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“Doing alright there, babe?”
Ciri means to say something, but no words come to her so she just gives a frustrated sort of hiss instead, pacing the three steps across the little porch again before she turns on her heel and returns. Dara snorts.
“You could have told him no, you know,” he offers, and Ciri just hisses at him again, still pacing. The next time she turns and nears him again, he grabs her by the arm and drags her into his chest, wrapping one arm around her waist and the other over her collar so she can’t escape before he hooks his chin over her shoulder. “Say it and we’ll turn around and go find someone else, babe, but unless you do, we ought to knock. The neighbors are going to get suspicious.”
This time the noise she makes is less of a hiss, but it’s equally wordless and more offended. She turns her head and bites at Dara’s pointy ear. He just chuckles, even as she feels the way he shudders, his hips rolling into her ass.
“...fuck you,” she mutters, struggling out of his arms. He squeezes her first, but lets her go, and just chuckles again when she huffs as she rights her clothes. “Okay, fine. Fine.”
“Good girl,” Dara says, and then presses the doorbell before she can say anything to that. It leaves her with her mouth still open and making offended noises as Eskel pulls open the door.
Her face flares red, and then redder when she sees the look on her uncle’s face.
“Wondered when you two were going to hit the bell,” he says, and Ciri would very much like the ground to swallow her, right about now. There’s a mischievous sparkle in Eskel’s eyes that say he knows that, too.
And then he turns to Dara and clearly sizes him up, as if they’ve never met – which, okay, not officially – and asks, “So, are you the friend looking to get a sigil done for the free use event?”
Dara huffs a sigh, sounding like he’s just so put upon, and Ciri is about to whirl around and give him a piece of her mind, but before she can even take a breath to do it his hand is on the nape of her neck, squeezing, and all of the fight rapidly goes out of her. She barely contains a whimper. Dara disguises a laugh with another sigh, but only just.
Using is grip on Ciri’s neck, he steers her inside, and, clearly seeing all of the supplies piled onto the dining room table, marches her over and just – bends her over the edge of it.
Her face is going to burn a hole through the wood, she’s sure of it. His fingers shift, grip going slack, so he can scratch lightly at her hairline, and even though she should probably be mad, the familiarity of it soothes her jangling nerves.
Godsdamn him, he knows what he’s doing. She wishes she could actually hate him for it.
“Nope,” he finally says, an answer to Eskel’s question, and Eskel guffaws.
Ciri is just about fixing to get her arms under her and stand up and – fuck, probably just bolt, her face is so fucking red, but Dara’s hand is suddenly tight at her nape again and she loses her breath.
All the same, she manages to hiss, “Fuck you,” under her breath, and while Eskel is still busy sniggering, Dara leans down to whisper right into her ear.
“That isn’t a safeword, sweetheart, and you’d better be careful how you talk to me.”
The only reason she isn’t hitting the floor at that, knees gone completely liquid, is because the table is in the way. She sucks in a breath. “S-sorry,” she mutters, and the beginning of a title starts to slip out, too, but she bites it back. This isn’t an actual scene.
“Mm. You good?”
“...fine.”
“Good.”
Dara straightens again, and once more his grip relaxes, fingers shifting to play with her hair absently. She’s distracted enough by that that it’s too late when she realizes his other hand is pulling her shirt up and, mortifyingly, her jeans just a little down.
She wants to be pissed about that. She wants to be angry about all of this.
All she actually is is blindingly turned on, and she’s fairly certain Dara knows that. Eskel might, too, but that thought is entirely too much so she quickly shoves it back down.
“This enough room for you to work, or does she need to lose the layers?”
Eskel snorts again – or maybe he’s just still not done laughing about Dara’s obvious display of dominance – but his little hum is a negative. “Tempting, but nah. She’ll be exposed enough on Sunday, after all. She can keep her pants on for now.”
She doesn’t manage to bury her face in her arm fast enough to entirely muffle the way she squeaks. Dara chuckles, but pets through her hair, a soothing, repetitive motion meant to calm her down, and it – works, sort of. She’s still alarmingly, embarrassingly wet, and her face is still liable to leave a scorch mark on Eskel’s dining table, but. The sensation of vibrating around inside her skin quiets, a little.
