Page 102 of Queen of Sherwood

I whimpered when the two men filled both my holes. Alan came around to my front, grabbed me roughly by the hair, and shoved his cock past my opened mouth.

Okay. Not both holes. All three.

Tears slid down my cheeks. Alan was long and hard, punching the back of throat with the harsh way he bucked his hips into my face. His balls swung and slapped against my chin as he commanded my head.

Will clutched both of my round ass cheeks and dug his fingers in deep, then spanked me with a thunderous clap. He moved fast, pumping into my asshole and beating my guts.

John came at me from the bottom, lifting his ass off the ground to make me bounce on his large frame. He grunted and kept me hugged against him, and suddenly I couldn’t breathe or move or think.

My mates fucked me into a mindless mess. I had taken initial control, but these smug bastards had wrested it back from me, ultimately realizing that I was only one person and they were three.

They had their way with me. Put me in my place. Made me lose my thoughts and the darkness coiled around my body—replacing it with sheer blissfulness and painful pleasure.

Will and John seesawed into my holes. My body jiggled, my tits smacking into John’s chin, and he took one of my nipples into his mouth.

My hands dangled uselessly at my sides, so I put my palms down on the forest floor to frame John’s large body—to try and ground myself and get feeling back into my being.

Will was the first to lose himself, growling that he couldn’t last any longer when I clamped down, choking his cock. His cum filled my asshole and made my skin prickle with need.

When he started pulling out, John lost it and spurt ropes of cum deep inside my hole, to join Tuck’s from earlier. It was depraved and disgusting and beautiful.

Alan held my head with both hands, grunting something about me being the best whore-princess in the world, and sheathed his cock so deep into my mouth that he bloated my neck and my nose touched his flat belly.

I felt his warm river of cum pump into my belly, and lost consciousness for a moment from the lack of air and the extreme feelings of ecstasy that engulfed me.

My orgasm detached my brain from my body, but I came back quickly enough—at least quickly enough to watch as Alan pulled out of my mouth, and I dared to lick a strand of cum beading at the tip of his cock.

When we were finished with our torrid affair, John wrapped me in his arms again, stood, and carried me even further from camp. The other two followed.

He only finally unhanded me once we made it to the river, plopping me down and washing me without me having to do a damn thing.

I was still lost in a haze of lust and depravity, having just debased myself and allowed my mates to take whatever they wanted from me.

But, I realized, I hadn’t thought of camp or death or grief the entire time we fucked. My abrupt, confusing expression of anger and lust had worked. For the time being, I was at peace again.

My stomach sank when I slowly drifted off back to sleep on the bank of the river, in the grass, after the men had washed me and cared for me. After they destroyed me with their cocks, then pampered me with their touch.

My stomach sank because, as I drifted off, I heard Little John’s words. They sank to my bones, scaring me, and made me wonder if there was any way to get out of this alive and intact with my sanity.

Because he said, “I fear we’re losing her, men.”

Chapter 27

Robin

The light morning sun basked across my skin, and my eyes fluttered open. I lay between my mates in a tangle of limbs. Friar Tuck sat at the edge of the river in front of us, staring into the rushing water.

John, Will, and Alan began to rustle awake when I sat up curiously. “Tuck,” I called out.

He looked over his shoulder. “You’re awake. Good.”

“What’s wrong?”

His shoulders were slumped as he tossed small pebbles into the river. “What’s wrong, little heathen?” he asked in a jarring tone. “It’s a somber day. We bury the dead today. I feel the constricting grasp of Sheriff George closing in around us, lass, and it unnerves me.”

“That’s why we must leave after saying our eulogies,” John said, wiping bleariness from his eyes with the heels of his palms.

I nodded, glancing at him, and blushed. The stain of our bawdy affair last night remained on his features. I couldn’t tell if the expression in his eyes was one of sadness, regret, or lust—if he wanted to do it all over again, or if he was ashamed for how things went down.

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