Chapter 4 If You've Seen One Orgy, Pt. 1
Bruce had seen plenty of orgies in his life, but it had been a couple of decades. In any case, an orgy wasn’t what he expected to see when he used Gentle Ginger’s looking glass to scry for Temple. He’d only been concerned because the lost witchling was so alone in the world. So vulnerable. So amorous. He felt his dowsing rod stir.
He gazed into the glass and let his eyes go soft, imagining the curve of Temple’s jawline, the dimples at the base of her spine, the way she moaned when he sunk his shaft into her warm wishing well. Slowly, the candlelight on the surface of the glass divulged its secrets.
There was Temple, alone, sprawled on a bed piled with blankets. Her eyes were closed, her mouth slightly opened. Her arms were thrown over her head; her legs outspread. If Bruce focused, he could make out faint shimmering patterns on her wet thighs. She was at Baba Yaga’s, he realized. His staff ached as he imagined Temple tormented by lecherous specters.
As if in response, Temple groaned and reached her hand down to stroke her inflamed lips. Bruce, who had earlier been stripped of his clothes by Gentle Ginger and her coven sister Rough Annie, took his own swollen member in hand, tightening and then loosening his grip as it pulsed in rhythm with Temple’s caresses.
A thrilling tremor coursed through him as he watched Temple grow more agitated, but in the next moment, he was distracted by something in the mirror he hadn’t seen before. In the far corner of the room, a woman was silently observing Temple. She had materialized from thin air, and Temple hadn’t noticed her there yet.
A teleporting witch wasn’t alarming. Likely, Barbra was showing Temple a good time, and what’s a better time than lovecrafting with a witch?
What was alarming was who the witch was: Eamarru Sowthunder, his self-immolating lover. She was wearing nothing but a silver cobweb that rested lightly over the pale landscape of her undulating curves. Her long hair sparked in the light of the fire, and her nipples glowed like polished amber. She turned her attention from Temple for a moment and looked through the dimensions at Bruce. Eamarru blew him a kiss before she paced across the hardwood floor to Temple’s prone form.
Bruce waited, breath drawn. He had no way of knowing what Eamarru was doing there, what her intention was, or how she knew Bruce was watching, and he had no way of intervening, whatever her plans. He felt certain she knew that, too. He could only wait and watch.
Eamarru was at the foot of the bed with Temple spread out before her like a Sabbat sacrifice. She ran her cool, white hands from Temple’s slender ankles up the slight curve of her calves. When she reached Temple’s smooth thighs, the witch extended her claws, tracing a pink path that led to Temple’s cave of wonders. Temple arched and moaned.
Bruce watched Eamarru slither onto the bed between Temple’s legs. The silver cobweb winked in the flickering light as Eamarru ran her fingers back down to Temple’s ankles. She gripped them and thrust Temple’s legs upward and out to expose the glistening delta of Venus at her center. Bruce groaned and gripped his cock when Eamarru sank down to taste Temple’s love potion with her wine-red lips. Temple bucked and whimpered as Eamarru teased her love bud and thrust her tongue deep into the dewy delta.
Bruce stroked himself, feeling the quickening of blood pulsing through his shaft. A white heat shot through his juju bag and spread, sending jolts of pleasure through his body. He was overcome by a shuddering orgasm that left hot cum dripping between his fingers. Temple came in the same moment, and Eamarru licked her clean.
Bruce’s broomstick was already stirring again when the witch straddled Temple and began to tease her nipples with a flickering forked tongue. She traced a trail from the witchling’s soft breasts to her lower lip. Bruce remembered what that darting tongue felt like when it grazed his own lips years earlier. Eamarru pulled the pink petal into her mouth before consuming Temple in a kiss.
Their breasts pressed together as Eamarru whispered in Temple’s ear. The witchling nodded in response, and in the next moment, the heavy door to the loft swung open. Two men stood on the landing outside, a soldier still in his suit of chain mail and a courier from a Euterpian fashion house—Famous Lucia’s Something or Other. Bruce couldn’t remember the name, but he remembered Furry Feargus, the fleet-footed lycanthrope who was Famous Lucia’s personal messenger. They’d spent several months together at Baba Yaga’s one afternoon.
Bruce watched Eamarru toss Feargus’s courier bag across the room. Something slid out of the satchel and skittered across the floor. It came to rest under a table, but the flicker of movement didn’t interest Bruce. There were too many other more absorbing spectacles to attend to. For one, Eamarru was unleashing Feargus’s famed three-headed beast from his straining linen pants.
Temple climbed out of bed after Eamarru and cried out in wonder. She sank to her knees to examine the fleshy trident. The skin of each prong was dark and supple, and each slick head pulsed as Feargus succumbed to Temple’s witchcraft. She ran her tongue along the centermost shaft and teased the other two with her fingertips before grasping them more firmly. With a gluttonous glint in her eyes, she took the throbbing prong between her lips and descended on it until it had vanished. Feargus howled with pleasure.