“Alright,” Dara says, and then his hand leaves her head, but before she can feel panicked about it he’s sitting directly across from where she’s bent over the table, threading their fingers together instead. She takes a deep breath, and the smile he gives her is full of pride.
There’s a pause, and then some shuffling to her side; Eskel digging through the supplies, probably, but she can’t make herself look away from Dara for the fear that she’ll just devolve into a pile of nerves again. So instead she just listens, and watches Dara as he watches Eskel.
She feels something hovering near her hip. “Gonna touch you,” Eskel says. It’s not phrased like a question but it obviously is one, and Ciri opens her mouth to give him permission but finds the words stuck in her throat.
Dara squeezes her hand, but when all she does is give him a wide-eyed look, he nods decisively. “You’re good,” he says. Ciri can feel how Eskel pauses, at that, clearly trying to decide if he’s comfortable accepting Dara’s word on her state; after a moment of hesitance, though, he moves, and his hand curls around her hip. She bites her lip so she doesn’t squeak again, and Dara’s lips quirk into a smirk.
“Gonna make sure your skin is clean so the henna stains well,” Eskel murmurs, “sorry if the rag is a little cold.”
She hums, entirely unsure if it sounds like the accepting acknowledgement it’s meant to be, but whether it does or doesn’t, Dara gives a little nod and there’s a damp rag being scrubbed lightly over the bare skin of her back. She shivers lightly – it is a little cold – but otherwise manages to keep still.
Dara squeezes her hand again, but his expression is a touch impish. She doesn’t have to wonder what that means for long, though she isn’t quite sure if that’s a blessing or a curse.
“So, Eskel,” he says, extremely casual for the way his grin has gone sharp, and Ciri fights a shudder. “Ciri never told me anyone in the family besides Yennefer could do magic.”
Eskel chuckles, and there’s more rustling as he digs through things, but his hand never leaves Ciri’s hip.
“Well, doing magic and being a mage are different things,” he says. “But – Ciri didn’t know, either, til she asked if I had any recommendations for someone to do one of these.”
Yeah, and I just about choked on air when he told me he could do it, Ciri thinks, but doesn’t say, because she’s terrified if she tries to speak she’ll do something embarrassing like moan instead. Instead, she just makes a face at Dara when he looks back to her, and he laughs.
“Mm, that explains it, then. Where did you even learn to do this, anyway?”
Eskel makes a sort of noncommittal noise, and Ciri knows just from years watching him talk at dinner that he’s waving his hand around dismissively. “Working at the club, I’ve learned a lot of different odds and ends. This is a particularly useful one, is all.”
“You can say that again,” Dara agrees, and Eskel just snorts.
There’s some more rustling, and then Eskel’s hand on her hip finally moves, but only to slide up so his fingers are on her bare skin instead. She has to bury her face in her arm again so she doesn’t whimper. Dara squeezes her hand.
“Okay, I have to – ” Eskel starts, but he doesn’t finish, and he sounds apologetic and a little frustrated. Ciri has no idea what is going on, and she’s terrified to lift her head to find out, but Dara makes an approving little noise and then Eskel is pressed right up against her, their thighs aligned, and her stomach does something complicated and acrobatic.
Dara squeezes her hand again. She squeezes back, the most she can do to “answer” the question she knows he’s trying to ask, because she’s too busy keeping a whine in her throat where it belongs and not otherwise combusting on the spot.
If Eskel notices her agitation, he doesn’t mention it.
“The ink will be a little cold, too,” he warns, and then he’s shifting – leaning down, she thinks – and there’s the sensation of something thick and chilled landing in a thin line on her back.
Her lip starts to bleed where she’s biting it to keep herself quiet. She sucks at the sore and presses her face even harder into her arm.
She can’t tell what the design Eskel is drawing looks like from the feel alone, but she has a general idea from similar sigils she’s seen before. After the initial shock of Eskel’s position and the sensation of the ink wears off, though, she’s able to – sort of relax, if not completely, and it’s…kind of nice, actually. If she turns her head so she can breathe fresh air instead of the humid space between her and the table, she can smell lemon and lavender and something herbal, almost-but-not-quite flowery. When she finally gets the courage to look up again, Dara is watching her intently, and his eyes have gone a little dark.
