Four writers for the price of one blog
There are two women on the same bed.
One is younger, possibly a teen but legal. They’re on their knees and both are cuffed by the wrists to the headboard, and they face the headboard. They’re naked from the waist down. By virtue of their position, their cunts are lifted provocatively. They don’t say anything but they act like they don’t want to be there. They both mutter and tug at the cuffs holding them, forcing them onto their elbows, forcing them to lifted their asses to the man who sits behind them.
Their backs bow and curve inward as they tug and struggle. They widen their knees. They yank against the cuffs. One touches the other’s knee. They glare at each other. One wears a pearl necklace, the other diamond earrings. From the waist up, they’re elegant. From the waist down, as the man has already reminded them, they’re sluts. He sits rubbing one cuff link while he sips from a martini. He watches them, one knee over the other.
Every now and then he hears one or the other chirp or whine. He’s stirred his martini, gotten up, made a drink at the bar more than once. Ice clinks in his glass. The next time he stands he puts down the Martini and takes off his suit jacket. He unbuttons his cuffs and rolls them back. He unzips and releases his engorged cock. It rises upward. There’s a little crook to the left, in its length, and the flare of the purple head is unusually pronounced. By this time both women—both females—are looking over their shoulder with a look that could be fear or uncertainty.
But they still don’t say anything. They don’t ask to be released. They don’t beg him not to do the obvious. Is it because of the other’s presence? Do they each refuse to reveal something to the other women? The man removes his tie. The women turn and now even more forcefully tug at the cuffs, fingers twisting for purchase—the teen especially. She makes the bed shake. The headboard bangs the wall behind it.
She yanks almost violently and then suddenly inhales, eyebrows knotting, and utters a long groan. She’s stopped moving. His hand appears in her hair. He yanks her head up and back. Her mouth grows wider, she issues a choked gargle, and her eyes turn upward before the first, already embedded, thrust follows. He’s not gentle.
The girl exclaims, short and sharp, with each thrust. The bed shakes. She presses the palms of her cuffed hands against the headboard. He pushes her head down, chin to the mattress. Her short grunts turn into a continuous punctuated whine as the hard fucking continues. There’s nothing she can do about it. She seems to stare at nothing. The pearl necklace has somehow swung into her mouth.
The other women watches.
There’s something like satisfaction in her gaze. But her cunt is lifted behind her, just like the younger female’s, and a moment later the man has moved behind her. She tries to play it straight, but can’t, as if there’s something about him she’s forgotten. The same expression of shock and accommodation makes her fall to her elbows and groan as the man’s cock sinks into her.
The first thrust is more punishing than the teen’s. She yells. He holds himself in her abdomen. She grips the sheet. She twists them in her fingers as he remains motionless, as if he doesn’t need to move to communicate. When his thrusting resumes, shaking the bed, her shouts keep time. He won’t let them hide anything. He pushes their tops over their breasts so each sees the other’s tits bounce and brush the sheets as she’s fucked from behind.
The linens are wet between the their knees. Their cunt dips. The clear fluid runs down their thighs as if expelled by the thrusts. The teen’s nipples are pierced. The older woman’s tits drip when cock, once again, fills her from behind. Both remain on their knees, chins on the mattress, cunts raised as they wait their turn. The sheets grow wetter under each of them, from their mouths, tits, and cunts as their bodies prepare for insemination. Before long, each groans as the other is fucked, as if they’d forgotten the bondage.
The man sweats.
His underarms are drenched with effort. He pauses. He stands. His cock and balls are beaded with the moisture of the women’s wombs. He returns to the bar and makes himself another martini. He returns to the bedside and gazes at the women as he lifts the glass for another drink. This time neither of them is tugging at the chains. They both look up at him, still on their knees and elbows, cunts raised. Their lips are moist and swollen. Their hair is matted at their temples and strands are loose. The undone elegance of their hairdos betrays the hard fucking below their waists. Their mascara runs.
The nipples of both women are distended and heavy. This time when he puts down his martini and the mattress falls with his weight, the younger women widens her knees in anticipation. Her high pitched cry concedes when a cock, once again, has sunk into her. His fucking is no less persistent. This time he doesn’t switch between the females. He fucks them separately until the thighs of each runs with their own orgasm. He starts his own orgasm inside the teen first. When he pulls out his white fluid rises, filling the slit of her cunt, then thickly flows over her clit and drips between her knees. The next spurt laces the ass and back of the older woman before he releases the rest inside her.
The man stands for a moment. He withdraws a key from his pocket. He frees their wrists and returns to his seat at the bottom of the bed. As if exhausted, both women remain on their elbows and knees at first. They look over their shoulders, eyelids heavy, as if waiting for their next instruction.
He’s chest is beaded with sweat.
His cock is glistening and still hard. He circles the base with his hand and opens his knees. Both women rise from the bed and crawl together between them. They don’t mind touching each other now. The both lick and clean his cock.
The same orgasm drips from both, dripping on the carpet behind them.
Copyright 2015 by William Crimson | November 25th 2015