Bedroom Eyes 8

I lay on Stephanie’s back, cock slowly softening inside her. Even though I’d reach under her to hold her breasts, cupping, squeezing and pinching her nipples, not too hard. Even though fucking Stephanie was something I’d wanted to do, feeling that want in my cock, in my gut and, oddly, in the back of my neck, for eight years. 

I kissed her shoulder and then her neck, and she waggled her arse under me. That was welcome too, but I was spent. My cock wouldn’t be doing much for at least half an hour. I said, “Scuse me a sec. Sorry.” And I wthdrew from her while I was still hard enough to be sure the condom would stay with my cock.

I dropped the condom out of sight under the bed and rolled onto my side, so Stephanie and I lay facing each other, our heads each resting on one of Maires’s thighs. Maires reached down and stroked our hair, and we kissed. Stephanie put her hand on my soft, wet cock. “You’re all fucked out. I’ve drained you.” 

There was an odd mix of pride and disappointment in her expression. For no good reason except that I was enthusiastic about her arse, I smacked it, first lightly, then hard, a proper spank.

“Oh, I’ll probably be back in a bit. And in the meantime… tongues on men are like strap-ons on women. They never get exhausted.” 

“Jesus, Jaime,” Maires said. “That’s absolutely fucking Wildean.” 

So this time I smacked the outer side of Maire’s thigh, twice. That, for some reason, helped me work out what we should do next. “Come down the bed, Maires. Right down, so your feet can touch the floor. No, on your back.” 

Stephanie rolled onto her back, to give Maires room, and watch her. I said, “Good girl. Now stop there.”

“Yes, Sir.” Maires usually didn’t acknowledge orders she was already obeying. But she wanted to show off her status to Stephanie. And to suggest that it could be fun. She liked games, the fun kind, and she played them well.

I kissed her, and took a pillow. “I’m going to put this under your shoulders. Up a bit for a moment, girl.”

“Yes, Sir.” Maires smiled at Stephanie. Then she looked back at me and frowned: what in fuck was I up to?

I got the pillow into place. “Now drop your head back. You’re an accessory.”

She looked at me, still frowning, before obeying. “After the fact?”

“You, love, you’re a cunt-licking accessory.”

“Ah. Stephanie is lovely. You don’t mind me saying that, do you?”

Stephanie kissed her, which is answer enough. Maires said, to me, “A very, um, willing cunt-licker, sir.”

I said, “Willing. Not that it matters.”

I took Stephanie’s hand. She’d been watching us, fascinated. She’d blushed, just lightly, when I called Maires a cunt-licking accessory: that was rude. No one talks to a woman like that, she’d have said two hours ago, and yet it was hot.

We were animals now, fiery like Blake’s tiger, in the night. And the cunt in question, the one that needed to be licked, was hers. 

 

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