She swallows and squeezes his hand. He just smiles at her, something that flashes his canines, and she has to take a breath and hold it to stop herself from wriggling in response to that.
The last thing she needs to do is mess up Eskel’s work.
At some point, she stops feeling new ink lines being laid down, and she can hear Eskel murmuring something before suddenly her entire lower back is enveloped in heat. It’s not burning, no, but the kind of heat she associates with hot springs and relaxing baths, and this time she has no hope of catching the breathy moan that seeps out of her.
“Yeah, that usually feels pretty nice,” Eskel murmurs, and this time she catches herself before she makes another noise. Dara is clearly restraining laughter again, and she intentionally digs her nails into his hand in retaliation.
His response is just to slip his hand free of hers and turn his palm to wrap tight, almost painful, around her wrist, which he pins to the table.
She desperately hopes that her jeans are sturdier material than they suddenly feel like they are, because she’s fairly sure she’s soaked a wet spot through them if not.
Finally, Eskel’s hand leaves her entirely, and he steps back. She ignores how cold her thighs feel without his weight.
“Okay, that needs to dry, and then I can seal and wrap it. It usually takes about fifteen minutes, but I can speed it up with a fan. Unfortunately, it…is probably best that you stay where you are, Ciri, while I go get that fan and while it dries. Moving too much when the ink is wet can smudge the designs.”
She swallows, and for the first time since telling Dara she was fine the words in her throat unstick. “S’okay,” she murmurs, and then bites her own tongue to stop herself from adding on, I’m used to the position.
Just because it’s true doesn’t mean she has to say it, and not to her fucking uncle. Her own, rather, less-than-familial feelings for him aside.
It’s not her fault he was basically her introduction to kink, in an entirely unintentional way.
(Except for how it was, really, because she only started knocking on doors after he’d had to sit her down and have a stern conversation about boundaries and then, because the cat was already out of the bag, why he was dressed in leather and packing several kinds of dental gags into a duffle bag.)
She hears Eskel gather several things from the table, and then the soft thud of his footsteps slowly fading away – putting things away and getting a fan, probably. Dara squeezes her wrist and then lets go of the grip, just to push his fingers through her hair and tug at it lightly.
Not an order or forcing her to show her face, really, but a request. She grumbles, but lifts her head and sets her chin on her arm so she’s looking up and facing him properly. He smiles and leans over the table to press a kiss to her temple.
“You did well, minne,” he murmurs. “ Are doing well. How do you feel?”
“Horny,” she answers, immediately, and he snorts, using his grip on her hair to tug just sharply enough it stings. “‘m fine,” she continues. “Just – you know.”
“Mm, I do.” He kisses her forehead again. “We’ll let him get that design dry and wrapped up to keep it safe, and then I’ll let you ride me til your legs give out when we get home, hm?”
She shudders, knees knocking together before she can force herself still again. “Please,” she breathes, and Dara’s grin is sharp and wicked.
“Of course, minne. You’ll get your reward for being good.”
– – – – –
Ciri shakes her hands out for probably the hundredth time as she paces the little dressing room. She’s – nervous, yeah, but it’s not bad nerves, just. Just nerves, and usually she copes with them by curling up against Dara’s chest or doing what he tells her, because she doesn’t have to be nervous if she’s not the one making the choices, but.
They couldn’t ride together tonight, because Dara had to go pick up some supplies, and so he’s not here.
Yet, she reminds herself, pacing back across the room again. He’s not here yet.
Frustrated with the rut she’s wearing into the floor, she forces herself to stop and instead stand in front of the mirror. She’s dressed plainly, because she hadn’t wanted to try and get out of anything complicated before the scene, and getting back into something complicated after, well. That absolutely wasn’t happening and she knew it, so a loose, flowy shirt and equally loose yoga pants it is.
She shakes her hands out again, then lifts her shirt and twists, trying to see the stained sigil on her skin. She can just see the edge of it, but can’t really make any detail out, with the bend of her spine and how her skin rolls. She knows what it looks like, though; Dara had taken a picture before Eskel wrapped it up, when the ink was dry but hadn’t started to crack and flake yet.
It’s…a surprisingly flowing design, really. She’s used to sigils being a bit more rigid, sort of square and structured; she’s seen ones like this too, but they’re not the common kind. She likes it, actually, likes the look of it.
