Inside she felt warm and the whole of her body quivered and trembled. He rolled her over. No, wait; it was Barrington. His hot cock rubbed between her legs. He plunged his lips onto her nipple and her body shook as he sucked.
Her lips wrapped either side of his throbbing, velvety shaft. The head of it grazed hard against her clit as it poked up into the fur of her mound.
Her hips ground her swollen petals up and down along the length of his fat cock, from the dip by his balls to the smooth bulge of his head. He bit slightly to hold her nipple and stretch it. His bulb slid into her eagerly opening wetness.
She pulled up her legs and stretched her back and her arms. He was so thick. She wrapped her legs around him. The grip felt intense, but even that didn’t open her enough. She was still sore from Ben stretching her. Barrington’s barrel was even fatter.
She splayed out her thighs as wide as she could. A low, muffled charge of sensation burst and flowed through her as he penetrated her. She let out a whimpering cry and she heard Ben and Barney’s low chuckles.
Barrington sucked harder on her. Barney and Ben sat by her on either side. She stroked their cocks. Ben’s was thick, long, and soft. It was still slippery with her juice. The thought and the touch of it made her tingle. In perfect sync, low pulses warmed his cock.
Barney’s cock was rock hard and almost humming. The zinging pulses ran all over it and felt like trickles in her hand as she pulled on his reddening flesh.
Barney leaned over to suck on her other breast. He cupped and cradled it and squeezed as he sucked. The thought of expressing for him made a jolt of thrill flash through her. Ben kissed her neck and her ear, then came to take her mouth as she held his reawakening cock.
Barrington drove his powerful hips to grind his cock inside her. He scraped higher and harder and his rhythm strengthened. He sucked hard on her tit as he slapped her raw, shaking ass.
Ben nibbled her ear as Barrington barged between her weakening thighs. Bead of sweat dropped from his forehead to cool and tantalize her milky skin. Ben’s voice was like warm honey in her ear. “You’re not coming, Hayley.”
She squeezed his cock as she chewed her lip. She was lost in the thrill, but it was true—she wasn’t at the edge. Harshly, he called, “Barrington.” Unwillingly, Barrington lifted his head from her boob. His rocking relented.
“She’s not ready, Barrington.” Barrington scowled. With his palm upward, Ben lifted his fingers in a get up gesture. Barrington kept hold of Hayley’s waist and lifted her as he stood. She thought, All three of these men are so strong.
She felt Ben move up behind her as she hung on Barrington’s powerful neck. As Barrington pressed himself all the way into her, Ben’s fingers slid over her buttocks and into the deep cleavage. Hayley jolted as his finger pressed against her soft star. Firmly, he eased her open.
His other hand came in after, with something cold like a gel on the tips of his fingers. His thick, sweet voice poured into her ear, “Here, can you bear this?” and she leapt again as the cold tips of his fingers slid into her unsuspecting refuge.
Barney’s hands and his mouth roamed over her tits and her torso. Tremors shook her inside with shocking currents running though her stomach and her breasts, unconnected with the quivering thrills in her legs or those in her arms.
Her feet and hands flexed and spread and clawed and clenched as Ben’s massive member made a burrow into her ass. Her back arched as Ben stretched her little star impossibly wide and Barrington still filled her from the front.
The brothers beat a rhythmic counterpoint and Hayley began to abandon control. Her arms flailed and she moaned and cried out. The force of the two huge cocks invaded and penetrated her deeper, wider, and harder than she thought possible.
Her juices sprang and burst into a hot, wet flood as crashing tides of mounting waves splashed and flooded her nerves and sinews with joy. Barrington’s breath was hot on the front of her neck and then, as her riverbanks burst, he threw his head back and blasted into her with a force of unrestrained abandon.
Her juices met Barrington’s and the two of them fountained and shouted together as Ben slammed his banger into her buttocks. She clawed in Barrington’s hair as he growled and pounded and pumped his hot seed into her. Again, the little flash came at the end.
Wet and limp and still impaled on Ben’s hot, hard rod, Hayley slumped on Barrington’s chest. He held her tightly to him, filling her still as her quivering subsided.
Barney stroked her and squeezed her big boobs as he lifted her gently off Ben and Barrington’s spikes. He turned her and held her and cuddled her until she mewled and nuzzled her nose into the crook of his neck. His scent, like the others’ but also his own, roused her languid desire.
He felt the instant her need began to rise and his nibbling, tasting and stroking turned to holding, opening, and filling. His hands found her hot furrow and slid to fill her slit. He teased and trilled her clit with velvety, flickering skill. His fingers fondled her entrance and found and fired her button inside.
