Chapter 3: The Competition Begins
The door clicked shut, sealing them in a new kind of silence. It wasn't peaceful. It was the dense, expectant quiet of a battlefield before the first charge. The city’s neon glow painted jagged stripes across the floor, over the bed, and onto the two figures who stood just inside her sanctuary, now irrevocably violated.
Jolene pushed up on her elbows, the silk sheets slipping down to her waist. Her heart wasn’t fluttering; it was a trapped bird slamming against her ribs. “Get out.”
Neither moved. Loki leaned against the door, a study in casual predation. Ares stood a few feet ahead, his shoulders blocking a significant portion of the light.
“That’s not how this works,” Ares said, his voice a low grind of stone. “You don’t issue orders here. Not tonight.”
“This is my room.”
“A technicality,” Loki dismissed, pushing off the door. He took a single, silent step forward. “Rooms, doors, walls… they’re suggestions. We are rather bad at following suggestions.”
Ares moved then. Not with Loki’s phantom grace, but with the terrifying, efficient speed of a predator closing a short gap. He reached the bed in two strides, his hands closing around her ankles. They were warm, roughened by centuries of gripping weaponry, and absolutely unyielding.
“What are you—?” she gasped, as he pulled.
He dragged her, on her back, down the vast expanse of the mattress until she was centered in its wide expanse. The motion was shockingly impersonal, like repositioning a piece of furniture. Her head spun, the remaining tequila and sudden adrenaline making the room tilt. Before she could even process the indignity, his weight followed, a knee on the mattress beside her hip, caging her in. He loomed over her, his eyes black in the semi-darkness, reflecting pinpricks of city light like distant campfires.
“You’ve been running all night,” he said, his breath warming her face. It smelled of spice and the sharp, clean alcohol of the gods. “Running from him. Running from me. Running from whatever the fuck is scratching to get out of you.” One hand came up, his thumb brushing roughly over her bottom lip. “The running stops now.”
From the foot of the bed, Loki made a soft, tsking sound. He was unbuttoning his shirt with deliberate, slow movements. “Always so direct. All huff and bluster.” The black fabric parted, revealing the pale, sculpted plane of his chest. He let the shirt fall to the floor without a sound. “You’ll have to forgive him. Subtlety was sacrificed on the altars of battle long ago.”
“And manipulation was born in the bed of a liar,” Ares shot back, not taking his eyes off Jolene.
“Poetic,” Loki purred. He climbed onto the bed with the sinuous ease of a serpent, kneeling at her other side. The mattress dipped under his weight, rolling her subtly toward him. Now she was truly trapped, a valley between two mountains. “Shall we establish rules? Or do we simply take what we came for?”
Ares’s hand left her face and clamped around both her wrists. He pinned them above her head on the pillow with one massive hand. The strength was effortless, total. “Rules,” he grunted. “First one to make her scream his name wins.”
Loki’s laugh was a chilly, delightful thing. “Win what? The smug satisfaction of being the first to break her? How pedestrian.” His cool fingers traced the line of her jaw, down the column of her throat, over the frantic flutter of her pulse. “But I accept. Though I propose an amendment. The victory isn't in the scream itself… but in which name she screams last.”
Their words swam around her, a dizzying negotiation over her body, her reactions. Indignation warred with a deep, shameful thrill that coiled tight in her belly. This was madness. This was terrifying. And she was wet, a soaking heat between her legs that betrayed her completely.
“You’re both insane,” she breathed.
“Finally, something we agree on,” Loki said, his gaze dropping to her lips.
Ares leaned down, his mouth hovering just above hers. “Insane for you, girl. That’s the only thing that matters tonight.”
He didn’t kiss her. He conquered her mouth. It was a brutal, claiming thing, all hungry pressure and invading tongue. He tasted of war—of iron, of smoke, of something profoundly and unapologetically male. She whimpered into it, a sound of protest that morphed into a moan as his free hand found her breast, rough and demanding through the thin silk of her bra.
