At The Laird's Command (Sword and Thistle 3)

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.”

The Macrae sucked in a breath, grasping me so hard I worried it might crush my bones. Then he shook me. “You little whore,” the laird choked out, with what must have sounded to anyone else like anger. Like rage. Like contempt.

But I knew the secret language of my laird’s arousal.

“You’ve nearly to unmanned me,” he rasped near my ear, the evidence of it in a little spurt of fluid that leaked from the tip of his cock onto the back of my thigh. “How is it you are doing the obeying, but in so doing, you’re driving me to my fucking knees!”

I’d nearly driven him over the edge is what I’d nearly done, and a little smile played at my lips to the apparent bewilderment of Ian, who tried to soothe my arms where the laird’s fingers left white marks. He didn’t understand our games, but I did, and I delighted in them.

Especially when the laird growled and said, “Well then, I must fuck you doubly hard. You must get what you deserve…” It was with a ruthless determination that he pressed the tip of his cock between the cheeks of my arse.

It was tighter than before. An impossible fit. And the pain of it quite nearly overcame my craving to know what it would be like to be filled in both holes. Soft and pliant, I repeated to myself, trying to ease the way for us both, wondering if I could possibly stretch so wide as to take two thick shafts in my body. But I could do anything for my laird.

As he reached round me to finger the pleasure bud of my sex, a keening sound escaped me. I could no longer buck with abandon on Ian’s cock, but was forced to stillness between them as the laird’s hard pole sank inexorably into me. I shuddered at the first inch, whimpers of pain making Ian grimace and snarl at the laird, “Stop! Do you mean to split her in half, man?”

“Do you want me to stop, lass?” the laird asked.

I would have denied it even if it were true, because I couldn’t bear for the laird to be chastised by his kinsman on my account. But fortunately, I didn’t have to lie. “No!” I cried, desperately. “More, give me more. Please!”

So I got the second inch and the third, until the quaking began in my belly and I feared I might shatter in another orgasm before they were both fully inside me. I bit my lip, hard, to hold it back, for I didn’t want it. Just as Ian had held back to make the pleasure last, now so did I.

“Good lass,” the laird said, biting my shoulder as he hit bottom.

We swayed like that for a moment, our bodies all locked together. Our limbs tangled. Our breathing matched. I thought I might die of the pleasure. It was too much. And yet, I could take more still, as I was to find out.

For my raw pleas sparked off a reaction in both men. The laird began to move, rocking me slowly with each thrust. Then I picked up his tempo, filling myself with Ian’s erection on the downstroke and being filled by the laird on the upstroke. As we all moaned and gyrated and thrust together, it was the most sinfully erotic feeling in the world.

I was being penetrated by two men. Stuffed full. The center of their lust. And the only thing that stopped me from screaming in ecstasy with every thrust was the fact that I was too breathless and dizzy with arousal to do it!

“Jesus Christ,” Ian cursed again, tapping his head back against the headboard as if to keep his senses about him.

As I said, I was too breathless to scream with every thrust, but I did scream at the rough, raw ride I was getting from both men and my helplessness to do anything but experience it. They touched me, everywhere. They used me with increasing abandon. Ian sucked and kissed at my neck until it became an erogenous zone of its own, pulsing and feeding my lust. And my very womb seemed to ache with need until Ian finally groaned. “Come with me. Give me that.”

His hand was somehow tangled in my hair and the laird’s hands and one might be forgiven for not quite being sure who he was speaking to. But Ian’s breath exploded in a grunt, his muscles tensing in the throes of passion as he spurted warm seed up into me with enough force, I felt it as a splash inside.

Then came the flood of it, some of it rushing up inside me, some of it leaking out around the base of his cock and balls, wetting all three of us. And it was that feeling—that sticky, tawdry, torrid feeling of Ian’s seed that set me off.

I convulsed, screaming, writhing, making sounds of another world. Clutching their bodies as waves and waves of pleasure crashed over me like the loch splashing the rocks below the castle wall. What I was in that moment I cannot say. Lover, whore, or bride. I didn’t know. I didn’t care. The only thing I was sure of was the laird’s pleasure as he, too, finished in a frenzy. Driving his cock hard and fast, plundering my arse until he shouted his orgasm with a stream of curse words, each more foul than the last.

Which is how I knew he had enjoyed it.