by M J Marstens
“It’s ok,” Maks slurs, still slightly asleep. “I just glad that you’re ok.”
Then, he surprises me by tugging me down and cupping my face to kiss. It’s slow and sensual, and filled with so much emotion that I can almost taste it.
“What was that for?” I ask in astonishment.
“Didn’t you want me to kiss you like that?” he queries instead.
I roll my eyes at him and sit in his lap.
“Are you always so difficult?” I chide.
He chuckles and adjusts himself better, teasingly brushing against my cock with his hand while he does so.
“Yes. It’s been determined by Nastya and I that we come from a troublesome ancestor who passed the trait down to us.”
“Nastya, hmm? It suits her. It seems that you two became close while I was gone.”
Maks just shrugs, pushing his hips upward into mine.
“Agony and pain make good friends and both her and I have that in spades.”
I wince at the raw honesty in his voice. Even though he was raised in a privileged home, I know it wasn’t easy for him. He didn’t struggle like my family, but his wounds are different and just as deep.
“She made me realize that I take some things for granted—our friendship being one of them,” he continues. “The kiss was my way of saying ‘thank you’ for accepting me—for being my friend.”
His words take me aback. Maks is generally not forthcoming with his feelings, something I understand since I, too, like men. You learn to hide those earnings very early on to fit in. I just never expected him to express them to me. Our relationship seems more like a struggle most times than a true friendship. Hearing him regard it as such brings me much joy as I really like him—more than I should.
“I thought you would have thanked me in a different way,” I joke, hoping that I’m not wearing my heart on my sleeve as I gaze at him.
A decidedly sinful smile curls Maks’ lips and he reaches for the waistband of my pants. Without breaking eye contact, he opens them and pulls out my straining kher, the tip glistening with pre-cum. His smile only grows when he begins to stroke me up and down and I groan loudly.
“Shhhh,” he cautions. “Unless you want Nastya to wake up and join us. . .”
He lets the suggestion hang in the air and fuck if it doesn’t turn me on more thinking of it.
“Two can play that game,” I rejoin and reach between us to pull his dick out and work it in the same manner as he’s working me.
Both of us struggle to stifle our moans of pleasure as we kiss deeply and fuck one another’s hand. Soon, Maks pushes my hand away and squeezes both our cocks in his.
“Let me, Zav,” he all but purrs and, today, I don’t fight him.
I watch in rapture as he strokes our erections in tandem and the sight is singularly one of the most erotic things that I’ve ever witnessed. I close my eyes in ecstasy, my hips moving up and down, involuntarily riding out the pleasure Maks is bringing me.
“Fuck—I’m going to come,” I whisper.
“Then, come with me,” Maks orders and pulls me in for another kiss as I erupt all over his hand.
Maks drinks in my moans and I feel him coming, too, his dick pulsing against mine as it spurts out his release. I twitch in his lap, my body still tingling deliciously. It’s not until I hear a noise behind me that I remember Maks and I aren’t alone. I quickly turn towards Anastasia, whose eyes are screwed tightly shut—but, I know she’s not asleep.
I crawl off of Maks’ lap and prowl over to the bed and, without ceremony, rip the blankets from her gorgeous naked body. To my astonishment, I find her fingers buried deeply inside of her pussy and the other hand is cupping one full breast. Maks groans low at the sight and my kher immediately leaps to attention, even after what just transpired with him.
“Such a naughty little princess,” Maks notes.
His tone is light and teasing and I decide to join in.
“And naughty girls get punished,” I tack on. “What should we do with our filthy duchess?”
Anastasia’s eyes fly open at our words and widen with a mixture of shock and desire. Fuck, not only does she like what she saw—she likes what she hears, too. This woman might be my undoing yet.
“Hmmm, I’m not sure, Zav. What do you think we should do to her?”
In answer, I smack her hands off her body. If looks could kill, I would be one dead peasant.
“Excuse me!” she exhales irately.
“You’re excused. My, our princess has such nice manners,” I tease and I watch her chest heave with her anger.
