Fire in the Cave Read Free Page A

Sparrow in Black-dog’s lap. He was holding
Sparrow from behind, his arms pinning hers to her sides. One of his
hands cupped a breast; the other was between her legs. She looked
small in his grasp, weak, vulnerable. His mouth was on the back of
her neck.
    The witch-girl leaned closer, peering through the leaves. Sparrow’s
legs were spread wide. His hand was stroking her, running one finger
up and down her slit. His shaft was beneath her, but not in her; she
was sitting on it, straddling it. Sparrow’s wetness was
shining in the moonlight, on his fingers, on her slit, and dripping
onto the shaft below. The witch-girl bit her lip; Black-dog’s
cock was at least as big as his brother’s. Sparrow’s
hips moved weakly, trying to escape his hand but only succeeding in
sliding back and forth along the length of his shaft.
    Had he still not entered her? A shining drop was dripping from his
tip as Sparrow panted, trying to catch her breath. He was whispering
to her.
    “What is your name?”
    Her head was hanging forward, shoulders shaking as she breathed. Her
dark hair hid her face. “S-Sparrow,” she said. Her
voice was weak. “You… you know I am Sparrow.”
    “Hmmmmm.” The witch-girl bit her lip; he sounded
displeased. His mouth opened, closed on the back of her neck again,
holding her like prey. His hand began to move faster between her
legs, two fingers slipping between the lips of her slit, finding her
tender place, rubbing firmly. She threw her head back, moaning,
baring her throat to the night, body trying to twist away, helpless
in his muscle-banded arms.
    She panted as he worked on her, his hand never slowing. Her body
jerked, then jerked again. Her back arched, pressing her little tits
into his grip; her feet kicked up leaves, her toes curled in the dirt
as she moaned and sobbed. Her chin was wet; she was drooling.
“Can’t…” she gasped, wetness dripping from
her cunt, her slit sliding back and forth along the top of his shaft
as she struggled. “Can’t… again… can’t
come again… c… can’t… ah…
ahhhhnnnnn!” As his right hand mercilessly pressed and rubbed
her, his left released her breast, slid down, and pushed two strong
fingers into her tight, wet hole, curling them inside her, stroking
something soft and deep. She screamed, a cry that choked off as her
body was seized by a wave of forced sensation, jerking in her
captor’s arms, heels drumming on the ground, teeth clenched,
grunting and half-sobbing as he coaxed another wave of pleasure out
of her. A spurt of wetness gushed out around his fingers, wetting
his shaft. She went limp in his arms again, breathing ragged.
    The witch-girl’s eyes glittered in the shadows as she watched,
leaning forward, one hand on the ground, the other softly rubbing her
tender, sensitive bud, slipping down to her hole to gather moisture,
sliding along her lips. She saw movement in the shadows at the edge
of the clearing, and gleaming eyes. Black-dog’s hounds were
here. Watching her.
    He was whispering again, his voice low. He held his prey gently.
His hands had stopped moving, save for a single finger tracing up and
down her slit. “What is your name?”
    “Uh?” Her head had fallen to one side, hair hanging.
Little shivers ran through her from time to time, aftershocks. Her
mouth was hanging open, her small breasts rising and falling as she
panted. She slumped there for a while, barely conscious in his arms,
eyes open but not seeing. In a dreamy, sweet little voice, she
mumbled, “Name? Nnn...name. Sparrow. Ah ah ahhhhhhhnnnnn…”
His fingers were moving again, his arms tight, his teeth on her neck
as tears rolled down her cheeks and her eyes rolled back, her mouth
and sweet lips open as if to drink the moonlight, her body shaking as
she passed over some final threshold and lost herself, moaning, deep
animal groans shuddering out of her small body. She was thrusting
her hips, now, pushing harder against his hand, unable to escape