Tag: m/f/m

Curls

A Night in a Year: 52. Curls

When Orhan’s finger is joined by a second, and he press his hard cock against her arse, she grins at the warm, tender feeling of being encapsulated by the two men. But when those fingers leave her skin, and slide into her pubic hair, mere millimetres above her clit, she quivers, her fingers digging into Jeroen’s back.

“Please,” she says as the two fingers roll through the curls. “Please touch me.”

“But I am. I’m touching some very interesting parts of you.” Orhan gives the hair a gentle tug, and releases, and it sends a delicious jolt through her. No one has ever done that before. It’s a feeling of pleasure edging delicately to pain, like the long edge of a broken pane of glass, sharp if touched the wrong way.

He keeps tugging, different parts of the curls. She can almost see in her mind’s eye the rise of the skin beneath the follicles as they are raised, held, and released, in the mere seconds it takes for him to do so. By the time he’s traversed her whole mound, it’s tingling, and she is so slippery between her legs that she tries to keep them closed, not to let her cum run down her thighs. She’s wriggling in Jeroen’s arms, but he isn’t letting her go, and Orhan’s keeping her other hip firmly in place.

“I’m going to keep you right here until he’s done,” Jeroen says to the top of her head.

“You’re so mean…” she breathes.

He chuckles, and kisses her temple. “More fun with three.”

“You’re having fun?”

He briefly tips her chin back with two fingers, so she meets his eyes, and he says, darkly;

“I’m going to enjoy watching you lose it on the dance floor, in front of everyone.”

It is a delicious payback.


Next: 53. Folds

Image found on flickr, by Edward Wilson, used under the Creative Commons License.

Crease

A Night in a Year: 51. Crease

Playfully, she surges closer to Jeroen, as if swaying away from Orhan’s twining fingers. The bulk of him is magnificent: it’s the embrace of a tiger, only barely tamed. Jeroen laughs, and he bends down, takes her lips between his own. It’s hot and sweet, melted chocolate that could burn your tongue if you weren’t careful where it moved in your mouth. His tongue laces along her own, and her stomach turns with the heat of anticipation.

She’s realises she’s forgotten Orhan’s hand when it snakes straight under her dress, and his fingers find the crease where her leg starts below her hip, that line that leads down towards her cunt. She feels his chest murmur with a chuckle; he now must know she’s not wearing underwear. Jeroen’s tongue leaves her mouth, and Orhan’s lips move to her ear.

“Bad girl,” he whispers, and kisses her neck again. “And you know what happens to bad girls…”

“Yes…” The word comes out a pleased hiss.

“Well, you will have to wait for it.”

His fingers dip down the crease, going to the point where she feels him brush her pubic hair. But he slides back up the line, returning to circle her hip bone. His touch is steady and firm, not delicate as before. It’s as if he’s painting something there, leaving a trail of his own making. She sighs, her head falling against Jeroen’s chest. Jeroen’s hand up comes to cradle her head, and Orhan’s finger now slides down further, almost between her legs, linger just near her labia, near the folds of her cunt that are wet and wanting, but he still doesn’t touch it. Instead, he begins to rub up and down, a short, teasing distance.

Jeroen holds her there, at the mercy of Orhan’s finger.


Next: 52. Curls

Image found on flickr, by Jessie Jacobson, used under the Creative Commons License.

Hem

A Night in a Year: 50. Hem

They continue to bite and nuzzle her, soft yet unrelenting. She wants to lift out of her heels, lurch forward with the humming under her skin, the growing bubbles in her stomach. She clutches harder to Orhan, and she gasps in time with the music. Both men are still moving with the beat, while she stands perfectly still, only her head jerking a little as the sensations shift around in her as the bites and licks change speed or tempo.

When they both lift away, as if practiced for timing, her whole body is tingling. She sees Orhan’s smirk, feels Jeroen’s grip brace briefly, and all she can do is sigh, and feel her body almost sag between them.

They won’t let her do that on the dance floor. Instead, they turn her around, so she’s once more facing Jeroen.

Jerone’s hand come under her arms to brace her shoulders. “Let’s dance,” he says.
She nods, still unable to speak, and moves with him. Behind her, Orhan moves not as fast, but casually, stepping once for each of their two. He let’s go of a hip, and she wonders where his hand’s gone until she feels a tug at the skirt of her dress. She glances down her shoulder, and sees his fingers tracing the hem, curling up the underside, seeking out the space between material and skin. She grins, and briefly catches the glint in Orhan’s eye over her shoulder, and then lets him get on with it.

When the flat of his nails brushes her thigh, it is almost imperceptible. The smoothness of it, unlike the velvet softness of skin, is cool like glass. It would be almost comforting, but for being so delicate, it promises and teases, as if Orhan might decide another course for the evening.


Next: 51. Crease

Image found on flickr, by Devon D’Ewart, used under the Creative Commons License.

Nibble

A Night in a Year: 49. Nibble

The music starts again. A happy yell from the crowd. It takes mere seconds for the dancing to commence again, and for her to pull them back to her, her hips pressing to Orhan’s, her arse against Jeroen.

And now, their hard-ons press into her. Jeroen’s sits perfectly where her arse cheeks meet, and Orhan’s nudges her hip bone, swelling on the line of it.

“Naughty boys,” she says. They all laugh.

She runs her hands up Orhan’s back, bracing his shoulder blades. She draws him back a fraction, so she can see more of him, more of his chest.

She is rewarded for that: Orhan’s collar is open, revealing his clavicle. The smooth ridge of bone beneath skin begs to be traced, and she bends her head, and does so with her tongue. She can taste the salt of his sweat, smell the spiciness of his aftershave, the musky maleness of him. Orhan’s movement stutters, but only for a moment; he adapts to her careful tongue and from behind her lashes she can – and it so pleases her – see his lips quirking and twitching.

Jereon’s face falls against her shoulder. With the bulk of him bending over her, it is like being drawn into a cloak, being covered. His face turns, and suddenly, his teeth sink into the side of her neck, lower down, closer to her shoulder. She gasps, pulling up from Orhan’s chest. It allows him to kiss her, on her cheek beneath her ear.

Then he finds her ear, and with a slow, delicate bite, nibbles at her ear lobe. She quivers, and when his tongue flicks out to lick as well as bite, desire swells in her chest, and seeps around her body.

“Oh God…” she whispers.

Her cunt once more begins to drip.


Next: 50. Hem

Image found on flickr, by Miranda Granche, used under the Creative Commons License.