Nastya has no idea how alluring the visual possibly is.
“Now,” I continue, running a playful finger inside her left leg and near the apex of center, “because you have such proper manners, Maks and I might decide to reward you—but, only if you tell me the truth.”
“Th-th-the truth?” she stammers beautifully as I slip two fingers into her drenched core.
“Yes, the truth. Did you like watching Maks and I together?”
Her eyes dip down to my open pants, stained with Maks’ and my cum, and my cock standing at attention like a soldier. She licks her lips lasciviously at the sight, making me throb with need.
“You already know the answer to that,” she responds in a husky tone.
From behind me, Maks chuckles.
“We do,” he admits, “but we want to hear you say it.”
“Well, then, the answer is ‘no’.”
I still my fingers at her lie.
“No?!” I growl.
“No,” Anastasia snaps right back. “It’s hard to enjoy the show when your back was blocking everything!”
Now, Maks laughs in earnest.
“Poor princess—she wanted a front row seat and all she had to do was ask.”
“Not ask, beg,” I correct.
“Grand duchesses don’t beg,” she replies haughtily.
“They do if they want me to make them come,” I contradict.
I work my fingers just enough to have her gasping for more.
“So, you’re going to beg, my princess,” I continue. “And more. Tell me what you were thinking about when you couldn’t see Maks and I. Were you envisioning what was happening or something different?”
Nastya blushes a charming shade to match the red in her hair.
“Oh, definitely something different,” Maks murmurs and I agree.
Such a wanton thing under all that primness.
And I love it.
“Tell me,” I urge, surging my fingers in and out faster and faster.
“I. . .I. . .”
She’s panting too hard to continue and I know that she’s close to coming, so I pull my fingers out and lick them slowly.
“How does she taste?” Maks wonders.
“Hold on.”
I dip my digits back in and, then, ease off the bed toward Maks to let him try her decadent flavor. Nastya’s breathing comes in shallow puffs as she watches Maks’ tongue clean my fingers of her essence.
“Fuuuuuuuuuuck,” he groans.
“Fuck,” she agrees in the barest whisper.
“Now, tell us the truth and I’ll make you see stars, duchess,” I direct.
She hesitates briefly before indulging Maks and I both.
“I. . .I thought of myself between the two of you on the chair while doing. . .whatever you were doing.”
I smile at her honesty.
“Maks was jerking my dick against his,” I tell her bluntly and Nastya moans in ecstasy at the mere thought.
The sound makes me yearn to be buried deep inside of her. Soon enough—but for now, her reward. I get on my knees and draw her legs to the edge of the bed; then, I bury my face into her dripping pussy. She squeals in surprise and I realize that no one has ever done this to her before. Clearly, Ilya and she have only had sex. I grin into her folds—what fun it will be to show her everything else that can be done.
I hear Maks moan and I know that he�
�s stroking himself to the scene before him and I would be, too, if I weren’t so engrossed in my task of making the princess come. It doesn’t take long before Nastya is a convulsing and screaming mess beneath my ministrations. With a final thrust of my tongue against her delicate nub, I send her over the edge.
Watching her come is a thing of beauty and makes me wonder what it would feel like to have her tight pussy clamping over my dick. I look back at Maks and we silently agree—we need to know.
Now.
The Grand Duchess is about to have her most recent fantasy come to life.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Anastasia
There are no words to describe the exquisite sensation of an orgasm. I understand why it’s the greatest temptation and if my sisters knew the feeling, they would never settle for the paltry stolen kisses and caresses that they’ve received. Certainly, Zavid’s tongue has set the bar for a new standard in my life.
Now, it won’t be a lie when I tell Ilya that I’ve had better, I think smugly, but I don’t really get any satisfaction from the thought—only heartache. In the most secret depths of my mind and heart, I admit that I still love him and even long for him. The traitorous svoloch’ probably knows how to use his tongue in an equally skillful manner or better.
