Chapter 5: Eleanor's tongue flicks Carol's oversensitive clit with precision, drawing out aftershocks of pleasure as her fingers slide back into Carol's swollen pussy, whispering 'Just because they're spent doesn't mean we're done.'
The champagne flute felt cold against Eleanor’s fingers as she watched Carol tremble, a glistening mess on the silk. Ben slumped onto the edge of the bed, breathing heavily, a sheen of sweat on his chest. David moved with deliberate calm towards the bar cart, retrieving the bottle.
"David, darling," Eleanor’s voice sliced through the humid air, sharp as crystal. "Pour generously. We’ve earned it." Her gaze, however, never left Carol. The girl’s shoulders shook, her head still bowed, strands of damp red hair clinging to her flushed neck. A slow trickle of Ben’s release traced a path down her inner thigh. Eleanor’s own arousal, a persistent thrum low in her belly, intensified. The sight was… potent. Raw. Vulnerable.
She set her own untouched glass aside. "Come here, Carol," she commanded, her tone softening only marginally. It wasn't a request. Carol flinched, then slowly, awkwardly, pushed herself up onto her knees. Her eyes were wide, dazed, pupils blown wide. Semen glistened faintly at the corner of her swollen lips. She looked utterly wrecked, yet Eleanor saw the flicker beneath the exhaustion – the ember of arousal not yet extinguished.
Eleanor grasped Carol’s upper arm, her grip firm but not bruising. "Shower," she stated simply, pulling her towards the en-suite bathroom. "You need cleaning up." Ben mumbled something incoherent, reaching for his discarded trousers. David handed him a glass of champagne, his expression unreadable but watchful.
The bathroom door clicked shut behind them, muffling the jazz and the men’s low voices. Instantly, the atmosphere shifted. Cool marble replaced plush carpet. Sleek chrome fixtures gleamed under recessed lighting. The air was fresher, laced with the faint, expensive scent of Eleanor’s perfume lingering from earlier. A king-sized bed occupied one corner, an unexpected luxury within the bathroom itself, its crisp white linens untouched.
Eleanor didn’t pause. She guided Carol, unresisting, towards the large glass-walled shower stall. With efficient movements, she twisted the chrome handles. Water hissed, then roared, cascading from the wide overhead rain showerhead. Steam began to billow, curling around them.
"Arms up," Eleanor instructed, her voice echoing slightly off the tiles. Carol obeyed mechanically, raising her arms as Eleanor peeled the damp, clinging silk robe from her shoulders. It pooled at her feet. Naked again, Carol shivered violently, despite the rapidly warming air. Goosebumps prickled her skin. Water droplets beaded on her freckled shoulders, her flushed breasts, the curve of her hips. The evidence of Ben and David’s possession was stark against her pale skin – faint red marks from Ben’s grip on her hips, the slick sheen between her thighs mixed with milky streaks.
Eleanor shed her own robe with swift grace, revealing her toned, confident body. She stepped under the torrent, pulling Carol with her. The hot water hit Carol like a physical blow, sluicing down her body, washing away sweat and the immediate physical traces of semen. She gasped, leaning her forehead against the cool tile wall, letting the water pound her back. The heat seeped into her aching muscles, a counterpoint to the deep, residual throb between her legs.
Eleanor moved behind her. Carol felt strong hands slide over her slick shoulders, down her spine. Eleanor’s touch was purposeful, cleansing. Fingers traced the marks Ben’s fingers had left. "He got carried away," Eleanor murmured, her lips close to Carol’s ear, audible over the water’s roar. "But you took it beautifully." Her hands slid lower, over the swell of Carol’s ass, then around her hips to her belly. Carol tensed instinctively.
"Relax," Eleanor commanded softly, her hands continuing their path downwards, through the wet curls between Carol’s thighs. Carol gasped again, a different kind of shock jolting through her. Eleanor’s fingers parted her folds easily; she was still slick, swollen, incredibly sensitive. The water streamed over Eleanor’s hand, washing away the visible traces of Ben’s seed, but Carol felt the intimate probing, the deliberate exploration.
"Still so wet," Eleanor breathed, her voice thick with something akin to admiration. "Even after all that." Her fingers circled Carol’s clit, a feather-light touch that sent sparks shooting up Carol’s spine. She whimpered, her knees buckling slightly, pressing her forehead harder against the cool tile. "Eleanor… please… I can’t…"
"You can," Eleanor countered, her voice low and certain. Her fingers dipped lower, sliding easily into Carol’s still-loosened entrance, gathering the mingled fluids – her own arousal, Ben’s release, the water. "You’re dripping." She withdrew her fingers, holding them up momentarily in the steam before Carol’s blurred vision. "See? Pure need."
