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We tumbled through the villa’s door, our shopping bags careening off the entryway walls like drunkards in an alley. Closing the door, we set the bags around the room: Jillian’s next to her travel bag by the bathroom; Bee’s at the feet of the sofa’s end table; mine, indiscriminately, by the sitting room chair.
In silent, ingenuous unison, we began disrobing, peeling our sodden clothing from our bodies. Bee and Jillian, having catnapped in the car, revealed a refreshment in their movements; I—having driven across the desert in the afternoon after shopping, drained of the adrenalin deluge that gushed as I caressed Beatrix to three orgasms in the front seat as her friend slept behind us, in a car whose air conditioner battled valiantly against the climate outside—was bleary and depleted. I kicked off my sandals, each crashing into the bags by the chair. Jillian freed her hair, the long, glossy black torrent falling down her back, then carefully untied her wrap and slipped it from her shoulders. Her breasts yearned outward as she drew her shoulder blades toward each other and extended her arms back, letting the garment glide down her long, smooth arms; her nipples hardened in the room’s cooled air. In a move I’m certain designed to instigate, she bent at the waist, her legs long, straight and dignified, to remove her shoes. Her right foot crossed in front of her left, her hair draping around her face, she reached for her shoes, stolidly undoing them, gravity doggedly trying to pull her dainty breasts away from her chest. Past her, Bee turned to face me, her back to the patio door. She determinedly pulled her shirt skyward, her breasts catching within the bunching fabric. Outlined by the afternoon sun, I could still see her majestic breasts crash down on her chest once freed from her shirt, the shockwaves reverberating within them, her nipples tensing in response. (It was apparently unnoticed, or knowingly yet politely unmentioned, by Jillian that Bee had emerged from the car without the bra that she had worn to the car.)
I could feel my heartbeat quicken, but at that juncture even my cock was too tired to react. Brutishly I pulled my shirt over my head and forced my shorts and boxers down my legs. Bee and Jillian conversed breezily as they removed their pants. As Jillian charmingly folded her clothes, I grabbed mine from the floor in my right fist and, without a word, stumbled vacantly toward the master. I tossed my clothes in the corner of the room and poured myself into bed, the cool sheets embracing me. Though the desert heat had beaten me, afternoon slumber welcomed me like the parent of a wayward child.
Spindrifting giggles and an urge to pee woke me. I tossed and turned in vain, my full bladder baffling any chance of my getting back to sleep. Begrudgingly I kicked the sheet off of me and stumbled to the lavatory. As I expelled, I knew it was best that I got up; dinnertime had to be approaching. Relieved, my cock plunged down and to the left; still warm from sleep, my slackened sac hung low, the draped skin of my scrotum grazing and clinging lightly to my thighs as I stepped. I padded to the living room and plopped myself on the couch next to Bee. I slumped back, bringing my left forearm to rest on my forehead, my right hand settling on Bee’s smooth, full thigh, my cock arching over, the crown breaths away from my left leg. Bee tussled my hair. I glanced at her and was greeted with a warm smile and her captivating brown eyes; her right arm, crossed along her abdomen, tenderly cradled her breasts. I closed my eyes and smiled lightly in reply.
Jillian sat in the chair across from us. Her voice appetent, she said, “So, ya ready to show me?”
My eyes snapped open. She was leaning forward, her hands cupped together and set upon her right knee, her nutmeg nipples pointing at her thighs. Her eyes gleamed.
I rocked my head on the sofa cushion. “Oh, ga, Jillian—I just woke up!” I squawked, adding, without thinking, “Besides, do I look ready?” I motioned toward my groggy sex.
“Well, hurry up!” She commanded cheekily. Bee giggled.
“Well, how about a little help?” I replied cannily.
“Ohhh, no,” she protested. “You’re doing this on your own. Remember, you’re supposed to show me how you used to do it.”
“Oh, I know. I’m not reneging, and I’m not asking you to do anything with me. I’m just saying, how about a little help to get me hard?” My cock acknowledged the words leaving my lips; I could feel it begin to heat, to swell, to stiffen. Bee also acknowledged my words and flicked my leg with her finger.
“Ow!” My leg jolted as I glared at Beatrix; she looked back knowingly. Jillian deferred with a sly smile, “See? That’s Bee’s department.”
“Yeah, yeah. I get it. But…” I paused; Bee and Jillian listened intently. “I just think that if you’re the one who wants to see me masturbate, it’d be nice if you could be the one who gets me to where I want to masturbate.” My cock swelled as the word “masturbate” floated toward Jillian, but the rising intensity güvenilir canlı bahis siteleri of my negotiations with her also siphoned blood from my sex. Sitting up, I leaned in and looked at her intently. She recoiled, “I dunno…” Bee’s fingertips began trailing up and down my right thigh.
