Authors: Allyson Young
The nipple clamps popped her eyes wide, her men applying them simultaneously. She sucked air, and the erotic sting blazed a trail to her apex. She was so wet and so needy. Trevor stepped behind her, and she heard the whistle of a crop. It was unmistakable, different than the snap of the whip and the whoosh of a flogger. The first stripe fell across the fullest part of her buttocks and stung like all the fires of hell. Jon stood directly in front of her. She could feel the static electricity between them although he didn’t press a millimeter of skin against hers. She stared into his eyes and took her correction. She bit her lip against the next few blows and nearly whimpered with the remainder. He shared her anguish wordlessly, and her shame built. At the ten count Trevor took Jon’s place, and it began again, this time the flat of Jon’s big hand laying heat and sting on what had to be raised welts on her bottom. He rubbed her ass in between each blow. Trevor, too, united with her as she processed her lesson, and the tears spilled, tracking down her cheeks to drip from her chin. Trevor flinched but didn’t touch her.
Jonathon pressed a kiss right between her shoulders, and she felt his strong emotion. He pulled the plug free and pushed against her sore ass, his cock breaching her anus without pause. He skewered her, and she raised to her toes, her pelvis arching to meet Trevor’s erection. That fat cock pushed between her sopping folds, through the portal and into her channel, surging to seat itself beside Jonathon’s, separated only by such a thin membrane. Trevor tugged the nipple clamps, and she seized that slight pain to center herself. Muttered comments and sounds of shared pleasure echoed around her, surpassing her men’s muted groans, as the other members joined with her in not-so-mute witness.
Lois, unable to move at all, restrained by bulwarks of flesh and chains of love, shook in extremis and clenched so hard her vision blurred. Stretched, filled, complete. Her men took up a familiar rhythm, cocks dragging and sliding in alternate cadence. Lois lasted but a few more thrusts then climaxed, screaming her release to quiet the room. Trevor removed the clamps, and she flew again, coupled with a press of a callused finger on her exposed clit. It was too much, and while she registered the twin jets of heat deep within her, she sagged and surrendered her well-being to her men.
The past nine months had been an utter and total breeze compared to this. She had experienced hardly any of the miseries of pregnancy, only the glow. No morning sickness, no swelling of her feet or any other parts of her anatomy except her breasts. Lois Spence-Braun had boobs. Boobs to die for. Her men were in shock and awe, although they hastened to assure her they liked her little ones, too. And the doctor said they might well remain the same size, or maybe just a little smaller.
She didn’t remember being tired. It was hard to get tired when one or two men waited on a person hand and foot. She didn’t even have to dress herself, and they would have fed her, too, if she hadn’t insisted on feeding herself. Certainly the baby grew enormous within her slender frame, but Lois was rarely on her feet long enough to become tired or struggle with her balance. She never had to struggle getting out of bed or chairs either, because one of her men anticipated her need to rise and lifted her to her feet. She didn’t do housework because they hired someone, and making a meal in their nice, new suburban home was done under close supervision, a chair shoved at her the instant she looked a bit fatigued. It was a wonder she had any strength at all, because she didn’t
anything, except the regular yoga classes and biweekly swims that kept her fit. That and the athletic sex. Jonathon and Trevor were highly inventive in regards to her pleasure and theirs while ensuring the safety of the baby.
Maybe a princess was treated better during pregnancy, but Lois doubted it. Sincerely doubted it. Kennedy laughed at her, and Tara smiled knowingly. Their babies, Peri and Jake, were close in age, and Graham and Joel were already comparing and contrasting skills and talents. Madi delivered prematurely, but both she and baby number three, another girl, Sherilynn, were doing well. Patrick was nearly back to his old self, and rumors abounded about a scene in the near future featuring Madison.
Lois didn’t even get to be a nanny. Nathan grew up once his sister arrived, and big brothers apparently didn’t need nannies, attending preschool instead part days a week. He glued himself to Lois, however, whenever she visited and patted her growing belly proprietarily, calling it “mine.”
She didn’t know the sex of her baby, preferring the surprise, but the way things were going, she doubted she’d survive to hold her child. Another contraction built deep in her womb. Yanking her hand from Jonathon’s, she shoved the corner of the sheet into her mouth to contain her agonized scream.
