Chapter 6: Grinding Past the Edge
The rain hasn't stopped.
It drums against the window in sheets, a relentless rhythm that fills the room like a second heartbeat. The glass is streaked and blurred, the world outside reduced to smears of streetlight and shadow. Every few seconds, lightning flickers somewhere distant—not close enough to hear the thunder, just enough to cast the room in brief, stark relief.
I'm still gasping. Still twitching. My cock is half-limp against my thigh, slick with spit and cum and everything else we've done tonight. The sheets beneath me are soaked through—sweat and saliva and arousal pooled in the creases, cold now against my overheated skin.
Sonalika's face is a mess. My cum dries in tacky white streaks across her forehead, her nose, her chin. It's matted in her curls, catching the lamplight like some obscene crown. She doesn't wipe it away. Doesn't even seem to notice.
Arusha looks worse.
Or better.
Depends on your perspective.
My cum is splattered across her cheek, dripping from her eyelashes, smeared across her lips from where Sonalika licked her clean. There's a thick glob caught in her hair, matting the brown waves against her temple, and another streak painted across her forehead like a blessing. She's still panting, her full tits rising and falling with each breath, nipples hard enough to cut glass.
They're both staring at me.
Sonalika moves first.
She swings one leg over my hips—slow, deliberate, that predator's grace she gets when she's hunting—and settles herself right on top of my softening shaft. No penetration. Just the wet drag of her cunt along the underside of my cock, that slick heat smearing up and down my length.
My whole body jerks.
"You're not done," she says.
It's not a question.
Her hips roll. Slow. Deliberate. Her clit catches on the ridge of my head, and I hiss through my teeth—oversensitive to the point of pain, every nerve ending screaming. My hands fly to her thighs, gripping hard, trying to push her off.
She doesn't move.
Her knees pin my hips to the mattress. Those pale thighs—soft and strong and completely unyielding—clamp down on either side of me. She's not heavy. She doesn't need to be. She just needs to be exactly where she is, and I'm trapped.
"Too much," I gasp. "Sonalika, it's too—"
"Shut up."
She grinds down harder. Her cunt is soaked—I can feel it, that hot slickness coating my shaft, dripping down onto my balls. She's been wet this whole time. Watching Arusha and me. Touching herself while I wasn't looking.
"Look at you," she murmurs. "Still twitching. Still wanting."
"I'm not—"
"You are."
She reaches down between us. Her fingers wrap around my cock—still soft, still spent—and squeezes. Not hard. Just enough to remind me who's in control.
"I felt you," she says. "When you came on our faces. I felt your cock jump. You liked it. You liked being used."
I don't answer. Can't answer. Because she's right.
She always knows when she's right.
Her hips roll again. Slower this time. More deliberate. She drags her cunt up my length, from base to tip, letting her lips catch on every ridge and vein. My cock twitches in her hand. A tiny movement. Involuntary. But she feels it.
"There," she breathes. "There he is."
I'm getting hard again. I don't know how. I don't know where my body is finding the blood, the energy, the sheer fucking will to respond. But I am. Slowly, painfully, my cock is thickening in her grip. Filling. Rising.
Sonalika smiles.
Then Arusha moves.
I don't see her. Not at first. My eyes are fixed on Sonalika—on the way her tits bounce with every roll of her hips, on the cum drying on her face, on that mean little smile that makes me want to fuck her and strangle her in equal measure.
But then I feel hands on my shoulders. Short fingers. Warm palms. And I'm being pulled backward, my spine bending, my head tilting until it rests against something soft and warm and—
She's behind me. When did she move behind me? How did I not notice? Her thick thighs slide over my shoulders—warm and smooth and so fucking soft—and clamp around my neck. Not hard. Not choking. Just... there. A collar of flesh and heat.
Her short fingers slide into my hair. Nails scratch my scalp—those practical, unpolished nails, dragging lightly across my skin—and I shiver. My whole body shivers.
"Look at her," Arusha whispers against my ear.
Her voice is low. Rough. Completely different from the brazen, biting tone she uses in daylight. This is something else. Something private. Something she's been hiding.
"Look at her using you."
I look. I can't not look. Sonalika is still grinding on my cock, still riding that razor edge between pleasure and pain. Her head is thrown back, her curls bouncing, her lips parted. She's beautiful. She's terrible. She's everything I've ever wanted and everything I've ever been afraid of.
