’s about bloody time. Hard to find any bit of privacy in a place like this, filled with comings and goings and snakes and birds and lizardy insects. But Miss Jane was walking with her Mr. Jonathan, and Effie didn’t care one whit where that snake named Darkdale was going—as long as it was away. She wouldn’t care if he got lost in the jungle and never came back, matter of fact. Good riddance.
To make certain there were no interruptions, she closed the trapdoor and latched it shut. Professor Everett was engrossed with his examination of a purple-headed riser or thrusting-blackheart or some other unlikely-named specimen of butterfly.
Effie grinned to herself. She had plans for her own purple-headed riser.
She began to gather up the last bit of the dinner dishes and brought them to the large bowl for washing. The bowl was a massive shell with a hole drilled in the bottom, and a cork plugging it up when it needed to be kept full. It wouldn’t do to have a mess distracting her. Aside from that….
“Oh lands!” she exclaimed as she dumped a very large bowl of water down the front of her. “How clumsy of me!”
Everett actually mumbled something in response, which was rather shocking, considering he hadn’t even noticed his daughter leaving for an unchaperoned walk with her fiancé. But Effie wasn’t surprised when he didn’t look up from his study.
Not for long, Professor. She cackled silently.
She looked down at her loose, shift-like dress, now sopping with dishwater all down the front. Beneath the light white cotton, she wore…nothing. Scandalously, happily, she wore absolutely nothing.
First of all, it was bloody damned hot in this blasted jungle. She had perspired through her corset, shift and shirtwaist just walking off the ship’s gangplank. And secondly, no one was about to notice her pendulous breasts and generous hips swaying beneath the shapeless tunic when there was a nubile young Jane wandering about, hardly any more properly dressed.
And that was fine with Effie. The last person she wanted looking at her with lust in his eyes was Mr. Darkdale.
But there was one person who could use a little rising of his own purple-headed critter. And now that her tunic was no longer shapeless….
Effie glanced over at her target, who had a small glass of whiskey next to him and a pencil in hand. His glasses were pushed up onto the bridge of his nose as he studied an open book and his own journal, then looked over at a new specimen, mounted on its tiny pinboard. Helpless. Pinned.
She cackled again. Little did he know that the tables were about to turn.
Effie wandered over to where he sat, conscious of the way her shift clung, unmoving, to her breasts. Looking down, she could see the melon-shaped beauties, nipples tight and thrusting through the cloth in unmistakable interest. Her hips and the vee at the juncture of her thighs were perfectly outlined, and she suspected even the dark patch of hair that grew there was visible through the soaked cloth.
“Professor,” she said, standing directly in front of him. “Would you care for a hot cuppa?”
He didn’t respond immediately; for he was in the midst of writing a sentence. She waited patiently, the water dripping in soft spatters at her feet, until he finished. “Professor,” she said again. “I could make something hot for you to drink.”
Effie snickered to herself. Something hot for you to drink. He had no idea.
“Erm…” he mumbled, flipping through a page of the journal, then jotted another note.
She couldn’t help but admire the smooth baldness of his head, shining sweetly in the golden lamplight. Her poor, deceased Mr. Heffington had been bald as a babe the day she met him, and since then, Effie didn’t cotton to a man with a thick head of hair. It hid too much. You could tell a lot about a man by the shape of his skull, Granny Melton used to say.
“Professor,” she murmured, leaning over to reach for the whiskey glass. “Should I refill this for you?”
A drop of water landed in the middle of his journal page. Effie grinned. She couldn’t have planned it better.
The drip caused enough of an interruption to penetrate his concentration. He looked up and she saw his eyes fix on her breasts, hanging right there in front of him. Poor dear. He didn’t have a chance.
Effie posed a moment longer to make certain he got the message, and then she slowly eased back. She imagined he could see right down the neck of her dress. And now he could see everything else through the outline of her shift.
“Professor?” she said.
To her delight, his attention moved neither to her face, nor back down to his work. It seemed to be fixated precisely where she wanted it.
“Erm…” he mumbled. The tips of his ears had gone pink.
“Something hot for you, Professor?” she asked. And eased a bit closer. Now her thigh was pressing against the arm of his chair…only a breath away from his arm.
“Erm…” Now his cheeks flushed.
She watched his throat move as if he were trying to force something coherent from it. His glasses had slid to the end of his nose, which meant he wasn’t using them to focus. No, indeed. He was focusing on something large enough he didn’t need to have it magnified.
Although, speaking of large items…. Effie grinned. Her breasts were magnificent, but in her mind, bigger was always better. She narrowed her thoughts and attention toward whatever nestled in the crotch of his pants. The trousers were tight, growing tighter before her eyes. Oh, yes, those short bald men…they rarely disappointed.
