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It is an important and singular night, they’d discussed as much. On numerous occasions; being pressed in between their bodies in loving, protective embraces, or when she had them pressed deep inside her body. The three of them tuned into staccato, desperate bursts of movements until all they sought for, was the break of her pleasure, and in that; theirs.
Lancelot’s wish had been the first she’d heard, out of her two. His face marked in exhaustive — flushed exertion — perspiration, as he pulled back out, languid, then pushed back in. Aligning their foreheads until she’d felt the fever of his heat on her skin, and then, imbued in his desire, “I wish to make a mother of you, Alice.”
That night had ended with their sounds bursting and interweaving into the humid stillness, with the clamp of her around their cocks, deep, until they’d spurted into her. Pressed into a tumble of heat and kisses.
They’d talked it over, later on, in much more sensible spaces and with not fogged minds, and decided upon the course of peace in their lands and of their lives. Her Kings were made aware — and the three had discussed, in great length — of her menstruation cycles and fertility period, all with an expert doctor’s opinion, on hand, at all times. A stimulating experience, and an anticipation: the mere thought of it.
What she had not expected was their attending clinician Kyle’s visit to the Kings’ common office at that very moment, to discuss the withdrawal of their contraceptive methods and his prescription for a couple vitamins and guidelines in regards to certain medications. A regular check-in, a norm that she’d come to expect, over the course of their few days, with their new goal in mind.
She had not been prepared to greet Kyle in her… extremely indisposed position, seated and squirming atop Ray’s cock as Kyle had continued to list down precautions and measures they could take during the period of their ‘trial intercourse’, from across the single, merciful barrier of an intricate, carved worktable in between them. A mere piece of wooden barrier obstructing the doctor’s gaze from their obscene display.
A brush of gloved digits across her hip, in a soothing stroke once, was all the acknowledgement Ray had afforded; the heat of his hand she’d still felt through the material of her skirt smoothed wide across her lap and over him, hiding her desire and shame, from view.
Lancelot, seated a few paces away, hadn’t let his gaze stray from hers throughout the entire ordeal, except for when cool cerulean rolled, inscrutable, down across the flare of her skirt — she’d twitch every time it did — before sweeping back towards her.
Her Kings, intent on being entirely meticulous in preparing her for themselves. They’d told her, that they intended on seeing her cared, very well for, during this important period — even more so than usual, far more than she could take — they seemed intent on seeing their promise through.
Kyle’s parting gaze had been mild questions unanswered, but she could not bring herself to spare any more care to anyone not Ray or Lancelot.
The moment the door clicks shut, in finality and much needed privacy, Ray’s hips heave upwards, jostling a broken shriek from her throat. “This is what you wanted, yeah? You’ve been soaking all over me, ever since he walked in.” Gripping and crushing the very words out of her, with the gentle yet relentless grind of his hips. Ray does not sound displeased; more tickled. “Clearly, the doctor’s input has been much help.”
A soft, disapproving exhale breaks through Ray’s quiet laughter, “That’s enough from you,” Lancelot speaks, rising from his seat. “I believe she’s been adequately prepared. Let us return to our chambers.” His eyes capture hers for a swift second before finding Ray’s. “I tire of our senseless wait.”
“Always so serious, our stoic lord.” Ray’s whisper is but fleeting memory within her ear, but he complies, plucking her off of his lap and into his arms before striding towards their bedroom.
The crook of Lancelot’s thumb across her rim is anything but uncomfortable and her body begs for him to be made aware in that knowledge as it visibly tries — only tries — and clamps around the intrusion of him. She — regrettably — fails. Her magnificent King is upon his knees on the floor, the carpet beneath, spread just as wine-red and sinfully soft, as the flow of his cape across his back. He genuflects at her side, by the edge of the bed. As if at utter comfort, in between her legs, as she is spread — her thighs thrown wide and welcoming — without shame or cover.
Lancelot fits a second finger from his opposite hand, to stretch her open once more, the slick she feels slosh out of her leaves her crimson in the cheeks. Seated beside her laid form is Ray, boyish delight and mischievous love within noble features, “How is she? Perfect, no?” He shapes it a question but Ray is certainly not asking; his tone well-pleased and pleasant. He lets her own stray hand reach for — blind and needing — to grasp his cock. Still slick from when she left him that way, nails scraping down across the underside of his shaft and he trembles.
“She’s wet,” Lancelot comments, matter-of-fact, moving to insert his fingers into her. She clenches this time round and holds. “You had her stretched around you for hours, and yet she is still so tight.” The statement isn’t condemnation, rather mild admiration served towards his lovers. Lancelot rises to his feet and settles a knee deep into the bed, beside her hip. Towering above, observing. His eyes, flicker, once more to the space of her abdomen and stay. She feels herself clench deep within, in need, at the sight. “Please,” she begs.
Ray treks a careful palm across her temple before cradling her cheek, “You did a fine job, keeping me cozy, kitten. The doctor mentioned you need our sperm viable at moderate temperatures to get you pregnant, yeah?” She moans in response. “The fit was neither too hot, nor cold… you are just perfect. I want to be inside you again.”
