A room comes with a cost - Part 3 - Sexgeschichten

A room comes with a cost - Part 3

... my cheek wider, holding me open for the obscene view: Pussy stretched around his knuckles, lips puffy and glistening, the flood easing to shudders but not stopping, not with him buried deep, pumping slow now through the spasms, milking every flutter.

The third built on the wreckage... coiling slow but inevitable from the overstimulation, nerves frayed to wire, every shallow stroke a spark that licked higher.

"Mmmph... can't... pwease, Mike..."

The beg slurred broken, voice wrecked beyond words, but my hips rolled anyway... subtle, greedy... chasing the curl inside, the thumb's lazy circles soothing the raw throb of my clit. He slowed further... thrusts deliberate, fingers scissoring gentle now, thumb rubbing firm but unhurried, drawing the peak out like honey from a comb. The wave crested soft at first... then shattered full, a deep, rolling contraction that pulled a sob from my chest, walls clenching fluttering around his fingers, clit pulsing warm under the grind as the last gush ebbed slow, soaking his hand one final time. No flood this round... just deep, shuddering release that left me limp, boneless over his lap, body twitching in aftershocks, the gag sodden and heavy in my mouth.

Exhausted. Wrecked. Limp as a rag doll, every nerve humming spent, ass a throbbing bonfire, pussy a tender void aching around his withdrawing fingers. The wet schlick of their exit echoed faint... final, damning... as he pulled free slow, a last curl drawing one whimper from the ...

... gag. Slick trailed from his hand, strings catching the light, coating his knuckles to wrist in my shame. No words. Just his exhale... ragged, sated, that conflicted rumble fading to quiet. His palm settled on my back... patting once, paternal almost, before sliding up to my nape, massaging loose circles into the knotted muscles there. Aftercare. Twisted, gentle, his thumb easing the tension without erasing the brand. The boys watched silent... Steven's hand leaving my hair with a final stroke, Liam's eyes wide but still, no victory lap. Just the hush, broken by Mike's low grunt as he shifted under me, cock still straining but untouched, denim dark and sticky from my floods.

He wiped his hand then... casual, owning... palm dragging slow across my ass cheek, smearing the slick in a cooling trail over the mottled handprints, the residue glistening under the light like a mark. Up my back next... fingers trailing vertebrae, leaving a damp path from tailbone to shoulder blades, the chill kissing my skin as he shook off the last drops. No flourish. Just done, like wiping a spill after dinner. The gag slipped from my lips as I gasped for air... sodden wad tumbling to the floor, a crumpled flag of surrender... saliva and tears stringing from my chin, tasting bitter on my tongue. Limp. Exhausted. The room spun back into focus: Their heavy breaths, the puddle on the floor, Mike's hand lingering warm on my back.

"Boys," Mike said... voice gruff, edged with that frayed command... his ...