Navel-Gazing 2 (Patreon)

Hercules’s hands groped to her shoulders and once he had her, he pulled her to him. His lips flattened against Hippolyta’s and his tongue pushed far past them, caressing Hippolyta’s own tongue as she sucked on it. Hercules pulled away and ran his hands over her tits, kneading the fine flesh, pressing his fingers into the firmness until it might as well be soft.

“I’ll have you well-fucked enough for your entire tribe,” he breathed into her ear.

“I want you again too. Let’s see what you’ve learned since last time,” Hippolyta panted, pressing her belly against the twitching hardness of his masculinity.

“Indeed. Let’s all see,” Hercules said, one arm keeping Hippolyta’s slender body locked against his as his free hand threw open the door.

With surprising stealth they were through, not wishing to distract the room’s inhabitants from their current activities. There was little light, it being as dark in the bedroom as it was in the hall they’d come from, but Hippolyta still slipped her silhouette out of the doorway and pressed herself to the wall beside it instead.

She stood, suddenly stilled by a second thought. She remembered dying, yet she clearly wasn’t dead. Then the door clicked shut, giving them a privacy none of them had asked for. No one here was ashamed of their bodies. It was more like the sight of them was reserved for the literal gods.

It was dark. Even with her eyes adjusted to the absence of light, she could barely see her hand in front of her face. The blinds and drapes were closed, the windows hidden in shadows. And it was quiet. Hippolyta wondered if anyone was even here besides her and Hercules.

“Unnhhhhhh!”

The voice crackled with so much passionate ecstasy that she couldn’t tell whether it was Amadeus’s or Artume’s. More sounds followed it through the quiet of the room: rustling sheets and the creak of a tortured bedframe. There had been all the interruption to what they’d been doing that they could stand.

It was a shock to realize that Amadeus and Artume were in here. Hippolyta thought she might faint, but she didn’t. The soft wet sucking sound she heard held her attention, kept her aware of her curiosity instead of her heady surprise.

“That’s right. Lick my thighs!” a male voice choked. “Ahh, yeahhh…”

That had to be Amadeus.

Hercules moved closer. Hippolyta sensed his bulk more than she could see his outline; he was so vast and so close that there was no telling where the dim light slipped past him.

He reached down the back of her skirt and pulled it up out of the way, just gently enough not to rip it while exposing her as quickly as possible. Then his open palm grasped her soft silk panties, as if to tear away every particle of them at once, but instead he cupped her finely curved ass right through them. Squeezing the sweat from her pores with fingers like steel bands.

Oh my, Hippolyta thought. Artume must be licking every inch of Amadeus’s body, even his cock! Does Hercules want me to do the same to him?

It was hard to fathom—so filthy! Did she even want to be here? Could she leave? Her cunt pulsed thrillingly… she knew the best place to tend to it was here. She couldn’t imagine going unsated.

Hercules stepped in front of her. She was crammed between the pressure of his burgeoning chest and his hands trapping her from behind. His touch climbed her body to the zipper behind her neck and he undid her dress down to her hips. Hippolyta felt his cock lancing into her fearfully trembling stomach as he lifted the dress up off her head and tossed it softly away, a thing of no consequence.

His arms encircled her again; he unhooked her bra, but didn’t let it fall away. Instead, he drew it down off her luscious breasts, running his fingers deftly over her hardening nipples while he exposed them. They jumped at both his touch and the cool rush of air, hot and cold like pain and pleasure to their sensitivity.

Then she heard Hercules tearing his own clothing away and Hippolyta had to grin at his overt hurry to be naked with her. As gentlemanly as he was with her attire, the callous disregard he had for his own garb showed his real concern.

“I wish to taste every part of you and see which be the sweetest,” he whispered hoarsely.

His big right hand fell on her midsection, encircling some of her waist and some of her rounded buttock. Assertively he used his grip to work her to the edge of the bed. Hippolyta froze, afraid to meet the soft coverlet that touched her legs for fear that she would be launched into Amadeus or Artume. She felt Hercules kneading fire into the soft white flesh of her buttocks—pulling her closer to his hotly swollen manhood.