“Ray.” She wails.
“Soon,” he promises.
“Alice.” Lancelot’s call is low yet firm, and it settles deep into her belly, where he will too. Soon, she hopes. Sooner, she breathes; her legs cradling around his waist as Lancelot’s hands slip across his belt, unwinding. Releasing himself to settle heavy upon her stomach, right where she thinks her womb might be.
She shatters into another shiver as he aligns himself at her entrance and prods, she almost whines once more, hips rising in unconscious protest to tug, pull. “Breathe, Alice. I need you to breathe.” And then, her Red King obliges, pushing past her resistance, she feels her eyes pop as wide as his intrusion into her, carving deep and up into her every crevice.
Lancelot’s thrusts into her are shallow, testing movements while she scrambles to hold onto his arms, claw at his shoulders for dear life.
From the corner of her vision, she thinks she catches Ray pulling aside Lancelot’s mantle and discarding it to the side. Dragging his own off, in unhurried measure, as if he’s observing a riveting performance unveiling, right in front of him.
And she… is barely coherent after her hours of torturing, steady pleasure upon Ray’s cock; to feel Lancelot moving within her — shallow and not as hard as she wants him yet but still her husband connected. Each superficial thrust grinding his cockhead, it seems against the opening of her uterus. A violation this deep should hurt, but it doesn’t, all except for the ache it siphons out of her to not have him much more further. To not have Ray inside her, together, all three, and be left wanting and empty.
All at once, Lancelot’s pulling himself to the tip in a pleasant, torturous scrap, it drags him against the front of her wall, so intense, she’s clamping hard upon him in release, right before he propels his hips into her in a single, smooth thrust. “We will have other opportunities.” His breath is hot against hers, moments before he buffets her sounds against his tongue, his words she hears before the white-hot spurt of his seed bruises and paints her, “If this is not what gets you with child, we will do it again, as many times as you need it to take root.”
She is not sound anymore, she feels as if she could float out of her mind from the warmth of him but they are not done yet, and Ray makes it known with the way his hands carve beneath her arms to lift and press her onto Lancelot’s front — bared sometime by her Black King, in between their love-making. Her breasts feel swollen, from their earlier ministrations in the day, and the bites Ray left across her pebbled tips still smart with the slick slide of their bodies against each other.
It is unbearably hot and yet, she wants that heat far more, as Ray moves to curve himself against her back, smoothing open-mouthed hunger in kisses across the crescent of her neck.
There is barely a moment to relax before she feels Ray’s nudge along her drenched opening; turning both her and Lancelot to stillness, in want and anticipation — her Red King firm and strong within her once more. Ray murmurs his approval. “You came enough she’s wet and slippery here. More so than before, you both are.” He starts to push at their husband’s base, along with the warble climbing up her throat. “Not doing too badly for yourself, your Royal Highness.” Ray remarks cheerily.
In front, Lancelot’s gaze flitters in a dark, momentary frown; sweeping his fingers beneath Ray’s jaw to hold and tug before he pulses a quick kiss of violence against his mouth, ending on a warning bite of his lip. “Come inside. Quietly now.”
She almost wishes to laugh, because Ray does lose his voice for a moment, before he obeys. “Yeah, okay.” That laugh flees entirely into a groan; Ray having decided to even the odds as he pushes firmer and sudden until she breaks and curves around him as well, the three of them pressing into each other in their intense arousal. A soft curse spilling from Ray’s lips as he begins to move. “So damn wet. Feels… feels good.”
Her time and pleasure following after is a great, dark blur, as her body is moved and loved, cherished and marked, as her Kings please. Ray’s fingers are skittering upon her abdomen while Lancelot’s palms guide against the flare of her hips. Or, the other way around. It’s never quite clear.
“What about growing twins… right here?” It’s Ray who questions, pulsing his fingers deep into her abdomen, she clenches around them both. They groan in unison. “You like the thought of that?” His laughter is silk; exquisite, dangerous and so loving, within her ear. “Cumming so much in you, we really won’t be able to tell if you hold Kingsley’s seed or mine, kitten.”
Lancelot’s fingers are at her hair, tucking sweat soaked locks behind her ear; cerulean now burning with heat within their small, cozy space. “We can have both, and then more, if she wishes. They will be our children, young king, and she will be their mother.” A kiss he lets her chase against his tongue when she moans in enthusiastic consent.
She’s a mere doll now, within their hold, unable to move an inch without their grips and they seem happy to comply, driving into her to chase their combined pleasure. “Take it, Alice and let me see you glow into a mother.”
She twitches, then shrieks, loud into the air as she convulses around them. “Round and so, so swollen, around a Kingsley heir. Give him a new King,” Ray growls.
Their propulsions are hard enough; she feels the exact moment the first spurts of release scorch hot against her walls, forcing her body into acceptance of it all, with no place for escape with how tight they both bind within her.
And with how heavy she feels, deep within her belly; she is hopeful they might just have accomplished their task, after all.