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.