"Look how wet she is."
I can see it. The slick shine coating her inner thighs. The way her cunt leaves a trail of arousal every time she slides up my shaft. The way her juices drip down onto my stomach, pooling in the hollow of my hip.
"You're going to get hard again," Arusha murmurs. "And you're going to like it."
Her other hand cups my jaw. Tilts my face up. I'm looking at Sonalika from below now—an angle I've never seen before. The curve of her throat. The underside of her chin. The way her tits hang heavy and full, nipples hard and dark.
"Good boy," Arusha breathes.
The words hit me like a fist to the chest.
Not because they're unexpected. Not because they're strange. But because of the way she says them—soft and warm and genuine. No mockery. No teasing. Just praise. Pure and simple and devastating.
My cock jumps in Sonalika's grip.
She feels it. Of course she feels it. Her smile widens, turns sharp, and she grinds down harder.
"There it is," she says. "I knew you had it in you."
Arusha's nails scrape across my scalp. Her thighs tighten around my neck—just a little. Just enough to remind me they're there. "She's going to ride you now," she whispers. "She's going to fuck herself on your cock until she comes. And you're going to take it. You're going to let her use you."
I swallow. My throat moves against Arusha's thigh. She hums in approval.
"Because you're good at that, aren't you? Being used."
I don't answer. Can't. My cock is fully hard now—aching, dripping, ready—and Sonalika is positioning herself above me, one hand wrapped around my shaft, guiding me toward her entrance.
"Ready?" she asks.
It's not a question either.
She sinks down.
I feel everything. Every inch. Every ridge and fold and clench of her cunt as it swallows me whole. She's tight—tighter than she was before, like she's been clenching this whole time, waiting for exactly this moment. And wet. So fucking wet that I slide in without resistance, bottoming out in one smooth motion.
Sonalika moans.
It's a gooey, cutesy sound—that soft, open version of her that she only shows when she's truly gone. Her head falls forward. Her curls brush against my chest. And then she starts to move.
Slow at first. Deliberate. Riding me with that same predator's grace, her hips rolling in smooth circles that make my vision blur. Her cunt grips me with every stroke—milking me, pulling me deeper, refusing to let go.
Behind me, Arusha watches.
I can feel her eyes on us. Can feel the way her thighs tense around my neck every time Sonalika moves. Can feel her fingers still tangled in my hair, nails scratching lightly, keeping me grounded.
"Look at her," Arusha murmurs. "Look at how good she looks on your cock."
I look. I can't stop looking. Sonalika's tits are bouncing with every thrust—heavy and pale and perfect. Her stomach is clenched, muscles working as she rides me. And her face—that beautiful, terrible face—is twisted with pleasure. Eyes closed. Mouth open.
That deep birthmark on her chin catching the light.
I watch it disappear and reappear as she rides me—that dark smudge beneath her lower lip, a shadow that moves with every roll of her hips. It's mesmerizing. Hypnotic. The kind of detail you'd never notice across a dinner table, but here, with her cunt gripping my cock and her tits bouncing inches from my face, it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
Behind me, Arusha's thighs tighten.
Her short fingers twist in my hair—not gentle anymore, not teasing. She's pulling now, nails raking across my scalp hard enough to sting. Her other hand is still on my jaw, holding my face up, forcing me to watch.
"That's it," she breathes against my ear. "Keep looking at her. Don't you dare look away."
Sonalika's rhythm stutters. Her hips jerk—a sharp, involuntary thrust that drives me deeper than I thought possible. Her cunt clenches around me, that tight grip turning brutal, and I feel it—the flutter, the pulse, the unmistakable sign that she's close.
"Fuck," she gasps. "Fuck, I'm—"
She doesn't finish.
Her orgasm hits like a wave—sudden and violent and completely overwhelming. She screams. Not the gooey, cutesy moan from before. A real scream, raw and desperate, that tears through the room and drowns out the rain. Her whole body convulses. Her thighs clamp down on my hips hard enough to bruise. And her cunt—holy fuck, her cunt—milks me with rhythmic contractions that make my vision white out.
She's quivering. Shaking. Falling apart on top of me.
And I want to come with her.
I want it so badly I can taste it—that hot, tight coil in my balls, that pressure building at the base of my spine. But I just came. Minutes ago. The biggest orgasm of my life, painted across both their faces. There's nothing left. My body won't cooperate.
It's agony.
