Chapter-97: getting facked everywhere…
"You… you may vacate the room at your leisure, madam…" he stammered, grabbing his ledger and practically fleeing. Mohini rose, a smirk playing on her lips. She had just turned to head back to the shower when the closet door opened.
Zeke and Luther emerged, their cameras in hand, their arousal blatant. "Got every glorious second," Zeke breathed, his eyes devouring her naked form. "The audio on that… Fack, Mohini…"
Luther added, adjusting the obvious tent in his pants. "Just collecting your equipment?" she teased, walking towards them, her hips swaying, her melons bouncing with each step. "You don't look like you're finished."
"We saw you in the shower earlier through the lens," Zeke said, his voice thick. "Through the steam… your melons against the glass… we couldn't focus."
"Then maybe you need a closer look." She took his hand and placed it on her melon, her cherry hardening instantly against his palm. "Mmmnpfh…" she moaned and the sound exaggerated and lusty, arching into his touch.
That was all the invitation they needed. Luther moved behind her, his hands grabbing her ample hips, his hard meat rod pressing into the cleft of her butt.
Zeke crashed his mouth to hers and kissing her fiercely as his hands kneaded her melons, his thumbs rubbing rough circles on her cherries. They guided her back onto the rumpled bed.
Zeke positioned himself between her legs, his mouth latching onto a cherry, sucking and nibbling while his fingers found her slick folds. "Schlllp… So damp for us already," he muttered against her skin.
"Always…" she gasped. "Ah! Always damp for talented men with cameras." Luther coated his fingers with her arousal and began to work her other hole, pressing one, then two fingers into her tight rear entrance.
The squish… squish… sound of their movements mingled with her loud, panting moans. "Ooooh… yessss…! Stretch me!" Zeke positioned himself and drove into her lower mouth in one long, deep thrust.
"Ungh…!" she cried out, her back bowing. The bed began to rock, the headboard tapping a rhythm against the wall. Thump… thump… thump… Slap… slap… slap… of skin on skin.
Zeke Facked Mohini with hard, purposeful strokes, his gaze locked on her face. Luther, his meat rod slicked with spit and her juices, pressed the broad head against her asshole. "Ready for me…?" "Yes! Fack my little pink hole! Fill me up!" she begged, pushing back against him.
With a grunt, he pushed forward. A sharp, stretching burn quickly melted into a deep, filling pleasure as he sheathed himself inside her. "Ghhhnn…" she grunted, the air forced from her lungs.
They found a rhythm, one thrusting into her lower mouth, the other into her ass, a perfect, overwhelming counterpoint that made her see stars. She was their sandwich, their plaything, and she reveled in every second, her moans reaching a fever pitch.
"Oh god… oh god…! Right there! Don't stop! Mmmnpfh…! Glllk…!" Zeke came first with a roar, his sticky white milk with seeds jetting into her depths with a hot Splurtch…. The sensation tipped Luther over the edge.
He buried himself to the hilt and emptied himself into her ass with a guttural groan, another damp, internal splurt filling her. They collapsed around her, spent. After a moment, they helped her up, all three stumbling into the shower to wash away the evidence.
Their hands, however, were everywhere, soaping her melons, sliding between her legs, eliciting smaller, breathier moans until the water ran cold. Dressed and with their equipment packed, they left with promises to edit the footage.
Mohini, now truly clean, slipped into a simple dress no underwear, the lingering feel of their sticky white milk with seeds, secret warmth within her and went to find Markus and Brutus. She found them in a lounge, both sporting prominent morning wood tenting their silk pajamas.
They didn't speak. They simply rose, took her hands, and led her to their family home. The moment the door closed, clothes were shed. "The house needs warming," Markus growled, his eyes glued to her chest.
"And we're still so… tense," Brutus added, shoving her to her knees. She serviced them both with her mouth, taking turns until their meat rods were slick and hard again.
Then it was her turn on the large living room couch, riding Brutus's thick meat rod while Markus took her from behind, his hands gripping her jiggling melons roughly. They used her for hours, in every room, until they were finally sated and left for their respective studies.
Mohini, naked and gleaming with a thin sheen of sweat, tied a frilly apron around her neck and waist her only clothing.
She cooked lunch, her melons swaying with every movement, the air teasing her cherries, the memory of the day's activities keeping a constant, low hum of arousal buzzing between her legs.
The weight of the day settled deep into Martin's bones as he pushed the heavy oak door shut, the click of the latch echoing in the quiet foyer. He leaned against the wood for a moment, eyes closed and the faint, sweet scent of jasmine from the garden greeting him.
Home… His home… his new wife... The memory of the wedding, just last night past, felt like a fever dream of silk, sweat, and whispered vows. Vows he knew, even as he'd spoken them, were a fragile veneer over a much darker, more primal understanding.
Well he did not do much but he saw everything clearly and he felt so good to have a wife like Mohini. He could hear the gentle clatter of dishes from the kitchen Mohini, already preparing the evening meal.
The sound was soon replaced by the soft pad of her bare feet on the stone floor. She appeared in the archway, a vision that, even in his exhaustion, sent a familiar jolt of heat through him.
Her saree (She is wearing traditional today), a deep emerald green, was draped gracefully over one shoulder, but it was what it contained that always stole his breath and her melons.
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