Their Private Arrangement (Taskill Witches 1.50)

When his fingers parted her folds and the crown of his manhood pressed against her opening, she moaned and clutched at him, her knees rising about his hips.

“You’re a lusty lass,” he whispered to her, and his eyes glinted. “Tell me, have you ever known three in bed?”

“Oh.” Morag could barely muster her thoughts, because his rod was pushing against her opening, stretching it. He was mightily aroused, for it felt even larger than it had been on their previous encounters. As she tried to order her thoughts and give an appropriate response, he pressed her further.

“You have, you lusty wench.” He gave her another taste of his length before easing it back out, forcing her to answer before giving her more.

“I have known three in a room. One whose eyes were upon me, just as Mr. Grant’s were on our previous encounters.”

Duggan gave her another taste of his girth, pushing deeper this time. “But you have not known the delights of three in a bed?”

Morag felt distinctly taunted. She punched him on the shoulder. “I will say no more, until you fill me.”

“You are a demanding sort.” He gave her another measure, torturing her.

She gasped for air then responded as best she could. “I think that is what you like about me.”

On that point she was sure, and she flashed her eyes at him.

“You are like me.” He announced that while he pushed into her very center, making her cry out in sheer bliss.

“Aye, and needy of this.” She flashed her eyes at him.

Duggan grinned. Thrusting in and out of her slick channel, he tossed his hair back and looked over his shoulder at Mr. Grant. “Join us, if you will.”

Morag struggled to catch her breath, snatching a stolen glance at their sponsor as he walked over, her arousal building along with her curiosity. Duggan seemed to recognize both, because he thrust into her over and over, keeping her pleasured.

Mr. Grant bent and kissed her lips. It was a tentative yet sensuous gesture, and she found his touch stimulating.

“You are a splendid woman,” he said, “and I take great pleasure in seeing you with Duggan.”

Pride made her chest swell.

He ran his hands over the outline of her breasts through her clothing before undoing his breeches. His cock sprang out, long and hard and pointing skyward. Morag wondered if he would stroke it again as he had previously. On a wild notion she put out her hand. A moment later she found her palm filled with his hot prick and she pumped vigorously.

Dizzy with rapture, she moaned loudly. Each thrust they offered her pleasured her immensely. Then Mr. Grant reached a hand for Duggan’s back, stroking it, admiration in his eyes.

“There will be many days and nights where we can enjoy each other this way,” he whispered, as if to himself.

Duggan barely paused in his endeavors, but managed to respond. “Aye, with Morag to anchor me.”

Mr. Grant moved to the bed and climbed upon it. Between Duggan’s thrusts, she could see that Mr. Grant continued to stroke his back, his hands moving down to where Duggan’s hips moved rhythmically as he drove his length into her. The situation aroused her even more, and she arched her hips and moaned aloud. Duggan had invited Mr. Grant to join them, and it seemed he could, for he was close at Duggan’s back and she saw him take his hand to his mouth and then lower it. With great curiosity, she wondered what he was doing. Just as she wondered that, Duggan arched like a bow against her and moaned loudly. His manhood swelled yet again and she could scarcely breathe, for the girth of it had stretched her to capacity and more.

Duggan panted loudly then thrust into her again, his actions wilder still.

Morag was filled to the hilt. Whatever it was Mr. Grant was doing back there, it made Duggan respond, and it made her pleasure double. Morag could only wonder and be grateful, for it was the best tumble she had ever known. “Oh, oh, it is good!”

“Yes!” Duggan panted loudly and then ground against her, his hips moving in more shallow thrusts as Mr. Grant closed against his back. His manhood was arched inside her, curving and rubbing against her most sensitive places.

The weight of the two pressed against the seat of her pleasure and triggered her release, her cunny tightening on Duggan’s length.

At Duggan’s back Mr. Grant moved rapidly and then cried out and stilled.

Then Duggan spoke a litany of curses and words of affection, seemingly mixed together in his delirium, while he pumped his copious seed into her.

When the three of them eventually regained their senses and settled on the bed—Duggan at the center, one of his lovers stationed either side him and resting in his generous embrace—Morag noticed that Mr. Grant seemed pleased with the events of the afternoon.

“Come now, James, don’t be coy,” Duggan teased when he saw his lover smiling fondly at Morag, “you may kiss my betrothed if you wish to.”