“Something smooth and warm, Professor? More whiskey?” she said, and heard how throaty her voice had become. Mmm…indeed. His innocent confusion and the bulge in his trousers had her insides all hot and bothered. Things were starting to get stirred up.
“Erm…hot…or…smooth?” he managed to say. The pencil slipped from his lifeless fingers and rolled to the floor. Effie took that as another good sign.
Now was the time to take charge. Quick as a wink, she whisked the journal and papers from the desk and replaced them with her very fine, very generous arse.
Thus positioned in front of Everett, she leaned forward and removed his glasses. “I don’t think you’ll be needin’ those,” she told him. He had delicious looking lips. And that short, prickly mustache wa
s going to be just what she needed when he was diving into her quim.
She shivered with expectation and her nipples tightened. It felt as if her breasts were going to burst from the tight, wet fabric.
“Smooth…” he mumbled. “Or…hot…erm….”
Edging closer, she began to tug at the buttons of his trousers. Pop. Pop. Pop. And then….
“Oh my. Ohhh my. Oh my!” Effie could hardly breathe. There was the largest, thickest, purplest cock she’d ever seen. Looking right up at her, a sweet pearl drop shining on its tip. Pleasure surged to her nether parts, swelling them up, making them fat and wet with anticipation. Her little tickler, that tiny nub deprived for so long, was hard as a dried pea, ready and waiting.
She wasted no time sliding off the desk, hiking her sticky dress up, and positioning herself on that tower of pleasure. His hands were still curled around the arms of his chair, as if unable to loosen them. But the beads of sweat on his pate, the raspy breathing and his full, parted lips told Effie he was just as hungry as she was.
When she slid down into position, he made a sound of such deep pleasure she nearly came right then. Patience, Effie.
“Hot,” he gasped. “Hot.”
It was awkward, trying to pull off her clinging dress, but she managed it and flung it to the floor with a satisfying splat.
Only then did Everett move. As if in a trance, his eyes still focused on her breasts, he released the chair and gathered them up into his hands. Effie sighed, shifting on his cock, her nether lips full and wet. Her generous beauties spilled over his hands like pearl-white melons, her nipples tight and rosy and ready. He fondled her with those skillful, ink-stained fingers, kneading and stroking as she rocked back and forth on him, just enough to get the blood to flowing faster and harder.
She’d waited long enough for this. She wasn’t going to rush it.
He rounded up one of her breasts and leaned into it. Effie moaned with pleasure as those full, hot lips closed around her nipple. Lust shot down through her belly, fast and hard. Her tickler throbbed in appreciation. He sucked and licked as she shifted and rocked, fully conscious of the fabric of his trousers and shirt plastering to her bare, damp skin. She felt him shift and swell and bump inside her, and she tightened around him, kissing him with her pussy.
“Hot…” she murmured nonsensically. “Hot…mmmm….”
Everett corralled all of her bosom into his hands, crushing them together, and then he buried his face in her hot cleavage. His tongue slid in and around, circling one nipple at a time, teasing each of them with a sharp, quick flicker, then he buried his mouth in the deep crevice once again.
Effie rolled her hips, grasping the abandoned arms of the chair, circling herself in tiny figure-eights over the thick pole on which she sat. She heard the soft, wet sounds of her quim sucking back against his cock, licking it with her juices, and pulses of pleasure stabbed her down, down, harder, harder. He sagged back, still cupping her breasts as if they were large pillows balancing on his palms, and suddenly his gaze fastened on her: sharp and aware and very, very naughty.
Effie gasped as he pumped up sharply into her, surprising her with the force and suddenness of his thrust. His lips quirked beneath the bristly mustache, pleased and arrogant, and he jammed up hard and fast once again. She thought she’d scream from the intense pleasure of being utterly, completely filled.
And then she was driving down hard onto him, his cock so thick and hot she swore she felt the ridge of every vein, the curve of his head. He met each of her downward strokes with an upward piston of his own, sliding crazily between her swollen lips, thick with juices and tight around him. Her tickler pounded and pulsed along his length and Effie had to tighten her hands on the chair to keep herself steady, he was so fast and hard.
Faster and faster, wet and juicy, hot and soft, they moved together like crazed animals until the white-hot pleasure peaked. Effie slammed down one last time and felt her insides explode, shattering and surging down over his cock in a fresh sluice of wetness. He pumped back up once, twice more, and groaned as he shot up inside her even as she throbbed and shuddered around him.
Panting, Effie opened her eyes after a long moment, hot and slick and a complete pool of satiation. Her legs were ribbony and weak, her skin flushed and warm, her tickler easing into rest as she eased off him. She sighed. Couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so delicious.
She looked down at Everett, who was watching her with what could only be described as a cat-eating-a-canary look. He looked pleased as punch and just as arrogant as a king.