Knowing it’s keeping her protected so they don’t have to bother with the paperwork of tests or condoms, though, is even better.
She lets her shirt fall back down, and walks over to the little loveseat smushed into the corner of the room. Forcing herself to sit makes her feel like she’s going to vibrate out of her skin, but if she paces any more she’s going to wear her legs out, and she kind of needs to stand on them tonight. Mostly, at least.
She pulls her phone out as a distraction, and to her immense relief, finds a text from Dara.
> Almost there, minne, at security.
“Oh thank fuck.”
She turns her phone off, then, and shoves it into her bag, which gets put into the little locker with its built-in combination lock. The likelihood of her things getting stolen here is laughably slim, but she figures she may as well make use of the provided security; she doesn’t lock it yet, though, knowing that Dara will have his own things to put into it.
As if on cue, there’s a knock at the door. She rushes over to yank it open, and Dara looks almost surprised before he’s laughing and stepping inside, slamming the door shut again with his weight against it.
“C’mere,” he says, dropping the backpack in his hands, and immediately she’s pressed tight to his body, arms curled up between them and face buried in his throat. He laughs again, but it’s a gentle thing, and she knows he’s not laughing at her. His arms wrap tightly around her, and he presses his lips to her hair. “Anxious, hm?”
Ciri shakes her head, then pauses and nods instead. “Sorta,” she admits. “Not – I’m still up for the scene. Just. Nerves. And you weren’t here.”
Dara makes a sort of cooing noise and gently prods her up from her curled position, entirely so he can get a hand on her chin and kiss her. She surrenders to the kiss easily, gratefully, and this time the wordless sound he makes is more of a pleased little growl.
“I’m here now,” he says. “You good to get ready?”
“Mm. Kiss me again.”
He laughs, but does as she says, and she grins against his mouth.
“Okay, now I’m good.”
“Beag drelch,” is his only response, all fondness.
– – – – –
A little under an hour later, Ciri has been stripped down, blindfolded, collared, and plugged, and she’s definitely already a little hazy when Dara leads her out of the dressing room. Slowly and carefully, he guides her to the little pseudo-stage where they’re holding the scene. She already knows all of the details, and if she wasn’t already slipping could probably recite them if Dara asked, but all the same he’s reminding her as they go.
“The stocks are going to latch, but I’m going to lock them, in case you need to get out quickly. I’ll be nearby, too, in case you need to use your word – and you’ll have the cord to the bell by your hand, if your mouth is busy.”
She makes an assenting sound, acknowledging the familiar words as he guides her down a little one-step ledge. It’s a little disorienting, being entirely sightless as he leads her forward, but she trusts that he won’t let her fall or run into anything, so she ignores the fluttering of her belly as they navigate another step.
“I’ll watch who lines up, too, make sure none of them are anyone you’d object to.”
That makes her shiver, a delicious mix of feeling objectified tempered by knowing that it’s not objectification, it’s that Dara thinks she’s precious. Dara notices and chuckles.
“Mm,” he hums, stopping their forward progress for a moment to nose behind her ear and kiss her neck. “You like that, don’t you? Me having total say in who gets to fuck you, even when you’re being offered for free use, hm?”
Ciri shivers again. “Yes, Domn.”
Dara mutters a curse against her throat, reaching up to turn her face and kiss her. “Don’t think I’ll ever get over you calling me that, rhenawedd.”
She smiles against his mouth, and he just nips at her lip before he’s pulling back and prodding her along again.
“So good for me, minne,” he praises, and then continues with the details of the scene. “You’ll be up there for about an hour and a half, unless you decide to cut it off early, or I think you’re finished. You just need to let me know if you want a break at any point, and then you can go back if you want to, but the max you’ll be up there is two hours, most likely less.”
“Mm. Yes, Domn.” She wonders if this goes well, if they could try longer sets; she can’t know how the rest of the night will go, but so far she’s loving this, being blinded as Dara leads her to the stocks, feeling the plug shifting in her ass with each step, knowing that by the end of the night she’ll be leaking the cum of probably a dozen strangers, maybe more. And she already knows she likes the stocks, from a different night at this same club with Dara.