As her head began to twist and flick her hair, he lowered her to her feet, facing away. He knees almost buckled as she felt his intention. His hard bat beat against her mound and scraped along her lips. Then he bent her forward.
Ben’s cock was right in front of her face, and she slid her lips along the length of it as Barney pulled her thighs apart. She reached out for Barrington’s balls with her free hand as she swallowed Ben’s thick shaft.
Barney’s bulb burst into her and she gasped as her legs almost gave way. Hard up inside her, he whacked her buttocks with sharp, hot slaps. She shook and convulsed at each one, sucking harder and deeper on Ben and pulling Barrington closer.
Madly, she wanted to drink a full load from both men’s massive cocks. She wanted to feel them fill her mouth and dribble out onto her chin. She wanted to be sated with the salty tang of their hot, sticky issue.
Barney belted into her wet, wanting warmth with his mast. He slid and shoved and hiked and slammed into her cleft. His hard thighs hammered her buttocks as she slavered her lips and her tongue on Ben’s cock and she tugged and squeezed on Barrington’s thickening bough.
Her feet left the floor as Barney held his arm around her waist and steamed into her hot, weeping snatch. Tipped forward onto Ben’s pole, Hayley writhed and bucked and her river burst with Barney drilling her hard. Hayley smelled the gush of her oil on Barney’s weapon as his pulse and his rhythm hardened and quickened.
Ben’s cock stiffened and pulsated in her mouth as Barney’s bat lifted and throbbed in her dripping puss. Fireworks lit and flared inside her and juddering sets of currents broke free and splashed through her as Barney sawed harder and Ben began to blast her throat with thick, sticky bolts.
Barney grabbed her hips ferociously and slammed her onto his member, harder and harder, again and again. She broke like a dam. She felt as though her insides turned out. She moaned on Ben’s delicious dick and bounced on Barney’s bursting bolt. His hot jizz exploded into her and again, at the end, there was the sudden, arcing burst like a shooting star.
Hayley stayed on the mountain with the triplets. Her days were filled with hiking and painting, learning about the woods and the habitat. She cooked fresh salmon and venison and quickly felt at home in the wild territory.
Her nights were filled to bursting with Ben, Barney, and Barrington. Until it was her time. That was where Hayley found her true calling.
She wanted to name the three cubs after their fathers, of course, although there was no way to know which was the cub of which father.
Hayley said, “We could get DNA tests,” and she got quite attached to the idea. It took Ben a while to explain why that wouldn’t be such a great idea.
Ulysses, Hector and the alpha, Marcus were solitary from the start, coming together mainly to feed or sleep, but as they grew they drew on each other’s strengths and they learned from each other.
The best nights for Hayley were still those when she contrived
to get stranded in the woods inside the little cabin. With three bears circling outside.
Best of all, in a rainstorm.
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Bears [ Page: 1]with the Woods
The Alpha’s Need
Ursula Maya
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As they circled me closer, I felt their hot breath on my legs and on my fluttering stomach. I spun to watch the three of them close in. Even on all fours, they almost came up to my chest. Their noses lifted and their nostrils flared.
Their low growls were unmistakably hungry. Needing. Wanting. They were huge men. Soon I would be lost in their great embrace. There wasn’t a thing I could do about it. Not now, now that I’d made my choice. However hasty that may have been.
Bernardo’s hot breath fanned my thighs and the warmth of it crept upwards. Another nose sniffed at the swelling of my breasts, heaving out of the constraint of my silky bra. I looked down at the honey-colored thatch and Bruno’s two beautiful, watery brown eyes sparkled as his big head tilted at me. Behind me, Orsino’s big hands cupped my buttocks.
The remains of my underwear obviously wouldn’t last much longer. How long would I be able to take what was coming?
Some good came out of the bad. If I hadn’t gone with Paulie to that art gallery, then I would never have met Orsino.
Seven months I wasted with that jerk Paulie. Seven months listening to his rambling twaddle about his blog and about art and basically all about his ego. When we first met, I was perfect. He adored every curve and every slope of my luscious body.
‘Goldie, you could wear a sack and I’d still fall in love with you.’ He said. Back then. All of my habits were charming and everything that I had to say was something to treasure, something that he really wanted to hear.
Fast forward seven months, and the ideas that I gave him really have helped him to get some credibility for his stupid art blog. My lowly EvilDayJob at Dewar Hackett PR involves some social media work, so I know a few of the tricks. Soon enough, he’s getting invited to SoHo gallery openings and the artists want him to visit their studios.
Now he’s beginning to feel important and he starts thinking that I ought to cover up a bit more, maybe hold back when I’m talking to artists’ agents and dealers, and, do I really need another piece of cake?
