Page 39 of Wicked Passions

“You will…ah…go slowly?”

His gaze softened. “Just the head. As it is your first lesson, neither of us will fuck your mouth. You decide how much to take; if it becomes overwhelming, then draw back and use your hand.”

“We’ll tell you when we are close to spending, so you might rest our cocks on your breasts,” added Callum. “You do not have to swallow our seed.”

“Very well,” she said, gazing up at Alastair. Then, keeping her eyes on him, she dragged her tongue against the head of his cock.

His breath hissed between his teeth, and Isla shivered in delight. How exciting to know, that even naked on her knees and ordered to kiss and suck two cocks, she still held such power.

Eagerly, she learned the size and texture of Alastair’s beast-sized cockhead with her lips and tongue. It was stone-hard, yet the skin felt soft, and the pearly moisture dripping into her mouth tasted almost salty. Earthy. Then she moved her head and did the same to Callum. His cock wasn’t as thick, but longer in length, and he tasted muskier. As promised, they remained still, but the ragged gasps and guttural groans at her ministrations boosted her confidence.

Isla returned to Alastair and took the entire head of his cock into her mouth, until she could close her lips around it.

“Yes,” he breathed. “Now suck. There’s a good lass. Use your tongue on the underside, and your cheeks. Harder. Like that...just like that. Clever Isla…”

Warmed by the praise, sinking into a dreamy, intimate world of mouth and cocks and hands, she slid her fingers to the base of each shaft and began stroking the heavy balls dangling underneath while she sucked. Moving from one cock to the other and back.

Callum shuddered. “You are…a fast learner, Isla.”

She smiled and took him deeper into her mouth, until his hand clenched her shoulder and he moaned. Then she returned to Alastair, handling his cock as she sucked and lapped at him.

“I’m going to spend,” he bit out, the hand in her hair tugging until she arched her back. “Cup your breasts.”

Isla lifted and pushed the small mounds together as best she could. Alastair gripped his cock and rubbed it in the narrow furrow, and as he found his release with a low roar, warm seed gushed onto her breasts. He anointed her taut nipples with the silky, sticky mess, teasing and pinching them, and Isla whimpered as jolts of sensation arrowed straight to her wet, aching cunt.

“Spend, Callum,” commanded Alastair. “Cover her with it.”

Now she held the laird’s gaze as he roughly handled his cock, and soon his pearly seed trickled down from her collarbone, his cry of release still echoing in the room.

Kneeling there, the fire warm at her back, the scent of lust heavy in the air, and dripping with seed, Isla trembled. Never had she felt like she belonged, that she had a sanctuary where she could be her true self in every way and indulge her most wicked passions. But here with these two men, who yielded to her with sword in hand then ordered her to pleasure them…it felt like she’d finally found her home.

Tears she never cried gathered in her eyes. “Alastair,” she said hoarsely, near mindless now with need. “Callum. Please…”

Alastair crouched down and guided her onto her arse with her legs stretched out in front of her. “Aye, my lady, you’ve earned your reward. Fetch another cushion for her head, Callum.”

Soon she lay on the woven rug in front of the fire, her thighs spread and feet flat on the floor. But to her surprise, Alastair lifted her legs and gently pushed them back toward her breasts, making her hold onto them. Now her slick folds and back entrance were fully exposed to his glittering gaze.

“I’m going to feast on this sweet cunt now,” he rasped, licking his lips. “Callum, suck her nipples. Suck them until they are harder than diamonds.”

Isla closed her eyes, her breathing shallow pants. “Hurry. Hurry.”

But she received neither boon. Instead, Alastair’s hand curled around her mound and administered a sharp smack. She groaned as the delicious sting worsened the throbbing of her swollen pearl.

“Impatience, lady?” said Alastair in a steely tone.

“N-no,” Isla choked out. “No…Master Graham.”

“Better.”

A word she had often said to them in swordplay. How reassuring it was that he remembered and understood: before she had been the conqueror, now she wished to be conquered.

To add to the occasion, even gentle Callum tormented rather than eased her; smoothing her hair with one hand while the other drew patterns on her skin, purposefully avoiding her seed-splashed breasts or the top of her mound.

“How wet is our captive?” asked Callum, as though inquiring about the weather.

Alastair smiled. “Sight and scent says the lady is soaked. But only with touch can I be sure.”

Almost lazily, he petted her bush, before pressing one finger deeper, parting her slick, petal-soft folds and stroking them. Isla whined at the too-delicate touch, but in her current position she lay perfectly, wonderfully helpless.