He guides her up onto the pseudo-stage, something she can tell by the switch from worn, pitted hardwood flooring to newer, sleeker hardwood.
“And, of course,” he murmurs, as he gently guides her to bend over the little cushioned support in front of the stocks and then arranges her head and wrists into the holds, “I’ll be going first.”
She shivers and whines, swaying her hips even as he moves away from them to pull the top half of the stocks down and latch it. He chuckles, but doesn’t say anything, just making sure the stocks are latched securely – it’s almost more dangerous if they can just pop open and catch her or anyone else in the hinges – and then guiding her hand to the side so she can feel where the cord to the bell is.
“Pull that for me, sweetheart.”
It takes a second of fumbling, because without sight she can’t quite piece together how to grasp, but she manages to grip and pull, and above them, there’s a clang.
“Good girl. If you can’t use your word but you need something, pull that, alright?”
“Yes, Domn.”
“Perfect. Now….”
She hears the rustle of fabric, and then the sound of a zipper, and she instinctively drops her mouth open, loosening her grip on the bell cord so she doesn’t accidentally grip and pull. Dara chuckles about her open mouth, but it’s strained, and he’s murmuring praise when he cups her chin and thumbs over her bottom lip.
“Good girl, look so good like this – first thing anyone’s gonna see when they walk in that door is your pretty cunt all wet and waiting. You’ll be a hit.”
Ciri moans, sticking her tongue out to catch at Dara’s thumb, and he gives that same strained laugh again.
“Okay, I’ll give you what you want, minne,” he says, full of teasing, but then he’s slowly pushing the head of his cock over her tongue and she doesn’t care about the tone in his voice.
Caught in the stocks, all she can really do is wiggle her tongue and hollow her cheeks; otherwise, Dara has to do all of the work, rocking his hips back and then forward again, slowly pushing deeper and deeper until she has to focus more on her breathing and swallowing in time with his movements so she doesn’t choke. And she manages that pretty well, at least until he gets his hand in her hair – as if he has to hold her still, and she shudders, because he doesn’t, but he holds her anyway – and starts moving too fast for her to keep up.
“S’okay, minne, just choke on me,” he tells her after a second, and were her mouth and throat not busy, she’d whine gratefully. As it is, the noise she makes is butchered and broken apart by the rough, wet noises she’s making around his cock as he fucks her face.
There are tears streaming down her face already, and a very related wetness starting to trail down her thighs.
Dara slows well before he would usually come, though, and when his cock is just resting, still, on her tongue, she whines. It’s part desperation – she wants him to come, wants him to feel good – and part confusion.
He’s panting as he chuckles, the hand in her hair sliding down her temple just so he can thumb at the tears on her cheek. “Don’t want to come yet, minne,” he says, an answer to the question in her whining. “Can’t quite decide if I want to come in your tight cunt, or if I want to wait til the end of the night and be the last, too.”
This time when she whines it’s fully desperation, and he chuckles again. “You have an opinion?” he asks, and pulls his cock free of her mouth. She has to work her jaw for a second, swallowing harshly, before she can really speak.
“Just – want you, Domn,” she says, because it’s true; she doesn’t really have an opinion, except, well, “want you to feel good.”
“Oh, I feel very good, minne,” he says. “Getting to fuck your lovely throat is always a treat, even if I don’t come down it.”
She shivers and wriggles the best she can, the stocks rattling. Dara rubs some more of the drying saltwater from her face with a considering hum.
“...I think it’s fairly obvious that you belong to me,” he finally says, the hand on her chin sliding down to the collar around her throat, sitting just high enough that the stocks don’t cover it. “...but it wouldn’t hurt for it to be my cum all the others are fucking out of you, I don’t think.”
Ciri makes a noise that can probably be best described as wanton, and Dara outright laughs; she feels him shift, but can’t quite parse how he’s moved until he’s kissing her, mostly just tonguefucking her mouth with how slack she is at the moment. She just makes that same noise again.
“After all, you may be free to use for the night, but you are mine, isn’t that right, rhenawedd?”
“Mm, yes, Domn, yours.”
“Good girl.”
He kisses her once more before he’s standing again and pulling away. She listens to his steps as he circles around her, and even knowing that it’s going to happen she still jumps when his hands land on her hips. He just runs a hand up and then back down her back, fingers catching at the base of her butt plug and pulling, just enough for her to feel it.
