Mareth has been staring at them for an hour.
This inn is much finer than she’s used to, not so much an inn as a tastefully decorated dining hall bathed in low golden light and filled with refined murmur instead of drunken shouting. She spent too much coin on the half pint of ale she’s been nursing all night. She feels like she’s staking out her prey. Except this time, the prey is three elven brothers, deep in conversation on the other side of the room. Her cousins.
Even if she didn’t know they were royals, she would guess there’s something special about them. A certain glow, or perhaps just the way they carry themselves, all self-assured. Clothes that appear simple but are made of the finest dark silk and leather.
Mom took her to Arborlon once, but she was so small she only has vague memories of it and meeting her cousins. Now, on her own for months, she’s decided to make her way to the Westland capital to finally see it for herself. She feels odd here, in the middle of the gilded halls and well-kept gardens, far away from familiar woods and small winding paths.
She was toying with the idea of marching up to the palace and asking to meet her uncle, the King of the Elves, whom she barely remembers either. But she’s curious about what her relatives are really like, and so she’s stalked them here, only intending to track down her youngest cousin, who she quickly learned favors this place. Instead she got them all.
Suddenly, one of the brothers throws a glance her way and gets up. Her fight or flight instinct kicks in but she controls herself. She’s here to ultimately meet them, right? This is what she wanted.
It’s the youngest brother—Ander, she remembers.
Sure enough he introduces himself. Before she has time to think, her real name slips out of her mouth.
She holds her breath for a second. But Mareth is a common name for common girls, and he doesn’t seem in any way surprised or suspicious.
Ander is around her age, maybe a couple of years older. His dark blonde curls look like they’ve been carefully arranged to appear like they’re tousled. His smile is easy, and his eyes have a look Mareth recognizes immediately with relief. She’s being sussed out, but not as a potential threat.
“You’ve been looking at us the whole night. I think it’d be easier if you shared the table with us.”
Mareth can’t help but smile back. Something warm flutters in her lower regions. Something way too familiar. “Sure.”
Ander leads her to the table and Mareth sits across him.
“What’s the occasion?”
“My brother here -” he indicates towards the older man sitting next to her, “- has a birthday.”
Mareth turns to look at her oldest cousin and quirks her mouth. “Happy birthday.” The oldest brother—Aine—looks a little apprehensive, just nodding politely. She runs her eyes over him. All of her cousins are easy on the eye but he’s undeniably the most effortlessly handsome of the bunch, that glorious firstborn elven glow in his skin, only accentuated by the first blush of inebriation.
“You’re not from here, are you.” The terse question comes from who she deduces to be the middle brother. Arion.
“My mom was.” It’s not a lie. “But she moved out before I was born. This is the first time I’m here.”
“And your father?”
“Never met him. You know humans,” she raises her glass.
This confirmation of her heritage seems to excite Ander who locks his eyes with her again.
“So you don’t know wh—” Arion yelps, elbowed in the side by Ander.
“So you don’t know Arborlon?” The little brother amends what Mareth can guess Arion was going to ask. Sure enough all the boys are a little intrigued by someone not recognizing the Princes of Elves. It must be a rare occurrence. They also don’t get half-elves here often, at least that’s what it looks like. Mareth has always been conscious about her elven heritage and thinks of herself as an elf more than human, but among these tall broad Arborlon elves, she feels small. Any one of them could throw her around just like that. Unless her magic happened to intervene.
Mareth wasn’t exactly planning on lying to their face, but she finds it so much easier to keep the conversation going like this. She’s not even sure she wants to visit the palace, and what better way to find out something about her relatives than like this, just sharing a drink. The princes aren’t being bothered by any patrons, so they must frequent this place, or at least Ander does, because he hollers at the barmaid with familiarity.
Another drink, and she’s definitely dropped the idea of revealing herself yet. It would make the situation awkward. Not least because she’s been flirting with Ander the whole time, and it’s the kind of flirting that has a purpose. It’s easy to keep up the charade anyway, telling them about her adventures. She’s become quite adept a bounty hunter and they seem to enjoy her stories of meeting Rovers and gnomes.
“So, you have any friends here?” Ander puts his empty cup down. “Who’d like to help my brother celebrate his birthday?”
“No.” She smiles at him and drags her thumb slowly across her lower lip to wipe off the last drop of ale. “Is that a problem?” She glances at the other brothers. Arion’s face is unreadable but Aine’s cheeks are glowing.
“Ander -” he begins but the little brother cuts him off.
