The Demigod Who Joined Their Mortal Fuck

The glade held its heat like a cupped palm. Sunlight slid through old oak and cedar, painting the moss in bars of gold, and the air smelled of crushed fern, warm skin, and the resin that always seeped when bodies moved hard enough to shake the low branches. Ambrose had stood among those trees for more mornings than he could count, immortal and ageless, a demigod whose centuries had taught him every path through this forest and none that led to another living hand on his cock. He was hidden now, one shoulder braced to rough bark, pants shoved down just far enough, and his fist already working the thick, heavy length of himself in slow strokes.

On the sunlit blanket, Fiona was twenty-eight and shameless about it. The herbalist had kicked her boots aside and stripped her linen shift, leaving only a pair of pale panties that Hassan, thirty-one and built like the hunter he was, was already dragging down her thighs with his teeth. Her breasts were full, nipples tight in the open air, and her dark hair stuck to her throat where sweat had started. She laughed once, low and filthy, then gasped when Hassan pushed two fingers into her and curled them.

“Gods, you’re soaked,” he said.

“Then stop talking and fuck me,” Fiona answered.

Ambrose’s cock jumped in his grip. He watched Hassan’s cock—long, flushed, already leaking—slide between Fiona’s folds and sink in to the hilt. She arched, heels digging into the blanket, and Hassan set a deep, grinding pace that made her tits bounce and her mouth fall open. Ambrose matched them. Every time Hassan drove in, Ambrose stroked down to the root of his own massive shaft, thumb smearing the clear slick that welled at the head. Centuries of lonely watching lived in the tightness of his balls. He had seen other mortals rut in this glade. None of them had looked like this. None of them had made his immortal blood pound so hard he could hear it.

Fiona’s voice broke on a moan. “Harder. Right there. Don’t you dare slow down.”

Hassan braced one hand beside her head and fucked her harder, the wet slap of their bodies loud in the quiet trees. Ambrose bit the inside of his cheek and stroked faster, the ridge of his cock dragging through his fist, pre-cum stringing between his fingers. He did not come. He never did, not while they were still moving. He held himself on the edge the way only something that did not age could, aching, throbbing, invisible, and desperately hard.

They came back the next day, and the day after that. Fiona spread her herbs to dry on a flat stone and then abandoned them the moment Hassan dropped his bow. Ambrose learned the rhythm of their hunger. Sometimes Hassan took her on her hands and knees, gripping her hips and pounding until her arms shook. Sometimes she rode him, palms flat on his chest, grinding her clit down on every stroke while she told him exactly how deep she wanted it. Ambrose stayed in the trees and stroked his cock in time with them, jaw clenched, thighs trembling, the head of his shaft dark and swollen and never quite allowed to spill.

By the fourth afternoon the glade knew them. The blanket was rumpled before they even touched. Fiona had barely gotten her panties off when Hassan spun her, bent her over a sun-warmed log, and shoved into her from behind. She cried out, loud enough that a bird startled. Ambrose’s hand flew along his cock, the sound of their fucking filling his ears, his own breath rough. He had leaned too far. A shaft of light caught the gleam of pre-cum on his fist.

Fiona’s eyes opened mid-thrust. She was already coming, cunt clenching around Hassan’s cock, and she looked straight into the shadows where Ambrose stood with his massive cock in his hand. For a heartbeat she only stared, flushed and shaking through the orgasm. Then her mouth curved, slow and sultry, and she did not look away.

“Come closer,” she said, voice wrecked and clear. “If you’re going to stroke that thing while you watch us fuck, you might as well let us see it.”

Hassan followed her gaze. He did not pull out. His cock stayed buried in her, hips still rolling, and when he saw the demigod—tall, ageless, cock thicker than either of theirs and shining with his own need—he groaned and nodded, eager, almost desperate.

“Yeah,” Hassan said. “Get over here. She wants you. I want to watch her take you.”

Ambrose stepped out of the trees. The ancient magic in the glade prickled over his skin, but it was nothing next to the heat rolling off the two mortals. Fiona pushed back onto Hassan once more, then straightened, panting, and held out a hand.

“You’re the one who’s been in the trees,” she said. “I felt you. Every time he fucked me I felt eyes on my ass. Come here and put that cock where it’s been begging to go.”

“I am Ambrose,” he said, voice low, centuries of loneliness cracking in it. “And I have wanted this.”

“Then take it,” Fiona said. “We both want you to.”

Hassan slid out of her with a wet sound and turned her to face the demigod. Fiona dropped to her knees on the blanket for a moment, just long enough to drag her tongue up the underside of Ambrose’s cock, tasting the salt of him, moaning at the size. Then she stood, turned, and bent at the waist, bracing her hands on Hassan’s hips. Her ass tipped up. Her pussy was swollen, slick, open.

“Standing,” she said. “Fuck me from behind while I suck him. I want both of you in me.”

Ambrose set his hands on her waist. His strength made her breath catch; he could have lifted her with one arm, and she knew it, and she pushed back anyway, offering herself. He lined the broad head of his cock against her entrance and pushed. She was tight even after Hassan, and the stretch made her gasp around nothing, then moan as inch after thick inch sank into her. He did not stop until his hips met her ass and she was stuffed full of demigod cock, trembling, dripping down her own thighs.

“Fuck,” she whispered. “You’re huge. Don’t hold back.”

