by Laurel Adams
Instead, Ian asked, “Is that what you want now, lass?”
“What I want now is to give you great pleasure. Very great pleasure,” she said, repeating the laird’s words, giving them the ring of harlotry.
And before Ian could decide to rise and go, she slipped her hands beneath his plaid, pushing it up, bringing her lips to the tip of Ian’s swollen member. His kinsman jolted at what the laird knew to be the hot, wet mouth that Heather used so well. Then Ian let out a muffled groan as the lass deepened the kiss, taking him until her pretty pink lips were stretched around his manhood.
God’s blood, she did this while holding the laird’s gaze.
All for you, my laird, her silent stare said. I can do anything for you.
And it was like a bolt of lightning to John’s chest. A bolt that should have felt like thunderous, fury or pain but actually felt like pride. Something powerful arced and connected between them in that glance, almost as if Ian wasn’t even in the room. As if the laird’s kinsman were merely a belt or paddle or play-toy incidental to their love play. As if Heather wasn’t sucking another man into her mouth, but some extension of the laird himself…
Could that be possible?
Once, when John had despaired that it was Ian’s sword that defended Heather against the enemy, and not his own sword, she had said, His sword is your sword. He’s yours and I’m yours. Everything and everyone in this castle is yours. If only you would accept it. I’d happily be whatever it is you need me to be.
The laird hadn’t believed her then. Those had seemed only words. But now she was proving them true. She did not desire his kinsman. She didn’t welcome the thought of Ian’s hands on her. But she’d wrestled these things down in order to be obedient to her laird.
And the reality sent arousal coursing through his veins.
Heat swept over him with outrageous desire.
Even when Ian carelessly threaded a scarred hand in Heather’s hair to better guide and enjoy her ministrations. Even handled this way by another man, she arched her back as if to tempt the laird.
And tempt him she did.
John could hear his own blood rush past his ears as his cock strained with a need for her. Watching her do this thing because he had commanded her to do it made him want her more than he had ever wanted her. He had held himself back from her so long because he feared to crush her, feared that she was as delicate as the flower that was her namesake. But as she whored herself for him, the laird saw not only her devotion, but her strength.
The very fortitude that was his clan’s motto.
And he?
What a coward he had been not to ask this of her before. He had told himself that he didn’t share her because he loved her too much, but that wasn’t the whole truth of it. He hadn’t done it because he was afraid she would see in his strange desires something even more dark and depraved than what he’d already shown her. He feared that he would repulse her and that he would see disgust and judgement in her beautiful violet eyes. He feared that she would never, ever, accept it. Or accept him. And it mattered to him that she accept him. Care for him. Perhaps even love him as he loved her.
It mattered deeply. Now more than before.
That is why he was determined to make this good for her.
She would enjoy this; he would make certain of it.
~~~
HEATHER
The taste of Ian Macrae’s cock was different than my laird’s taste. Clean but saltier. He was velvety against my tongue, shaped somewhat differently, such that my lips slid more easily over his shaft. All the way to his brown pubic hair, which tickled my nose on the downstroke.
I made a careful mental inventory of each taste and texture, and each grunt and groan as I sought to bring him the very great pleasure I’d promised. And the laird encouraged me, saying, “That’s a good lass…she’s well-trained, is she not?”
It embarrassed me to hear him speak of me this way, even as it made some low and submissive part of me preen to be praised. “Fuck,” was Ian’s reply, spoken between clenched teeth, as his body tightened—every muscle tense.
He must have wanted me very badly for a long time, because he reacted to my touch as if it put him on the rack. As if he didn’t want to enjoy me, but was helpless against my charms.
All the same, though Ian’s hand was laced through my hair and my hands caressed his hips beneath his plaid, trying to draw him deeper into my mouth, this didn’t feel like an act of intimacy between us.
I was aware of him—aware of his pleasant scent and his every twitch in response to me—but it was the laird I felt I was performing for. Perhaps that is why I became so wet between my thighs as the laird rose from his chair and knelt behind me. While I bobbed my head up and down Ian’s hot, pulsing shaft…the laird’s rough hand came to rest on the small of my arched back.