“Come on. Don’t get all big brother now. You deserve some fun. I think we could take this party somewhere more private. If it’s alright with the young lady?”
And that’s how they end up here, in a room in what’s supposedly the house of a friend of Ander’s. Not that she expected them to take her up to the palace.
Ander, staying in charge, is the first to touch her. She expects no gentleness and is rewarded with strong hands gripping her hard by waist and thigh. Half-dressed still, she lets him do the rest, deftly undo her top and breastband and throw them somewhere, she doesn’t bother to look.
When they’re naked, Ander pulls her closer again, so close she has to look up. He holds her gaze but his hand wanders down her belly. His fingertips are soft, unworn by battle.
“Shades, you’re wet,” he whispers with another pleased smile. He rubs his fingers along her pussy lips, not breaching her. He’s right: she’s drenched already.
He runs his hand back up her skin, stopping to cup her breast. His hands are big and he covers her small tits easily before spinning her around.
Aine has undressed too and sits on the side of the large bed, only furniture in the room.
“You first, birthday boy?”
Mareth takes a step and pushes Aine back on the bed, and he goes, looking both bewildered and hungry. He’s already half-hard and drooling when she sits astride him and rubs against his cock, coaxing him into full erection.
“You want to fuck me?” she asks sweetly and raises her hips so she can grab him by the root. Shades, but he’s big, easily bigger than anyone she’s fucked, not that she has a lot of experience. Her pussy clenches around nothing just thinking about getting him inside. If she can even do it.
The first inch is enough to make her grind her teeth. The stretch is delicious, but just this side of too much, and the sharp sensation grows as she tries to work him in, not quite getting there, frustration building up.
Finally it’s Ander who forces her hips down from behind, fingers digging into her thighs. It pushes all the air out of her lungs and she scrambles for balance, fingers scratching Aine’s chest until he too grabs her by hip and shoulder.
“Are you alright?” he asks, sounding worried though breathing hard, eyes darting down where his cock is now buried in her to the hilt.
Mareth chuckles. “Yeah, ah -” she tries rocking her hips, “- more than. Oh, fuck -” There’s pressure everywhere, the walls of her pussy ache and it feels like his huge cock is pushing everything up inside her, crushing her womb, making her aware of her bladder.
She’s beyond wet now, luckily. She can feel and hear it when she manages to lift her hips just so, then put her whole weight on Aine again. For a while he lets her set the pace but grows soon impatient, bucking up and pulling her down.
She hisses at the pain, but it’s good, great, she’s never felt like this inside, and finally gives up trying to control herself, letting her cousin take over.
Ander presses against her back, wraps an arm around her, pawing at her tits. “You like getting it from behind, hm?” he pants in her ear. The fingers of his other hand slide down her back and between her legs where her pussy is stretched wide around his brother’s fat cock. Aine grunts and grips her harder by the hips.
She’s so wet it leaks out, staining her pubic hair and inner thighs, must be covering Aine’s balls too, and Ander can slick his fingers before sliding them up her crack to tease her asshole.
“Wanna find out?” She whines a bit as he pushes one fingertip in. It feels weird but good already, that bit of extra pressure, and she rocks her hips experimentally, leans forward a bit. Ander pushing one finger inside her ass makes both her and Aine moan.
“Fuck,” Ander huffs in her ear. “You’re so tight. Can’t wait to fuck this hot little ass of yours.” His fingers return to rub where his big brother’s cock is joined with her aching rim, gathering more of her juice.
He pushes two slick fingers in next, grabbing one globe of her ass and spreading her out to ease the way.
“You take it well.” His words are burning hot in her ear. The weird feeling is melting into pleasure, he presses against her wall, crushing the flesh inside her between his fingers and Aine’s cock, the sensation is heady, and she misses it immediately when he removes his fingers with a wet sound.
She gasps for air when he pushes just the tip of his rock hard cock in, much bigger than fingers. She’s never done this before, never mind with well-endowed royal elves. She didn’t get a good look but if Ander is as big as Aine, she’s going to really feel it. Her pussy is so stretched it seems crazy he’d fit up her ass entirely but Ander pushes in steady and sure, going slow with the first slide. He gives her some time to adjust, but the next one is harder, quicker.
His words draw a wet laugh out of her. She’s already stuffed full. The next thrust is harder, then the next, she feels them up in her ribs and throat.
The final push has her crashing forward, bent over Aine so her parted mouth smashes against his jaw, leaving a trail of saliva when she gets on her elbows.