“Well, then,” he said, his mustache twitching. “Shall we try for hot and smooth next time?”
And before she could reply, he reached for his glasses and replaced them on his nose, turning back to his jumble of papers.
— IV—
After a time, Jane became aware again.
Her body felt heavy and weak. She ached in some places, but it was a soft, dull, sated sort of ache. She didn’t think she could lift an arm, let alone raise her head. Her lips throbbed. Her nether parts pulsed. Her nipples felt raw and tight. Even before she opened her eyes, she realized she was lying on the spongy ground on some sort of cloth or blanket. Wrapped in it.
Low, deep voices rumbled nearby and when she finally gathered enough strength to open her eyes, the first thing she saw was a small orange glow. This was a fire, rather than the bowl of coals she remembered from…before. A little shiver caught her by surprise, followed by a whirlwind of vague images and sensations. Jane bit her lip as a twinge of lust pulsed sharply through her.
Two men sat near the small blaze, one on each side. They were talking, each holding a cup, one of them holding a curling piece of paper clear of the flames. They appeared to be examining it. Jane saw the silhouette of a bottle outlined by the fire. And the long, lean rod of a rifle, leaning against a nearby tree.
It was still night, and they were in the middle of the jungle…with no protection except for a bit of flame and a single weapon. Yet, the men appeared to be at ease, deep in discussion.
With effort, she dragged herself into a sitting position. Her hair cascaded down around her shoulders and torso, wildly curly and tangled, somehow freed from its knot. The blanket fell away and left her breasts and belly bare. As if puppet heads drawn by a string, both men turned to look at her.
Jane felt a rush of heat over her cheeks as she looked at Jonathan and then Kellan. In a flash, she remembered everything that happened. Everything she’d hoped and planned for when she left the treehouse that evening for a walk with her fiancé…and that which she hadn’t expected. The heat on her face burned stronger with the memory of Kellan, groaning and straining against her. His hands caressing, fingers poking and stroking, as if he owned her.
“Jane,” said Jonathan. He tucked the paper away and reached out a hand toward her. “Love, come join us. It’s warm here.” She could see he was dressed only in a pair of trousers.
She pulled slowly to her feet, gathering the blanket up with her. Her clothing must be nearby.
How should she act? How could she face Kellan again…or even Jonathan, after their actions in the pool? An unexpected shudder sizzled through her as she remembered the feel of that dark, tight orgasm, the way she’d felt uncomfortably full and strange during the experience.
She was confused and slow, her mind muddled, her muscles weak from the effects of the extreme heat and the cloying smoke, along with the intense physical experience. For a moment, she considered turning and running into the jungle, away from them. But this was Jonathan, her lost love. And he’d…shared her with Kellan. Shared her.
Jon, you gave your word.
You have my blessing.
Yes, Jonathan had given her to Kellan with his blessing. His permission. Why or how would he do such a thing? And how could she have enjoyed it?
Her cheeks flamed hotter. As strange and unsettling as it had been, she couldn’t deny that she’d found pleasure beneath two sets of hands
, pinioned between two bodies. So much pleasure that she could hardly walk, and wasn’t even certain she had the energy to speak.
“Jane, come sit with me,” her fiancé said. “You were so incredibly lovely tonight.”
She wanted to talk to him about it, to rail at him…but she didn’t want to do so in front of Kellan. His dark eyes followed her as she made her way to sit next to Jonathan, sinking to the ground next to him. The flare of lust was there, as it had always been. She shivered. But now he knew…now he’d tasted her.
Would he want more?
Did she? Her arsehole twinged at the thought. A tight, sharp reminder that she’d reached an orgasm unlike anything she’d experienced.
As if reading her mind, Kellan said, “You seem to have enjoyed losing your second maidenhead, Jane.” His smile could only be described as a satisfied leer. “It was my pleasure to induct you into that particular form of eroticism.”
“Now, Kel,” Jonathan said, smoothing his hand roughly over the top of Jane’s head and down over her long curls. “Don’t mortify her. Jane is a proper lady.”
“What did you mean, he promised you?” Jane finally found the words. She looked at Kellan, meeting his gaze with as much steadiness as she could muster. The fog was beginning to fade.
Kellan was taking a drink from his cup—a vessel she recognized as being from the treehouse. He’d been well-prepared when he came to join them. As he pulled the mug away, he smiled. “I made no secret of my attraction for you. Jon helped with that by telling me stories of your passion and how responsive you were.”
“But Jonathan, why would you—”
Her fiancé smiled at her fondly. “What else were we to do on that long ocean voyage, all those days and nights of nothing to do? I love you and was proud of you and couldn’t stop thinking of you, Jane. And these last three years, I dreamt of you every night. I missed you so.”