That’s the problem with Ilya—he’s damn near perfect at everything he does—a frustrating and admirable quality of his.
But, Ilya isn’t here right now. Maks and Zavid are and they’re certainly making up for all the hurt I’ve felt since the night that my parents and siblings were taken. I stare up at Zavid with passion-glazed eyes. I want to reciprocate the favor, but I’m much too languid to even move. Zavid doesn’t seem to notice and simply scoops me off the bed into his arms.
I make an embarrassing squeaking sound, startled by his actions.
“What are you—”
But, my question gets cut off when he dumps me into Maks’ lap—Maks’ lap that currently has his kher exposed. It rubs against my sensitive flesh and I grip Maks’ shoulder to better anchor myself in place. I stare into his eyes, the icy blue soft with unspoken emotion. We’re survivors, he and I, making our way in a world that says everything about us is wrong.
From behind me, Zavid pushes his muscled chest into my back, trapping me between their two bodies like I imagined. He snakes a hand around to stroke Maks’ kher and I definitely have been accorded the best front row seat ever. Maks never breaks eye contact as Zav works his hardened flesh.
I mewl involuntarily at the sight, hungry for more. My hips also begin to rotate in anticipation of what’s to come, but it’s nothing like I envisioned—it’s better. Zavid stops stroking Maks to scoop up some of their cum from before in his hand; then, he nods at Maks. Their silent communication is both frustrating and intriguing.
I don’t ponder on it long because Maks wraps his hands around my waist and lifts me aloft before bringing me back down, the crown of his kher barely kissing the entrance to my manda1. I hold my breath and stare down at him, wanting this with every fiber of my being but, still, he doesn’t move.
“Please,” I finally utter when I can’t take it anymore.
An evil grin dresses his face at my words and I realize that he was waiting for me to beg, just as Zavid predicted. But, any complaint that I might have had dissipates when he pulls me down around his length. I tip my head back against Zavid in carnal bliss. It has been so long since someone filled me—since Ilya filled me.
I’ve never partaken in the act quite like this before, either—seated in a man’s lap. The sensations are mouthwateringly different and I wonder if there are more ways to trakhat'sya2. Dazedly, I watch as Maks guides me up and down him languidly, his fingers biting into my flesh as he grips me. I love the feel of it, and I know that I’ll beg these men forever to give me more.
One of Zavid’s hands reaches around to cup my left breast, squeezing it gently. I moan, my head whipping from side to side against him, but I scream when he pinches my nipple tightly between his thumb and finger. Sensation pings through my body—these two men are creating a gluttonous monster, for I’ll always crave more and more of what they’re doing to me.
With his other hand, Zav begins to tease my little bud below. I force my eyes open to watch his darker fingers touch my flesh intimately while Maks slides in and out of my body. The sight is too much and I catapult over an edge I didn’t realize that I was teetering. I cry out as I do, indeed, see stars.
But Maks and Zavid aren’t done with me.
I blink rapidly when I feel Zav’s fingers behind me, touching my zhopa3. Maks is staring intently at my face, interpreting every look to relay to Zavid silently. His eyes search mine, which have widened to the size of saucers when I feel Zav penetrate me there. I didn’t know people did this; moreover, I never would have guessed that it would feel so good.
Once I get over the foreign feeling of someone touching me in such a private place, I relax into Zavid’s touch. Maks still keeps an eagle-eye watch on my face, but he resumes moving us together. I inhale deeply, the unfamiliar fullness almost too much to bear. It’s completely overwhelming—but in the best way. I look into Maks’ eyes and pray that he can see this on my face.
His wink lets me know he got my message loud and clear but, to my dismay, Zavid’s fingers disappear from my zhopa and I’m bereft. Like a greedy shlyukha4, I had wanted more. Maks laughs when my face crumples into a pout that I can’t stop.
“Patience,” he tempers with a swift kiss to my lips and rough thrust of his hips.
Patience?
For what?