She thinks her muscles would be twitching inside if they could, but there’s simply no room, she’s filled to the brim, it feels like her lungs are being crushed every time Ander thrusts. And when Aine gets the hang of it, rocking his hips, it pushes a stuttering moan out of her, turning into a series of whines.
It stings, rhythmically, in between warm pulses, like her blood is struggling to pump through her flesh. She’s not sure if she’s even hurting or if this is pleasure, knowing only she feels it, in some deep spot inside she hasn’t been aware of before.
“What about you?”
Mareth opens her eyes when Aine speaks, blinking her wet lashes, but he’s talking to someone else. She follows his gaze.
Arion has been standing in the corner, in half-shadow. He hasn’t undressed except for throwing off his coat but he’s got his cock out and he’s jerking himself slowly.
“Come on,” Mareth says, words slurred. “Don’t -” she gasps, “- don’ want you to miss out.”
“Ari here doesn’t like to fuck anything human.” Ander’s arm circles her again and pulls her up and he pinches her nipple. “Isn’t that right?”
He twists so hard it makes her cry out and her fingers scramble for purchase on Aine’s chest. When Ander pushes his thumb inside her mouth she sucks, happy to have something muffle her sounds. It’s good because he doesn’t relent his pace, bottling her undignified whining in her throat.
There’s time for one whine to escape when his thumb leaves and is replaced with the head of Arion’s cock. Mareth sucks it with relief, eager. His taste is salty but fresh. All the brothers smell good, expensive, even the musk filling her senses is somehow finer than any traveling elf she’s bedded.
She can feel he’s holding back though, as he pulls back to rub the slick head of his cock over her mouth.
“Sure you can do better than that. ’m not gonna break.” She can barely mumble, but she licks messily, sucking the soft skin between her lips.
“As you wish.” Arion smirks, cups her cheek, runs his thumb along the rim of her ear. She barely has time to draw in a breath before he pushes in with force. He’s way too big to fit in her mouth and her throat protests the intrusion, in vain as he pulls back and plunges in harder, ignoring her noises and gagging.
Maybe he puts all his disdain for humans in it, but he rams into her mouth with no finesse or care. His fingers are rough and he grabs her hair. Her neck hurts from craning and she draws air in desperately through her nose, it’s getting clogged too, and her eyes burn.
Ander seems to like the sight because he speeds up, each thrust sending a wave of pain-pleasure up her spine and down her thighs. Someone, must be Aine, slides a palm up her side, steadying her, easier to fuck.
Arion is the first to come. His load is huge, Mareth tries to swallow the best she can but it damn near bursts out of the corners of her mouth, she can feel it all the way up in her burning nose, and when he pulls his cock out, hot come dribbles out all over her aching lips and jaw and drips down her neck. She coughs and trembles, struggling to stay up without his hold.
“Fucking forbidding,” Arion pants. “That’s - ah -”
Light-headed, Mareth gives up trying to hold herself together, held up by Ander as he fucks her ass, and she looks back down at Aine. He’s squeezed his eyes shut. Thick drops of his brother’s come splash on his golden-haired chest.
Ander keeps fucking her like he’s gonna split her in two, and Mareth feels like he could do it and she wouldn’t mind, because each thrust makes Aine’s cock press harder against her walls and it makes her wail. She’s stretched so wide she feels it as a burn in her clit, how the skin there is pulled taut.
Mareth thinks she can’t feel any fuller, but Ander slaps his palm on her lower belly and presses, making her painfully aware of the bulge there. His hand makes a hard circle, and she cries out and then Aine comes, with one low moan and his fingers stuttering on her skin, thumbs on her hipbones. She can’t believe his come would even fit anywhere inside her, it’s got to be bursting out of her pussy or making it’s way even deeper, but she can’t concentrate on feeling anything but the swirl of pain and pleasure in her belly.
Aine must be oversensitive too and feel each of Ander’s thrusts through her body, because he keep gasping every time her hips rock, face contorting.
It’s Ander’s cock pushing deeper into her that finally forces her over the edge, and her pussy contracts helplessly around Aine’s cock which fills her completely even now, half-soft, milking the last drops out of him.
“Ander -” It’s Aine who speaks, groaning in discomfort.
Mareth would protest as Ander pulls back out of her, if she wasn’t so woozy and still throbbing with her orgasm. She’s sensitive all over and his cockhead slipping out of her asshole sends a warm wave through her, blood flowing where it should. Ander grabs her by hips and gets her off Aine.