At the start, our love life was wonderful, thrilling, unexpected and fresh. Paulie lusted after every part of me, every new situation, and every new possibility. We practically lived our lives in each others’ bedrooms. Lately, what had been lusty, slamming, hot, shouting, soaking wet sex, was now a dry, empty dustbowl. Tumbleweed would have livened it up. Then, last night in the bar, he gave me the ‘we need some space’ speech. FUCKERRRR!
The cracks had been starting to show for a couple of weeks, and at Ak Tung’s opening at the Efluvia gallery, I saw the writing on the wall. It was my networking that got him the invitation, me tweeting about the fact that his blog piece was quoted in Art & Artists magazine.
Me telling Tung’s agent that Paulie is ‘the go-to blog page for the pulse of the TriBeCa art beat,’ or something equally ridiculous. Actually, the more I put that kind of puff around for him, the more he grew into it, and now he really is the go-to blogger for the pulse of the up and coming TriBeCa art beat. For whatever that’s worth.
I never had an easy time with boys or men, and I’ve been wary since school. At high-school you were either called ‘frigid’ or you were called a ‘whore.’ The girls who got a by were the super-popular Miss Perfect cheerleaders, most of whom really did act like whores.
I heard that some of them actually went on to become whores. When guys came up to me, they were usually looking for an easy hookup. One boy, Aaron, he was so cute and I did literally dream about him. He was the biggest in his year and he had shaggy brown hair and sweet, sincere blue eyes.
Well, they looked sincere. Turns out you can’t always tell. He told me all the sweet shit you want to hear and we made out in the back of his daddy’s car. The next morning I overheard him telling his buddies how fat I was and mimicking my voice saying, ‘Oh, Aaron, you’re so big,’ Which I never said.
In the equipment stakes, he was on the smaller side of medium in fact, I just was too devastated to step up and say that to all of his friends, like I know that I should have done.
So Paulie got in under my defenses. He shot me a lot of charming lines and – dammit, if he didn’t mean any of that, if it was all just bullshit, why did he pursue me the way that he did? OK, it’s in the past, but it can still sting.
The minimal, 3rd floor Efluvia gallery bustled respectably with lively people with edgy hair and makeup, dressed mostly in black. The art crowd was out for Ak Tung’s private view, enjoying champagne and canapés and their brittle laughs, and making me feel dowdy and drab.
Little red stickers appeared by a few pieces to indicate that sales had been made and Colm, the gallery owner, was running about, directing Juliette, his willowy blonde assistant, towards the clusters of potential buyers. At gallery events, most of Paulie’s energy went on cultivating agents and journalists, but this time he spent an unusual amount of his evening with the artist.
I was out among the throng and flying the flag for Paulie’s blog and twitter feed. That involved pretending that I knew what the art was about, which in Tung’s case wasn’t hard. Not compared to pretending that I cared.
Ak is an adorable person, and gorgeous, and she’s making a heroic transition from a shy, geeky boy to a sassy and admirable woman, but her deconstrictivist nihilism – meaning she broke stuff into very tiny pieces then stuck the pieces on cardboard – it went way under my whelm. I was looking at a piece that consisted of sparse, shimmering dust entitled, Manic Monday, when a dark, honeyed voice behind me said, “Now, here is a work of art.”
I spun around so fast, the front of my breasts pressed through my bra and silky top into the crisp white linen on the huge chest of a devilishly handsome man. Tall, with golden brown hair and with a wicked grin spreading across his wide, full lips, his gleaming brown eyes made my stomach drop.
When he took my hand, I felt so tiny in his grasp and the touch of his fingers sent a shock all the way down to my knees. My hips tilted involuntarily towards him as he said, “I wasn’t talking about the piece on the wall.”
My breath caught in my throat and all I could manage to say was, “Oh?”
He lowered his voice and said, “I was talking about you.”
My breasts heaved and they were still almost against his hard stomach. The warmth of him was close enough for me to feel his heat on my chest. Other parts of me were heating up, too. His strong, deep voice made the whole of me vibrate as he leaned forward in a slight bow and he said, “Orsino Arturo. I’m very pleased to meet you. What do you think of this… stuff?”
“I’m pleased to meet you, too, Mr Arturo,” Where did I know that name from? “I think that Ak is a fresh and energetic talent.” That’s not the perfect art-biz playbook response, but it’s a fair approximation. The trick is to say something that sounds very appreciative and is peppered with cutting-edge buzz terms, but without giving away any actual opinion of your own.
The time that I have been helping out on Paulie’s blog has taught me that nobody in the art business actually knows anything at all, and the only opinion that really matters at an opening is the one that’s expressed in the little red stickers.
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