Chapter 8: Healing Tongues
The steam clung to Aurora’s skin, the humid air a balm on the deep, purpling bruises Marcus had painted across her hips and thighs. Anita found her there, slumped against the wet tile, her body a canvas of his recent, brutal affection. A soft, wounded sound escaped Anita’s lips as she knelt, her eyes tracing the marks of possession. “My poor darling,” she whispered, her voice a hushed reverence in the echoing chamber. Her tongue, soft and warm, traced a path along a particularly dark bloom on Aurora’s inner thigh. She lapped at the hurt with a devotion that was both gentle and ravenous, her mouth moving inexorably closer to the swollen, aching core of her. Aurora gasped, her head falling back against the wall as Anita’s tongue finally found her, parting her with a slow, deliberate stroke. “Taste how much he loved you,” Anita murmured against her, her words vibrating through Aurora’s sensitive flesh. Then she began to feast, her tongue a relentless, clever instrument that licked and probed and sucked. Aurora’s hands scrabbled against the slick tile, her cries echoing off the marble as a shattering orgasm ripped through her without warning. From the doorway, Marcus watched, his hand working his thick, hardening cock with a slow, possessive rhythm. “Again,” he commanded, his voice cutting through the steam. Anita obeyed, doubling her efforts, burying her face deeper, forcing a second, more violent climax from Aurora’s trembling body. Aurora screamed, a raw, broken sound as the sensations overwhelmed her. Marcus’s gaze was dark, satisfied. “She’s so responsive for you,” he said to his wife, his thumb circling the head of his cock. “Now make her come a third time. I want to watch her break.”
Anita’s mouth became a vortex of sensation, pulling another broken cry from Aurora’s throat. “Mommy,” Aurora moaned, the word a ragged plea as she tangled her fingers in Anita’s dark hair, not to guide but to anchor herself. She lifted her hips, grinding her swollen, oversensitive pussy against Anita’s nose and tongue, a filthy, grateful rhythm. Her eyes, glassy with pleasure, found Marcus’s across the steam-filled room, watching his hand stroke his cock in time with her movements. “Look at her,” he grunted, his voice thick with lust, “so fucking greedy for it.” Anita’s tongue delved deep, lapping at the combined taste of Aurora’s previous climaxes and Marcus’s earlier claim. Aurora’s back arched off the wet tile, a sharp, guttural “Fuck!” tearing from her as the pressure built again, unbearable and exquisite. She held Marcus’s gaze, her own a mixture of submission and defiance, as she rode her mommy’s face. “That’s it, baby girl, give it to her,” Marcus encouraged, his pace quickening. Anita’s hands gripped Aurora’s thighs, holding her open and still for the relentless, devouring attention of her tongue and lips. The third orgasm detonated, a silent, shattering convulsion that locked Aurora’s scream in her throat. Her body seized, milking the air, every muscle taut as wire. Then she collapsed, boneless and spent, onto the slick marble floor.