While Ares claimed her mouth, Loki attended to her body. His cool hands skated down her sides, finding the waistband of her panties. With a sharp tug, the fragile lace tore. The sound was obscenely loud. He made a considering noise. “Flimsy mortal things.” He discarded the shreds, his palms then sliding up the inside of her thighs, pushing them apart. The cool air of the room hit her exposed flesh, followed by the searing heat of their dual gaze.
“Look at that,” Ares murmured, pulling back from her mouth, a string of saliva connecting them for a second before it broke. He looked down where Loki’s hands were spreading her open. “Soaked. And we’ve barely started.”
Loki’s fingertips brushed through her curls, then lower, parting her folds. One cool finger dipped inside her, just to the first knuckle. Jolene arched off the bed, a sharp cry torn from her throat.
“So responsive,” Loki mused, his voice clinical, fascinated. He added a second finger, sinking them deeper into her tight, clutching heat. His fingers were long, clever, and cold. The contrast was shocking, electric. He crooked them, a slow, twisting corkscrew motion that rubbed a spot deep inside her that made her see stars. “And so tight. Clenching around nothing like a little fist. Begging for it.”
Ares growled, releasing her mouth to bite down on the tendon of her neck. It wasn’t a love bite; it was a branding. The pain was bright and sharp, a counterpoint to the relentless, cool penetration of Loki’s fingers. “She wants to be filled,” Ares said against her skin, his voice vibrating through her. “She wants to be stretched. She wants to forget her own name, let alone ours.”
“Then let’s not keep her waiting,” Loki said, withdrawing his fingers with a slow, slick sound that made her hips jerk. He brought them to his mouth, his green eyes locked on hers as he sucked her taste from them. “Salty. Sweet. Divine.”
The visual undid her. A fresh flood of wetness soaked the sheets beneath her.
Ares released her wrists, but only to grip her hips, rolling her onto her stomach with brute force. The silken sheets were cool against her feverish skin. He dragged her up onto her knees, her ass in the air. She heard the rustle of clothing, the clink of a belt, and then the hot, blunt, immense head of his cock was pressing against her entrance.
“This is what you need,” Ares whispered, a hand fisting in her hair, not pulling, just holding. “This is what you’ve been aching for. To be used. To be proven.”
He didn’t push. He invaded.
There was no gentle easing. He was thick, impossibly so, a brutal stretch that burned in the best way. He shoved forward in one relentless, devastating drive, burying himself to the hilt inside her. The air left her lungs in a punched-out gasp. He filled her completely, a searing, solid presence that pushed at the very boundaries of her body.
“Fuck,” he groaned, his hips flush against her ass. “You take it so well. Like you were made for it.”
He began to move, and it was nothing like the dance floor. This was a pounding, a driving rhythm that had the heavy bedframe scraping against the marble floor with every thrust. He set a brutal, punishing pace, each snap of his hips jolting her forward. Her breasts rubbed against the sheets, her nipples pebbled into tight, sensitive points. She was split open on him, owned by the raw, physical reality of his claiming.
Then Loki was there, in front of her. He’d shed the rest of his clothes. He was all pale, elegant angles, his own erection long and thick, curving slightly upward. He knelt, his hands framing her face.
“Look at you,” he whispered, his eyes blazing with an intellectual lust that was somehow more intimate than Ares’s possession. “Taking his cock like a common tavern wench. So desperate for a filling.” He traced her swollen lips with his thumb. “Does he make you feel real, Jolene? Does all that muscle and sweat make the emptiness go away?”
She couldn’t answer. Ares’s thrusts robbed her of coherent thought, reducing her to a series of choked gasps and moans.
Loki’s thumb pushed past her lips. “Suck,” he commanded, his voice gentle but inflexible.
She did, her tongue swirling around the pad of his thumb, her mouth working instinctively. He watched, enthralled, as Ares hammered into her from behind.
