Michael Jaeggers - Honeymoon hotel

The pain in her anus and rectum was intense. Sue splayed her legs to avoid the pressure, but this only brought a third finger into play – all of them now making ever widening circles as her asshole was expanded ever wider.

Satisfied finally, Morgan climbed atop the bed. He peeled open her soft, yielding buttocks and then leaned forward to drop a larger drop of saliva which drooled down the smooth white crevice to her anus.

He shuffled up between her and Lord Medwell's legs. He clamped his hands on her hips. Then he pressed forward with his cock. Sue fought it once again, but was held immovable by Lord Medwell's arm and Morgan's grip. The head of Morgan's prick slipped easily into the already stretched anal opening; he kept right on going until his balls slapped up against her buttocks. "Gaaaggghh," she screamed, "you're killing me! Oh God, you're killing me!"

"Dear Sue," Morgan said patiently, "you're being a child about this. You've enjoyed sodomy for the last two nights. This is merely a double exposure in return for the photographs."

"I say. A 'double exposure'. Rather good that," Lord Medwell chuckled as he flexed his cock again. Sue felt the responding twitch from Morgan.

Morgan began moving tentatively, "Gentle motions – those count in a young asshole," he said philosophically.

Sue felt as though someone had shoved pillows filled with rocks into her abdomen. Her asshole was filled, her cunt was filled. There was only a thin membrane separating the two pricks, and they rubbed and bumped against each other like hungry sharks in the aquarium.

It was not long before the two men began buffeting her between them – like a rag doll thrown in a game of "catch". She had never felt so helpless and naked before in her life. This was the end – whatever few grains of self-respect that may have been left in her mind were rapidly being extinguished. Large wet tears streamed down both sides of her face to drop with a splash on Lord Medwell's grey-haired chest. Morgan began driving in and out of her rectum with maniacal fury; Lord Medwell was obviously close to cumming… or dying of a heart attack! And Sue? She could feel the pain being replaced by a kind of masochistic pleasure. Unable to escape… unable to prevent it… her body had no recourse but to accept.

And once again she lost control of her body! She could feel her orgasm coming back again… it seemed to hover like a primeval bird of prey looking for a place to land.

Then with frightening suddenness, she was there! It was she, who in her sudden desperate hunger, took control away from the two men; it was she who began frantically bucking against them, urging them on to harder and deeper thrusts. She reared her ass in the air to get full benefit of Morgan's cock, then fell heavily skewering herself harder still down on Lord Medwell's driving cock. "Fuck me," she screamed, "fucker harder… harder… Oh God, fuck it harder!"

And it was her soprano scream that started the sweet upheaval first in her cunt, then seconds later in her rectum, and then in her clitoris. She came in all three places – achieved three different types of climaxes. And she continued to cum for as long as the men would have her; until they fell from her in satiated weariness. Even above the glory of her orgasm, she felt a vague disappointment that the double fucking of her forever stretched genitals had ended…

When it was over and the tears had dropped flowing, she lay nude for a long time just staring up at the ceiling. Her body hurt, but the greater pain was in her heart. They had stripped her of everything – pride, dignity, faithfulness. They had made her a wanton adultress, begging and screeching obscenities. They had used her body and – she knew this to be true – she had used them! They had made her reach climax after climax… something no one else had ever been able to do. She had given them something that her husband had never had.

And overall was the stunning, undeniable fact that she had enjoyed it… not the taunts, not the crawling or begging, or debasement and cruelty… but the sex act. That she had enjoyed… sex had been wonderful. Then she was weeping again as she realized what she must do to atone for the horrible sin of her wanton submission to two complete strangers.

After an hour had passed and night had fallen, Dick knew he was hopelessly lost. His loud shouts of "hello" brought no response. He knew he would be safe if he could find the road, so he began walking in a direction that he thought would lead out of the woods. Twice, in the stillness of the night, the sound of dogs came. Once, he stumbled upon a herd of pigs and was forced to climb a tree to get away from an enraged boar. The pig snorted and clawed the ground, and stared up with baleful red eyes. Twice, its yellow tusks gleaming in the moonlight, the animal charged the tree. A persistent bastard, it remained there for almost an hour.

When it finally ambled off, so did Dick!

It was almost eleven before he found the road and began walking. He had walked almost three miles before a black figure came hurtling out of the night at him. He leaped aside and shouted, "You idiot. You almost ran over me." The figure on a bicycle turned around to stare, then wobbled crazily, and crashed into the ditch.

"Now, you see what you've done," the Irish voice complained. "You've wrecked me new bike. And me wife will think I did it because of drink."

Dick, feeling foolish because he had been half-frightened out of his wits, was immediately contrite. "Look, I'm sorry. I'm lost. You seared hell out of me – coming over the top of the hill that way, without lights. I thought Old Nick had finally caught up with me."

The Irishman rubbed the seat of his pants where he had landed after the crash. He looked at Dick. "You've a right to be worried about the Devil on this road. He's been seen many the time by those who were sober." He shuddered, then bent down to pick up his wheel. "It looks in fair shape. Perhaps no harm's been done at that. Where are ye bound this time of night?"

"I'm lost. I went hunting… got separated from my party. I'm staying at Castle Fleur."

The Irishman tensed. "Will then, I guess you have no need to fear the Devil. Good night, sir."

Dick was puzzled by the man's attitude, but he let it pass. "Can you tell me how to get back?"

The Irishman jerked his head in the direction Dick was headed. "Three miles up the road and turn to the right." He hesitated, then said in a more friendly manner, "And good luck to ye. A friend of the owner's?"

"No… merely a guest. Why?"

The man took a deep breath and drew himself up; when he exhaled, it was obvious that he had been drinking. "You look a bright lad. Are you honeymooning?"

"Yes."

"Then take my advice and leave. Strange things happen in that wicked place. People complain of strange dreams in which the Devil takes part. Only this Spring a new bride of only four days leaped to her death from the towers. And none of the local girls will work there. And more than one young couple has come together and departed separately… or much earlier than planned." He threw a leg over the bike's seat. "One thing I know, I'd never leave my bride there… alone." He rode quickly off into the darkness.

Dick stared after him. What a lot of nonsense, he thought. "Strange things", "suicides", and "strange dreams", typical superstitious clap-trap, from an Irishman who has had too much to drink.

He had taken half a dozen paces before he stopped and said aloud, "Strange dreams?" He abruptly recalled the dreams about Nora before he finally found himself in the sack with her. Come to think of it, Sue had been acting oddly all day… almost as if she had been worried about something. He quickened his pace and, by the time he reached the turn-off, he was actually jogging.