The Ravishing of Constance Ch. 15bySabledrake©
Michel's hands held firmly to her hips, steadying her as she started to shake. His eyes were tightly closed, his face contorted, as if in concentration to prolong his performance. Salvador kept on with that even rhythm, exhaling a low groan with each thrust.
"Ah, now, ye take it all, drink it down, don't ye be spillin' a drop!" Adam cried as his cock convulsed in her mouth, and loosed its jets of fluid. "Ah, God, yes, that be the very way!"
She did as he bade her, sucking, gulping down the salty mouthful, keeping at him until she'd drained him. Only then did he remove himself from between her lips, and sit down with chest heaving.
Constance knew that her own crisis was nearly upon her. She heard a string of incoherent obscenities issue from her, crying their names, begging them to do her, yes, fuck her arse, fuck her cunny, make her spend. Then her words were gone into a wailing cry as her orgasm thundered through her veins. The force of it was such that she nearly swooned, and was only aware through a floating cloudy detachment of first Michel, and then Salvador, reaching their own heights.
She did drift away then, for an untold time. When her mind rejoined her body, swaying down into it like a leaf fluttering to the surface of a pool, she realized that she had been rearranged. She was on her back with Adam busily fucking away at her cunny. Salvador knelt astride her, tunneling his length along a passage he'd made by squeezing her breasts together around his cock. Michel saw that she was with them again, and presented himself to her lips.
It went on for hours, and Constance could not count how many times she came. Even when all three of the men had exhausted their passions, their organs lolling limp against their thighs, they kept at her with fingers and tongues, until she was breathless with pleasure. And then one or another of them would be ready again, standing stiff and tall, and take another turn.
And so it was until the small hours of the morning, when at last Constance's overused body could endure no more. She swooned away into a fathomless sleep, and the last thing of which she was consciously aware was one of them – her weary eyelids could not open long enough to tell which – penetrating her yet again.
Continued in Chapter Sixteen