“Good girl,” Loki breathed. He removed his thumb, glistening with her saliva, and replaced it with the head of his cock. He fed it into her mouth, slowly, an inch at a time. “Now take me, too. Prove you can handle us both.”
She gagged initially, the intrusion overwhelming. But Loki was patient, relentlessly so. He held her head still, his fingers tangling in her dark hair, and slowly, steadily, fucked her mouth. It was a violation of a different kind—cold, controlled, demanding her submission not through force but through sheer, unyielding presence. He set a slow, deep rhythm that counterpointed Ares’s frantic pounding behind her.
She was full, impossibly so. Stretched and stuffed at both ends, a vessel for their competing hungers. Tears leaked from the corners of her eyes, born of overwhelm, of shame, of a pleasure so profound it bordered on pain. The sounds she made were muffled around Loki’s length, guttural and helpless.
Ares’s hand slipped around her hip, his fingers finding her clit. He rubbed rough, chaotic circles there, the pressure perfectly relentless. “Come on his cock,” Ares snarled in her ear, his breath hot. “Come for me. Scream for me around his.”
The dual stimulation, the fullness, the filthy words, the sheer taboo of it all coiled the tension in her belly to a snapping point. Her orgasm tore through her with no warning, a silent, seismic convulsion that locked her muscles and stole the air from her lungs. She clenched violently around Ares’s driving cock, her throat fluttering around Loki’s, her entire world dissolving into a white-hot burst of sensation.
Ares roared, his own release triggered by her sudden, tight clenching. He slammed into her one final, brutal time, his hips grinding against her as he emptied himself deep inside her, a hot, flooding rush that seemed to go on forever.
As she trembled through the aftershocks, Loki gently pulled himself from her mouth. He looked down at her ravaged face, her glazed eyes, with something akin to reverence. “Beautiful,” he murmured. “But that was just his. You haven’t screamed anything yet.”
Ares pulled out of her, and she collapsed forward onto the sheets, boneless and dripping. She was a mess of sweat and come and overwhelming sensation.
They weren’t done.
Strong hands rolled her onto her back again. They moved her like a doll, arranging her limp limbs. Loki settled between her thighs, his cool body covering hers. Ares moved to the head of the bed, leaning against the ornate headboard. He pulled her up, her back against his chest, so she was cradled between them, held upright by Ares’s solid frame.
“My turn,” Loki said, his voice a silken promise. He positioned himself at her entrance, still slick with Ares’s release. He pushed in, and the feeling was completely different. Where Ares was a brutal stretch, Loki was a slow, consuming invasion. He was long, reaching deeper, a cool, steady presence that filled her in a more insidious way. He moved with a hypnotic, rolling rhythm, each thrust calculated to brush that deep, exquisite spot inside her.
Ares’s hands covered her breasts, pinching and pulling at her nipples, his mouth on her neck, her shoulder, biting and sucking new marks over the old. “Feel him?” Ares grunted in her ear. “He’s not filling you. He’s unraveling you. Thread by thread. Don’t let him.”
But she was. Loki’s eyes held hers, a magnetic green trap. He wasn’t just fucking her; he was studying her, witnessing every flicker of pleasure, every wince of overstimulation. He leaned down, capturing her mouth in a kiss that was all slow, devouring intimacy. It was a liar’s kiss, deep and persuasive, and it worked. She kissed him back, her tongue tangling with his, even as Ares’s hands roamed her body possessively.
“Who do you belong to right now?” Loki whispered against her lips, never breaking his rhythm. “Whose cock is sheathing itself inside you, rewriting you from the inside out?”
“Mine,” Ares claimed, one hand sliding down her stomach, his fingers dipping into the place where Loki was joined to her, rubbing her clit with a brutal, possessive friction.
The sensation was too much. Another climax began to build, this one slower, hotter, rising from the depths Loki was plumbing. It was a rising tide, inexorable.
“Say my name,” Loki urged, his pace quickening, his coolness heating with his own building release. “Let it be the last thing on your tongue.”
“Scream for me,” Ares demanded, his fingers working her furiously, his teeth on her earlobe.
