The Murdered World 27

Little Emma straddled him, pinning his upright cock against his belly, the blanket in the way but doing nothing to stop him from feeling how wet and warm and soft Emma was where she came against him. In the darkness, he saw her as a shadow layered on top of another shadow, gyrating over him, giving him a lapdance as if his hunger to get inside her wasn’t foreplay enough.

Frank tensed his ass and rocketed up to meet her, feeling her weight on his trapped manhood like a tender massage. Emma “mmm”ed and “ooooh”ed her way through her little trotting ride. Her small, firm breasts quivered in the air with her passionate motions in a way that reminded him of a hummingbird flapping its wings. He saw her stiff nipples catching the light, glinting with the sweat that rolled over their hardness.

Frank ran his hands up her flanks, creamy skin oiling his fingers with sweat, before taking her tits in hand. They were slightly too small for his big hands, so he tried pinching the nipples between thumb and forefinger, letting her pumping undulations pull at his grip and spice up what she was doing, to herself and to him.

With his hands occupied, he couldn’t have defended himself against Christina if he wanted to. She rolled almost on top of him, her ample breasts crushing against his chest, while her hands explored his muscular body, moaning her enjoyment of it. Frank felt obscenely masculine—man enough for both of them. All Emma needed was his cock; she hadn’t even gotten it in yet. Christina could have the rest of him.

He pulled one hand away from Emma’s breasts, plucking at the nipple for a length before letting it go, and then wired that arm around Christina’s body. Reaching down to that pumpkin-sized ass to grope a thick handful, pulling the woman in to a harder rut against him. One of them kissed him—hard to tell who with all the touching and the darkness and the wine sweeping into his head—but it was equally hard to care which, with a delicious tongue running between his lips, demanding to be sucked.

It was almost enough to mollify him when Emma was still denying him the sheath inside her, wasting his hardness and his precum on the sheets tangled around his legs like a straitjacket.

Christina’s kisses… were they her all along or a sister act?… became lips at his ear, whispering her high, light voice into him: “When two women want the same thing, that’s no reason to fight over it.”

Emma at his other ear: “When he can give it to both of them.”

With a playful howl, Emma dropped off him, onto his right side, the side Christina was on. Frank was no longer surrounded, but he was pinned down, as Christina quickly took Emma’s place mounting him. She was magnificent seen from below—the sight of her full chest looming over him could’ve almost managed to drive Frank’s aggression out of him, keep him happily lying there at her mercy for as long as she wanted him there.

“Aww,” Emma pouted insincerely to Christina, “I wanted to cuddle with you…”

All the rustling and moving around finally toppled the wine bottle over. Emma caught it before it could fully fall. She offered it to Christina, rubbing the tip across Christina’s plump lips before her sister could take it in hand.

“How about you give Frank something to drink and he gives me something to drink?” Emma cooed, eyeing Frank while she spoke to her sister, her green eyes burning as hot as he felt.

***

Christina was in the saddle, but she didn’t hold Frank’s cock down the way Emma had. It was safely behind where she was seated, almost between the two sweeping slabs of flesh that made her dresses protrude aft the same way her chest gave them a fore.

Emma stared at it, a red-hot chunk of steel that seemed determined to melt the snowy white fields of Christina’s fleshy ass. And in all that angry redness, a glint of silvery precum lurking at the very top of the tower.

Emma bent to it and lightly flicked her tongue out for a single, fleeting taste.

Frank groaned in incredulous gratification.

“Oh yeah, that’s worth a drink,” Emma told her sister, lightly headbutting Christina in the small of the back. “Ask him if he has any more on tap.”

Emma hoisted herself over Frank’s legs, happily holding down his knees the same way Christina was weighting down his midsection, and she leaned over his groin like a gold miner who’d discovered the motherlode.

Her left hand cradled his balls, nicely, feeling their bloated fullness shifting around through the hair and wrinkles of his scrotum. Emma smiled to herself. He had a big load in there, she knew. She could also get all of it out. Which maybe wasn’t something to take pride in, but hell, she could.

She wrapped her right hand around the base of his length, her knuckles brushing against Christina’s ass, fleet and velveteen despite its thickness. God, she has a great ass. But Emma put Christina out of her mind, even with her sister right there, naked, legs spread by the big manly body she was on top of.

Emma tried to pull at his attention. She skimmed her hand up and down him, lightly at first, just getting a feel of his straining masculinity and letting him yearn for more of her touch.

Frank grunted in appreciation as his hands worked over those more-than-generous breasts. It could’ve been for Emma. It could also have been for her big sister. Then Frank reared up, his torso meeting Christina’s in a collision of hot, searching mouths and swollen breasts.

His world was a confusion of legs and thighs, arms and hair, swirling around him, clamped around him—his own tanned flesh and the milky paleness of the two redheads—clutching hands and wet sheaths demanding to be filled.

Emma closed her hand tighter on his shaft—tighter—tighter—how firmly could she hold it before it was too much for him and he made her stop? Too much; she need her grip at least a little lose to move her fist up and down his length, pumping ecstasy into him that Christina couldn’t give, only her.

She tried it with only her thumb and forefinger, none of her other fingers, so she could see all of his thick manhood as the ring of her hand ran up and down, up and down. Emma went slowly, steadily, watching how his erection pounded and thundered, spilling out bubbles of precum that trickled down his pillar and slimed the inside of her hand. It irked her to have his precum on only her thumb and forefinger, not the rest of her fingers and her palm. She gripped his slippery shaft with all of her hand.

Emma kept stroking him. She was getting more and more eager to see him come, but she didn’t hurry—she enjoyed corralling his throbbing erection too much to rush to the end. The burning heft of a cock in her hand was pure lusciousness.

The glanshole flared wide and released a drop of precum that ended up being the size of a marble, running sluggishly down between her fingers.

Tongue between her teeth, she bent closer to his prick, her face full of fascination for the process she was a part of, only inches from her wild eyes…

Frank threw his head back, nearly howling. The thrill felt like it was too much to fit in his body. His pending orgasm banged on the walls of his self-control every time Emma worked her hand up and down, like boulders launched by a catapult. He tried to hold the walls up, to prolong the exquisite feeling of being sandwiched between these women, massaged by Emma’s hand and lost in Christina’s breasts—he could lose himself in those tits like nothing else.