Page 3 of Single Mom's Daddies
Not until I’m panting, shaking, crying out as my orgasm rips through me like lightning. My thighs clamp around his head, and he groans, tongue flicking me through the aftershocks.
“Still with us?” the deep-voiced one asks.
I nod, dazed.
He kisses me again. Then positions himself at my entrance. When he thrusts in, I cry out—stretched, filled, aching in the best way. He sets a rhythm, slow and punishing, grinding deep withevery thrust. One hand fists the sheets. The other wraps around my throat—not choking, just holding.Claiming.
He rolls us to the side, still thrusting into me, and the second one kisses down my back. I feel his cock sliding between my cheeks, rubbing, teasing. And his cock is already wet. “I’m going to take your ass, little butterfly.”
Between gasps, I manage, “I’ve never done that.”
“Good. I get to be your first.”
“Yes,” I breathe. “Yes.Please.”
He slides in behind me, and I nearly sob at howfullI feel—one inside me, one in my ass, both of them fucking me in perfect rhythm, one slow, the other harder, grunting, praising, panting in Russian. It hurts, and that makes me want it all the more.
The third one—the pierced one—strokes himself at the edge of the bed, watching, waiting.
When I’m close again, theyknow. They adjust, shifting, pressing deeper. One of them reaches between my legs and circles my clit with just the right amount of pressure. I shatter.
Again. And they keep going. I can’t breathe.
Or maybe I’m breathing too much—shallow and fast, desperate for air, forrelief, formore. My fingers dig into the mattress as they thrust harder, faster, pushing me toward another climax I didn’t know I had in me.
I’m not even human anymore. I’m just sensation—nerve endings, moans, slick and sweat and heat. My back muscles ache, but I can’t begin to care.
They talk to each other in Russian, voices low and urgent. The rhythm changes—sharper now, one pulling out so the other can thrust deeper, and then switching again. Every second is a new angle, a new stroke, a new kind of overwhelming. And the third man, the silent one, moves closer.
His hand cups my cheek. I turn into the touch without thinking, lips parted. He brushes his thumb across my bottom lip. “Want me too, little butterfly?”
I nod, eyes half-lidded, brain long gone.
“Open,” he says. His cock slides past my lips with slow control, thick and already leaking, the taste of him earthy and hot. I moan as I suck him in, and his groan is sharp, guttural, torn from his chest like he didn’t expect to feel it.
His hand fists gently in my curls, guiding my mouth as he rocks forward, deeper each time. The piercing doesn’t get in the way, but it almost tickles my upper lip. His rhythm builds in tandem with the others—each of them using me, worshiping me, claiming me. My body isn’t mine right now, and I’ve never felt safer. Never felt morewanted.
Every sound I make is swallowed. Every thrust makes my jaw stretch wider, my core squeeze tighter. I’m unraveling.
Again.
I climax a third time with his cock in my mouth, two more inside me, my mind white-hot and blank. My body jerks, trembling, and I feel one of them pulse inside me—thick heat flooding me as he groans and grinds as deep as he can.
The others keep going.
The man in my mouth pulls back, breathing hard. His hand strokes my cheek as he spills onto my tongue, and I swallow without thinking, dazed and dizzy and wrecked.
A slap lands on my ass, not harsh, but enough to jolt me. I groan into the mattress.
“Still with us?” one of them murmurs, breathless.
I nod weakly, too far gone to speak.
Strong arms flip me onto my back. My legs fall open on instinct. I’m so wet I can feel it dripping down my thighs. The pierced one kneels between them, strokes himself hard again in two thrusts, and slides in with a hiss.
His eyes lock on mine through the mask, and his voice is raw. “You’re the filthiest little butterfly I’ve ever seen.”
That makes me clench around him.
