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“Are you afraid, my beautiful boy?”
Imriel nodded, afraid to speak, and the weight of the spell he’d cast to keep their thoughts at bay threatened to overwhelm him. He bit his lip, feeling the press of their minds against his senses, and his ears began to ring with the sensation. He whimpered, and Callia’s cool fingers found his cheek, fingertips light and gentle against his face.
“Shh. You don’t need to be,” she told him, and her blue eyes found his as a smile curved onto her lips. “Didn’t we tell you we’d protect you?” She leaned in, kissing him again, and he thought he’d drown.
Draven spread his legs, one slick finger sliding down between them and getting closer and closer to penetrating him. He tensed, and the witch’s voice rumbled from behind him, “Don’t tense, Imri. Relax. Let us take care of you.”
[s2If current_user_can(access_s2member_ccap_extras)]“I… I can’t,” he said, his voice so small that it was a wonder if they could hear it at all. Of course, Callia had a vampire’s sensitive hearing, and he knew she would be able to understand the words no matter how quietly he spoke them.
“Do you want to stop?” she asked, her eyes searching his.
He shook his head fervently, feeling the ache deep in his groin. If they stopped, he would explode. “I just can’t relax,” he explained, shame turning his already pink cheeks bright red. “I’m trying, Callie.”
Callia nodded, her lips finding the tip of his nose in a brief, teasing kiss. And then he felt her lips trail to his neck, and he tensed more. Her tongue slid against his throat. She murmured, “When I bite, let the spell go, love.”
He stared wide eyed over her head, the idea of releasing the spell holding back their thoughts from him more terrifying than the idea of surrendering his virginity.
“Trust us,” Draven urged. He paused for a moment, but all Imriel could think about was how the witch loomed above both Callia and him.
“Okay,” he croaked out, but terror seized his spine and left him rigid.
“Shh, my beautiful boy,” Callia whispered. “You’re safe with us. Let me help you.”
He nodded, and he felt something in him ease. Dimly, he understood that she’d compelled him, exerting her will to make him calm. He probably should have been angry or insulted, but he was so relieved he could barely stand it. She was helping him. They both were. Neither of them would hurt him.
But there was a tiny nagging doubt in the back of his mind that questioned it. He was a marked slave, seduced by an Elder and her favorite witch, and they could easily turn on him. He couldn’t do anything about it, and the idea made him whimper again despite the compulsion.
“Shh,” she told him again, and he saw her meet Draven’s eyes.
Draven reached out, his fingers encircling Imriel’s cock, and his eyes went wide at the sensation. He moaned desperately, feeling some of the tension leave him despite the doubts he couldn’t seem to drive away.
It grew easier as that slickened hand slid along his length, and his back eased against the bed.
“Good,” Draven murmured, the steady rhythm of his strokes never faltering. “You’re so good for us, Imri.”
If he let the spell go, he’d hear them. He’d know what they were really thinking in the moment, what they were really feeling, and he was so afraid that they would be cruel — that they’d think derisively that he was too unskilled and that they were better off without him.
But he yearned for the sense of belonging he felt when they kissed him, when they traded him off in each other’s arms and made him feel like the center of their universe. They never failed to make him feel important, and while he knew a lot of it had to do with his telepathy, he’d caught glimpses of their thoughts.
They were truly interested in him despite the fact that he was a Conti witch, despite the fact that he was a slave. It seemed improbable — impossible! — but he knew it.
Because surely they couldn’t lie with their thoughts.
“I want you to come with me inside of you,” Draven said solemnly, eyes looking almost black as they darkened with arousal. “Can you wait, Imri?”
The way Draven said his name sent a shiver down his spine, and he nodded.
“That’s our lovely boy,” Callia murmured against his throat. Her hand reached out, and it joined Draven’s on his shaft. He bucked, the sensations almost more than he could stand, and precum leaked steadily from him as he struggled to hold the spell a little longer.
Callia’s hand withdrew, gently urging his legs apart, but Imriel was too caught up in the feeling of Draven’s fingers around him to tense. Their steady stream of reassurances left him feeling safe in their arms, and as much as he ached for them, he ached to make them proud of him, too.
