Four's The Charm

Murtagh now turned towards Tayne.

"Have they explained the importance of innocence?"

Unwilling to speak for some reason, the boy merely nodded.

"That innocence, freely offered, must be taken by innocence? The Dual Sacrifice?"

Another nod.

Tayne tried to see within Murtagh's hood, failed.

A long moment passed, with Murtagh unmoving, silent, as if considering the situation.

Tayne felt Lylia's hand come to rest on his shoulder, give him a gentle squeeze. He could he could move his own arm now; reaching up, still clumsy, he rested his own hand on hers. Looking down for a moment, he found he could wiggle his toes; it was a victory of sorts.

Tayne was pleasantly aware of the sun on his bare skin, of the grass beneath him, of the feel of the faint breeze on his body. He could smell the leaves on the ground, even above the incense and remaining scent of recent rut.

Lylia's hand was warm; so still was the moment that he could almost hear her heartbeat. What next? he wondered.

Moving suddenly, Murtagh spread his legs, anchoring his body on the soft tussock. Seizing Moira by the waist, he effortlessly lifted the woman and seated her on his lap, her bum against his abdomen, her thighs outspread and resting on his. Murtagh's engorged cock protruded from between Moira's thighs, hiding her sex behind it. The girl sagged against him, her breasts rising and falling. There was a flush over her chest, a sheen of perspiration over her body, an expectant smile on her face.

Tayne felt Lylia's hand on his arm. "Sit up," she said. She motioned to the two figures across the way. "There. Sit like Lord Murtagh."

Confused, awkward, he obeyed and Lylia slid onto his lap. He could feel the softness of her inner thighs against the shaft of his cock, her firm bum against his belly.

Murtagh's hands reached around Moira's torso, captured her full breasts, began to toy with them. His thumbs stroked and played with her nipples and Moira closed her eyes in obvious pleasure.

"Go on," Lylia whispered. "It's OK now, Tayne."

The boy's arms rose and, for the first time, his hands were filled with the weight of womanly flesh. How often had he dreamed of this, of having Lylia's body under his hands! His palms cupped their shape, squeezed and, to his delight, felt her nipples harden under them.

He squeezed again, a little more firmly, and heard Lylia gasp with pleasure. The boy began to lift them, weigh them, his fingers sinking gently into their soft firmness. He caught Lylia's nipples between his fingers, rolled and pulled gently. He heard the girl moan in happiness, felt her slim body wiggle against his.

Tayne hissed with delight as her hand slipped up, began running over his cock, rolling his balls as they descended, rising again to thumb his spongy crown. His small slit was oozing now and Tayne groaned as her thumb slowly spread the slipperiness around and under his head. He shuddered as a fingertip worked it slowly over the sensitive triangle under his taut mushroom.

Across the glade from them, Moira was focusing on Murtagh's own cock, her fingers and thumbs massaging, squeezing, rolling. She gave a soft cry as Murtagh's hands lightly pinched her nipples, pulled them. She shifted her hips, slid fingertips between her labia and rubbed her dew over the length of his shaft, tattooed skin flowing under slick fingers.

Lylia continued to tease Tayne's manhood. She leaned back against the boy, turned her head back to smile up at him over her shoulder.

"Today, Tayne," she said, her face bright. "How I have dreamed of today, of you taking me here in this place."

Her fingers danced over his hardness, swirling and teasing, stoking his arousal still higher. His breath filled with her scent; his hands were filled with the thrill of her breasts. Amazed, he gloried in the happiness of it, all fear and uneasiness now driven out by his arousal, by the erotic hurricane filling the glade.

Lylia turned her head up towards his and he lowered his lips to hers. He felt her tongue tip slide along his lips. Opening his own, he sucked her tongue into his mouth, his own darting inside her mouth. For an endless time, the two were locked in that embrace, lost in loving kisses, their hands continuing to enflame the other.

A cry from across the glade caught their attention. They looked to see Moira's body shuddering as Murtagh's expert hands on her breasts drove her into another orgasm.

Lylia's teasing hands on his cock slowed. "It's time," she whispered. "Watch."

Murtagh again seized Moira by the waist. With no more effort than if she was a child's doll, he lifted the woman off his lap and lowered the still-shuddering form slowly down onto his cock.

Moira's head fell back, her mouth open wide in ecstasy as her liquid cleft was slowly stretched around Murtagh's tattooed wood. It seemed an endless time before the girl was fully seated on his length. Moira sagged back against him, her eyes closed, a look of utter bliss on her face.

Tayne's arms moved to under Lylia's arms. He tried to lift the girl but the angle was wrong.

"I'll do it," Lylia whispered. Lifting herself up on her heels and one hand, she aimed Tayne's head at her opening with the other. She paused.

"It must be witnessed," she whispered.

Murtagh had clearly been watching, for his head bent to Moira's ear. With a start, the brunette's head came up, her eyes slowly focusing on Tayne and Lylia.

Lylia began to lower herself onto Tayne. The boy could feel her lower lips enfold, welcome his crown. She stopped and Tayne sensed a slight blockage. She inhaled slightly in pain.

"Wait," Lylia said. Tayne could feel her body trembling against his. After a long moment, she took a deep breath, lifted a bit, then let her full weight fall down onto him.

The girl gave a soft cry as Tayne slid deeper, filling her for the first time in her life. Her trembling returned.

"Wait a moment," she repeated. "Just a minute. Please."

The old men in the village had spoken of this. Tayne was content to be patient. He was amazed at how warm her depths were.