“Look, I’ll make it easy.” She looked up at me. I could feel Bee’s eyes on me as well. “Since I told you about my early technique, why don’t you tell us yours?”
“No.” She shook her head adamantly.
“Because…? You masturbate, right?”
“Yes.” She glared at me like I was being thick.
“OK, I figured; just wanted to make sure,” I said, defusing. “Then,” I followed, attempting to strike a blend of insistence yet understanding, “what’s the issue?”
“I have my own way of doing it.”
“As did I. So?”
“So,” Jillian returned, bearing a piercing vulnerability, “I don’t want you guys to think I’m a freak.”
With hands waving in front of us, and our heads shaking, Bee and I quickly replied in concert, “Oh no no no, never!”
“Aw, baby, you know how much I love you!” Bee intoned soothingly. Jillian returned a warm smile.
“And with all that we’ve shared, all rather quickly, in the past 24 hours or so,” I gestured to our common state of nudity, and tacitly implied that she caught Bee and me fucking last night as she slept in our bed with us, “there will be no judgment, no being freaked out, just sharing stories.”
“Mmmm,” she hummed hesitantly. “Promise you won’t think I’m a freak?”
“Promise,” Bee and I both pledged.
“All right. But I need some wine first.”
I slapped my hands on my legs and stood. “Coming right up!” I strode into the kitchenette to fetch a bottle and some goblets. I could feel my cock swelling again; a tear of pre-cum splashed on left thigh. I returned, placed the stemware on the table and corked the bottle. Glancing down, my cock was pitched down but had thickened appreciably, the vein on the left side near the base bulging, the head broadening, turning a dusky purple. All three glasses filled, I distributed them, and taking my seat again next to Bee, raised mine and pronounced, “Cheers!”
The ladies contributed their “Cheers,” raised their glasses and we each took a sip.
With a deep breath exhaled with an “Haaaaaa…,” Jillian sat up and undid her hair which she had retied while I slumbered, shaking the tangle out to her natural, raven wave. Inhaling deeply again, she said with a breathy heaviness tinged with reluctant embarrassment, “So…” Then, drawing in an empowering breath, Jillian looked Bee and me in the eye and declared, “I’m a humper.” Halting to confirm that the sky had not fallen, she imbibed and continued: “I have this long pillow that I always snuggle up with. I wrap my legs around it and sort of…wiggle a bit.” She shimmied her hips quickly in her chair. Her petite breasts danced on her chest. Seeing them quiver made my heart accelerate, forcing blood into my cock. It warmed, and I could feel it slither over my scrotum, the head creeping along my left thigh. Preparing her next statement with a sip of wine, she said, “At first, it was just a warm and pleasant feeling—soothing, almost—when I rubbed against it.” Exuberance crept into her voice. My cock bilged. Sitting up with my left leg bend, my foot resting on my knee, my cock was now parallel with the cushion beneath, hovering in the air, faintly pulsing. I took a mouthful of wine.
Bee set her hand on my hip, her index and middle fingers meandering through the edge of my pubic hair, sending flashes of electricity through my groin.
“But one night, I rubbed a little harder, a little faster…” Jillian was now playing with her delivery, growing more comfortable in her recollections, and seeing the effect she was having on me, as my gaze locked on her, my eyes unblinking, my cock peering over my ankle at her.
“I don’t think I was even aware of how aroused I was, or had become, but suddenly this feeling just washed over me.” Dramatizing, Jillian cupped her hands in her laps then consonantly lifted them. Bee and I chuckled. Her fair breasts again danced gracefully on her chest when hands retuned to her lap with a plunk. I blinked.
“I just remember lying in bed, trying to catch my breath, staring at the ceiling, thinking, ‘Wow! I need to do that again!'” She said excitedly. More laughter. “So I did,” she said punctuatingly, with a sly grin over the rim of her wine glass, a look that conveyed a sultry brazenness.
“So that was it for you?” I asked, a carnal keenness coloring my voice.
“Yes,” she replied in a measured tone. Comfortable, she revealed forthrightly, “I tried to get the same feeling elsewhere, especially in the shower or the furo—” Bee and I stared at her blankly. “Oh, sorry. The bath.” We nodded comprehendingly.
Jillian resumed, “I experimented with wash cloths, just my fingers, the water running out the faucet, but the best for me was with my güvenilir illegal bahis siteleri pillow, just before I went to sleep.”
There was a hush as Jillian surveyed Bee and me. “Wow,” was all I could muster. “And so you’ve stuck with that technique ever since?”