And I began to tremble, because I knew he meant to take me from behind.
“I love the flare of your hips, lass,” the laird said. “And the pretty pink folds that peek out between your legs when you arch your back for me like this. You’re glistening already.”
The laird cupped my sex, his touch such a welcome relief that I moaned around the cock in my mouth. And that, in turn, made Ian groan.
“Good little slut,” the laird said, his voice becoming harsher, as it always did when he enjoyed carnal pleasures. He was a different man during sex; a harsher man. A man who would be denied nothing. A man who sometimes seemed as if he cared nothing for my pleasure except insofar as it stoked his own. But my pleasure always stoked his.
Perhaps that’s why he slipped a finger between my folds to stroke the hardened little pearl at my center. Oh, but his touch sent fire through my blood! Yet it didn’t satisfy, only teased, just as I was teasing Ian…letting my tongue flicker along the veins, slurping a bit at the wide, purplish head of his cock.
When my eyelashes fluttered open, I saw Ian staring at me, his hazel eyes narrowed with something between pain and pleasure. The the laird had given his permission and encouragement, I sensed Ian was fighting his desire for me, even now. I couldn’t guess why; I only knew it was a battle that I must win.
But it was so hard to do anything but surrender when I felt the laird position himself behind me, the thick head of the laird’s prick nudging against my opening. An ache to be filled blossomed in me anew, and a flood of my wetness bathed the laird’s cock as he slowly pushed inside until I was filled to the brim.
He might have thrust painfully and abruptly, as was his custom. I’d learned to love that. The sharp painful sensation followed by the sweet buildup of pleasure as I stretched to accommodate him and each thrust became easier.
But that wasn’t how my laird had his way with me that night.
That night, as I trailed my hands down Ian Macrae’s hard, flat stomach to grasp at the base of his shaft, determined to suck him as deeply as I could, trying to coax an orgasm from him…my laird stroked inside me with careful strokes aimed to coax an orgasm from me.
And I’m ashamed to say that he wouldn’t have to work hard at it.
Naked upon my knees, penetrated by powerful men fore and aft, I felt needy and lustful. Ian’s hand in my hair, guiding my mouth up and down the length of his erection. The laird’s big hands on my hips, angling me so that the knob of his cock hit a spot inside me that made my bare thighs quiver. Shoved back and forth between their needy cocks, I felt the heavy sway at the pearls between my breasts, my nose banging into Ian’s groin, and the slap of the laird’s heavy balls against my sex.
The room was filled with the heavy breathing of both men, punctuated by my own low moans. I’d believed myself quite incapable of enjoying such a thing, but now buffeted between two men, I was made a shipwreck of desire. I came powerfully, moaning in bliss around Ian’s shaft as my body contracted around the laird’s cock. There was something in me that thrilled to be the object of their lusts and I melted at the thought they would both make use of me to find their own release.
>
Ian’s powerful thighs clamped and released, guttural sounds rising from his chest, and I felt strangely triumphant at the knowledge he was going to spill his seed in my mouth. But before he could the laird asked, “Wouldn’t you rather spend yourself hilt-deep in her hot cunny?”
At the laird’s vulgar words, Ian gulped on air, hovering on the edge. He pulled my head up so that I must look at him and asked, “Is that what you want?”
“Very much,” I said, still gasping with my own pleasure.
Because it’s what the laird wished of me. That is what I told myself. But the truth is that the haze of arousal had made me curious, too. What would it feel like to be taken by another man? Especially a man like Ian who was so distant and unknowable, but brawny and well-made, with a hard flat stomach I found myself inexplicably drawn to lick.
Ian gave a single nod to the laird, who withdrew from me, leaving behind an emptiness in my wet passage I was now eager to fill. The laird stood, discarding his plaid, then pulled me up roughly by the elbow. He was never a man for gentleness, my laird. I knew his fingers would bruise me where they dug in. But I loved those little bruises he left on me. Tokens of the pleasures we shared together. His treatment of me only made me burn hotter.