Sonalika collapses forward, her chest pressing against mine, her face buried in my neck. Her breath comes in ragged gasps. Her cunt is still twitching around me—little aftershocks that make my oversensitive cock jerk and throb.
"Good girl," Arusha murmurs. "Such a good girl, Sonalika."
Then she starts grinding.
Against the back of my head.
Her hips move in slow, deliberate circles, and her cunt—her wet, dripping cunt—drags across the base of my skull. I feel every inch of her. The slick heat of her lips. The hard bud of her clit sliding through my hair. The way her thighs flex around my neck with every rotation.
She's using my head to get off.
And I can't do anything but take it.
"Hardik," she moans. Her nails dig into my scalp. Her breath is hot against my ear. "Hardik, don't stop—don't you fucking stop—"
I'm not doing anything. I'm just lying here, pinned between them, my cock buried in Sonalika's cunt while Arusha fucks herself on my skull. I'm not moving. I'm not participating. I'm just a body—a warm, hard surface for them to use however they want.
And that's exactly what they're doing.
Arusha's grinding gets faster. Sloppier. I can feel her juices dripping down my neck, pooling in the hollow of my collarbone. Her thighs are shaking now—those thick, gorgeous thighs that have been clamped around my head this whole time. She's close. So close.
"Look at her," she gasps. "Look at what you did to her."
I look. Sonalika is still draped over me—boneless, wrecked, my cum and hers mixing in a slick mess between our stomachs. Her face is turned to the side, cheeks flushed, eyes closed. The cum I painted on her earlier has dried to a dull crust. She looks like a painting. A masterpiece of filth and satisfaction.
"You made her come," Arusha whispers. "You made her come so hard she can't even move."
Her hips jerk. Once. Twice. And then—
She comes.
I feel it. The gush of heat against my neck. The violent clench of her thighs. The way her whole body shudders and goes rigid, then limp, all in the space of a heartbeat. Her nails rake down my scalp—four sharp lines of fire that make me hiss through my teeth.
Her legs squeeze so tight I can barely breathe.
Then they loosen.
For a moment, nobody moves.
The rain keeps falling. The window keeps rattling. Somewhere in the apartment, a clock ticks—steady and indifferent to the three bodies tangled on this ruined bed.
Then Sonalika lifts her head.
Her eyes are glassy. Her lips are swollen. There's still dried cum flaking off her chin, and she doesn't bother wiping it away.
"I want more," she says.
Arusha laughs. It's a breathless, broken sound. "Greedy bitch."
"You knew that when you crawled into my bed."
"I didn't crawl. I was already here."
"Details."
Sonalika pushes herself up—slow, unsteady—and my cock slips out of her with a wet, obscene sound. She doesn't seem to notice. Doesn't seem to care. She's already moving, repositioning, her eyes fixed on Arusha with that predator's focus.
"Get on your back," she says.
Arusha's thighs tighten around my neck one last time before she releases me. I slump forward, gasping, my spine aching from being bent backward for so long. But I don't have time to recover. Sonalika is already grabbing my shoulders, pulling me up, arranging me like a doll.
"You," she says, pointing at Arusha. "On your back. On top of me."
Arusha raises an eyebrow. "You want to be on the bottom?"
"I want to be under you while he fucks you."
The words hang in the air. Thick. Heavy. I look at Arusha, waiting for her to argue, to bite back, to do anything except what Sonalika just suggested.
She doesn't.
She just smiles—that slow, hungry smile—and crawls into position.
Arusha crawls into position with a deliberation that makes my mouth go dry.
She doesn't rush. Doesn't scramble. She moves like she's got all the time in the world, like the three of us aren't tangled in a mess of sweat and cum and desperation. Her knees sink into the mattress on either side of Sonalika's head. Her thick thighs—those gorgeous, heavy thighs—spread wide, and her cunt hovers inches above Sonalika's waiting mouth.
The view is obscene.
Arusha's pussy is completely exposed—swollen lips, glistening folds, clit still hard and red from her earlier orgasm. Arousal drips from her in thick strings, catching the lamplight, stretching and snapping as gravity pulls them down. One lands on Sonalika's chin, right on that deep birthmark. She doesn't flinch. Just smiles.
"There," Sonalika murmurs. "Right fucking there."
She reaches up. Her pale fingers—those clear pointed nails—dig into the meat of Arusha's ass. She pulls her down, forcing Arusha's cunt against her mouth. The sound that follows is wet and loud and completely shameless.