Jillian shook her head, her eyes widening with an understanding affirmation. “Mm hmm, pretty much! That’s what’s always felt best for me,” she strode on, excitedly shifting on her hips to the left and right as she sat. “As I got on, I tried some different things to grind on: cushions, the arm of the sofa, stuff like that.”
“And how were those?” Bee asked, her tone more clinical than prurient, as though she wanted to learn a new method.
With near exuberance, Jillian replied in a singsong tone, throwing her head back, “Ha, the orgasms were FABulous!” We all laughed.
Still chuckling, I queried, “So, what was so bad in admitting that?” bringing my wineglass to my lips, hoping to dispel any residual unease.
“I dunno…” Jillian’s voice trailed off as she turned to the window. “I just don’t think many women do it that way.”
“I do,” Bee chimed in.
“You do?” Jillian asked with assuaged excitement.
Turning to her, perplex, I echoed, “You do?”
“Mm hmm!” Bee replied with a wide-eyed nod similar to Jillian’s. “And I’m a front sleeper,” she declared robustly, punctuating the statement by slapping her thighs with her hands. Her breasts careened into each other, shimmying in response. My gaze was captivated. “I like sleeping on my front.”
“That is true,” I interjected.
“And I used to fall asleep with my right arm buried under me. So kind of like you, I discovered that it felt really nice pressing my mound against my hand. At first it was just—like you said—comfortable; it wasn’t like I came or anything. But later on, I was doing that, and I kinda curled my fingers around, so I was sort of cupping myself in my hand, and this wild, amazing feeling blew through me.”
“So’d you keep up with it?” Jillian asked.
“Ohhh, yes, but as I could do it with my hand, I could get those feelings sort of sneakily elsewhere—lounging on the couch, sitting on the bus or at my desk. But the best was still in bed at night.”
“So what is it about humping that you like?” I asked openly, my voice hued with lasciviousness.
“It’s the pressure,” Jillian answered unhesitatingly. Setting her wine on the table, she straightened her back and planted her palms flatly on the seat cushion on either side of her thighs. Her hips rocked almost imperceptibly.
“Yep,” Bee concurred.
“I like the feeling of pushing and pressing and grinding,” Jillian added. “It tightens me up like a spring inside. Then when I finally get there, I feel warm all over, and my whole pelvis pulsates, with my area feeling like it pushing down and out against whatever it is I’m rubbing on.” I smiled lightly at her choice of the word “area.” “I can feel it vibrating in my thighs.”
“That’s fantastic,” I said. My body was electrified.
Jillian leaned in, her palms still by her thighs, her nipples pebble hard. “So…you ready?” She thrust her jaw out and shot a look at my cock.
I looked down. “Uh…” My erection, pointing toward the ceiling, bobbed with each thunderous beat of my heart. A strand of pre-cum connected the head of my cock to my left thigh; it seemed to swell thicker the longer I looked at it. “Yeah…I think so.” More pre-cum emerged; we watched as it percolated out, slid over the head and plunged down the strand to my thigh. I shifted in my seat; the heavy scent of my sexuality, spiced with the remnant parfum of Bee’s cunt, wafted. Nearly every muscle in my body twitched; I was convinced I was visibly shaking. Now Bee and Jillian were transfixed.
“OK,” I broke the silence. “I used to do this on the floor, but I think I’ll use the ottoman,” I said, gesturing to the oversized rectangular footrest in front the other living room chair, almost thinking aloud. “I should also get a towel,” I added. I stood and walked uneasily to the bathroom; I felt chilled. My cock pointed straight out at Jillian, steely and a frustrated crimson. Her eyes widened; I could hear her breathe a little deeper. As I exited, Jillian whispered, “Oh my gosh, Bee!” I smiled. That eased me.
I grabbed a bath towel purposefully from the mounted rack above the toilet. I turned to leave, but hesitated. Turning back I grabbed two more.
Returning the living room, I announced, “OK, I’m going to do this. But you two,” tossing a towel each to Jillian and Bee, “are going to join me.”
“Ohhh, no. That wasn’t part of the deal,” Jillian disputed.
“Well, it is now,” I answered in mocked defiance. “If you get to see me come, I don’t see why I can’t get to see you come. That seems fair. Doesn’t it?”
“Uh…no!” Jillian chided.
“Why not?” I bandied. “Look, same rules’ll apply: I’ll show you how I used to make myself come, and you can show me.”
“Mm mm,” she hummed güvenilir bahis şirketleri in protest.
I raised my hands and shook my head with quizzical disbelief.
“I’ve never masturbated in front of anyone before!”