Ian stood too, leaving off his belt and plaid and sword, then letting his eyes feast almost worshipfully on me before running a hand down the front of my body. Together, he and the laird both removed the pearls from my neck—leading me to fear that whatever we were going to do together was about to get much rougher. Then Ian claimed my mouth in a kiss, his stubble scratching the tender arch of my lip before his tongue tangled with mine. I sucked on it, not knowing what else to do, then moaned as his hands kneaded my breasts.
I want you to find pleasure in his body as you do with mine.
That was the laird’s command, and I hadn’t thought myself capable of it. But finding myself pressed between the hot bodies of two strong and strong-willed men, it all seemed very pleasurable indeed. The laird’s sticky erection pressed between the cheeks of my arse, and Ian’s hard cock was pressed against my belly. The sensation of that nearly made my knees buckle.
I did wilt a bit.
Fortunately, four hands steadied me. My laird’s hands on my hips. Ian’s on my breasts. And then, deliriously, I lost track of whose hands were where.
They drew me to the bed, then pulled me down, like hounds on a stag.
Ian drank in my kisses thirstily, like a drowning man. Meanwhile, the laird’s lips fastened on the back of my neck, his teeth grazing down my spine. Both men wanted me. But I knew, that in this moment, Ian wanted me more, because he was almost sheepish to let me see it. When I tried to look into his hazel eyes, he glanced away, as if he were shamed, to be caught trembling with need. And so I let my fingers skim down the length of his strong arm, to cover the trembling hand in which he was fisting his cock.
There was a moment, I suppose, when I could’ve stopped it. If I’d wanted to. But with my shoulder-blades braced hotly against the laird’s strong and sweating chest, being taken by both these men seemed both inescapable and too delicious to resist. So when the laird lifted my leg up over his kinsman’s hip, I helped guide Ian inside me.
The mechanics of the thing were the same, of course, but the size and shape of Ian’s tool opened me in different ways than the laird’s had before him. And he was gentler about it too. The silky crown of Ian’s penis dipped inside my opening, then pulled out again with a sucking sound before he plunged home, filling me with his thickness where I ached to be filled.
Ian groaned in satisfaction at our carnal coupling, clutching me by the hips, trying to get deeper but finding it difficult in this position. Perhaps the laird knew it, for he gave way to his kinsman, letting Ian roll atop me for better purchase.
It was the laird’s way to crush his weight down upon me, making me feel small and trapped and taken. A sensation that drove me to dizzying heights of arousal. But Ian was careful to hold his weight upon his strong arms, using his burning gaze and his cock alone to pin me in place.
I wrapped my arms around Ian’s neck, but otherwise, I went soft. My eyes fluttered half-closed in a stupor of sublime sensation as Ian worked over me, hips flexing, his stiff manhood gliding in and out of the sheath of my sex.
And I remained in that stupor until I heard my laird’s command. “Look at me, lass.”
Oh, god, the shame of it. “I can’t…I can’t!”
“Look. At. Me.” And I remembered then how much he liked to see me shamed, and how he had insisted upon this very thing when it was Ian who was watching, and the laird working over my virgin body.
Jiggling slightly with Ian’s excruciatingly slow and steady thrusts, I lifted my eyes to my laird and felt myself lost in that dark gaze. He was watching me be taken by another man, and yet, I saw a fierce pleasure at the sight. “How does it feel, lass?”
As the wind outside howled in judgement, I gave a desperate shake of my head. “Please…”
I couldn’t bear for him to make me say it. To make me admit it. It would be disloyal and whorish in every way. But he was relentless. “I asked you a question, lass, and you do not dare lie to me.”
No, I dared not lie to him. Even if I wished I could lie to myself. “It feels so delicious it’s awakened a hunger in me I don’t even understand.”
My words were for the laird, but Ian heard them too, and he gave a shudder as if my words awakened something in him too. At seeing his shudder, the laird smirked. “You heard her, man. You might as well put your back into it if you mean to sate her voracious appetite.”