Her body was a battleground, and they were the warring generals. The pleasure was a rising scream in her blood, in her bones. She was going to break.
“Loki—” she sobbed, the name a fractured thing as the wave crested.
“No!” Ares commanded, his hand moving faster.
But Loki was there, in her mind, in her body. He drove into her, hard and deep, and with a final, perfect twist of his hips, he shattered the last of her resistance. Her orgasm exploded, a supernova of feeling that tore through every nerve ending.
And as she fell apart, as the world dissolved into blinding, shattered light, the name that ripped from her throat, raw and ragged and utterly without conscious thought, was a desperate, shattered cry of, “LOKI!”
He slammed into her one last time, his own release surging into her with a low, shuddering groan, his forehead dropping to her shoulder.
For a second, there was only the sound of ragged breathing.
Then Ares’s chuckle rumbled through her back, against his chest. It wasn’t a sound of defeat. It was a sound of dark, feral amusement. “You said it first,” he conceded, his voice thick with something that wasn’t anger. “But you didn’t scream it last.”
Before she could process his words, before Loki could even pull out, Ares’s hands were on her hips again. He shifted her, pulling her off of Loki’s spent cock with a wet, obscene sound, and onto his own, which was already hard again, thick and eager.
Jolene cried out, oversensitive and stunned, as he impaled her from behind once more, her back still against his chest. He filled the aching, empty space Loki had left, a different, familiar fullness.
Loki, breathing heavily, moved aside. But he didn’t go far. He watched, his green eyes burning with a strange, possessive fire as Ares began to move again, a slower, deeper, more possessive rhythm than before.
“You called for him,” Ares growled in her ear, his arms like steel bands around her torso, holding her close as he fucked up into her. “But you’re coming on my cock again. You’re dripping with us both. So whose are you, really?”
She couldn’t think. She could only feel. Ares’s relentless drive, the rough scrape of his chest hair against her back, the way his hands gripped her breasts as if he would meld her to him.
Loki leaned in, his lips brushing her temple. His voice was a spent, satisfied whisper. “The scream was mine. The last… the last is always the most telling.”
He was right. Exhaustion and a third, devastating orgasm were pulling her under. Her body was moving on Ares’s cock purely on instinct, a tired, blissed-out slide. The world narrowed to the heat, the friction, the feel of being utterly possessed and utterly ruined.
As Ares’s thrusts grew ragged, as he neared his own end, he turned her face to his, crushing his mouth to hers in a final, dominant kiss.
And when the last tremor racked through him, when he spilled inside her with a guttural, satisfied groan, her own weak, shuddering finish following his, the sound that escaped her lips, muffled against his mouth, was a broken, whispered sigh.
“…Ares.”
The silence that followed was total. The neon still bled outside. The bed was a wreck of tangled silk and the scent of sex and sweat and power.
Ares held her for a long moment, then slowly released her, letting her slump forward onto the damp sheets. Both gods drew back, leaving her lying there between them, exposed and used and trembling.
Loki looked at Ares over the curve of her back. A slow, triumphant smile touched his lips, though his eyes were shadowed.
Ares met his gaze, his own expression unreadable. He gave a single, slight nod.
No words were exchanged. The competition, it seemed, was a draw. Or perhaps, something else entirely had been won.
Jolene didn’t see it. Her eyes were closed, her body humming with a deep, saturated exhaustion. But in the dark space behind her eyelids, for the first time since she fell from the sky, there were no fragmented memories, no echoing emptiness.
There was only the visceral, branded memory of heat and cold, of two opposing forces that had, for a moment, owned her completely. And in that ownership, she had, terrifyingly, felt less lost.
The emptiness was still there. But now it was filled with their names.
But now it was filled with their names.
The silence stretched, thin and brittle. Jolene’s breathing began to slow, the frantic hammer of her heart settling into a heavy, spent rhythm. The sweat on her skin cooled. The aches bloomed—deep in her muscles, between her legs, a pleasant, stretched soreness that was a physical record of what they’d done. She didn’t move. Moving would mean acknowledging the world outside this ruined bed, the consequences waiting in the daylight.