“So? You think I have?” I retorted. (Of course I had, just yesterday, with Bee on the patio, but as I didn’t come, I was prepared to argue that that didn’t count.)
“Enough!” Bee said authoritatively, quashing the brewing argument. “Andiamo!” She circled her raised right hand in the air like a rallying signal, then stood and unfolded her towel. Her breasts quaked as she shook the towel out. The look of her—her deep brown eyes, her heavy breasts pouring off her chest, her full hips and thighs, the toned contours of her calves—made my cock swell; thinking that she was just moments away from, hopefully, grinding herself to an orgasm as she bent to arrange the towel on the sofa, her glorious ass jutting out, her raw sugar tits capped with paprika nipples plunging down, made my cock pound.
I unfolded and spread my towel across the ottoman. Jillian rose with a huff. “All right,” she said with perturbed disinclination, and stomped over by me. I looked at Bee who flashed me a coy smile as she sat on the edge of the couch. Jillian undid only a couple of folds of the towel, extending it along the arm of the sofa, but maintaining a few layers. I looked at her curiously.
“I can’t see you from over there,” she remarked.
I looked at Bee again, who winked with a Cheshire grin as she reposed on the sofa along her right side, her head resting in her hand, her eyes radiantly mysterious. Her left hand lighted on her hip as she tugged absentmindedly on cinnamon strands of her pubic hair. I smiled deviously back at her. Bee looked ambrosial.
I knelt on the ottoman and sat on my heels, spreading my knees in a wide V. Straightening my back, my cock pierced forth from the junction of my groin and lingered above the towel, pulsing and bucking faintly; my scrotum skimmed the terry.
Jillian stationed her hands, one behind the other, at the sofa arm’s edge as she slung her left leg over like mounting a saddle. Fleetingly, I could see the outline of her delicate yet distended inner lips protruding beyond her outers before she settled herself on the armrest. She put her hands on the tops of her thighs near her hips and shimmied her pelvis slightly, seeking the perfect angle. The flex and strain of her thigh muscles, the undulation of her compressed mons beneath her midnight pubic hair and the gentle roll of her abdomen mesmerized me. I stared at her belly. The color of heavy cream, her skin was exiguously speckled with birthmarks—two to the right of her navel, one to the left near the bottom of her ribs—like a photo negative of a twilight sky when only the brightest stars emerge. Her breasts and thatch were in my periphery. Returning her hands to the CPR stance before her, her arms obscuring her nipples, her navel and her pussy, she leaned forward, breaking the spell she held me in.
“Phew! OK,” Jillian said, breath taken. “Come on.” She gestured toward me, her face flushed.
Bee rolled onto her front, but not before lifting herself on her hands to bring her eminent breasts comfortably between her and the cushion. She settled down and rocked to the left as she slinked her right hand under her to her mound. Reaching its destination, Bee immediately began pushing her pelvis against her hand. Her eyes closed, her lips parted, her face ruddied. I was now engrossed by Bee as her ass and legs flexed, her face contorting in her desperate climb. A staccato “Ah!” escaped her. She bent her left arm, her left hand crawling beneath her breast.
Forgetting Jillian’s presence, I asked, “You pinching your nipple, baby?”
“Mm hmm,” she replied from her throat as she licked her lips.
“Pinch it hard for me.”
She drew in a sharp “Hu!” as she followed my command.
“You two really are fucking hot,” Jillian contributed. “Ah!” She cried.
I broke my gaze from Bee and looked at Jillian. Her knuckles were white as she dug her fingers into the sofa. Her hips rocked in a steady, even rhythm. She watched Bee from above, afforded, undoubtedly, a spectacular view of her back, ass and legs as her body surged and ebbed in its journey to an orgasm.
I sat and absorbed the moment, enjoying the electricity that filled my body and ricocheted through the room. My cock felt distended, thick, heavy.
Jillian turned back to me. Her eyes glassy, she admonished me breathily, “Hey, you haven’t started.”
I held my gaze with her then looked down at my cock, furious in its shades of reds and purples. “You’re right,” I admitted. Recalling my earliest technique, I extended my feet, the edges where my toes join my feet sank into the ottoman. I sat on my heels and placed the pad of my left thumb on the top of my erection near the base. My thumb at a right angle, I pressed my palm into the padding of my mound, my index finger nuzzling my tightened scrotum. I pressed down with my thumb and back with my palm. My shaft elongated; the skin stretched, more veins emerged. I pushed my fingers into the flesh behind my sac. I flexed my muscles, making my cock throb and the glans bloat. Pre-cum poured from the tip, leaving glistening droplets on the towel below.
Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
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