As he clasped with her, his mouth kissed wetly to her neck. Hippolyta gasped and held her breast, feeling his cock pressing against her with every little move she made, aroused by every ounce of friction their two bodies made. Thrills raced through her, exciting her back to the fever pitch she barely remembered she’d shared with Hercules so many years ago—his long, thick erection lodged between her softly quivering thighs. Only this time, her errant creation was a part of the mix.

She would show Artume what masculinity really meant, even if she had to share Hercules to do it. At the thought, her own soft fingers tweaked thrillingly at her nipples and she became more aware than ever of Hercules’s stiffness burning against her moist slit. She moaned, already submissive to this burgeoning pleasure. So long as it felt this good, she couldn’t care if Hercules treated her like a queen or a whore.

She allowed Hercules to guide her naked body down to the bed, pushing her towards the middle so she and he would end up as close to Amadeus and Artume as possible. She could just make out their outlines, slender and glistening with sweat, when Hercules sank down onto the bed beside her.

Hippolyta barely noticed. Her shoulder was pressed against Amadeus’s and that first touch had her overwhelmed with the anticipation of more.

She moved closer. Her body stopped almost glued to his splayed out frame. She was going to have Hercules fuck her brains out while another male laid right beside her, being enjoyed by Artume!

There wasn’t enough light to see how debauched their expression had become, but Hippolyta’s lips gaped in complete disbelief… seeing Artume’s nakedly undulating silhouette mount Amadeus’s body. With a wet sluicing sound, Artume descended; disappearing the long burgeoning shadow of Amadeus’s manhood. Leaving no doubt that it was within Artume now, merged with her widely Oed mouth.

Hippolyta strained her eyes, but could only see a tiny fraction of Amadeus’s hardened member. The rest was lost beyond Artume’s convulsing lips. She wanted to react to the shocking spectacle, but couldn’t think of what to do. Hercules’s hand was tight on her breast, while lewdness throbbed between her legs with every moment of attention she paid to the sight. Making it all the harder to know what she wanted—what this vision was making her want.

She could only lie there, watching, watching, as Artume danced slowly up and down… pressing her groin flat to the bedspread as her head came up, until only the tip of Amadeus’s stony erection was still trapped in the warm confines of her mouth. Then, with a quickly muffled moan, Artume’s hips wiggled up into the air and her head levered down, impaling her throat completely in one long, uninterrupted motion.

On the other side of Hippolyta, Hercules watched with her, lovingly massaging her breast while he looked on—and Hippolyta felt at her hip the effect his voyeurism was having on him. He gave the taut sensitivity of her stiff nipple a little pull, sweet pain making Hippolyta gasp, and she knew it was only a small taste of how she would hurt—so lovingly hurt—when that massive erection was inside her.

“Ah hell, Artume, your tongue!” Amadeus groaned now above the wet sucking sound of her feasting. “I love it, love being in your mouth!”

Hippolyta didn’t have time to think on the couple any further. Hercules took her soft lips with his own. She felt his tongue spear into her mouth, trying to elicit even more sensation from her naked flesh. His hands roamed over her, rubbing between her gently quavering thighs to get at the very core of her being. Her sex shuddered instantly in lavish answer to his caressing touch.

“Aaah, ahh!” Hippolyta cooed into his mouth, following her exclamations with her tongue, circling it deep inside his mouth.

Hercules came down on her supple body like a warm blanket. She felt herself tremble, as if her body was offering itself to him with every errant motion. She drew her thighs up to part around his hips, presenting all of her womanhood in offering to his hardness. It slid between her splayed out thighs and he held it at her opening for a torturous moment.

Hippolyta started to reach down, to force him into herself, but Hercules was not yet done squeezing anticipation out of her reluctant body. Now his mouth came down her gently rocking belly, kissing her smooth, honeyed skin and sending little ripples of ecstasy all through her shuddering body.

Hippolyta looked down to see his face obscured under her belly—his fingers splaying open her sex—his next breath hit her there, where she was most sensitive, and Hippolyta sucked in breath. She sensed moisture forming on her mons, escaping to the insides of her thighs… she squirmed some more, a faint moan escaping her as another hot exhale described her vulva.

“Oooohh, my body… is in rapture!” she gasped, forgetting Amadeus and Artume and even herself—all that mattered was the pleasure Hercules was giving to her.