Come leaks out of her used pussy, staining her thighs and the bedspread beyond saving. She feels absolutely filthy.
Ander makes her turn around and get on her knees. He drags his thumb along her cheek, and she turns her head to chase it. He still hasn’t come, and she balances herself, one hand on his hip, one finding his slick, hard cock that was in her not a minute ago.
On all fours, she dutifully opens her mouth. It feels empty after Arion left her, the air dry in her nose, a hint of iron. Her lips are stretched wide again, and she tastes the salt of Ander’s come, different from his brother, mixed with her own sharp aroma.
One of the other brothers grabs her from behind, makes her spread her legs and runs fingers down over her ruined asshole and the raw skin of her twitching pussy. She feels the roughness of cloth on the shivering backs of her thighs, brushing over her puffy lips. It’s Arion, then, still dressed.
Arion pushes fingers inside her pussy, she can barely feel it, thumb breaching the rim of her ass, loose. She’s painted with her own juices and sweat and Aine’s come and the way is easy, even if his hands are just as big as Ander’s, if not bigger. He coats his fingers properly before slipping them in her asshole. After Ander pulled out, she’s starting to miss the pressure there too. Fingers aren’t even enough.
“Ellcrys, you could take my whole hand.”
His other hand slips around Mareth’s waist. Her clit has been untouched all this time, and just a brush is enough to make her choke around Ander’s cock and rock her hips to chase the receding touch. She whines, muted, no other way to make any demands.
“You want more?” Arion says roughly. “Is she being good to you, Ander? Does she deserve it?”
“She, ah -” Ander laughs hoarsely as Mareth sucks harder. “Without a doubt.”
Mareth forgets to focus on Ander as Arion touches her swollen clit again. He pushes the fingers of his other hand deeper in her asshole. He massages her clit slowly, it’s hardened like a little erection, pushed itself out so it’s almost too sensitive to the touch. Suddenly he pinches it hard, making her keen and twitch all over, the sensation overwhelming. It must feel good to Ander because he grunts, his grip in her hair gets tighter and he slams in, pushing past the back of her throat, easier now that Arion’s worked her over. Her air blocked, she swallows convulsively, hot thick come filling her throat, sliding straight down into her belly. Just when she thinks she’s going to black out he pulls back, leaving her gasping for air.
She comes again like that, Ander’s cock spending its last drop on her cracked lips, Arion’s fingers knuckle-deep in her ass and working her clit hard until she writhes and mewls, every touch on her skin too much, like a lightning.
“You ruined my shirt.” Arion reaches forward, pushing his fingers in her mouth. He’s wet well up to his elbow, the fabric of his shirt soaked and shiny with her juices. She can barely taste herself over the semen but suckles nevertheless without even thinking.
When the brothers let go of her, she can’t hold herself up, barely has energy to roll on her back. Her head’s still swimming.
“You wanna clean her up, Aine? We didn’t get you any birthday cake.” Ander smirks, wiping his face.
“May I?” The oldest brother approaches her. His face is shining with sweat, his neck and chest still red, but his breathing is calm and movements measured.
“Knock yourself out.” Mareth chuckles tiredly, voice hoarse, too wiped out to do more than enjoy him crawling over her and cradling her closer.
Aine kisses her neck, licking off his brothers’ come with broad swipes of his tongue, continuing down her chest. He licks over her hardened nipple and then sucks it between his lips, biting gently, then harder when her back curves up at that.
She parts her legs for him and he dives eagerly into her pussy, which is getting hot and wet again under his touch, making his work all the harder. Her flesh is tender and the sounds are obscene, and Aine works one finger in with his tongue, coaxing the rest of his own come out of her.
Finally Aine laps at her clit, which is sore after Arion’s handling of her, and just that soft touch is enough to bring her to the peak again. She comes for the third time, mouth falling open now, drawing in the humid air, not caring how loud she moans anymore, her gaping cunt squelching as one last load of liquid gushes out.
Mareth can’t tell how long it takes for her head to clear up enough that she can sit up gingerly. All of her muscles ache sweetly, and her mind is cloudy.
“You got a place to go?”
Aine hands her a towel, still nude, still impossibly glowy and golden. She shakes her head and wipes her face first. Her jaw is going to kill her tomorrow.
“Feel free to stay the night.” It’s Arion, still haughty, but he helps her up, fingers little warm spots on her elbow and shoulder.
Mareth wonders what would happen if she revealed who she was now, but she can’t really form words, content to be drawn into a loose embrace by Ander. She can think about it in the morning.