Before Carol could protest further, Eleanor’s hands gripped her hips firmly, turning her around. Carol’s back pressed against the now-warm tile. Eleanor’s gaze, intense and unwavering, locked onto hers. Water streamed over Eleanor’s dark hair, plastering it to her skull, running in rivulets down her neck, over her breasts. Her expression was focused, predatory.
"Hold onto the rail," Eleanor instructed, nodding towards a chrome bar mounted on the wall beside Carol. Carol fumbled, her fingers slippery, finally grasping it. Eleanor didn’t wait. She sank to her knees on the textured shower floor, the water cascading over her shoulders and back.
Carol looked down, her breath catching. Eleanor’s face was level with her mound. Those experienced eyes studied her swollen sex with unnerving intensity. Then Eleanor leaned forward.
The first touch was electric. Not tentative, not exploratory. Eleanor’s tongue, hot and broad and knowing, licked a firm, deliberate stripe straight up Carol’s slit, from her opening to her clit. Carol cried out, her grip tightening on the rail, her head thumping back against the tile. The sensation was overwhelming – the heat of Eleanor’s mouth contrasting with the cooler water, the direct, confident pressure on her hypersensitive flesh.
Eleanor didn’t pause. She buried her face between Carol’s thighs, her tongue delving deep. Carol felt the flat, wet muscle probe her entrance, lapping insistently, gathering the remnants Ben had left behind. The taste – Carol’s own musk mixed with the distinct, salty tang of semen – seemed to spur Eleanor on. She moaned against Carol’s flesh, the vibration adding another layer of sensation.
"Oh fuck," Carol gasped, her legs trembling violently. "Eleanor… god…"
Eleanor pulled back slightly, her lips glistening. "Delicious," she murmured, her voice rough. "You taste like sin, darling. Like pure, filthy pleasure." Her eyes, dark and hungry, held Carol’s captive. "Now hold still."
Eleanor’s mouth descended again, but this time with focused precision. Her lips closed around Carol’s engorged clit, sucking firmly. At the same time, her tongue resumed its relentless exploration lower, flicking rapidly over Carol’s entrance, then pushing inside, shallowly but insistently. She alternated – sucking hard on the throbbing bud, then plunging her tongue into Carol’s core, lapping up every drop of mingled wetness.
The dual assault was devastating. Carol writhed, pinned against the tile by Eleanor’s hands gripping her hips and the relentless suction of her mouth. Pleasure, sharp and almost painful in its intensity, coiled tighter and tighter in her belly. She was exhausted, oversensitive, yet her body betrayed her, arching into Eleanor’s mouth, seeking more. The water pounded down, mingling with the slick sounds Eleanor’s mouth made against her flesh, a symphony of wet, intimate noise.
"Yesss…" Eleanor hissed against her, the vibration sending fresh tremors through Carol. "That’s it… give it to me… let me taste you come…"
Carol’s moans escalated into high-pitched whimpers. Her knuckles were white on the rail. The coil snapped. An orgasm ripped through her, different from the ones before – sharper, more localized, a blinding burst of sensation centered entirely on Eleanor’s mouth. She convulsed, her hips bucking against Eleanor’s restraining hands, a choked scream tearing from her throat as waves of electric pleasure radiated outwards.
Eleanor rode it out, her mouth sealed tight, sucking hard, her tongue working furiously as Carol shuddered and gasped above her. She didn’t stop until the last tremor subsided, until Carol sagged bonelessly against the wall, her legs barely holding her up, her breath coming in ragged sobs.
Slowly, Eleanor pulled back. She looked up at Carol, water streaming down her face, her lips slick and swollen. She ran her tongue slowly over them, savoring the taste. A satisfied, almost feral smile touched her lips.
"Perfect," she breathed, rising smoothly to her feet. She reached past Carol, turning off the water. The sudden silence was jarring, broken only by their harsh breathing and the drip of water from their bodies onto the floor. Steam curled thickly around them.
Eleanor grabbed a plush white towel, wrapping it around herself. She handed another to Carol, who took it numbly, her body still trembling with aftershocks. Eleanor watched her, that calculating gleam back in her eyes as Carol tried to dry herself on unsteady legs.
"You recover quickly, darling," Eleanor observed, her voice regaining its usual cool composure. She stepped out of the shower stall, leaving wet footprints on the marble. "Good. Because the night," she glanced meaningfully towards the closed bathroom door, beyond which the low murmur of male voices could just be heard, "is far from over." She picked up her discarded robe, slipping it on. "Dry off. Join us when you’re ready." She paused at the door, her hand on the knob. "Don’t keep them waiting too long." The door clicked open, then shut behind her, leaving Carol alone in the steamy silence, the towel clutched to her chest, the phantom sensation of Eleanor’s mouth still burning between her thighs. The city lights blurred through the fogged glass, distant and indifferent. The echo of Eleanor’s words hung in the humid air: The night is far from over.