Round 4

The elf lies back on the bed, still reeling from Jeane’s latest… demonstration of leadership. Her stomach feels like it’s full of warm stones—his cum settling heavy and thick inside her. She can feel it leaking out around his cock every time he bottoms out, and the wet sounds only seem to drive him wilder. Across from them, Halie looks conflicted. Her eyes are dark with arousal, but there’s something else there too—a flicker of shame or maybe even outrage at being so publicly used and discarded.

I watch Jeane loom over Halie and Abby, his wings spread wide with an almost menacing presence. The way he barks orders at them makes my skin crawl—it's one thing to be dominant in the bedroom, but this? This feels like something else entirely. As he turns his attention back to Silra, still impaled on his cock and clearly lost in her own pleasure, I feel a pang of sympathy. She looks so utterly used, her body trembling with aftershocks as Jeane continues to move inside her.

The tall winged woman stands over the elf, her massive form towering and menacing. Her wings are spread wide like a shadowy curtain separating them from the rest of the world. "Enough! Are we seriously just sitting here like a bunch of nervous virgins while that little thief tries to weasel out of her punishment? This is supposed to be an adventure, not a tea party for the faint of heart!" Her crimson eyes blaze with barely contained rage.

I feel a twist of discomfort watching them writhe together across from me—Abby and Silra, lost in their own little world of friction and wet sounds. It’s not jealousy exactly, but something closer to… exclusion? I’m the odd one out again, aren’t I? The good girl trying not to look too eager while everyone else just goes for it. Jeane is still buried deep inside Silra, his thick cock stretching her petite frame to its limits as he continues to pound into her with relentless force.

I watch Halie and Jeane go at it across from me, their moans filling the room with a raw, primal energy that makes my own skin prickle with heat. Silra lies there on her back, completely fucked stupid by whatever spell Jeane used on her—her mouth slack and eyes unfocused as he grunts above her. My stomach twists into a knot of something I don't want to name—jealousy? No, it can’t be that. Why would I be jealous of being treated like this?