Hassan stepped in front of her and fed his cock into her mouth. She took him greedily, lips stretching, saliva shining on his shaft as Ambrose started to move. The standing fuck was deep and relentless. Every thrust shoved her forward onto Hassan’s cock and then dragged her back onto Ambrose’s, a filthy rhythm that made her gag and moan and reach one hand between her legs to rub her clit. Ambrose watched his shaft disappear into her, watched the way her cunt gripped him, felt the mortal heat of her squeezing around immortal flesh. Hassan’s hand tangled in her hair, not rough enough to hurt, just enough to hold her where she wanted to be, and he fucked her mouth in short, eager strokes while Ambrose pounded her from behind.

“Look at you,” Hassan groaned. “Taking his cock like you were made for it. Suck me. Yeah, just like that.”

Fiona’s answer was a broken, wet sound around him. Ambrose’s balls slapped her clit on the deeper strokes. He could feel how close she was, the flutter of her around him, the way her thighs shook. He held her up when her knees threatened to buckle, one arm banded under her ribs, and kept fucking her through it, using the strength that had outlasted empires to give her exactly the hard, standing pounding she had asked for.

When she tore her mouth off Hassan long enough to speak, her voice was raw. “I want more. I want both of you at once. Lie down. I want to ride that cock while he takes my ass.”

Ambrose pulled out slowly, his shaft gleaming with her, and stretched out on his back on the blanket. His cock stood up thick and heavy against his stomach, veins standing, head flushed dark. Fiona swung a leg over him, facing away, and reached back to guide him. Reverse cowgirl. She sank down with a long, shaking moan, taking him to the root, her ass spreading as she settled. Hassan knelt behind her, spit-slicked fingers working her tighter hole open while she rocked on Ambrose’s shaft, getting used to the stretch from this angle.

“You sure?” Hassan asked, cock already nudging her ass.

“Yes,” Fiona said. “I want it. Fill me. Both of you. Now.”

He pushed in. The resistance gave, and then he was sliding into her ass while Ambrose’s cock filled her pussy, and Fiona’s head dropped back on a cry that was pure, filthy pleasure. The double stretch stole her breath. She could feel them both, separated by almost nothing, Hassan’s cock rubbing along Ambrose’s through her body every time either of them moved. Ambrose gripped her hips and lifted her, then dropped her back down, using his strength so she did not have to do all the work. Hassan matched him, thrusting into her ass in a counter-rhythm that quickly became the same brutal beat.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck,” Fiona chanted. “So full. Don’t stop. Fuck my ass, fuck my cunt, use me.”

They did. Ambrose’s superior stamina showed in the way he never faltered, hips driving up into her even as Hassan pounded her from behind, the two of them finding a shared pace that made her bounce between them, tits swaying, mouth open, drool on her chin. Hassan reached around and rubbed her clit in rough circles. Ambrose sat up just enough to mouth one nipple, then lay back again and watched his cock vanish into her over and over, the sight of Hassan’s shaft sinking into her ass right above it almost enough to undo him. Fiona came once like that, screaming, cunt and ass clamping down so hard both men groaned and had to hold still for a second or finish too soon. Then she begged them to keep going, and they did, harder, the blanket bunching under Ambrose’s back, the forest filling with the wet, obscene sounds of a demigod and a hunter fucking the same greedy herbalist at once.

“I’m close,” Hassan panted. “Where do you want it?”

“My mouth,” Fiona gasped. “Pull out and come in my mouth. I want to taste you while he floods my pussy.”

Hassan dragged his cock out of her ass with a slick pop. Fiona leaned forward over Ambrose’s chest, still impaled on the demigod’s shaft, and opened her mouth. Hassan stroked himself twice and pushed between her lips. Ambrose grabbed her hips and fucked up into her in short, devastating thrusts, chasing the end he had denied himself for days of watching. Fiona’s hand found her clit and rubbed frantically. Hassan’s balls drew up. Ambrose felt the immortal pressure break at last.

They came together. Ambrose’s cock swelled and then erupted inside her, powerful spurts of thick divine cum pumping deep into her pussy, so much that it leaked out around his shaft and ran down over his balls. Hassan groaned and filled her mouth, hot pulses coating her tongue, and she swallowed what she could while the rest spilled over her lip and dripped onto Ambrose’s stomach. Fiona shattered between them, orgasm ripping through her so hard she sobbed around Hassan’s cock, milking every last jet from the demigod buried in her cunt.

Hassan pulled out of her mouth, still dripping. Fiona stayed seated on Ambrose’s cock, stuffed and overflowing, cum smeared on her chin and leaking from her well-fucked pussy onto his thighs. She looked down at the mess and laughed, breathless and wrecked, already rocking her hips like she wanted another round.

“Same time tomorrow,” she said, voice hoarse. “And you’re not hiding in the fucking trees.”

Ambrose’s cock twitched inside her, still hard, still leaking. “I’ll be on this blanket with my cock in you before you finish taking your panties off.”

Hassan wiped his shaft across her lower lip and grinned. “Then open up, herbalist. We’re not done using every hole you’ve got.”

Fiona spat Hassan’s cum onto Ambrose’s cock where it stretched her open, smeared the mess with two fingers, and sank back down until the demigod bottomed out in her flooded cunt. “Good. Now fuck this sloppy pussy until I can’t walk, and don’t you dare pull out until you’ve pumped me full again.”