She whines, tilting her hips up. “Please?”
He smacks her ass, nothing more than a little lovetap, but all the same he’s shifting to spread her open, cock dragging over her thigh and then over her cunt. He just rubs the head of his cock over her folds for a moment, seemingly luxuriating in the slick heat – or just in teasing her, either is possible – but soon enough even his patience runs out, and all it takes is a pointed thrust for him to sink inside her.
She wails, the stocks rattling loudly as she automatically tries to buck back, to get more, and is stopped by the solid wood. Dara’s laugh is a parody of the thing, more like a groan, but all the same he gives in to her desperate wiggling, rolling his hips sharply so his cock pulls out just a little and then practically slams into her. She wails again, and then he’s fucking her quick and hard, sinking in to the base with each forward thrust, fingers tight enough to bruise on her hips.
Again, he doesn’t have to hold her; she can’t go anywhere, all she can do is take it, but all the same he does it, digs his fingers into the little bit of give at her hips and uses that to hitch her a little higher on her toes so his thrusts are making her breath stutter.
“Fuck,” he hisses, and she feels how his cock flexes as he grinds against her, sunk as deep as he can get. She clenches around him and whimpers pleadingly, words flitting in and out of her mind too quickly to pin any down for use. “Fuck, Ciri, gonna – shit.”
He manages another two thrusts before he’s coming, pushing deep enough her belly aches just slightly. She keeps clenching down around him and whimpering, stunningly close herself.
“Fuck,” he spits again, and slowly pulls out of her. Her cunt makes a wet, sucking sound as the head of him finally slips out of her, and her entire body flashes hot with embarrassment, but she doesn’t have the time to really feel it before his hand is slipping from her hip to between her legs, petting over her fluttering hole before he presses against her clit.
She jolts hard, rattling the stocks again, but he doesn’t let up until she finally does come, her voice cutting out on a keen and his cum slowly starting to drip from her hole.
“Good girl,” he tells her, with a pat to the base of her plug that she can feel move through her whole body, and then his steps are moving around again. He kisses her forehead, then her nose, and finally her mouth again. “I’ll be nearby,” he promises. “Have fun.”
She grins at that, a little loopy, and delights in the way he chuckles the whole way to wherever he’s decided to sit and supervise.
– – – – –
Ciri had figured she’d lose count of how many people took up on the offer of her being free to use, but she’s a little surprised at how quickly it happens. One moment, she she’s got a fairly good count on how many cocks she’s taken, even when there were two at once, and then suddenly – there’s a cunt grinding against her tongue, and a strapon in her cunt, and someone’s fingers in her ass, and she just sort of…floats away.
It’s fucking incredible.
A few times, she becomes vaguely aware of the people touching her asking Dara questions, and other times, of Dara saying yes or no as people approach – notably, one time he said that’s entirely too big, sorry – but for the most part, she’s lost to the pleasure of being used, being of use. Also, the…several orgasms she’s had, at this point. She doesn’t know the count for those, either, but she knows it’s enough that her cunt is edging into sore and her belly is a little sore from her abs clenching with each one.
As someone pets over her swollen mouth, a warning before a stunningly realistic dildo is pushed across her tongue, she decides that they are definitely doing this again, as soon as is humanly possible, and preferably for as long as the club will let them.
– – – – –
It’s probably near the end of the hour and a half, or maybe past it toward the two-hour mark, when it starts to slow down, a few minutes between takers turning into several into a stretch of time she can’t quite parse but knows is longer. Ciri is panting and her head is spinning and the only thing keeping her up is the cushioned stand her belly is resting on, because her legs gave out…a while ago. She doesn’t know how long, or how many people had fucked her before or after her knees surrendered.
She’s only needed to use the bell once, so far, just so Dara could come and trickle water down her throat before there was any real injury, and she knows that the time limit is important, but she very much does not want this night to end. At least, not yet.
Even if she is probably getting too close to too sore, and her entire body is trembling, enough that the stocks are shaking with her, a little quieter than if she were properly struggling against them but still noticeable.
She startles, just a bit, when a hand cups her face, because she’d zoned a little in the calm and hadn’t heard the steps. All the same, she sucks at the finger that rubs over her lips.
