[She is ready...] He reported. [Let us proceed... another... inch...]

He felt it, the microscopic stretch of her cunt yielding to him, the way William’s draconian ridges and his own textured plane worked together in harmony to coax her open.

Her body resisted, just for a heartbeat, just enough to make him feel like a conqueror breaching the gates of a kingdom that had never been taken. Then it gave, surrendered. Welcomed him deeper with a wet, clutching flutter that made his toes curl and his breath catch in his throat.

"Mmmm—hh..." Cecilia whimpered against Oathran’s chest, the sound like a pulse of warm honey. Her fingers curled against the dragon’s skin, her nails leaving faint crescents on his pectorals, and both cocks claimed the next inch at the same time.

William’s head reached that spot. The sensitive bundle of nerves just behind her clit, right inside the entrance, the place that made her vision spark and her thighs tremble.

A dragon’s cock head, even with its pale purple undertone, was similar to a human’s. Although the whole thing was firm like wood, the surface was soft. Squishy. Full of nerves that felt everything, that transmitted every fluttering pulse of her inner walls directly into Oathran’s hindbrain.

The weeping slit at William’s tip released another pulse of opaque, pearlescent fluid, warm against her nerves, pulsing with the rhythm of Oathran’s heartbeat, and she felt everything.

He pulled down an inch.

Pushed back up an inch.

He reclaimed the same inch over and over again, shallowly grinding, keeping the head of his cock pressed right against that bundle of nerves, massaging it from the inside while her walls clenched and fluttered and begged for more.

At the same time, Eastiel’s spikes began their work.

The textured ridges along Peter’s shaft, those maddening leonine bumps started to stimulate her inner walls as they always did. They dragged against her sensitive flesh with each micro-thrust, catching on every ridge and fold, sending sparks of pleasure shooting up her spine.

Her insides trembled. Her body produced thicker liquid, the unmistakable sign of ovulation thanks to the lion’s stimulation.

But the spikes did not just stimulate her.

They bumped against Oathran’s foreskin, the seam between his cock head and his shaft.

The dragon’s breath caught in his throat.

[This... This texture is...] Oathran’s heart rate rose. The bond transmitted it to all of them, sudden, startled spike of his pulse. Feeling the grind of Eastiel’s cock against his own was as predicted, too much for him.

William and Peter were pressed together inside their wife, and every ridge of Eastiel’s leonine shaft rubbed directly against the sensitive underside of the dragon’s foreskin.

Being clamped against her walls was one thing. Being ground against by his youngest brother’s challenging texture was something else entirely.

[Elder Brother...] Eastiel whispered blissfully, his golden eyes fluttering closed, his hips rocking in that same shallow, grinding rhythm. [Your bumps too... feels... so good...]

The draconian ridges along William’s shaft, those subtle, organic undulations that made a dragon’s cock unique, were returning the favor. Every time Peter’s spikes dragged against William’s foreskin, William’s ridges dragged back.

It was a feedback loop of pleasure, bouncing between the two of them through the tight, wet clutch of their wife’s body.

"Fuck—"

Oathran cursed. Not in his mind. With his mouth. The word escaped in the silence bubble, barely a whisper, but heard by everyone within their invisible sphere.

The seam between William’s head and his shaft began to pulse. His veins got harder, thicker, straining blue and purple against the pale, draconian skin, dragging against her walls. He was close. Too close. The friction, the texture, the obscene situation—

GRASP—

When suddenly... Cecilia grasped Richard.

"GAH—"

Oathran’s hips snapped up involuntarily. The sudden friction, William grinding against Peter, Peter grinding against William, both of them shoved deep into her, made him scream. The sound was swallowed by the barrier, but his mental voice exploded through the bond.

[Cecilia!]

Richard was resting against her belly, his other cock, the one that had been neglected in the chaos of repositioning, and she was stroking it.

Up and down.

Up... up... down, down.

Her fingers wrapped around the thick, pale shaft, her thumb tracing the draconian ridges that ran its length mercilessly.

[Oathran...] Even her mind sounded petulant and sweet, asking her husband a perfectly innocent question while her hand worked his second cock and her cunt clamped around his first.

