Free Steal Me Away by Cerise DeLand

sounds of crockery clacking and water sloshing.
She lifted her head to see Willow Talks at the entrance to the tipi. The young
woman was stirring a concoction in one bowl and handing over another to White
Hawk.
    Fancy reclined again, eager, panting for the men to put
their hands on her. White Hawk set to his work, daubing warm water over her and
then some thicker substance over her pussy. Whatever it was, she did not ask.
Some things, she knew, she might be better off not knowing. She was here, tied
to this cot, and the result of this ritual was what she earnestly wished for.
    But what White Hawk did to her was beyond her expectations.
He covered her in the liquids, then massaged them into her pussy lips, coating
her flesh, combing her nest of hair with his fingers and then parting her lips
as tenderly as if she were his wife.
    A cold, hard object met her flesh. Shocked, she flinched,
knowing the sensation caused by the edge of a knife. She glanced down and at
once closed her eyes again. She would rather feel the sensuous passing of the
blade over her lips than see him do it. Steeling herself, she allowed her mind
to flow with the scrape of the knife. To let him part her and lift her flesh.
To enjoy the slick glide of his fingers against her pussy. To undulate and in
so doing, tell him in mute eloquence how much she appreciated his dexterity and
his sensuality.
    When he said words that to her sounded final, she opened her
eyes to gaze into Bull Elk’s. He was proud of her, his generous mouth wide with
satisfaction.
    “You have been good,” he said. “And now you will have your
reward.”
    Her heart picked up a beat at the very idea. The rest of her
body was certainly ready for anything and everything he wanted to give her. Her
nipples ached. Her pussy gushed. Her impulse to flex her hips, to take him
inside was a frantic rhythm in her loins.
    Yet Bull Elk untied her ankle, then lifted her legs. A few
brief words to White Hawk, and then her husband dipped down to run his tongue
all over her pussy. She groaned like an animal in heat, spreading her thighs
wider to welcome him inside her.
    Plumping up her lips, he ran his tongue along her slit. The
wet claiming drove her wild. Crying, mad to have more, she uttered crazy
invitations to him. In his own good time, he parted her lips and found that
most sensitive nub which years ago Collette had told her how to massage for her
self-pleasure. And there, he nibbled at her tender flesh, scraping his teeth
across its tip until she screamed how she wanted him, needed him. Please.
    Parting her, he speared her core with his tongue. The feel
of him there was hot and slick, but oh, she wanted his cock. His thick,
scorching cock all the way inside her passage. She tried to close her thighs,
but he would not permit her. She yelled at him to fuck her, fuck her. Please,
please.
    At her side stood White Hawk, his mouth upon one of her
nipples, his hand upon the other. And he tormented her, licking her nipple and
pinching her other one. She rocked her hips, throwing Bull Elk from his
decadent task. Her efforts threw off White Hawk too.
    Both men chuckled.
    She cursed them roundly.
    Searing lust in his gaze, Bull Elk lifted her ankles and
draped them around his shoulders. In the next second, his cock was buried to
the hilt inside her.
    She screamed, her eyes clamped tightly shut. But oh, god in
heaven, did she love every ram of his shaft, every thrust of his thighs and his
hips. She was his.
    And when she opened her eyes to look at him, she knew one
thing more. He was hers.
     
    For the next four days, she never left their tipi except to
go with her husband to the river and bathe. White Hawk did not reappear to lay
hands on her or to watch as his older brother took her to new raptures in his
tent. But he always accompanied Bull Elk and her when they went to the river to
bathe. There, as Bull Elk fondled and fucked her, his younger brother observed
them, speaking in Comanche rough words that