Then the laird yanked my head by the hair to the side, and brought his face close so that we were nearly nose to nose. “You might reward the man whose fucking you so well by not laying still as a statue beneath him. We both know your quim is quivering with need, and that you’re going to take your pleasure on his cock. Don’t fight it.”
Even with another man inside me, the laird still held me in his thrall. I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t deny his words. I could only wrap my legs around Ian’s hips, and surrender to the cresting ache between my legs. My thighs tightened around Ian, his hot skin sticking to mine, and my arms locked about his strong neck, the rest of my body encouraging his strokes with a lewd undulation that I seemed to have no control over whatsoever.
I mewled with the rush of pleasure as my climax overtook me, feeling my own wetness gush around Ian’s unyielding erection. The laird’s kinsman cried out with me, then choked the sound back, denying me his own release. Again.
Instead, he rode it out with clenched teeth so that he could keep fucking me, even though I was so tight and tender in the aftermath. And I realized then that my pleasure wasn’t meant to bring this to conclusion, but only to heighten the experience. “Shall we take her to higher heights?” the laird asked Ian.
But it wasn’t a question. It was a command and we both knew it.
With a grunt, Ian rolled off me, onto his back, throwing a head of sweaty hair out of his eyes. “Kneel over me, lass,” Ian said, but neither man waited for me to comply. They put me where they wanted me. Both of them grasping at my hips and legs to set me atop Ian, where I balanced on palms pressed flat to the strong plane of his chest.
In the light of the full moon through the windows, there was no way to avoid eye-contact now, for either of us. And though I knew my cheeks were red with arousal, they were no longer red with reluctant embarrassment. I was quite beyond that now. Beyond any sense of modesty as my hips gyrated on Ian, my wet slit sliding along the length of his still-throbbing erection. Beyond pretending that I didn’t want him inside me, as I guided him to my entrance, then sank down upon him with a hiss of pleasure.
I wanted to ride him. I wanted to fuck Ian Macrae like a harlot, with the laird watching. With the whole world watching. But I knelt over the man with his cock buried inside me, frozen by whatever remnants of shame I had left.
And that’s when I was rescued by the laird, who s
eemed to know the sensual workings of my mind without ever needing to be told. It was always as if he could see inside me and know just what words would send a naughty thrill to my core. He did it again, in that moment. “Are you going to ride him, lass, or do I need to give him a crop to spur you on?”
With that, the laird delivered a stinging smack to my ass cheek and it was all the spur I needed. It set me off into a state of abandon, where I rocked my hips in a frenzy, taking Ian deeper than I’d taken him before. And more roughly, too.
“Jesus Christ,” Ian cried out, as if he saw in me a succubus, and I felt like one. He’d been holding back from me and I wanted my triumph over him. I wickedly wanted to make him spill his seed. I wanted to milk him of every drop!
“Patience, lass,” the laird said from behind me, with a chuckle, his strong calloused hand rasping it’s way down the curve of my back, as he knelt behind me, between Ian’s legs. Grasping hold of the fleshy globes of my arse, he spread my cheeks. “What a verra nice view, I have here. I can see your cunny grasping tight around Ian’s shaft, wetting it with every stroke…”
Then he touched the very spot where Ian and I were joined, to gather some of the slippery stuff on his finger, and all three of us moaned.
Then the laird drew the wetness to the pucker between my cheeks. “You’ve taken me in your arse before, lass, but—” The laird’s breath caught as his finger sank into the well-oiled passage, meeting less resistance than he expected. His grip tightened on my hip. I couldn’t see his expression, but I felt his whole body jolt with a kind of thrill. “You readied your arse for me. You oiled this passage.”
His voice carried with it a husky note of strong arousal, as if he couldn’t decide whether he should kiss me or spank me or both. Humping Ian with exaggerated strokes, so that both men could see every part of my body, I answered, “Of course I did, my laird. You told me that I must always come to you readied, in case you might wish to take me there.”
