Felicity's Beast World Apocalypse-Chapter 101: Cleaning 18+

Voss’s hands were next, pulling at the ribbon in her braid. He untied it in one practiced motion and let her hair fall, then swept his fingers through the golden strands, as if detangling the day’s worries. "Too much sugar," he said softly, and then licked one fine line of it from her temple to the shell of her ear.

She made a sound, not quite a protest, not quite surrender.

Victor’s mouth followed the path Voss had cleared. Where his tongue caught at the sugar, his teeth nipped, careful but possessive. Then he bent and licked her collarbone clean, each pass hot and thorough. When her knees bent under the heat, Ivan caught her from behind, arms hard as a vise around her waist.

"You are not getting away," Ivan breathed.

She did not want to get away.

They washed her with hands and mouths, and all the ways they knew would undo her. Voss hooked a finger under the hem of her panties and dragged it up, inch by inch, exposing the pale skin of her flower.

"You are shaking," he whispered, a note of approval in his voice. "So good."

Victor crowded her in, wings arching over her head, and thumbed her nipple through the soaked fabric, watching the bud rise and darken. "This is my favorite kind of clean," he told her, then bit the tip just hard enough to make her gasp.

Ivan’s hands roamed, learning every new patch of skin as if he needed to memorize her. When his palm slid between her thighs, he groaned. "She is already wet," he told them.

Voss’s smile was wicked. "Of course she is."

They pressed her hands to their cocks, each one hard and urgent through their trousers, and made her stroke them as they washed her. Damien guided her fingers, teaching her rhythm, teaching her how they liked it. "Grip tighter," he said, and when she obeyed, his breath stuttered.

Victor tipped her chin up and fed her the taste of him, tonguing her lips apart until she opened for him. He kissed her slow, but the tension was a wire ready to snap.

Ivan’s fingers probed her entrance, teasing just inside, rubbing slow circles over her clit with the other hand. "You smell like a bakery," he muttered, voice rough. "You taste sweeter."

Voss dropped to his knees in the stream, ignoring the shock of cold water, and pressed his mouth to the slick heat between her legs. His tongue flicked at her, lapping away the last remnants of sugar and salt, until she was whimpering and all the world narrowed to the places they touched her.

They did not fuck her, not yet. They took turns, hands and mouths and soft, careful bites, until her body arched and bucked and she came apart in their arms.

"You’re clean now," Victor whispered, and she could not decide if it was a mercy or a threat.

They let her rest, only for a moment.

Then Victor drew her to him and pushed her to her knees, holding her steady as he unfastened his pants and let his cock free. It was thick and flushed and leaking, and he tapped the tip against her lips, smearing the taste of him across her mouth.

"Open," he ordered.

She obeyed.

He fed himself to her slowly, inch by inch, holding her head between his hands as if she was too precious to bruise. He rocked into her mouth, using her tongue to clean him, groaning low in his chest as she swallowed him hungrily.

Damien knelt beside her, stroking her hair, murmuring filthy praise. "You look good like this," he said, and when she looked up at him, he bent and kissed her, tasting Victor on her tongue.

Ivan and Voss took turns behind, fingers slick and dextrous, fingering her open until she was a mess of want and need, her tail flicking, her knees splayed awkwardly in the stream.

When Victor came, he did not warn her. He held her tight, pulsing hot down her throat, and she drank all he gave, dizzy with the taste.

Damien received her next, drawing her into his lap with careful hands. He positioned himself against her entrance but didn’t push forward, instead using his length to tease her most sensitive spot. Each deliberate stroke made her back arch and soft sounds escaping her lips. She rocked her hips desperately seeking more, but he maintained control, retreating just enough that she felt only the slick evidence of his cum against her heated skin.

"You’re still dirty," he accused, and licked the corner of her mouth where a smear of sugar lingered.

She wanted to argue but she could not, and she wouldn’t try.

Not when Voss was kissing the back of her neck, tongue flicking her fennec ear, not when Ivan’s hand was fisted in her hair, tipping her head back for more.