“That’s it.” Jonathon strode from the room, his big frame shaking with sympathetic pain.
Trevor mopped her brow and offered her an ice chip, pretending her death grip on his hand didn’t hurt at all despite the covert flexing of his fingers. “Breathe, honey. More oxygen, less pain.”
He looked like he could use some oxygen himself, to her jaundiced eye. This was his fault, and she gathered the strength to tell him so when the next contraction surged and burst over her. This time she couldn’t muffle her response, and Trevor whitened. “God, honey. I’m so sorry. I won’t do this to you again, I swear.”
She wanted to respond but concentrated on her breathing instead. Jonathon stalked back into the room, trailed by a man in green scrubs. Mr. Medical god himself. This was his fault, too.
“Your uh, husband, partner, he’s asked me to give you an epidural, Lois.”
She shook her head. Jonathon remonstrated, and she ignored him. This might be her only child, and she wasn’t missing out on any of it. It didn’t matter if she died. She was going to be aware of every agonizing second.
“You won’t die, Lois. You’re in hard labor, and the pain is considerable, but you won’t die. You know we dismissed the idea of a C-section, because despite your size you can deliver babies.”
Well then. If she wasn’t going to die, she could see this through. Contraction and an incredible need to push. The doctor instantly read her face. Was he a Dom? He appeared bewildered, and she realized she was sharing everything that popped into her head. Jonathon looked to be in worse agony himself, and Trevor groaned.
The doctor hustled over and checked her. “You’ve progressed quickly. Far quicker than expected. We’ll get you into delivery right away. Gentlemen, gown up for the event or get left behind.”
Trevor appeared torn. He looked at Jon then at her. He clearly didn’t want to leave her. Jon fidgeted.
“Go. I won’t do this without you.” She shuddered at the enormity of the task ahead and they fled from the room, competing for space in the doorway, a milling of limbs and big torsos. She hoped she could laugh about it someday.
Little Geordie arrived a scant half hour later in the cold and sterile birthing room. Lois didn’t remember much about that time period other than Trevor and Jonathon flanking her, encouraging her and continually professing their love. The baby did what he needed to do, and her body facilitated it. Pushing was the easiest part, satisfying. The nurse who cleaned him and set him on her chest, beamed at his father.
“He looks just like you!”
Jonathon sat on the floor, making an audible thump. Trevor stared at Geordie, bursting into pleased laughter. When he was able to bring himself under control, he wheezed, “Well, shit, buddy. So much for your nonviable spermatozoa! I guess I’ll have to wait my turn!”
He leaned down to give Lois a kiss and press one on the baby’s head then rested his chin on her hair. “Honey, you were amazing. And now you can kick Jon’s ass instead of mine. Until next time.”
Lois cuddled Geordie close and carefully stroked his little bald head, so like his daddy’s. He did indeed look just like Jonathon, although more milk chocolate than rich bittersweet. His father unfolded his length from the floor and gently touched a big finger to his son’s cheek as Geordie rooted at her breast. Jon didn’t hide the strong emotion suffusing his features or the tears standing in his eyes. The badass Dom was clearly at a loss for words, merely offering his hand to Trevor who took it, the clasp firm across Lois’s prone body. High drama, and despite the interest of the medical staff, her men were oblivious.
It was a measure of the strength of their relationship that Trevor wasn’t fazed. Surprised, but not fazed. Geordie belonged to them all. Trevor would give her the next child if it was meant to be, and he or she would also belong. Fulfilled.
Allyson Young lives in cottage country in Manitoba, Canada, with her husband of many years and numerous pets. She worked in the human services all across Canada and has seen the best and worst of what people bring to the table. Allyson has written for years, mostly short stories and poetry, published in small newspapers and the like, although her work appeared in her high school yearbooks, too! After reading an erotic romance, quite by accident, she decided to try her hand at penning erotica.
Allyson will write until whatever she has inside her is satisfied—when all the heroes man up and all the heroines get what they deserve. Love isn’t always sweet, and Allyson favors the dark side of romance.
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