Arusha gasps.
Her back arches. Her hands fly out, grabbing the headboard for balance, and I watch her knuckles go white as Sonalika's tongue goes to work. She's not gentle. She's not teasing. She's eating Arusha out like she's been starving for it, tongue thrusting deep, lips sealing around those swollen folds.
And I'm just standing here. Kneeling. Watching.
My cock is hard again—achingly, painfully hard—and it's Sonalika who notices first. She pulls her mouth away from Arusha's cunt just long enough to turn her head, those brown-gold eyes finding mine.
"Don't just stand there," she says. "Fuck her."
Arusha moans. Actually moans at the words. Her hips roll forward, pressing her cunt back against Sonalika's face, and I see the way her thighs tremble—that slight shake that means she's already close.
"You heard her," Arusha manages. "Fuck me."
I move.
The position is awkward at first—my knees sinking into the mattress behind Arusha, my hands finding her hips, my cock pressing against the cleft of her ass. She's still dripping from before, still slick from Sonalika's mouth, and when I drag the head of my cock through her folds, she shudders.
"Please," she whispers.
I push inside.
She's tight. Tighter than Sonalika. Tighter than anyone I've been with in years. Her cunt grips me like a fist, clenching around my shaft, and I have to stop halfway just to breathe. Just to keep from coming right there like a fucking teenager.
"More," Arusha gasps. "Give me more."
I give her more.
Slow. Steady. I work myself deeper inch by inch, feeling her stretch around me, feeling every ridge and fold and clench of her walls. She's so wet that I slide in easily despite the tightness—her arousal coating my cock, dripping down onto my balls, mixing with Sonalika's spit.
Below us, Sonalika doesn't stop.
Her tongue finds Arusha's clit, flicking at it with rapid, precise strokes. Her hands are still gripping Arusha's ass, kneading the flesh, spreading her cheeks wide. And every time I thrust forward, pushing Arusha's cunt down toward Sonalika's face, she laps at the point where our bodies meet.
Licking where my cock enters.
I feel it. The wet drag of her tongue against my shaft, the heat of her mouth on Arusha's stretched lips, the vibration of her moan traveling through both of us. Arusha is shaking now, her whole body trembling, and when Sonalika's tongue slides down to lap at my balls, I nearly lose it.
"Fuck," I gasp. "Fuck, Sonalika—"
She hums. That gooey, cutesy hum that means she's enjoying herself. Her tongue works its way back up, tracing the seam of my balls, then higher—along the underside of my shaft, right to where I'm buried in Arusha's cunt. She licks there. Laves there. Tasting both of us, our juices mixing on her tongue.
"Good boy," she murmurs against my skin. "Such a good fucking boy."
The praise hits me like a fist. I thrust harder. Deeper. Arusha cries out, her nails scraping against the headboard, and I feel her cunt flutter around me—that telltale pulse that means she's close.
"Don't stop," she begs. "Please, don't—"
Sonalika doesn't stop.
Her tongue slides back to Arusha's clit, attacking it with renewed intensity. Her hands spread Arusha's cheeks wider, opening her up, giving me a better angle. And I take it—pounding into her now, my hips slapping against her ass, the sound echoing off the walls.
"Look at you," Sonalika moans between licks. "Both of you. So fucking good."
Arusha's orgasm hits.
She screams—a raw, broken sound that tears through the room. Her cunt clenches around my cock with brutal force, milking me, pulling me deeper. Her whole body convulses, thighs clamping around Sonalika's head, and I feel her juices gush out—coating my cock, dripping down onto Sonalika's face below.
Sonalika drinks it up.
She laps at Arusha's cunt like she's dying of thirst, tongue scooping up every drop. Then she turns her attention to me—to where my cock is still buried inside Arusha, still being gripped by those pulsing walls. She licks up the shaft, base to tip.
She sucks my balls into her mouth, rolling them gently with her tongue.
The wet heat of it—the way her lips seal around the sensitive skin, the way her tongue cradles each one like she's tasting something precious—makes my hips jerk forward. My cock is still buried in Arusha, still gripped by those pulsing walls, and every movement Sonalika makes travels through both of us. Arusha whimpers. Her cunt flutters around me. I feel it—the twitch, the clench, the way she's still coming down from her orgasm.