Eamarru had begun to make the most of the soldier’s unique codpiece—a large silver erection that cast a daunting shadow across the room. She wrapped her legs around his firm waist and sank down on the enormous, unyielding phallus. The soldier gripped her round bottom with glinting metal gloves that bit into her pale flesh. Eamarru cried out and arched her back, and the soldier lifted her only to impale her again on his glistening rod. The witch convulsed with pleasure and wove a spell with her hips, stirring up the orgasmic energy in her secret cauldron.
“Isn’t this just my luck?” Bruce said aloud to no one.
He gripped his painful erection and groaned. Two years of abstinence, and Bruce wasn’t even included in his first orgy. The little, lost witchling who got him embroiled in his current predicament was there, wet and panting. His first lover was also on hand. Why wouldn’t she be? Why wouldn’t his childhood sweetheart, who just happened to have self-immolated, show up in one perfect piece, completely unscathed, to participate in this particular orgy? Even old Furry Feargus gets a thump, and that other guy, the soldier, some random. But not Bruce. Nope. Not poor, old Bruce. He’s stuck out in the sticks, bound to the wall of a sex dungeon at the mercy of two merciless crones with only a borrowed looking glass for relief.
His embittered reverie was interrupted by a piercing cry. Eamarru, who had been wildly riding the soldier, climaxed. Her body stiffened and arced, and a barely perceptible shockwave spread out from the source of her sorcery. The invisible wave crashed over Temple, who fell on her hands, presenting her dripping peach to the lycanthrope like a she-wolf in heat. She was already panting and wiggling in anticipation when he rammed his thick cock deep into her cunt. He plundered the passageway to her inner sanctum, thrusting and throbbing, and Bruce could see every inch of the invasion. Temple responded with equal fervor, meeting Feargus’ thrusts with her own to bury his bone deeper.
Feargus pulled Temple up by her shoulders. Bruce shuddered when he saw the witchling’s body stretched out against the lycanthrope’s brawny chest. The wolf man pummeled her with his impassioned pendulum. Grasping both of her wrists in one large, rough hand, he stretched Temple still farther. She was taut as a drumhead and vibrating. He pulled out of her, and Bruce could see the pleasure dripping from her wishing well.
“Oh, kitten,” he murmured, reaching out as if he could touch her. She shivered, her nipples hardening.
Feargus adjusted his three-headed monster to gently probe Temple’s rosy rump. It was slick with love potion, but still offered resistance. Temple held her breath as Feargus pushed, slowly easing in. He forced the last inch with a grunt and a huff, and she tensed and growled.
He pulled out again at a leisurely pace, leaving just the tip vibrating in her tight, little burrow. When he thrust into her a second time, his central beast was once more in play, probing the lips of her cunt. She cried out and begged Feargus to fuck her faster. She was writhing with desire, but he was slow and forceful, relishing her pleas for more, more quickly. He didn’t comply. He made her wait. He held her in place so she couldn’t rush him. He drove his beasts deep into her depths. He made sure she felt every stroke against the fleshy inner walls of her pelvis.
Eamarru had climbed down from her perch on the soldier’s cock. She circled the rutting pair, admiring the view. Then, she knelt in front of the pinned witchling and took one of her nipples between her teeth. She bit lightly before flicking her tongue against the tender skin of the flushed areola. Bruce could tell Temple was straining against Feargus’ grip to relinquish more of herself to Eamarru, and his former lover readily accepted the offering, suckling greedily at the little nipples and gently caressing Temple’s plush nether pearl with the tips of her fingers. She hungrily kissed Temple’s mouth before sinking down to wrap her lips around Feargus’ third beast.
The wolf man became frenzied in his pumping, and Temple moaned. He wrapped his arms around her, flattening her heaving breasts with the weight of his muscular clutch. He pulled her even closer to his fur-covered torso so that not a mote of air separated their bodies. His pointed canines grazed the skin of her neck, and he whispered in her ear. Her eyes closed, and her hips began to swivel and sway. The wolf man stiffened. He growled savagely, and his three beasts spasmed, ejecting a thick cream that cascaded over Eamarru’s breasts, clinging to the cobwebs in viscous pearls.
The soldier lifted Temple’s limp, shuddering body. Feargus barely had the strength to support his own weight. The witches had drained him. Small comfort to Bruce, who would’ve given his family jewels to trade places with Furry. The wolf man slumped into a chair and watched Eamarru and the soldier converge on Temple’s quivering quim. What happened next, Bruce had no way of knowing. Gentle Ginger had come back for her looking glass, and the peep show was over.