Page 59 of Bound By Brielle (Crave & Cure Productions)

And then he’s pushing me back into Lance’s chest, and I’m toppling forward, our mouths crashing together. Lance kisses me wildly, with fiery passion and I realize as two big cocks press into me, that the kiss is a tool meant to help me cope with the pain of two huge dicks sliding into my pussy.

Lance is lubed, Aug isn’t but it doesn't matter. I’m wet; my body is ready. They’ve been edging me so long—pretty much since the last time we were together—and I’m so ready.

Aug’s groan tears through the room, booming and crazed. “Fuck!” he hisses as he works himself inside, Lance doing the very same by guiding me down. His big hands on my shoulders, pushing, pushing until all at once I yelp. I whimper. The burn spreads like wildfire, making my thighs prick with heat, my belly squeeze and my cunt spasm.

“Easy,” Aug coaxes from behind. “Don’t buck,” he says as my body lifts on its own accord, attempting to escape the pain of two cocks splitting me. “You’re not tearing, you’re taking it, you just need to adjust,” he whispers as Lance’s hands slide from their position atop my shoulders, exploring my breasts. He grabs them, pinches my nipples and flicks them while Aug’s hands come around me from behind, smoothing along my stomach.

My eyes fall closed, even though I want nothing more than to tip my head forward and see the most beautiful cocks in the world fucking me.

Together.

At once.

But I can’t. The pain bleeds through me, and when the sting wears off, the most delightful, electric pleasure grows in its space. My legs grow woozy and wobbly from all the pleasure between my legs and when Aug starts moving, thrusting up against Lance inside of me, the three of us begin our undoing.

“Fuck, you’re doing good. So good,” Aug rasps as Lance reaches up and tugs at my collar, bringing my mouth down to his.

“I love feeling you,” he says, “so wet, so tight, so fucking needy.”

I swallow and open my mouth, needing to finally speak, to say something, to let them know how good they feel, at the very least. But Lance shakes his head, sweat rolling into Aug’s pillow from his temples. “Not yet, not yet,” he warns, like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

Aug hands grip my belly, his fingers sinking deep as his hips slap my bare ass.

“Take me over the edge with you,” Aug growls, looking around me at Lance. I don’t know what expression they pass or share, because my eyes slam closed as I prepare. Aug reaches around, finding my clit, and strokes madly as he takes a break from fucking me. Instead, Lance lifts his hips from the bed, the motion of his cock sliding against Aug’s inside me is overwhelming. And with the friction, the angles, the sheer size of them, Aug’s blunt fingertip stroking me—it’s all too much.

Both of them groan as my full channel squeezes them, milking them, begging for them to come deep inside me. And I don’t say the words, but I want it, my body wants it. I can feel my pussy tighten more than it ever has before as I shake and writhe, my orgasm ripping through me in violent, chaotic waves.

“Speak,” Lance grumbles. “Now, speak!” he shouts.

My head falls back against Aug’s sweat-slicked chest, my lips part and I cry out in pleasure, in pain, in fear, in hope, I cry out so loudly.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I scream as my orgasm coils my spine and burns its way through my insides, tearing through each one of my limbs, leaving me exhausted and hot, but sticky and sated. And right as I begin to crumple, the men fucking me, my Sirs, they stop moving.

I open my eyes to see Lance’s hooded, eyes glazed as he grunts,“Yes.”

Aug’s grip slides to my breasts, where he squeezes them as he comes inside me, his hot orgasm flooding my hips. Lance is coming too, and in truth, I can’t tell who’s heat is whose, but I know one of them comes first and the other follows, and there’s so much cum, so much heat inside me. I press a hand to my groin as if I’ll be bloated from it, but I’m not. Instead I keep my hand there, loving how full I feel, inside and out. I collapse against Lance, my head swimming with post-orgasmic bliss.

It’s the first time in my life that an orgasm has actually put me in a free headspace, one where I want to stare off deliriously into the distance, hold my full pussy and doze off with a smile.

They talk quietly around me and I feel cum gush from my cunt as they slip their softening cocks out. Lance rubs his hands up and down my back as he speaks to Aug. I don’t know what they’re saying, I can’t even understand words at this point, I truly don’t.

Lance slides me off of him, rolling me to my back as one or both of them maybe, I can’t keep my eyes open long enough tell, wipe me up. Slowly and tenderly they smooth over my sore, used parts until they’re clean, and then I’m in Aug’s arms, being carried through his cool, dark room.

Lance runs me a bath, and while I sit in the tub being filled with warm water and eucalyptus bubbles, they massage me. Aug at the side of the tub leans over, using his blunt fingertips to knead my aching knees—which I didn’t remember hurting until now. Behind me, Lance massages my shoulders, running two thumbs down the back of my neck, causing my eyes to flutter closed. Everything feels so good, and their care wakes me from my coital, sleepy, hazy state.

It’s when Lance is removing the collar that I fully come to and realize that we just had our first evening where I was their submissive pup. I lick my lips, finding my voice hoarse from holding it for almost the entire time. “Was it—were you happy with how it went?” I ask, my question for both of them despite the fact I’m staring at the red blotches marring my knees. I think I may be scared to see Aug’s face, or even Lance’s as he slides around the tub across from Aug.

Because I liked it. I enjoyed it. And it felt more natural to me than anything I’ve ever explored. Which, granted, hasn’t been loads of things. When I’m on set or in class, I want to drive the choices. I want my voice not to just be heard but to be listened to and considered. I’ve worked for that in the film school world, which is competitive and cutthroat.

When I’m not in class or on set, though, I want to relinquish thought, set decision making aside, stick a fork in my type A, detailed oriented persona and hand myself over. I want to be used for pleasure, then given pleasure in insane, maddening amounts until I’m rendered speechless. Then I do want to be doted on. Taken care of.

Just like this.

Maybe I’ve got some daddy issues. Fine. No one’s perfect. But I can’t help but feel heady and high from their aftercare.

And I’ve been with enough boyfriends to know that this sizzle, this electric, indescribable chemistry that invisibly binds us is rare. Because it runs through our hearts, minds and bodies.

If they don’t feel the same, if they’re not overrun with this intense feeling that the three of us are meant to be, I’m going to be devastated. And then I’m going to be mad at myself for being devastated because I know better than to go all-in on anything.

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