One fingertip probed at him, gently circling before carefully sliding into him, and Imriel made a soft sound, squirming. Callia added a second, and he cried out at the intrusion, biting his lip as his body adjusted.
White-hot pain flared through him with the addition of the third, but his erection didn’t flag.
Callia took her time, exploring him with her fingers and curling them until she found a spot within Imriel that had him crying out with unexpected pleasure. His hips moved of their own accord, and everything but that sensation felt unimportant.
It drove his doubts away, drove his own thoughts away, and his grasp on the spell grew more tenuous the longer Draven’s fingers expertly worked his shaft and Callia’s fingers just as expertly pleasured him. It was overwhelming, and he lost himself for what seemed like an eternity.
Only when those fingers slipped from him, a slender hand guiding the blunt head of Draven’s cock until it pressed against him did his eyes open again — when had he even closed them? — and Imriel tried not to tense at the idea of it inside of him. He didn’t know how to judge other men’s sizes; he’d only ever seen his own. But Draven’s was bigger than his, and while he knew that in theory it would obviously fit somehow, he wasn’t sure exactly how that would be.
“Don’t tense,” he murmured, meeting Imriel’s eyes with his own.
Imriel managed a small nod, though the thought had dragged him back into reality.
Draven rubbed against him, impossibly hot, impossibly big, but Imriel saw the nod he gave Callia. She released Draven’s cock, pressing up against Imriel as her hand found his instead. She kissed his throat again, and then he felt the brief, sharp pain of her fangs before it gave way to impossible pleasure.
He lost the spell.
Their thoughts felt hazy, though, as if they were worlds away. He knew they were thinking, could feel the subtler press of their thoughts against his own mind as though they demanded entry like Draven’s cock did. But they didn’t feel important. Of course, his own thoughts didn’t either.
Draven began to push, but Imriel was too far gone to tense. Between Callia’s fingers on him and her fangs deep in his throat, he couldn’t have denied Draven if he tried. Draven lifted his ass slightly, sliding in just a little more; each time he did, he gave Imriel’s body a chance to recover before pressing inexorably on.
After what felt like an eternity of pleasure and pain sweeping him up like a tornado, Draven finally paused. Imriel realized he had taken all of it inside of him, and he heard Draven’s voice as though through a tunnel, “That’s all, Imri. You’re so good. So perfect.”
Draven began to withdraw, so slowly that he might not have been moving at all, but soon he was almost out again. Then again that press came, though this time it felt a little less uncomfortable. And the next stroke, a little better, and the next…
Each time Draven’s cock buried itself fully inside of him, Imriel felt better and better. The other witch was hitting that spot each and every time, every stroke sending jolts of electricity through him. He was so close he thought he might explode; he hadn’t even realized Callia’s hand had drifted from his length to rest on his stomach instead.
He was glad for it; if she touched him, if even a finger grazed him, he’d come.
Draven’s pace picked up, his voice occasionally offering out an endearment or an encouragement. If he was bothered by the fact that Imriel was doing nothing but lying there, moaning and squirming, he didn’t show it.
All he needed was a single touch, and he whimpered. “P-please,” he finally begged. “Please, Callie.” Her fingers traced a line along the underside of his cock, and it jumped beneath her touch. Almost. He was almost there, and he could feel a whisper of her thoughts as she encouraged him even there.
Somewhere along the way, she’d drawn back slightly, peppering kisses from his throat back to his lips. This time, she tasted of blood, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Draven’s fingers joined hers, and he was gone, flying over the edge with a speed he couldn’t have stopped if he’d tried. He jerked, his cock spilling spurt after spurt onto his own stomach.
Their praise was something distant, something he recognized only by affectionate tones rather than any true words, and he reveled in it as he came down from that high. Above him, he finally noticed that Draven’s brow glistened with sweat, that he had quickened his pace, and Imriel could scarcely stand the sensation in the wake of so much pleasure all at once.