Dara’s laugh is like music. “Good girl,” he murmurs, and despite the time she knows has passed, he sounds just as lustful as earlier. In the quiet and paying attention now, Ciri can hear the door swing open behind them.
Whoever has walked in doesn’t speak, but Dara hums.
“...think you can take one more, minne?” he asks, and she hums an affirmative around his thumb. He laughs again and pulls it from her mouth. “Words, please, beag drelch.”
“Yes, Domn, I can,” she manages, her voice rough and the words a bit slurred. She’s not sure if that’s because her mind is so hazy, or that her lips are swollen from friction.
“Good girl. Alright.” He steps away again, and then the newcomer is stepping onto the stage, large, hot hands landing on her ass.
She whines. “Please,” she breathes, fumbling to try and get her legs under her so she can push her hips up and back. She can’t quite manage it, but the owner of those wonderful hands just hums and pets down her thigh, a silent it’s okay. Instead, one of the hands curls around her hip and lifts her, leaving her feeling a bit like she’s being dangled.
Her cunt clenches, and a rush of cum drips out of her with the motion. There’s fingers catching the mess and rubbing it around, first just in circles around her hole and then up, slicking it over her clit.
She whines again, more desperate this time, hips jerking. “Please!”
The mysterious stranger tuts, but then she hears a zipper, and also the familiar click of a lube bottle opening. She shivers and whimpers when the cold slick is dribbled over her cunt, and she wants to tell them it’s really not necessary, because she’s wrecked open and so full of lube and cum already, but as she opens her mouth there are fingers being pressed inside her, three at once, and they find her g-spot with frightening accuracy.
Instead of saying anything, she just screams. Dara laughs from wherever he’s perched.
The fingers are removed as quickly as they arrived, but once more she doesn’t get the chance to complain or beg; as soon as she’s even formed the thought to try, the fingers are being replaced with the head of a cock, and she sucks in a shocked gasp as it presses into her.
Okay, maybe the lube was necessary. This is – easily the biggest cock she’s taken tonight, or at least the thickest.
Possibly ever.
She whines, and the person behind her laughs, and it’s – familiar. Does she know…? …wait.
“Good thing I waited to be last,” Eskel practically purrs the words as he sinks into her cunt, slow but inexorable. “Otherwise I might have hurt you. Still so tight though, gods.”
She has no idea what to do with how her heart is suddenly rabbiting in her chest, or how her cunt clenches down so tight around Eskel’s cock that they both lose their breath, hers on a pitchy squeak and his on a growl. She also doesn’t know what to do with the fact that even as sore and used and slack as she is, he’s a challenge, and it feels so fucking good she’s crying again, rewetting the blindfold where it had started to stick and dry against her cheeks.
She doesn’t hear his steps, but soon enough Dara’s hands are on her face, and Eskel isn’t pulling back but he’s not moving. She whines and tries to rock her hips, but with no leg strength and his grip holding them up, she can only just squirm fruitlessly.
“Are you alright, en’ca minne?” Dara asks, and she gasps wetly.
“Please, please,” she babbles, “feels – fuck, need it, please Domn, Eskel – ”
Eskel shushes her softly. “It’s alright, Ciri, we’ve got you.” He starts moving again, slowly at first and then faster, and she hiccups through several broken whines. Dara kisses all over her face, her wet cheeks and swollen lips, never in one place for long.
After a moment, Eskel shifts again, though his pace doesn’t falter; he has both hands on her hips now, grip just as sure and likely bruising as Dara’s was earlier, and he uses that to force her to tip her hips forward. Were she actually standing on her own legs, she’d be on her tiptoes for it; as it is, she really is just sort of dangling from his hold, now, head and wrists still trapped in the stocks.
She’s helpless. Eskel grunts when her cunt flutters around him.
With another shift, though, he’s suddenly not just glancing off of her g-spot by virtue of his size, he’s hitting it dead on with each thrust. She tries to scream again, but nothing comes out, and Dara kisses her anyway, stealing her breath.
“Just like this, sweetheart,” Eskel is encouraging from behind, just barely loud enough to be heard over the nasty, obscenely wet noises her cunt is making as he fucks her. “Want you to come around my cock.”
