A room comes with a cost - Part 3 - Sexgeschichten

A room comes with a cost - Part 3

... still bared and throbbing, my fingers clawing air as Liam yanked the panties just out of reach. The damp fabric swung like a pendulum, mocking me. My stretch pulled me forward, Mike's fingers shifting inside me... unintentional curl that scraped my walls, drawing a gasp that bordered on a moan.

"G-give... them" I stammered, heat flooding my face, tears stinging fresh.

Liam's laugh was pure mischief, eyes sparkling as he danced the panties higher, out of my grasp.

"Try harder, sis. You want 'em that bad? Earn it."

He dangled them closer... close enough I felt the wet cotton brush my fingertips... then whipped them away again, the motion sending a droplet flying, splattering my wrist. Steven chuckled, his hand still on my cheek, thumb tracing the curve like he owned the flush.

"Look at her... desperate already. Bet that pussy's clenching for a taste of her own mess."

The second grab was frantic, my body twisting across Mike's thigh, hips grinding down in the shift... his cock a hot brand against my side, twitching through denim. Fingers grazed the lace this time, snagging the edge, but Liam twisted his wrist, pulling free with a wet snap.

"Nope. Beg nicer."

Mike's hand stilled inside me... thumb pausing on my clit, the denial a fresh torture, my walls fluttering helpless around his thickness. The edge sharpened, cruel and insistent, every denied pulse a scream in my veins. Desperation cracked me open: Not just for the release, but the gag... the ...

... humiliation to match the heat.

Third try... I arched up, belly lifting off his lap, free hand bracing on Mikes lap for leverage, ass clenching as I strained. Tears blurred, snot threatening, but my fingers closed... hooked the waistband, yanking hard. Liam let go with a feigned yelp, the panties slapping into my palm, sodden and heavy.

"There ya go. Good girl."

Triumph? No... shame, thick and choking, as I stared at the evidence: My arousal, dark and damning, the fabric molded to my shame like a second skin.

Nobody spoke. The room held its breath... Mike's fingers buried still. Boys' eyes locked on my trembling hand.

The weight of the panties in my palm felt like lead... sodden, intimate, a rag of my own undoing. The damp cotton molded to my fingers, the scent rising sharp and personal, a cocktail of sweat and arousal that made my stomach lurch even as my core clenched around Mike's unmoving fingers. His touch inside me was a frozen anchor: Thick, insistent, the knuckles pressing against my walls without mercy or motion, his thumb a ghost on my clit... resting, not rubbing, holding the spark but starving the flame. The boys' silence pressed in, thick and expectant, Steven's thumb still tracing lazy circles on my cheek, Liam's grin frozen mid-triumph like he'd won the lottery on my shame.

I brought the fabric to my lips, trembling, the first press of wet cotton against my mouth a salty shock... bitter, musky, tasting of my own desperation. Tears welled fresh, ...