Draven’s back arched, and the older witch cried out, leaving something hot deep within Imriel that he couldn’t help but feel. He thrust a few more times, though the pace was far lazier, and then he lingered there, still buried within Imri.
Imriel whimpered, reaching up for him, and Draven obliged, leaning down to kiss his lips as his cock slid from inside of him. Some of his seed leaked out, but Imriel couldn’t bring himself to care about that, either. Instead, he eagerly gave himself over to that kiss, pulling back only when he needed to draw a breath at long last.
Slowly, he came back down, and as their thoughts became clearer again, they were a constant accompaniment to their actions. They echoed the words spoken aloud, encouraging him and praising him, and he shivered as Draven’s lips once more swapped for Callia’s. Her hand again found his cock, and he cried out; it was too sensitive, but she persevered, pressing on.
Young ones. So quick to recover. He recognized the thrum of her thoughts amongst Draven’s, both of them filtering through his mind above his own. So good.
They were simple thoughts on the edge of pleasure, concerned only with the moment. And as he began to stiffen again under Callia’s slender fingers, he arched his hips up.
“There you are, love,” she said, her voice thick with something he’d never heard before. “Mm, so good for us, aren’t you? So perfect.”
Imriel couldn’t even stammer out a reply. He only looked at her, feeling as though he’d gone dumb, and he managed a small smile.
It didn’t take long for him to fully harden again, and when he did, Callia straddled him. She cupped his cheeks with her hands for a moment, and then she let go. He knew his eyes were just a little too wide at the idea of the Elder atop him, but she didn’t really seem like the Elder in that moment. She was just Callie, the playful woman who had made him feel so welcome in her home.
As she slid down onto his shaft, she moaned. When she turned, Draven’s lips met hers this time as she sank down completely. Draven’s fingers were in her hair, seeming darker still against the pale strands streaked with so many colors, and her back arched. It sent a shiver through Imri, who helplessly bucked, driving himself up into her.
She pulled back from Draven, laughing, but there was no mockery in it. “All right, love,” she said, her eyes sparkling as they met his. This time, she began to move, guiding him through until he was comfortable enough to thrust into her on his own. There was nothing artful about it; he couldn’t imagine how he was bringing her pleasure. But she made soft noises, her eyes half-closed.
She stilled him after a time, her hands gently finding his hips. He took the hint, and he watched in awe as her breasts moved in time with the rise and fall of her own body atop his. She didn’t take long before she tightened around him; her back arched and she stopped, suspended in the moment.
Imriel couldn’t help but drink in the sight of her, with him buried inside of her, and the thought was almost enough to push him over the edge. If he hadn’t just climaxed… Well, if he hadn’t just climaxed, he would have the second he felt her around him.
It took her a moment to recover, and while she did, Draven’s lips found his own, warm and reassuring. Imriel kissed back eagerly, his lips parting as the other witch’s tongue delved into his mouth, exploring as Imriel fumbled to figure out how to respond. Draven guided him, tangling his tongue with Imriel’s, and just as he thought he might be getting the hang of it, Callia began to move again. It seemed like only seconds before he climaxed again, with Draven’s mouth on his and his fingers buried in Imriel’s hair. He cried out against those impossibly soft lips on such a hard man, hips bucking and jerking as he came.
Callia didn’t stop, not until his moans became strangled little cries, and then she rose only to settle against his side. She wasn’t sweaty or out of breath like he and Draven were, and she looped an arm across his chest as she snuggled there. Draven shifted, the heat of his body radiating through Imriel as they soothed him with their gentle touches to his throat, his chest, and his arms.
“You did so well, love,” Callia told him, pressing a kiss against his arm.
“I am so proud of you, Imri,” Draven echoed with a nod, and Imriel couldn’t help but marvel at the way their thoughts echoed their words. He had expected mockery, even still, for his inexperience, but their pride and pleasure raced through him and left him feeling dizzy.
He made a quiet sound, wishing he could actually speak, and Draven chuckled.
“Rest, our beautiful boy,” Draven said.
Imriel nodded in agreement, already half lost to sleep, and he felt soft kisses against his forehead and cheek.
He was asleep in seconds, safe between both of them.
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