Page 10 of Ruthlessly Mated
“Good girl,” Conroy says, rubbing his hand along the back of my neck, giving me the first positive feedback he’s given me since meeting me. It’s strange, but it feels more intimate than him taking my virginity. It doesn’t make sense, but feelings don’t make sense.
His knot is starting to subside now, and as it does, he pulls slowly out of my body. I am myself again. Just myself.
“We should take her somewhere private,” Tailor says. “She’s had enough. And I have not had anything.”
“Feel free to fuck her,” Conroy says, slapping my butt and rubbing his fingers between my legs, massaging his cum into my pussy lips. “She could take cock after cock right now. She’s in a mating frenzy.”
I am dripping semen as Tailor picks me up. He is not nearly as rough with me as Conroy was. He’s almost reverent as he wraps me in his arms and carries me out of the bar to a series of cheers that seems to get louder and louder every time even though I am actively escaping the area now.
Tailor takes me upstairs, past the velvet rope that keeps people who respect ropes off the stairs, and through a solid metal door that deals with people who are less respectful of boundaries.
I find myself inside the true den of Port Denhome. This is where the masters live, and it is clearly where all the proceeds of the port have been funneled. There are three armchairs, each of them in very different styles. There’s a big brown leather one sitting in the middle of a rug facing the fireplace. There’s another one to the left of it, made in better quality everything. It’s smaller, stiffer, but looks like it would probably still be very comfortable. And then there’s a black chair, set to the far right side, just barely in the realm of the fireplace. That one’s got to belong to Damon.
Tailor carries me into the place like I’m his personal prize. The darker-haired quiet guy does not seem bothered. He follows like a shadow.
“I’m going to strip her down.” Tailor says. “We can lick her clean. She’s still so messy.”
They keep talking about me as if I am not here, as if I am something they are trying to work out.
“Oh, yes, she is,” Conroy agrees, his tone deep and satisfied.
Tailor takes me into the bathroom, which is large and sparsely appointed. There’s a large bathtub and big tiled floors and a sink that has three toothbrushes lined up in their very own glasses along the side of it.
They take my clothes off me, everything including my socks.
I see that the one who hasn’t said anything has my effects from down on the bar. While I was being railed by Conroy, he was making sure nobody stole my Zip. He seems cool.
Standing naked before men who I intellectually know are my mates, but the part of my brain that has been fighting a solo battle forever won’t acknowledge that way, I struggle for words that will renew my independence. Some of them manage to fall out of my mouth, though they do a very poor job of explaining how I really feel.
“I’m not interested in being anyone’s mate. And if there’s a problem with port tax, I’ll go ahead and pay it. You know it’s not really that big a deal, to…”
Conroy’s mouth comes down gently, but firmly on the back of my neck and the words fall into their composite consonants and syllables and then collapse completely.
It is a surprisingly intimate experience, being made naked and then cleaned by three tongues, all of which are agile and excitedby their work. I have no choice but to lie back and accept their ministrations.
“You don’t even know me,” I moan. “I’m not…”
The one with the short, dark hair kisses me. Deeply, passionately. With enough intensity to drive all thoughts of not being known out of my head. I can feel my instincts shifting toward them. With every breath I take, their scents enter me, all three of them becoming part of my internal chemistry.
He does not say a word, but he looks down at me with what I can only describe as a dark tenderness. I feel something in him speaking to something in me, the part of me that never really gets to express itself.
I reach for him. He catches my hand and lowers it, giving a little shake of his head, as if I do not get to…
“Oh, my god,” I moan as a hot tongue laps along the length of my slit.
“Don’t pleasure her again,” the leader, Conroy, says roughly. “She doesn’t deserve to have her pussy feel good. Not until she’s been punished for her disobedience.”
“Fuck you,” I curse as the blond lifts his head away from me, patting my pussy reassuringly as he moves away.
“You will be fucked soon enough, but on our schedule, not yours,” the asshole in charge says. “That little hole hasn’t earned any reassurance, let alone enjoyment.”
“What the hell is your problem?”
“My problem,” he snarls, looming over me, his hand now cupping my sex firmly, holding me like my pussy belongs tohim. “is that you’re a spoiled little brat who doesn’t understand how much fucking trouble she is in. You tried to get away with breaking our rules, and now we are going to break you instead.”
He’s so mean, even as his fingers move in a subtle rubbing motion between my legs, somewhat undermining his gruff point. He’s soothing and settling me with his touch while lecturing me sternly.
“Don’t swear at me again,” he says. “Or I’ll spank this pussy before I fuck it again. You think there’s a limit to how many times we can breed you? There’s three of us, baby; we can fuck you day and night if we want to, keep you full of our cum until you birth us our pups.”
