The merchant who had been packing his cart at the far end of the square had long since trundled off, his muttering swallowed by the cold.

So, for a brief, suspended window, the square had belonged only to them, four invisible figures wrapped around each other on the ledge of a frozen fountain, their silence bubble holding the world at bay.

That window was closing.

The first sign was the clatter of wooden wheels on cobblestone. A cart, heavy-laden and groaning under the weight of its cargo, rolled into the square from the eastern entrance.

Its driver was a stout woman with ruddy cheeks and arms thick as hams. She began setting up her stall, poles extended, canvas unfurled. A battered sign swung into place, its painted letters announcing HOT SPICED CIDER and FRESH PASTRIES in cheerful, weather-faded script.

Cecilia hid her face.

Because this first stall was not alone for long.

The second half of the day was stirring. The grey winter sky had lightened by a fraction, and with that slight softening came the merchants.

The snack vendors and the beverage stalls and the carts selling roasted chestnuts and candied almonds and skewers of grilled meat that sizzled and smoked and sent tendrils of savory aroma curling through the winter air.

THRUST—

"Ah—"

A second cart arrived. A third. A man with a big mustache and a portable brazier began setting up what appeared to be some kind of mulled wine operation, his voice already booming across the square as he greeted the spiced cider woman like an old friend.

SQUEEZE—

"Fuck—"

A young couple wandered in from the north entrance, their arms linked, their breath misting in the cold, their faces bright and glowing, falling in love and were still marveling at the novelty of it.

Drip... drip... drip... "Gasp!" 𝗳𝗿𝐞𝕖𝘄𝗲𝕓𝗻𝚘𝚟𝕖𝐥.𝚌𝕠𝕞

Foot traffic increased.

A pair of off-duty guardsmen, their Iondora colors muted under heavy winter cloaks, ambled through the square and made directly for the mulled wine cart.

An old woman with a basket of knitting settled onto a bench near the fountain and began clicking her needles together, her gesture like someone who had claimed this spot years ago and saw no reason to relinquish it.

The square was waking for the late afternoon.

The square was filling.

The real thing was about to start.

Arkai felt his pulse quicken. The old woman on the bench was close enough that he could have reached out and touched her knitting basket. The off-duty guardsmen, mulled wine in hand, had paused to chat not ten feet from the fountain.

Anyone could glance over. Anyone could wander too close. Anyone could brush against the edge of the silence barrier and feel something wrong. A pocket of warmth in the cold, a whisper of movement where nothing should be.

And yet.

And yet.

William’s head slipped in and out of her, draggingly slow, teasing like a gentle tide. Each tiny thrust pushed a little deeper, stretched a little wider, the shape of William’s true form catching against her inner walls in a way that made her see constellations behind her eyelids.

And Peter, that beautiful, spiky length that had been straining and leaking and begging for attention, had claimed his inch as well. Just one inch. They had all the time in the world.

The textured plane of the lion’s cock met the draconian ridges of the dragon’s, and together they teased what was left of her hymen.

It had somehow survived three husbands and countless nights and was now, finally, being coaxed into surrender by the combined efforts of a divine beast and a golden king. This would be her first time having a tripple penetration in this world, after all.

Both cocks were leaking.

Clear, glistening beads of precum had been weeping from their tips since the balcony.

But now the fluid was changing. It was thickening. Turning opaque, pearlescent, the unmistakable evidence that her husbands were hurtling toward their own peaks with the same desperate velocity she had just experienced.

Veins strained along both shafts. Blue and purple, throbbing with every heartbeat, mapping the underside of William’s true draconian form and the textured ridges of Peter’s lion length in obscene, beautiful detail.

The sight of them, both heads inside her, both leaking for her, both holding back with the last frayed threads of their control, would have made her come again if she had anything left to give.

Eastiel had taken his turn lying flat.

The Golden Lion King was sprawled on his back across Oathran’s fur coat, his golden hair fanned out against the dark pelt like spilled sunlight, his chest heaving, his eyes burning up at the invisible sky.

His hands were clamped around Arkai’s hips. Yes, behind her, in front of Eastiel, was Arkai.

The Black Wolf King’s eyes had gone crimson. His mouth was latched onto her neck, his teeth pressing into the tender flesh where her shoulder met her throat with just enough pressure to make her gasp.

Johnny was buried in her other hole. Thrusting, over and over and over again.

"Ah—ha—"

Arkai’s hips snapped forward in a rhythm that was brutal and beautiful, each thrust driving Johnny deep into her back channel while William and Peter filled her front.

It was indescribable, triple-stuffed by true beast cocks. And they weren’t even all in yet. Human cocks truly couldn’t compare.