Ares shifted first. The mattress groaned under his weight as he swung his legs off the side, his back to her. The city lights cut across the scars etched into his skin, a topographic map of violence. He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture almost contemplative.
Loki remained, propped on one elbow beside her, his eyes tracing the new bruises on her neck, the bite marks on her shoulders. His expression was unreadable, a mask of calm over something turbulent. He reached out, not to touch her, but to twist a lock of her damp hair around his finger.
“A draw,” Loki said, his voice quiet, yet it shattered the quiet completely.
Ares glanced over his shoulder. “Was it?”
“She screamed for me. She sighed for you. Neither of us claimed the last word.” Loki’s gaze lifted from Jolene to meet Ares’s. “The competition, as stated, lacks a winner. A novel experience for us both, I’d wager.”
Ares turned fully, his eyes dropping to Jolene’s prone form. There was no tenderness in his look, but a fierce, focused appraisal. “The competition was flawed. It assumed one could own that.” He gestured loosely at her. “Look at her. She’s not conquered. She’s… catalyzed.”
Jolene forced her eyes open. Her voice came out rough, shredded. “I’m right here. Don’t talk about me like I’m a chemical reaction.”
A slow smile spread across Ares’s face. “See? Even ruined, she fights. That’s not a conquered spirit. That’s a weapon being tempered.” He stood, a mountain of muscle and shadow, and looked at Loki. “A single scream, a single sigh. They’re just sounds. They prove nothing.”
Loki’s finger stilled in her hair. “What are you suggesting?”
“We didn’t finish.” Ares’s tone was matter-of-fact, as if stating the sky was dark. “We took turns. We marked her. We made her come until she wept. But we didn’t break her. We didn’t find the bottom of what she can take.” His eyes, black and hungry, locked onto Loki’s. “The real test isn’t who she calls for. It’s how much of us she can hold at once.”
A cold thrill, entirely separate from exhaustion, shot down Jolene’s spine. “No.”
The word was weak, a whisper.
They both ignored it. Loki’s green eyes narrowed, calculating. The intellectual curiosity she’d seen earlier reignited, burning away the post-coital languor. “Simultaneous claiming,” he mused. “A more… integrated experiment.”
“Exactly.”
“You’re insane,” Jolene said, pushing herself up on trembling arms. “I can’t—you can’t both—it’s not possible.”
Ares chuckled, a low, dark sound. “Little mortal. You fell from the void between stars. You house a power you can’t even name. Your body is the least impossible thing about you.” He stepped back toward the bed. “It’s possible. We’ll make it possible.”
Loki sat up, his movements fluid and purposeful. He looked at Ares, and a silent communication passed between them, a language of raised brows and slight nods forged in a night of rivalry and shared desire.
They both nodded at each other.
It was a pact. Ares moved first, his hand sliding down the curve of her back, over the swell of her ass, which was already marked from his earlier slaps. His touch was proprietary, familiar. His thumb brushed the crease of her buttocks, a casual, shocking intimacy.
Jolene flinched. “Don’t—”
The pad of his finger, calloused and unyielding, circled the tight, forbidden pucker of her asshole. It was a slow, deliberate orbit, lubricated only by the slick sweat and residual mess of their previous fucking. There was no preparation, no gentle asking. Just the slow, relentless pressure of that circling.
“This belongs to us too,” Ares murmured, his other hand spreading her cheeks apart. “Every part of you. Every tight, untouched piece.”
Before she could muster a protest, before she could even tense properly, he shoved his thumb inside.
It was a brutal, dry invasion. A sharp, burning stretch that stole her breath. She cried out, a sharp, pained sound, her back arching. He worked it in to the knuckle, a thick, invasive presence where nothing had ever been. He held it there, letting her body convulse around the intrusion.
