The Beginning of Everything by Kristen Ashley Page 0,51

warrior gave to him.

Eventually, and simultaneously, Drey saw their heads snap back as the warrior roared his orgasm and his wife cried out hers, her hands grasping his muscled flesh, her nails digging, her long legs wrapped around the warrior’s rutting hips.

G’Drey wanted to find it disgusting.

But the savage pounding in his arse and the talented suckling at his shaft, he could do nothing but buck into that mouth.

He lost the mouth and endured the mortification of being watched by the warrior and his wife as he was milked with her hand into some toweling over the bed under him while she used his arse brutally and he jerked and spasmed against his bounds as he poured his seed with muffled moans onto the bed.

“Take care of our girl, my darling,” the warrior’s woman bid and then it happened.

The female behind him was moved in front of him, her cunt shoved in his face, and the warrior fingered her to climax while his woman fondled his chest and he fondled their friend.

There was a good deal of kissing (this only on the mouth between the warrior and his wife, Drey had learned that was a boundary that was never crossed no matter who joined their play) and stroking and cuddling between the three of them that Drey was forced to watch before the women slowly exited the bed after lingering attention given to the warrior.

They left the room and the warrior flicked at Drey’s bounds, releasing him, then offhandedly slid the baton from his arse and threw it on the bed beside him.

“We’ll call for you when you’re again required, mio buco,” the warrior muttered. “Now you may leave.”

He waited for the warrior to do the same before Drey tore the leather strap from his head, yanked out the scarf, and rushed to his robes.

These were not the ones of the Go’Doan. He did not wear those when moving through the city at night for these fetid (but titillating, and damnably fulfilling) assignations. He wore darker ones that were similar to the ones the priests and priestesses of Firenze wore.

He pulled them on, attempting (but not succeeding) in ignoring just how much he liked the feel of his used arse, his drained balls, his replete cock, and he felt the fire boil inside him.

They would all feel his wrath.

All of them.

Indeed, they would.

Eventually.

He wasted no time, stole into the night, keeping to the shadows as he moved through the quiet streets, returning to the Go’Doan temple, which, really, was an insult.

The city-state of Go’Doan was resplendent. The white stone. The blinding beacons of the profuse gilding of the doomed roofs. The snowy cobbles of the narrow roads that wound through the city. The glass of the windows blinking in the sun, perfectly clean under the constant ministration of their acolytes, the Go’Ella.

It was a place of inspiration, of great beauty, every corner affording an awe-inspiring vista.

Here, the Go’Doan temple was made of rusty stone with only one gold dome to say it was of the Go’Doan, a few spires, and the only good thing about it were its deep catacombs that went down five layers.

And as he snuck in, he was glad it was late at night and the royal celebrations that would span three countries and three months would start the next day, for everyone would be abed.

This was what he thought before, but two steps in, his head was knocked into the wall and stars exploded in his eyes.

Before he knew what was happening, or he could get his thoughts together, his head to stop pounding, the stars to recede, or his feet under him, he felt many hands on him and he was taken down, down, down.

And down.

Then in a room he’d never entered, not even after his extensive tour upon arriving several weeks before, a room lit only with candles and smelling profoundly of patchouli, his robe was stripped from him and he was forced to kneel on the stone floor. He was then bent over and tied bodily from neck to hips on a stone slab, his arms wrapped around its bottom and tied at the wrists, his legs bound to the legs of the slab.

And his arse was used again.

To take a lash.

His cries of pain had quieted to whimpers of agony and exhaustion when he felt the blood start to run down his thighs.

Only then was his hair seized and his head yanked back, and in a haze of pain and confusion, he