At this point, she doesn’t think she has the option not to. Her belly is tight and her legs are starting to to quiver wildly, and each time Eskel fucks into her she’s making broken, pitchy little noises, starting to drool because she just can’t keep her mouth shut.
And then Dara joins in, and she’s doomed.
“Are you going to gush for him, minne?” he asks, lips warm against her ear as he thumbs at her lips. “I know how much you’ve imagined this, how you used to finger your pretty little cunt all alone thinking of him fucking it instead – does the reality live up to the fantasy?”
“Domn.” It’s the only word she can manage, and it’s slurred and cracked and even if she had any brains left to try to say anything else, any attempts are immediately dashed when Eskel grunts softly, tightens his grip on her hips, and fucks her somehow harder.
She’s coming before she can even take another breath, pleasure so intense that it legitimately borders on pain searing through her, entire body spasming caught between the stocks and Eskel’s bruising grip. She hears Dara’s voice rumbling in her ear, but she can’t parse any of it, her already-blackened vision somehow swimming and spinning as her senses seem to fade in and out with each shock and then aftershock.
The first thing she hears, when she seems to settle back into her – fuck, very sore and aching body – is still Dara’s voice.
“Come back to us, en’ca minne,” he’s murmuring, almost like a song as he gently rocks her back and forth. She realizes she’s not in the stocks or blindfolded and plugged anymore, and is instead curled up in Dara’s lap. …and that there’s actually two pairs of hands on her.
“Domn?” she croaks, and Dara practically coos.
“There you are,” he says, and his voice is amused and fond and Ciri lets herself melt into the familiarity of it, even as Eskel’s hands petting through her hair and over her shoulder make her feel shivery. “How do you feel?”
“Mmmmgh.” She buries her face deeper into the crook of Dara’s neck.
Dara snorts, and Eskel chuckles.
“Words, Ciri.” It’s a slightly sharper order than usual, probably because he knows that she’s trying to avoid talking in front of Eskel.
She whines, but Dara just makes a low, warning sound in his throat, the hand he’d been using to pet up and down her back landing at the nape of her neck. He doesn’t grab her, not yet, but the threat is there, and she shudders with both apprehension and anticipation.
“‘m good,” she mumbles, and Dara hums.
“Just good, hm?” he asks. “Not even sore?”
She whines again, and Dara chuckles.
“Sore,” she admits. “...really sore.”
“Mhm. That’s better. C’mon, let’s go get you cleaned up. See if that knocks more of your pretty voice loose.”
Ciri squeaks and pulls her head up just enough to glance at Dara’s face.
“With – ?” is all she manages, voice cracking and going out before she can finish, though she’s not certain she would have finished anyway.
Dara quirks an eyebrow. “Would you rather he doesn’t come with us?” he asks, and Cir thinks she’s supposed to say no, but when Eskel starts pulling his hand away from her hair she whines with loss and presses her head back, chasing the pressure. Dara just smirks.
“I – ” she starts, and then realizes she doesn’t know which is the right answer, to have Eskel follow them, yes or no. “I…Eskel.”
“Right here, sweetheart.” Eskel answers, the hand on her shoulder shifting to curve around her jaw, even though he doesn’t try to make her look toward him.
“...come with,” she says, in the smallest voice she thinks she’s ever managed, and Eskel makes a noise like he’s been stabbed at the same time that Dara coos approvingly.
“Good girl,” he praises, rubbing their noses together. “Now – Eskel, can you take her for a second? It’ll be easier for you to stand.”
“Mhm.” And with an ease that’s almost eerie, since they’ve never actually worked together like this, Dara passes Ciri from his lap into Eskel’s arms, and she’s being lifted. She squeezes her eyes shut, pretending it’s because of the movement and not because she’s afraid if she looks at Eskel she’ll just evaporate into thin air.
She swears she can still feel the phantom of his cock inside her, and somehow she just wants more.
When Eskel gently passes her back to Dara, she cracks one eye open to find him grinning at her, and she very maturely sticks her tongue out at him.
He just chuckles again. “Put that back in your mouth before I find a use for it, minne.”
“Domn,” she whines, and all that gets her is more laughs before both Dara and Eskel are pressing kisses to her head, and she’s being carried off to the dressing room.