I turn my head to where Wren sits, a mere thirty paces away from us. His eyes are on us, as they so often are. Chiron gestures behind my back, bids Wren toward us. He shakes his head in dissent. I release Chiron’s tresses where they are wrapped between my fingers and turn myself in his arms. His hands rest at the dip of my waist, and he leans me back into him, where I can feel every inch of his heated body against my back.
Wren’s face holds so many things that it is almost impossible to parse them. Regret, sadness, longing…and lust. I motion him forward as Chiron’s mouth finds my ear and neck once more. I lean back into Chiron, his leg finding its way between the backs of my thighs. His thick length presses into my lower back, pulsing even through his heavy breeches. We are not so far North yet that the air is chilled, and the heat enveloping us is inescapable.
Wren moves to stand, and I think he will finally break this separation. He walks our way, slowly. Tentative and quiet steps bring him to a tree just a few paces in front of where I rest back in Chiron’s embrace. Wren matches his posture, leaning back, but placing his hands into the pockets at the front of his breeches. The evidence of his own erection is clear, even in the darkened area of the trees where we face off.
“Join us,” I whisper to him, as Chiron’s hand slides up between my breasts.
I can tell Chiron is watching him, but he only turns his head slightly to me when he says in a silken voice, “He doesn’t want to join us, do you, Wren? You like to watch.”
He slides his fingers over the peaked nipple there, testing it between his nimble fingers. Wren is transfixed by the scene playing out before him. He nods his head slowly, agreeing with Chiron. A soft growl rumbles in the hard chest behind me, approval. A challenge.
“Would you like Wren to watch, Netta? Watch me while I take you, bare? Just like this?” The words that leave his mouth are bolder than anything Chiron has ever said before. Embarrassment doesn’t form, nor shame. Not here.
I believe I have known from very early on that Wren did not set himself apart from us without reason. He enjoys this. The watcher. By the hungry look in his eyes as he watches Chiron’s hands, I feel certain he requires this.
A breathy “Yes…” leaves my lips, and I finally, fully give in. Chiron’s fingers pinch at my tender nipples, eliciting gasps and moans from me that I did not think possible.
My eyes flutter closed, but they open again when Wren says, “Look at me, Netta.” In a quiet and husky tenor.
Chiron makes quick work of the clasps on my tunic, guiding my arms up over my head, and pulling it swiftly off of me. I bring my own fingers to the ties at my waist, slowly releasing them until the breeches that sit at my hips slide gently down my thighs and calves. I lift my feet from them, and Chiron kicks them to the side.
I stand before them both in nothing but the thin slippers I left on. I slide those off as well. The night air is cooler against my warmed skin, but I do not have time to consider it before Chiron’s hands find me once more. He slides delicate touches and kisses at the nape of my neck, working his fingers around my collarbones, tracing every line beneath them that he can feel. The sensation of them is intoxicating, like too much wine on a feast night. I can almost see the swirling smoke of incense in the air around us, holding us in a space that is entirely our own.
I reach out my hand behind me to Chiron’s thigh, all the while watching Wren’s eyes trail around my body with wonder. I pull at the thick fabric, eliciting another hum that comes from deep within his chest. One hand slides to the buckle that is fashioned on his breeches. He unclasps it and slides the loop through, all the while leaving nips and kisses at the space between my neck and my shoulder.
The sensation in my belly is that of fire. Liquid flame travels deep into the center of me. I know that I am wet, I can feel the ache between my thighs with visceral clarity. When Chiron’s breeches fall around his knees, he does not move to step out of them. He only widens his gait and lifts his own tunic off his chest. He tosses it in the pile he’s created of my own attire. He grabs at my thick waist once more. Hauling my hips back against his erection. I gasp at the searing warmth of it against the cleft of my bottom.
“What do you want, Wren? What do you want me to give her?” He says, biting hard into the muscle of my neck. There is pain, but it is quickly washed in pleasure. I instantly want more. Wren’s chest rises and falls in heaving motions. He is just as swept away by Chiron’s madness as I am.
I think for a moment that he will not answer.
“Give her your cock,” He says, almost hissing. It is more than a request, it’s a demand.
Chiron nudges my thighs apart, and I obey. I am certain beyond reason that I am ready for him.
He lines the crown up with my entrance, swiping it through the wet heat that has pooled there. Every touch sends a shock through me, and I am unsure that my legs will comply. I keep my eyes open, watching Wren’s gaze travel down to the nest of dark curls that coalesce between my ample thighs. Chiron groans behind me, taken with his own pleasure.
“This cunt.Netta…this pretty pussy…” He drawls, head leaned back against the bark of the tree. “Tell me what you want, love. What do you need me to do?” He whispers, waiting for my reply.
I have never been one to speak during the height of passion; it just has never been my way. But something about the three of us emboldened me, my conscious mind subdued along with all of its concerns and priestess graces.
“I want,” I start; as his crown circles my entrance, my pussy, as he called it. “I want your cock.” The groan that escapes them both is synchronized. My voice is entrancing; it feels not my own. At least, not the one I have ever heard. But the choice? That is fully mine. Chiron pushes carefully into me, guiding himself in with his hand clasped around the base of him. He’s unrushed. He works me open slowly, with short thrusts of his hips. I am lost to it, both full and aching for more of him. Wren’s hand moves in his pocket, adjusting his own cock inside his breeches.
Chiron watches him too, I can feel it. “Show her.” He growls behind me, pushing farther into me as he speaks.
One hand remains on my waist, but the other travels up my back. It lands on my shoulder, gently but firmly guiding me forward slightly. I assume this eases his passage, because before I can take a breath, he is fully seated within me. The moan that leaves my throat is without choice. The stretch of him inside of me is pure ecstasy. He remains this way, waiting for Wren.
Wren registers this and moves his hand to untie his own breeches. When he reaches inside of them and pulls his cock free, my mouth waters at the sight. Wren’s cock is…stunning. Long and veined with his own need. He passes his thumb over the crown of it. Stroking his fist up and down slowly.
Chiron begins to move me over him. I cannot catch my breath. My eyes are fixated on Wren’s work. The grip on his erection appears painfully tight, but by the way his head lolls back into the tree, I can tell he is also enraptured in pleasure.
I turn my head back to look at Chiron, and he too, is deep in his own satisfaction. His hooded eyes pass from Wren’s stroking fist back to the place where he stretches me. He pulls me onto his cock with a rhythm that makes my eyes roll back inside my head, and I struggle not to hang my head as I give in to the sensation of being so full.
Being exposed here at the edge of the forest for Wren’s view is an intoxicating experience. Somewhere at the edge of my thoughts, I register that the driver sleeps a hundred or so paces away from us, but the trees muffle the sound of our skin slapping together. Even so, it is not uncommon on the Isle for ritual ecstasy to dissolve into the pleasure of the body.
I am the ritual Wren watches. The ritual Chiron participates in. I am at both of their mercies. So I choose to revel in it.
Chiron’s rutting behind me turns more frantic, and his words even more uncontrolled. The things he thinks but only speaks in these moments of revelry in our flesh.