“Breathe,” he commanded, not unkindly. “Just breathe through it. It’s just a finger. A preview.”
While she was gasping, adjusting to the shocking fullness, Loki moved. He knelt between her splayed thighs, his hands hooking under her knees, pushing them wider apart. He bent his head. His cool breath feathered over her swollen, oversensitive pussy, which was glistening wet, a mixture of her arousal and their combined release.
His green eyes flicked up to hers, holding her gaze as his tongue, flat and wide, licked a slow, filthy stripe from her perineum all the way up to her clit.
She jolted as if electrocuted.
He didn’t tease. He feasted. He buried his face between her legs, his tongue spearing into her well-used pussy, licking deep, tasting himself, tasting Ares, tasting her essence. Then his mouth focused on her clit, sucking the sensitive bud deep, his tongue flicking over it with a rapid, cruel precision.
The contrast was unbearable. The sharp, stinging ache of Ares’s thumb in her ass, and the molten, liquid pleasure of Loki’s mouth on her clit. Two opposing poles of sensation, anchoring her in a state of exquisite torment. Her earlier exhaustion vanished, incinerated by a new, more desperate wave of need.
Ares began to move his thumb, a slow, shallow fuck that rubbed against the most intimate inner walls. Loki’s tongue danced and sucked. Her hands fisted in the sheets. A high, keening sound built in her throat.
“That’s it,” Loki muttered against her, his words vibrating through her clit. “Let go. Come on my tongue. Let me drink you down.”
She couldn’t hold it. The coil, wound so tight from the night’s relentless attention, snapped violently. Her orgasm was a silent, seizing thing at first, her body locking rigid. Then the scream followed, tearing from her raw throat—a wordless, shattered sound of pure, overwhelmed release that echoed off the marble walls.
Loki drank every shudder, every pulse, until she was sobbing, pushing weakly at his head.
He pulled back, his lips and chin slick. He looked utterly debauched, and utterly satisfied.
Ares slowly withdrew his thumb, and the sudden emptiness there was its own strange ache. He brought his wet thumb to his own mouth, sucking it clean with a loud, appreciative sound. “Fucking sweet,” he growled. “My turn for a taste.”
They switched places with a seamless, predatory grace that spoke of a newfound, terrifying teamwork. Ares pushed Loki aside none-too-gently and lowered his head between her thighs. His approach was different. Where Loki was artful, Ares was ravenous. He licked into her like a man dying of thirst, his beard scratching her tender flesh, his mouth possessive and loud.
Loki, now behind her, took over the attention on her ass. His fingers, slick from her own juices, replaced Ares’s thumb. But Loki was not content with one. He coated two long, cool fingers and pressed them both against her now-relaxed rim.
“Shh,” he whispered, as she tensed. “Just relax. I’m just opening you up. Preparing you.”
He worked them inside, a slow, twisting corkscrew that burned less than the thumb but filled her more. He scissored them gently, stretching her. The sensation was profoundly weird, intimate, and shockingly arousing as Ares’s tongue continued to lave her clit, sending fresh jolts of pleasure through her system.
Jolene, her mind floating in a hazy, post-orgasmic fog, barely registered the low argument happening over her body.
“I fucked her cunt first. I get the ass first,” Ares said, his voice muffled against her thigh.
“Your logic is as crude as your technique,” Loki retorted, his fingers still working patiently. “I prepared her. I stretched her. The first breach is mine by right of careful engineering.”
“Engineering? I’ll engineer your skull through a wall.”
“Children, please. Flip a coin. We’re gods, not animals. Mostly.”
She heard the distinctive chime of gold on gold. A coin, summoned from nowhere, spun in the air. Loki caught it, slapped it on the back of his hand.
“Heads,” Ares said.
Loki lifted his hand. A dark smirk touched his lips. “Tails. It seems luck favors the cunning over the brutish. Oh, wait. That’s not luck, that’s inevitability.”
Ares snarled but conceded. “Fine. But I go next. And I don’t go gentle.”
