Rough Exile

No, I don’t want to.

No, if I came, I’d move the wrong way and die.

Fuck, can I even stop myself?

Bron tortured my clit and thrust viciously into my body.

Ilya’s dick throbbed, stinging and hot and deep.

“Can you feel him filling your ass?” Bron asked, his voice harsh. “I’m going to fill your pussy next. How much cum do you think your little cunt can take for me?”

My body was trembling, quaking from the effort of holding myself back, but I could feel his fingers stray from my perineum to Ilya’s balls. Ilya choked, pushing deeper and harder into my ass.

Bron stared into my eyes, his dark gaze penetrating, ruthless. “Come on our cocks, Delilah mine. Fucking do it.”

No, please.

But it was too late. The pressure inside me snapped, and the orgasm cut through me with an intensity that felt a lot like pain. I screamed and struggled, and my inner muscles clenched and rippled, feeling like too much and not enough, like it would go on forever, like I might die.

Bron held it together while I fell apart on his cock, and Ilya cried out loud enough to make my ears ring.

“That’s right. That’s my girl,” Bron coaxed, pulling his fingers away from my mouth and clit and grabbing my thighs. He stabbed into me deeper than he had been, the violence of it stealing my breath.

“Fuck, your sweet cunt is so hot…so tight.” He grunted crudely, and his fingers dug into my flesh hard enough that I knew he was leaving bruises with his fingertips. I couldn’t find it in myself to care about bruises as my orgasm went on and on, my pussy feeling like it was sucking his dick dry as it jerked and twitched inside me.

They both stilled, panting, swearing quietly under their breath. Ilya pulled out first and collapsed back into the grass, but Bron took a few moments longer, stirring his hips, enjoying the aftershocks of my orgasm.

“How are you so beautiful?” he murmured so quietly I wasn’t sure I was supposed to hear the words. I had collapsed forward, toward him, and my forehead rested against the net. He wiped the spit from the finger blowjob off my chin, then pressed his forehead against mine, still panting like he’d run a marathon. “If the boy wasn’t marrying you, I would be sorely tempted to make you my third wife.” He chuckled to himself and slapped my ass before pulling out. He lowered himself to the grass, too, not complaining when Ilya shifted over and rested his head on his chest.

I felt my eyes closing, even though I was in an uncomfortable position and the rope was digging into my skin.

When I opened my mouth to complain that I wanted them to free me, I glanced down to see Bron’s hand toying with Ilya’s hair. I doubted Ilya could tell what he was doing, but I saw the affection in Bron’s gaze. I spied shamelessly, feeling warm and fuzzy and satiated, even though I could hear the cum dripping out of me and landing in the dried leaves beneath the net. Watching them together was worth me getting cold and ignored. Eventually, I would go home and maybe the two of them would have a different dynamic by then. Maybe they could be happy.

I vaguely remembered Bron saying something as my orgasm was finishing—something about marrying me if Ilya hadn’t planned to? Of course, it had been his dick talking, but I clung to the statement, letting it keep me warm as I waited patiently for them to remember I existed.