[Which feels better? My cunt wrapping around you... or Eastiel’s spikes... hmm?]

Her eyes peered up at him from beneath her lashes. Her chin was still resting against his chest. Her lips were swollen, her cheeks flushed.

[Don’t you dare come from his spikes... okay?]

She ordered, a pout bloomed from that swollen lips.

Oathran stared down at her.

His hips were still trembling. William was still pressed against Peter inside her. Richard was still throbbing in her grip. And his wife had just told him that he was not allowed to come from the texture of his youngest brother’s cock grinding against his own.

The audacity.

The sheer, hypocritical audacity of a woman who had just squirted because a stranger brushed their barrier.

[You—]

His mental voice cracked. He tried again.

[You are punishing me? After what you just did?]

Cecilia’s little glare did not waver. Her hand continued its slow, deliberate stroke up Richard’s shaft.

[Answer the question, Elder Brother.]

The command did not come from Cecilia this time.

It came from Arkai.

His voice was low and rough. He felt this dark amusement watching his elder brother unravel and was enjoying it immensely.

His crimson eyes met Oathran’s over Cecilia’s shoulder, and his lips curved into a smile that was all teeth.

While the other two enjoyed each other, he was focusing on more important matters, namely, the tight, clutching heat of Cecilia’s back entrance currently swallowing Johnny inch by agonizing inch.

His tip had reached deep. Very deep. Past the tight ring of her entrance, past the clutching, spasming channel that gripped him like a fist, past the point where most men would have spilled themselves and called it a night.

He was pressed right up against the second gate, that elusive, velvety pucker of her inner opening, the entrance to her colon that marked the difference between deep and devastating.

It gave against him.

The tight, pursed ring of muscle fluttered against Johnny’s weeping head, kissed his slit with the barest whisper of contact, and then tightened again, as if her body was flirting with the idea of letting him in but had not quite made up its mind.

He did not push. Oathran had been here before, in that other world, in her other body. But he had been practicing not to repeat the same mistake. He had been learning the angle of her inner channel.

Her second gate required patience. If he shoved through accidentally without warning, he would hurt her. And Arkai Dawnoro would rather bite off his own cock than hurt his wife.

So he waited.

His tip kissed the tiny, puckered opening with each shallow thrust, not breaching, just teasing. The head of his cock was slick with her earlier release, the lube she and Oathran prepared and stored in her inventory, and his own leaking precum.

The wet slide of it against that forbidden entrance made obscene, squelching sounds that the silence barrier devoured. The delicate ring of muscle fluttered against him, soft as a butterfly’s wing, warm as melted honey, tight—so, so tight.

He wondered how Oathran didn’t go crazy when it was his turn.

[Let’s not get hasty...] Eastiel warned.

Arkai turned to him and grimaced desperately. [Hold my waist, Brother... Her inner gate is giving. Just a little. Just the tip could slip in, if I—]

He involuntarily pressed. Gently. Barely. The barest suggestion of pressure.

And the tiny opening yielded.

Just the very tip of Johnny’s head slipped past the first ring of her inner gate, enveloped in a clench so tight and hot and velvety that Arkai saw stars. [But if... you want... Cece...]

His vision whited out. His hips trembled with the effort of not shoving himself home, of not burying his entire length in that impossible, clutching heat.

[Fuck—]

The curse escaped him before he could stop it, and Eastiel immediately tried to steady his waist.

[Cecilia... your inner gate... it is kissing me...]

And it was. The tiny, puckered ring of her colon entrance was fluttering against Johnny’s head like a second mouth, its pursed lips drawing gently at his slit, as if her body was trying to suck him deeper. Milky, opaque fluid leaked from his tip, coating the delicate ring, making the next tiny thrust even slicker, even easier.

[Elder Brother,] Arkai said, his voice rough with the effort of holding still, [I believe our wife asked you a question.]

[If you suddenly cum... I might... accidentally get lodged inside too—]

Tap—

All three men and Cecilia froze when, suddenly, a guard stepped inside the barrier circle—