Sonalika releases my balls with a soft, obscene pop.
Her tongue drags up the underside of my shaft, following the vein from base to tip. When she reaches the point where my cock disappears into Arusha's stretched cunt—that slick, swollen rim of flesh gripping me tight—she stops. Licks there. Circles there. Tasting the mix of my precum and Arusha's juices, her tongue probing at the seam where our bodies meet.
"Good boy," she murmurs against my skin.
The words vibrate through my cock. Through my entire body. My hips stutter, thrusting involuntarily, and Arusha gasps.
"Fuck," she breathes. "Fuck, Sonalika, don't—"
"Don't what?"
"Don't stop."
Sonalika laughs. That low, mean laugh that makes my stomach clench. She pulls her mouth away, and I feel the loss like a physical blow. But she doesn't go far. Just settles back against the mattress, her face still pressed between Arusha's thighs, her eyes fixed on mine.
"You're close," she says.
It's not a question.
I nod. Can't speak. My cock is throbbing inside Arusha, every nerve ending screaming, and I know if I move—if I so much as twitch—I'll lose it.
Arusha feels it too. She's still trembling from her own orgasm, her thighs shaking against Sonalika's head, her fingers gripping the headboard so tight the wood creaks. But she's not done. I can see it in the way her hips roll, grinding down onto my cock, seeking more friction.
"Don't come yet," she says.
The words come out broken. Desperate. Like she's trying to hold onto something that's already slipping away.
I laugh. It's a strangled sound, half-mad, half-despairing. "You're joking."
"I'm not."
She pushes back against me—a slow, deliberate movement that drives my cock deeper. Her cunt swallows me to the hilt, and I feel her ass press against my hips, warm and full and soft.
"Not yet," she repeats.
Sonalika's tongue finds Arusha's clit again. Soft flicks. Deliberate. She's not trying to make her come this time—she's just keeping her close to the edge, keeping both of us hovering on that razor-thin line between pleasure and madness.
"Because I want to feel it," Arusha whispers.
I don't understand. "Feel what?"
"Your cum." Her voice cracks. "Inside me. I want to feel you come inside me."
The words hit like a physical blow.
My cock jumps. Twitches. Leaks. I feel the heat building at the base of my spine—that familiar pressure, the one that says I'm seconds away from exploding.
"You want that?" Sonalika asks. She's not talking to me. She's talking to Arusha, her lips brushing against Arusha's cunt with every word. "You want him to come inside you?"
"Yes."
"Say it."
Arusha's back arches. Her nails rake down the headboard, leaving scratches in the wood. "I want him to come inside me. I want him to fill me up. I want—"
She breaks off. Gasps. The words seem to catch in her throat, and Sonalika rewards her with a long, slow lick from cunt to clit.
"Say it," Sonalika repeats.
"I want him to fucking breed me."
The room goes silent. Even the rain seems to pause, holding its breath, waiting.
I stare at the back of Arusha's head—at those tangled brown waves, at the sweat dripping down her spine, at the way her shoulders are shaking. She just said it. She just fucking said it. And she meant it. I can hear it in her voice—that raw, hungry desperation that has nothing to do with orgasms and everything to do with something deeper.
"Breed you?" My voice comes out hoarse. Cracked.
She turns her head. Just enough to look at me over her shoulder. Her eyes are wild—pupils blown wide, iris barely visible. There's cum drying on her cheek from earlier, a streak of white against her wheatish skin, and her lips are swollen and red.
"Yes." The word is barely a whisper. "Please."
Sonalika hums against Arusha's cunt. "You heard her."
"I can't—"
"You can." Sonalika's tongue flicks at Arusha's clit. "You've got one more in you. I can feel it."
She's right. My balls are tight—tight and full and aching with a pressure I didn't think was possible. I came twice already tonight. Twice in less than an hour. My body should be empty. Should be spent.
It isn't.
"Please," Arusha breathes.
"Please," Sonalika echoes.
They're both looking at me now—Arusha over her shoulder, Sonalika between her thighs. Two sets of eyes. Two hungry mouths. Two women who've decided they want something from me, and they're not going to stop until they get it.
"Knock her up," Sonalika murmurs. "Fill that cunt. Make her yours."
Arusha moans. Actually moans at Sonalika's words, her hips grinding back against me, and I feel her cunt spasm—a little preview of what's coming.