She touched each of them in turn, stroking and sucking and cleaning, until they were as ruined as she was, until the taste of all four lingered in her mouth and hair and every pulse point in her body.

By the end, they were tangled together in the stream, soaked to the skin, nothing left of the day’s flour and fear but the memory, sticky and sweet.

Victor scooped her up at last, cradling her against his chest. "Clean," he said again, softer this time.

Her body shivered, teeth chattering as Victor carried her up the path toward the house. Cold water dripped from her hair and trickled in rivulets down her collarbones, pooling in the crease above her mounds. She was certain she looked debauched and wretched, and when she caught a glimpse of herself reflected in the gleam of a window, her cheeks burned all over again, though for an entirely new reason.

Inside, the air was thick with the heat of the woodstove and the scent of rising bread. They did not speak. Ivan peeled away what remained of her dress, tossing the shredded linen to the hearth, and Voss carried her arms and legs limp, head lolling against his shoulder down the hall and into the bath.

The old tub was already full, and steam curled up in lazy spirals. Voss set her gently into the water, bracing her head with one hand so she wouldn’t slip beneath the surface. She made a small, animal sound as the heat stung her skin.

Damien knelt beside the bath, "Look at you," he said, as if she was some rare thing. "Golden girl." He scrubbed her hair, massaging the scalp until her neck lolled sideways, loose as a ribbon. Victor poured warm water over her shoulders, careful to shield her eyes.

She dozed there, only vaguely aware of the hands that washed her, the mouths that pressed kisses to her forehead and jaw, the heat of flesh brushing against hers now and then. Someone she thought maybe Ivan lifted her arm to clean beneath it, and when his fingers brushed the inside of her wrist, she let out a sigh so soft it barely rippled the surface of the bath.

They rinsed her, wrapped her in towels, and dried her as if she would break under the weight of their touch. Her legs refused to carry her, so Victor hoisted her again, her head tucked under his chin. He took her to the big bed, depositing her at the center of the mattress, and then the others settled in on either side, crowding close as if she was some small fire of her own.

Voss, curled along her back, his tail draped over her thigh like a blanket. Ivan pressed up behind her, arm slung heavy around her waist, breath slow and even against her neck. Damien lay on his side, watching her with half closed eyes, lips curved in a faint, satisfied smile. Victor, last to settle, propped himself up on one elbow and stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers, as if to make sure she had not disappeared.

She drifted then, into a sleep so deep and so dreamless she forgot for a time that she had ever been anything but theirFelicity, safe and wanted.

When she woke, hours later, the sky beyond the window was still dark. Someone probably Ivan, she guessed, by the evenness of his breathing was snoring softly behind her. There was a hand on her breast, another in her hair, and the slow thump of Victor’s heart against her back. Her own heart beat in strange sympathy, content and unhurried.

She lay there, unmoving, for a long while. The memory of the night shimmered behind her eyelids. She could still taste them on her tongue, feel the press of their hands on her skin, the way they had touched her with a kind of awe.

She must have made a sound, because Victor’s arms tightened around her. "Awake?" he rumbled, voice thick with sleep.

"Mmhmm."

He nuzzled the top of her head. "We will have to do it again," he said, as if discussing a duty or a chore.

"Do what?" she asked, though she knew perfectly well.

"Get you clean," he replied. And she could hear the smile in his voice, feel it against her scalp.

Voss’s voice drifted over her shoulder, lower and clearer than she expected. "She’s still sticky," he observed.

Ivan’s hand flexed on her waist. "Not enough sugar in the world to cover her," he said.

She giggled, muffled by Victor’s chest.

She felt Damien’s hand creep under the blankets, cold as ever, and find her thigh. He squeezed, hard enough to leave a mark if he wanted, and she gasped.

"Still soft," Damien said.

Victor drew the blanket higher, encasing them in wool and warmth and the afterglow of want. "Rest," he ordered gently. "Tomorrow we will feed you."

And tomorrow, she knew, they would ruin her all over again.