Chapter 280: All Nine Inches
"Let’s compare dicks."
Oathran said solemnly, as if he were proposing a military strategy rather than whatever this was.
Arkai, still lying on his back on the bed, limbs sprawled, chest still heaving, turned his head. Eastiel, mid-pour, ripping open a paper sachet of water flavoring, his fingers clumsy, froze. Both of them stared.
Oathran shifted out of the way.
There, sitting on the toilet, was Cecilia. Her face was crimson, her hands pressed flat against her cheeks, her fingers splayed wide, covering everything but the tips of her ears, which were also crimson.
"I got lodged into her colon." Oathran said calmly and clinically. Yet it was flatly unhelpful in this situation. "I don’t think it’s a good thing if it keeps happening."
Eastiel’s hand, still holding the sachet, lowered slowly.
"Usually, thanks to William, both of my cocks won’t get that deep unless I purposefully change the size." Oathran’s hand gestured vaguely at his groin. "I only have one now, and there’s nothing in the way. Just my balls. So I can accidentally go deeper more easily."
The longer he spoke, the redder Cecilia’s face beca. The red spread to Eastiel. His blushing shoulders began to shake. He squatted by the sink, hiding his face behind his knees, his laugh strangled and desperate.
Arkai pulled a pillow over his face. His muffled groan was sowhere between mortification and hysterical laughter.
Oathran finished, still serious and unbothered. "So, let’s see who has the shortest one. To assign to her back for the next roun—"
"ALL OF YOU GOT NINE-INCH COCKS, IT WON’T MATTER!"
Cecilia yelled with a cracked voice. Her face was the exact shade of her pink curtains, her pink rug, her pink pillowcases. She matched the aesthetic.
"It actually matters." Eastiel said, voice muffled behind his knees. He lifted his head just enough to gesture at the man prone on the bed. "Mine is leaner than his fat one."
Arkai sat up straight. The pillow hit Eastiel’s face with a satisfying thwack.
"It’s girthy. Not fat."
"Yeah, well—" Eastiel caught the pillow, grinning. "Thankfully we’re talking about the human one. The real one is fatter at the base—"
"It’s still better than having spikes."
"Let’s just compare." Oathran beckoned them over. His voice was still that sa maddening calm. "Co here."
Arkai sighed. Eastiel snorted. But they moved, drawn together, as if compelled. Of course fate demanded they stand side by side and solemnly asure their dicks.
"Cece." Arkai glanced at her. "You know you don’t have to force yourself to take it in the back if you feel awful afterwards, right?"
Cecilia’s pout was imdiate. Her hands dropped from her face, her arms crossing. "But it feels good..." she said, voice small and pouty. "I want it... especially when it’s... slippery and wet..."
Three n blushed.
They stood in a row now, facing each other, their cocks—well, human cocks, ordinary cocks, devastatingly handso cocks, lined up like soldiers awaiting inspection.
There wasn’t much difference, not really. All three were roughly the sa length, the sa impressive size. The differences were subtle. The shape of the head. The curve. The way the shaft thickened at the base or tapered toward the tip.
Arkai’s was straight and thick, the kind of cock that promised pressure, that filled her completely, that left her gasping for air. A very brutalist cock.
Eastiel’s had a slight upward curve, the head proportional, the shaft just slightly leaner, more... aesthetic, built for hitting that spot with every stroke.
Oathran’s was sowhere in between, elegant and proportionate. With pronounced veins, subtle curves and gentle color.
They stared at them. Eastiel cleared his throat. Arkai crossed his arms. Oathran humd.
He studied them, focusing like a scholar examining a rare artifact. Eastiel’s face started to turn bright red, his hand hovering near his groin, not quite touching. Arkai looked like he wanted the bed to swallow him whole.
"No one’s shorter. We’ll have to figure sothing else out."
"Maybe it’s the position." Eastiel said, strained, his gaze fixed sowhere above their heads. "Sitting makes it easier to enter the colon...?" He tilted his head, his academic mind latching onto sothing, anything, to focus on. "Maybe if she was on all fours..."
Arkai’s head snapped up. Oathran’s eyes glead.
Cecilia, still sitting on the toilet, still crimson, still aching, watched them calculate and plan. Watched three of the most powerful n she had ever known debate the optimal angle for fucking her ass.
Her face, impossibly, grew hotter.
Was this also how they had planned the triple penetration? Had they discussed this? Compared notes? Strategized, preparing for battle, for the best way to fit inside her?
"Wait..." Cecilia held up a hand. The three n turned, eyebrows raised.
"I want to incorporate the dildo next." She said. "How and where can we...?"
She didn’t finish. Her face was too red. Her brain was too fried.
"The plan in the real world is that I will be the one lying prone." Oathran said, warm and amused. "In case you want all four of your husbands’ tools to enter you at once."
He chuckled. "But forget that for now. We can do sothing else tonight, you know?" He gestured vaguely. "Take turns. Just like usual."
"But you said William will not be forgotten." Cecilia’s pout was imdiate, her arms crossing, her lower lip jutting out.
The three n had to hold their laughs. Their shoulders shook. They stood in the threshold of her bathroom, reduced to giggling boys at four in the morning.
"You have nas for Elder Brother’s junks." Arkai said, teasing, his grin wide. "When are you going to na ours?"
Cecilia’s blush deepened. "Ah, what do you want to na them?!" The words ca out in a rush, shy and whiny at once. "Johnny? Johannes? Jonathan? Giovanni? Juan? Ioannis?"
Oathran broke. His laugh was suppressed, strangled, his hand pressed over his upper face. Arkai followed, his shoulders shaking.
But Eastiel’s face lit up instead.
"What about mine?" He leaned forward, eager.
Cecilia stared at him with a solemn and grave expression.
"Peter."
Imdiately, the lion’s face fell. "Huh?! That’s so basic!"
"Then what?" Cecilia snapped. "Francois?"
"BWHAHAHAHHAH—"
"Pfff—huhuhuhhuhahahahh—"
Oathran lost it. His laugh burst free and bright, echoing off the pink walls. Arkai was right behind him, doubled over, wheezing. Eastiel sputtered between them, caught between outrage and helpless laughter.
Knock-knock-knock.
The sound cut through the laughter.
All four of them froze.
Cecilia’s heart stopped. Her eyes went wide. Eastiel’s grin vanished. Arkai’s hand, still pressed to his mouth, dropped. Oathran’s grey eyes sharpened, his body going still, alert.
It was still four in the morning. The world was dark and the dormitory was silent. No one should be knocking at her door.
Knock-knock-knock.
"Cecilia." Lazuardi’s voice could be heard from the opposite side. "This is Lazuardi."
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