I really should be getting ready for work. My train is due in less than an hour. But I’m too comfortable, lying here in Miles’ bed, wearing nothing but a dirty shirt and an even dirtier smile. I feel languid. Fucked so well the very marrow of my bones has transformed into a substance heavier than lead and I can’t bring myself to move.
It doesn’t help that Hillary is standing by the dresser, either. She has a brush in her hand and is busy raking it through her honey blonde hair. The repetitive strokes give a gentle movement to her breasts. I watch them lift and sway, notice her shiver when the bristles of the brush sweep over her dark brown nipple. It tightens, wrinkles to a perfect peak. She tilts her head and, just before her hair swishes down to hide her face, I see her smiling.
I know she’s going to do it again. I’m waiting for it, eyes following each pass of her hand until…yes! Her abs flex when the bristles drag over her nipple once again.
That gets me to thinking about last night. I’d sat on the edge of the bed for god knows how long while Miles fucked her, watching her face contort, her tits quiver, and her belly ripple exactly like it just had. I’d followed a bead of sweat from her belly button, down around her waist, only snapping back to reality when it slipped free to splash onto the sheet.
Hillary drops the brush. When she bends over to retrieve it my mind offers up a new image from last night. One of Miles towering over her, hands on her skin. I stare at her soft, orchid-like folds, remembering how Miles had parted them for me while Hillary was on her knees, ass in the air and exposed. The way Miles had stroked my ponytail, given it a playful tug, then cupped the back of my neck to coax my naïve lips to Hillary’s experienced ones.
If I really concentrate I can still taste her. I can still feel the warm wetness of her dribbling down my chin. Her silky softness sheathing my tongue. The hard bullet of her clit swelling as I lapped at it like I was tasting an unusual – delicious – flavour of ice cream for the very first time.
She’d whispered my name in encouragement. Isla, she’d sighed. Oh, Isla.
I look up with a yelp, torn abruptly from my reverie. Hillary is standing with her hands on her hips, eyes narrowed, and lips pursed in a poor attempt to conceal a smile.
“Did you say something?”
I want to sound confident, maybe even a bit bored, but my words come out on a puff of air. It’s impossible to speak properly when you’re less than two feet away from a cunt that is noticeably wet and aroused.
“Yes, I did. I asked you if you noticed the mark on my ass.”
I shake my head. I’d been too busy imagining myself sinking my tongue in and out of her to notice anything else. She turns around and I bark out a surprised laugh when I see a perfect red print of the hairbrush she’d been using right there on her cheek. She reaches around her back and caresses it with her fingertips.
I ask, “Does it sting?”
“It does. It would sting less if you’d kiss it better for me, though.”
I’m already getting to my knees. Bracing my hands on my thighs so I can lean over and press my lips against her flesh. It’s so hot! I can feel the burn of it on my lips. The paler skin to the left is much cooler. A bit further to the left it starts getting warmer again. Warmer still. Hot now, and wet.
Hillary stretches her arm back again and rests her hand on the back of my head. She’s moving against my face. I’m sucking the juices from her cunt the same way I suck the juices from a ripe peach. And my nose is pressing up against her asshole. I smile, shifting my face up and down, stroking her. I keep moving and the sound she makes when I touch the tip of my tongue to her pucker makes me pull away.
Is she disappointed? Is she mad at me for stopping? Will she tell Miles that I started something I was too chicken to finish? God, the last thing I ever want to do is disappoint Miles.
When she spins around and pushes me back onto the mattress I guess the answer to all of my questions is, no.
I wonder what she’ll do. To expel any doubt as to what I want her to do, I open my thighs so wide my hips ache. I let her see how wet licking her cunt has made mine.
My ankle is in her hand. My ass is hovering over the side of the bed. Hillary puts her foot on the mattress beside me and bends her leg, getting lower and lower until something shocking happens. I feel her cunt on mine. Feel her wetness sliding against me, sucking, squelching, rubbing so slowly I want to scream.
Should my back be arching and my toes pointing? Should my fingers be tearing at the mattress and her calf and my own hair as my clit thumps rhythmically against hers? She’s only been touching me for a few minutes, so should I be coming this soon?
Hillary seems to think it’s fine. She’s smiling down at me, though it looks like an effort. Her abs are solid. So are her thighs. Her hips move her back and forth, then in circles, then she rises and falls like she had when she’d shown me how to ride Miles’ cock last night.
A quick spray of fluid rains down on my still pulsing cunt and Hillary cries my name. Then she flops onto the bed beside me, gives my nipple a quick lick, and laughs.
The lights flicker, the bathroom door opens, and Miles walks out in a cloud of steam, the towel covering their breasts too short to hide the enormous pink dildo protruding from their black harness. Swaggering toward the bed they grin, staring first at Hillary then, lingeringly, at me.
I really should be getting ready for work. But I’m not going to.
Week # 138
Prompt by Hyacinth Jones