She could feel them through the bond. Oathran’s building pressure. Eastiel’s trembling need. Arkai’s wild, possessive hunger. They were all climbing toward the same peak, all holding on by the same frayed thread, yet all holding the same patienc—

A uniformed palace scholar passed by.

Cecilia’s heart stopped.

The scholar was young, bespectacled, with an internship badge, his Iondora blues crisp and freshly pressed.

He was walking with two friends, fellow scholars, by the look of them, and they were joking. Laughing. Pushing each other in that careless, physical way of young men who had known each other long enough to treat personal space as a suggestion rather than a rule.

One of them stumbled, his shoulder brushed the edge of the silence barrier.

Just a graze. Just a whisper of contact. He would feel nothing. A faint warmth, perhaps, a momentary prickle on his skin that he would dismiss as the winter wind.

He would never know that his shoulder had passed through the same space where three beast cocks were currently buried inside a woman.

But Cecilia knew.

And her body clenched around all three of them in a spasm of pure, terrified arousal.

SQUIRT!

She squirted, her eyes rolled up her skull.

The gush of fluid soaked William’s shaft and Peter’s length and splashed against Oathran’s.

"Ah—mm—"

The barrier swallowed the sound of wet, obscene splash, but the bond transmitted the sensation to all three husbands. It was brutal.

[Ahhahah—]

Oathran felt his frenulum brushed Eastiel’s texture, and he almost burst. Yet his mental voice was somehow still controlled, low and dark and delighted. His hips did not pause the small thrusts as William continued to slide through the sudden, slick tightness of her.

[She is nervous...]

[She is nervous~ Mmm... fuck~]

Eastiel’s mental voice was a singsong. This high of feeling her cunt wrap around him and his elder brother simultaneously, the wet clutch of her walls gripping both Peter and William in a single embrace... it was unlike anything.

The textured ridges of his lion’s length pressed against the draconian contours of Oathran’s second cock. He could feel William throbbing against him so clearly, could feel every vein and ridge of his brother’s shaft more clearly with the clenching heat of their wife’s body.

His hands tightened on Arkai’s hips. His fingers dug into the firm muscle, signaling Arkai to pull her down harder onto Peter, again, the same inch. To grind her against him. To make her take it even as her release continued to gush, soaking everyone’s abdomen, dripping in slow, obscene rivulets onto Oathran’s fur coat beneath them.

[They almost found us...] Arkai mentally said as he growled against the tender skin of her throat. His teeth grazed her pulse point, his crimson eyes blazing possessively. [And she squirted—]

[I did not—] Cecilia’s mental voice was feeble. Another aftershock rippled through her. Another clench, another wave of gushing fluid that dripped down her thighs and made the fur coat beneath them squelch with damning wetness.

She buried her face against Oathran’s chest, hiding from the world and the truth that she had just squirted because a stranger brushed their barrier.

The palace scholars continued on their way. They would never know. They would return to their studies and their jokes and their crisp blue uniforms, unaware that they had just contributed to the ruination of a saintess.

[I feel... a little annoyed.] Oathran said thoughtfully, making Cecilia froze against his chest. [Why would you squirt for them, hmm?]

His hands slid down her back, the scrape of his nails leaving faint white trails on her skin. [Why would you squirt for random men on the street, hm?]

His fingers reached the swell of her buttocks and gripped. Not gently. Not cruelly. But firmly. Possessively. [When your husband’s cocks are inside you...?]

She could feel the heat beneath his words, the arousal that she had triggered, but he was still absolutely going to make her answer for it.

They started bullying her. Their mouths and hands were relentless, three men coordinating an assault to make their wife squirm.

Oathran’s hands kneaded the plush swell of her buttocks, spreading her cheeks, exposing the tight pucker of her back entrance that Arkai was currently filling.

His thumbs pressed into the sensitive hollows at the base of her spine, tracing circles that made her shudder and clench and leak.

Arkai’s hands found her twin breasts, those soft, generous mounds that had been neglected in the chaos of repositioning, and pinched. His fingers rolled her nipples mercilessly, making her vision blur. He twisted. He pulled. He punished each sensitive peak.

And Eastiel immediately claimed another inch.

[Right... why are you squirting for them, hmm?]

The head of Peter pushed deeper, the textured ridges of his lion’s length stretching her even more. The microscopic give of her hymen fluttered against him, and he groaned, his hips trembling with the effort of not shoving himself home in one brutal thrust.

[She is ready...] He reported. [Let us proceed... another... inch...]

He felt it, the microscopic stretch of her cunt yielding to him, the way William’s draconian ridges and his own textured plane worked together to coax her open.

"Mmmm—hh..."

Cecilia whimpered against Oathran’s chest, and both cocks claimed the next inch.