I twist my head to glare at Zavid, but find him coating his kher with Maks cum. The sight makes me dizzy with lust. What is he planning? I don’t have to wait long. He kisses me deeply, his tongue dueling with mine, before he shoves me forward. I collapse into Maks, who leans back in the chair.
I have no idea what is going on until I feel Zav return to my zhopa—except, it’s not his fingers. My head snaps up and my mouth runs dry. Is. . . is Zavid going to fuck my zhopa while Maks fucks my manda? I can feel myself blush at my vulgar inner wonderings—which is ridiculous considering what is happening right now. Clearly, my modesty has evaporated.
“Look at me, princess,” Maks suddenly orders.
I gaze down at him, a little afraid.
“Just breathe with me. In and out.”
He punctuates his command with a sultry thrust of his kher—in and out. I follow his lead and, soon, I can feel the familiar tingle of my impending orgasm. Almost dizzy at the onslaught of sensations, I hang onto Maks for dear life as Zav slowly and methodically works himself into my zhopa. There is a painful pinch that makes me tense up, but Maks commands me to relax and breathe some more.
Together, we do this until Zav is fully seated inside of me. Two men fill me, is all I can think. Then, my brain ceases to function at all as both men move in tandem. Before, I didn’t know people could couple in this manner—I would have been baffled as to how it works. But, now, trapped between their hard bodies in the most perfect position ever, I understand. It’s like my body was made to have them both in me at the same time.
Both men kiss my flesh as we soar higher and higher. Zavid and I are moaning loudly and I briefly wonder what Dmitri must think but, then, I stop caring as Maks grunts savagely and starts lunging harder and faster. Zavid races to keep up and my body bows in ecstasy against the rush of heady emotions.
And, from this, my orgasm comes crashing through with enough force to paralyze me. I can’t move—all I can do is feel and it feels so chertovski5 good. I never want the pleasure to go away. I love being nestled between these two men with their gentle acceptance of who I am—of who we are together. I taste something salty and I realize that I’m crying because I’m so moved by what just transpired.
Nothing could ruin this moment.
Except Ilya standing in the opened doorway, staring at me in tortured shock.
* * *
1 Russian for ‘pussy’
2 Russian for ‘to fuck’
3 Russian for ‘ass’
4 Russian for ‘slut’
5 Russian for ‘damn’, but translates more like ‘fucking’ into English
Chapter Twenty-Three
My heart seizes up at the sight of my former lover’s accusatory glare but, then, I remember what he did—who he is—and I force myself to relax into the two men who haven’t betrayed me. Ilya takes in my movement and a brief look of agony slashes through his features before his nods curtly to me and spins around to stomp out of the cabin.
I try not to feel lower than dirt, but my shame escalates when I spot Vadim and Dmitri, who must have been standing behind Ilya the whole time. Vadim doesn’t say anything, just leaves to follow his friend and Dmitri. . .
Seems frozen in place.
I can only imagine how appalled my poor mother would be to know how I’ve offended a man of the cloth. I hang my head as the monk finally regains his bearings and kindly shuts the door. My once joyous tears now taste bitter against my lips. Gently, Zavid pushes up and out of me. I can feel his seed leaking from my zhopa and my manda clenches hotly, not caring about my current humiliation.
Which embarrasses me even further.
But, Maks the Mind Reader tips my chin up until I am looking into his eyes. He’s still firmly lodged inside of me and the intimate connection makes looking at him that much more difficult.
“We didn’t do anything wrong,” he asserts firmly. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Sometimes, life isn’t as neat and easy as everyone portrays it. It’s messy and complicated. Not everyone is going to accept who you are or the things you do, but as long as you do, that’s all that matters. Stop thinking about how you were raised or what you were told to think. Did Nastya enjoy herself? Does Nastya really think what we did is wrong?”
I pause and really think about his words.
If I shut everyone else out, then my answer is ‘no’. No, it didn’t feel wrong. Yes, I enjoyed myself and yes, I would do it again. But, how does one reconcile this with everything else that they’ve been raised to believe?