"Please, Hardik." Arusha's voice breaks on my name. "Please, I need it. I need you to come inside me. I need to feel it. Fuck—I need to feel you dripping out of me for days."
The image hits me like lightning. Arusha walking around tomorrow. The day after. My cum still inside her, still dripping down her thighs, leaving a trail wherever she goes. Her body marked. Her cunt claimed.
"Do it," Sonalika urges. "Come inside her. Fill her up."
I can't hold back anymore.
My hips snap forward—hard, brutal, the kind of thrust that would've made Arusha scream if she wasn't already so wet. She does scream. But it's a different sound now—relief instead of surprise, hunger instead of shock. Her cunt grips me like a vice, pulling me deeper, milking me, demanding everything I have.
"Good boy," Sonalika whispers. "Good fucking boy."
The praise is what breaks me.
"Come," Arusha gasps. "Come inside me, please, fill me up, breed me, breed—"
My orgasm rips through me.
It's not like before. Before, I was empty. Before, I was shooting blanks. But this—this is something else. Something primal. I feel my balls clench, feel the pressure release, feel the first hot spurt of cum flood into Arusha's cunt.
She screams.
Her cunt clenches around me like a fist, gripping my cock so tight I can barely move. And she milks me. Fucking milks me. Wave after wave of cum pumps into her—more than I thought I had, more than should be possible—and she takes it all. Greedy. Desperate. Perfect.
"That's it," Sonalika purrs. "That's my good boy."
I'm still coming when Sonalika's tongue finds where I'm buried in Arusha's cunt. She licks at the stretched rim of flesh, catching the cum that leaks out, lapping at the mess we're making. The sensation is too much—my cock jerks, spurting again, and Arusha lets out a broken sob of pleasure.
"More," she begs. "Please, more—"
I don't have more. But I keep thrusting anyway, riding out the last waves of my orgasm, pushing my cum deeper into her. When I finally stop—when my cock stops twitching, when my balls finally empty themselves—I'm shaking. My whole body is shaking, muscles trembling, sweat dripping from my hair onto her back.
I pull out.
The sound is obscene—wet and loud, like pulling a cork from a bottle. Arusha gasps at the loss, her cunt clenching around nothing, trying to hold me in. But I'm already moving, collapsing onto the mattress beside Sonalika, gasping for air.
For a moment, everything is still.
Then Sonalika moves.
She crawls up Arusha's body—slow, deliberate, her tits dragging across Arusha's stomach, her eyes fixed on the prize. When she reaches Arusha's cunt, she positions herself between those thick thighs.
She spreads Arusha open with her fingers.
The sight that greets her—that greets me, because I'm watching, I can't not watch—is obscene. Arusha's cunt is puffy and red, gaping open, and inside her is my cum. A river of it. Thick and white and hot, pooled in her cunt, dripping out in slow, lazy streams.
Sonalika catches the first drop on her tongue.
She takes her time. Lapping at the cum as it flows out of Arusha—scooping it up, swallowing it down, going back for more. Her tongue slides into Arusha's cunt, scooping out fresh ropes of cum, and she brings them to her mouth, tasting both of us at once.
"Fuck," Arusha whimpers.
Sonalika hums in response. The vibration travels through Arusha's cunt, making her jerk and shake. But Sonalika doesn't stop. She keeps licking, keeps drinking, keeps cleaning up the mess we made.
"I want it," Sonalika says between mouthfuls. "I want to taste all of it."
Arusha's thighs shake. Her hands fly down, grabbing Sonalika's hair, holding her in place. She doesn't push her away. She pulls her closer.
"Don't waste it," she gasps. "Don't waste a single drop."
Sonalika doesn't.
She positions her mouth at Arusha's entrance, seals her lips around it, and sucks. Hard. I watch Arusha's whole body convulse—back arching, tits bouncing, mouth falling open in a silent scream. And Sonalika keeps sucking, drawing out every last drop of cum, drinking it down like she's been dying of thirst.
When she finally pulls back, her chin is glistening. My cum and Arusha's juices mixed together, dripping down onto her neck. Her eyes are half-lidded. Her lips are swollen. She looks utterly debauched.
"Good boy," she says to me. "You did so good."
I can't speak. Can barely breathe. My cock is soft now—finally, mercifully soft—and it's lying against my thigh, slick with everything we've done. The three of us are tangled together on this ruined bed, covered in sweat and spit and cum, and the rain is still falling outside.