“I would expect nothing less.”
Jolene, understanding nothing of the negotiation, only felt Ares’s mouth leave her. Strong hands gripped her hips, pulling her up. She was disoriented, limbs like water. Loki lay back against the pillows, his cock already hard again, jutting upward. Ares maneuvered her, pulling her over Loki, guiding her down until she was straddling the god of mischief.
“What…?” she slurred, her mind struggling to catch up.
Loki’s hands settled on her waist. “Ride me,” he said, his voice a dark lure. “Take your fill. You’re in control here.”
It was a lie, and she knew it, but the illusion was enticing. She sank down onto him, a low moan escaping her as he filled her familiar, aching channel. His girth stretched her perfectly, a cool, solid presence that sparked the embers of her pleasure back to life. She began to move, a slow, rolling grind of her hips, her hands braced on his chest.
Ares watched, his eyes burning. He knelt behind her, his large hands spreading her buttocks wide, exposing her to the cool air and his heated gaze. Loki, from beneath her, reached back, his own hands joining Ares’s, holding her open completely.
She felt the broad, blunt head of Ares’s cock, slick with something—spit, maybe ambrosia—pressing against the tight ring of muscle Loki’s fingers had just stretched.
Realization, cold and sharp, cut through the pleasurable haze.
“Wait,” she gasped, her rhythm faltering. “No. That’s not—you can’t both—”
“We can,” Loki said, his hips pushing up into her, fucking up into her from below as she rode him. “And we will.”
“You’re going to break me,” she whispered, terror and a dark, unwanted thrill twisting together in her gut.
Ares leaned forward, his chest plastered to her back, his mouth at her ear. “Break you?” he echoed, his voice a dark promise. “Sweetheart, we’re going to rebuild you.”
Loki’s dark chuckle mingled with Ares’s. “Consider it a renovation.”
Then Ares pushed.
It was an invasion beyond anything she had words for. A burning, tearing stretch that transcended pain and became a white-hot reality of fullness. He was huge, thicker than Loki, and he forged into that tight, virgin channel with a single, relentless shove. She screamed, a raw, animal sound of shock, as he buried himself to the hilt, his hips flush against her ass.
She was impaled. Absolutely, completely speared. Loki’s cock was buried deep in her pussy, Ares’s in her ass. They filled her beyond capacity, a dual presence that touched everywhere, pressed against every internal wall. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. She was simply held, stretched to the point of splitting, a living sheath for two gods.
“Fuck,” Ares groaned, his head dropping between her shoulder blades. “Tighter than a fist. Like fucking a vise.”
Loki’s face was a mask of ecstatic agony beneath her. “She’s… she’s taking every inch. Every. Last. Inch.” His hands gripped her hips like vices.
For a moment, they were all frozen in that impossible, painful joining. Then Ares pulled back, just an inch, and slid back in.
The movement was devastating. It shifted Loki inside her as well, a double friction that made her see stars. A choked sob burst from her lips.
“There she is,” Loki breathed, his eyes glazed. “That’s the sound. That’s the breaking point.”
They began to move. Not in sync at first, but finding a ragged, brutal rhythm. Ares would pull out and thrust in, and the force would drive her down harder onto Loki, who would then thrust upward to meet her. It was a savage, piston-like machine, and she was the centerpiece, taking every punishing stroke.
Ares’s hand snaked around her hip, his thick fingers finding her clit, which was swollen and throbbing. He rubbed rough, quick circles over it. “Look at you,” he grunted, each word punctuated by a slam of his hips. “Filled with two gods. Your cunt’s dripping on him, your ass is milking me. You’re a fucking masterpiece.”
Loki’s hands gripped her breasts, pinching and twisting her nipples. “Who owns you now?” he hissed, driving up into her. “Whose cunt is this? Whose tight little ass?”
She couldn’t answer. She could only take it. The pain had sublimated into a overwhelming, full-body pleasure, a sense of being utterly used, utterly claimed, utterly complete in a way that was terrifying. Her body was no longer her own. It was their playground, their battleground, their proof of concept.