Across from them, the other couple had begun again. Their eyes fixed on Tayne and Lylia, Moira was rocking her hips on Murtagh's lap, her own hands softly squeezing her breasts while his hands clasped around her slender waist.

Lylia's hand came up and stroked the side of Tayne's face.

"Thank you, dear Tayne," she whispered. "Thank you for helping me. Thank you for being gentle. I do so love you."

With those simple words, Tayne could feel any remaining doubts falling away. Pride, love, tenderness -- these were the emotions appropriate for the moment, despite the uncertainty, despite the strangeness of the situation and all of them filled the boy's heart. His hands, still holding Lylia's breasts, squeezed them again, his thumbs stroking the tips of her nipples just once.

Lylia lifted herself slowly on Tayne's cock, leaving just his tip inside her. Then down, equally slowly. And again. Tayne could feel the tension gradually drain from the girl's body.

He looked across the glade. Moira, her eyes closed again, her head back on Murtagh's shoulder, would have seemed comatose were it not for the gentle smile on her face and the fact that her hips continued to slowly roll over Murtagh's buried organ.

Murtagh's head was lowered; his hands were sweeping up over Moira's body, lifting and squeezing her firm breasts, running over firm, youthful thighs.

Again, Lylia lifted and lowered herself, less hesitantly this time. And again, quicker, faster now.

Tayne smiled at the sensation of her soft buttocks against his abdomen, the feeling of her slippery ribbed lining moving over his manhood.

Changing her movements, Lylia began to roll her hips like Moira across the clearing. Tayne, almost at his edge, began to breath faster. Lylia stopped moving, turned her face back to look at the boy over her shoulder.

"I love you, Tayne," she said.

"And you, Lylia."

He leaned down but the angle was wrong now for a kiss. Instead, his finger slide between her legs, gently stroked her protruding nubbin. Her eyes went a little dreamy.

"So good," she said softly. A mischievous grin hit her face. "How's this?"

Tayne caught his breath as his length was squeezed by the girl's internal muscles. He hugged her body against his for a moment, as hard as he could.

She giggled, turned back to face Moira and Murtagh. Her bottom started rolling again and Tayne again wondered at the feeling of her soft sheath flowing over his hardness. He gasped as the girl braced her feet on the grass and began to bounce up and down on his rod.

Tayne felt a glowing pressure behind his balls, shifted his grip to Lylia's waist, lifted her until she was almost off his cock. He loosened his grip and let his hands slide over the girl's body as she fell back down.

And again.

Lylia began to moan more loudly, crying out every time her landing on the boy's lap impaled her on his hardness.

Tayne's world filled with the sensation of her pussy sliding over his cock; his need soared higher and hotter.

The cries of the girl in his arms became continuous, almost hoarse. She started to quiver in his arms, panting and gasping for breath.

A ball of fiery bliss building behind his sac, Tayne instinctively pulled her body down against his lap and abdomen, hard. The girl shrieked, shivered, then collapsed back against him, panting like one rescued from the surf. With that, the boy was rocked by the immensity of an overpowering, wave-upon-wave orgasm. He felt his essence launch into her, again and again, sweet, warm, throbbing -- the timeless ecstasy of man and woman.

Through his orgasm, from the corner of his eye, he could see Murtagh's hips give a final thrust into the almost boneless Moira before he stopped and leaned back, his massive chest heaving as he too tried to catch his breath.

The four of them dozed in the sun, surrendering all motion to swaying trees and the birds. It seemed to Tayne to be the most peaceful time and place possible.

Tayne's softening cock suddenly felt cold as Lylia pulled out of his arms and slowly lifted herself off of him. She knelt by his side, kissed his lips tenderly.

"Thank you, Tayne," she whispered. "You were the best. The very best. I'm so grateful."

She paused, then whispered very softly, "I'm sorry."

Then she was gone, crossing the clearing to the other two.

Disappointed but sated, Tayne lay in the soft sunlight, as contented as he had ever been. Her last remark had missed him entirely.

An endless time later, the boy came fully awake as Murtagh abruptly rose, his dark organ now limp but still glistening in the warm autumn sun. The bulky figure stepped to the altar, picked up the knife and turned back towards Tayne.

The boy's contentment vanished. A chill ran up his spine as he remembered his father's dark stories.

"And now it is your turn," a woman's voice said softly, directly beside him.

He started, spun his head to look up, instantly knowing who she must be.

Pinned at the neck, a gold-edged green cape covered her left side, leaving her head and right side nonchalantly bare, for what need has a goddess of modesty?

Looking much younger than Murtagh's apparent age, she was tall, with broad shoulders and long legs. Her hips were broad, her breasts full and firm, made perfect by proud nipples in broad areolae.

She was the epitome of womanhood, of feminine power.

Curly chestnut hair framed an oval face with full lips, a small nose and penetrating alpine-blue eyes. Her expression was strong and confident, her knowing smile eternity. Her exposed arm, thigh and calf were circled with broad bands of tattoos in a woven pattern. A raven sat on one shoulder, eyeing Tayne dispassionately.

"There is always choice, Tayne. There are always options," she said, then added gently, "I, too, have need of acolytes."

Across the clearing, arms around his massive thighs, Moira and Lylia were kneeling on either side of Murtagh, staring up at the god with adoring looks.

Tayne could see Murtagh eying him and the goddess. He shivered as Murtagh tested the edge of the sacrificial knife with his thumb.

"There is always choice," the goddess repeated.

She knelt gracefully beside him. Her hand reached out, seized his limp organ and dangling sac. It was, the boy thought, a protective gesture -- and a claiming.

"It's your  choice," she whispered.

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