Ares smacked her ass, the sharp crack echoing in the room. The sting blended with the deep, internal friction. He leaned forward and bit the muscle of her shoulder, hard enough to leave a lasting mark. Loki’s mouth found hers, his tongue plunging in, claiming her cry.
“Come for us,” Loki demanded against her lips. “Come around both our cocks. Show us you can take it.”
“Do it,” Ares growled, his fingers working her clit furiously. “Squeeze us dry, you greedy little slut.”
The pressure built, a tsunami from the very core of her being, amplified by the dual penetration, the filthy words, the biting, the slapping. It wasn’t a single wave; it was a cataclysm.
When it hit, she shattered.
Her back arched violently between them. A broken, continuous scream tore from her throat, wordless, mindless. Her pussy convulsed in rhythmic, violent pulses around Loki’s cock. Her ass clenched and fluttered around Ares’s. Her vision whited out. She felt like she was falling again, but this time into a void of pure, annihilating sensation.
She was only vaguely aware of their own roaring releases, of the hot, simultaneous floods deep inside both her channels as they came with her, triggered by her violent, internal spasms.
For a long time, there was only the sound of three people gasping for air.
Then Ares’s hand, tangled in her sweat-soaked hair, pulled her head back. “We,” he panted, his voice ragged with satisfaction, “aren’t done yet.”
Before she could even process the words, before they had even softened inside her, he was moving. He lifted her, his powerful arms hooking under her knees, pulling her off of Loki with a wet, slick sound. He held her up, her back against his chest, her legs spread wide, her entire body on display and utterly spent.
Loki, with a groan of effort, stood on the bed before them. He was still hard, impossibly so. His eyes were feral.
“Hold her steady,” Loki said, his voice raw.
Ares tightened his grip, arms like iron bands under her knees, spreading her wider. “Do your worst, Silvertongue.”
Loki guided himself to her ravaged, dripping entrance. He looked into her dazed, unfocused eyes. “One more time,” he whispered, a promise and a threat. “For the road.”
He thrust up into her, a deep, reclaiming stroke.
At the same moment, Ares, still buried in her ass from behind, began to move again.
They fucked her like that, standing, a brutal, synchronized hammering. Ares held her aloft, her weight nothing to him, as he pistoned into her ass. Loki drove up into her pussy, meeting Ares’s thrusts so she was perpetually full, perpetually moving, a ragdoll suspended between their relentless drives.
“You feel that?” Ares snarled in her ear. “Both of us. Fucking the soul right out of you.”
“She has no soul left,” Loki grunted, his composure gone, replaced by primal need. “We’ve fucked it out. All that’s left is this. This wet, used, perfect hole.”
“My hole,” Ares claimed.
“Ours,” Loki corrected, snapping his hips sharply.
They were using her to fuck each other, through the thin barrier of her own body. The sensation was beyond anything. It was raw, mechanical, and profoundly degrading. And she came again, a weak, shuddering thing that felt more like a seizure, her body fluttering around their relentless cocks with no strength left.
They fucked her through it, their pace never slowing, their words a continuous stream of filth.
“Taking it like a champion.”
“Gonna remember this every time you sit down.”
“Whose come is leaking out of you?”
“Ours.”
“Say it.”
She couldn’t. She was barely conscious.
They finally found their end together, a final, mutual roar as they emptied into her once more, the hot floods mixing inside her overwhelmed body.
Ares lowered her, collapsing onto the bed with her still in his arms. Loki slumped beside them, breath heaving. They were a tangled, sticky, ruined heap of limbs and satisfaction.
Jolene didn’t move. She couldn’t. Consciousness was a thin, fraying thread. The last thing she heard before it snapped was Ares’s voice, thick and drowsy.
“Tomorrow,” he mumbled into her hair, “we do it again.”
And Loki’s faint, agreeing hum.
Then there was nothing. Not emptiness. Not peace.