Chapter 5: Command Performance
The cold seeped deep into Cathryn’s bones, the concrete floor unforgiving against her bare knees. She shivered, the tremors starting deep inside her abused core and radiating outwards. Tom’s cum, thick and cooling, trickled down her inner thighs, a sticky, pungent reminder of his brutal possession. The smell – sweat, sex, stale beer, and that unmistakable, musky tang of spent seed – filled the cramped space, thick enough to choke on. Lyka stood a few feet away, the glow of her phone screen illuminating her focused expression as she tapped rapidly. Sending the footage. Sending Cathryn’s degradation straight to Andrew.
Cathryn leaned her forehead against the cold metal of a keg, trying to steady her breathing, to push down the raw ache between her legs. The initial exhilaration was fading, replaced by a hollow throb and a gnawing emptiness only Andrew could truly fill. Her phone, discarded near her discarded knickers, buzzed once. Then again. Sharp, insistent vibrations cutting through the dripping silence.
Lyka picked it up, her eyes scanning the screen. A slow, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips as she read Andrew’s response. She didn’t speak, just turned the screen towards Cathryn.
The harsh light burned Cathryn’s eyes, but the words blazed brighter: ‘Now make her lick Tom’s cum off your fingers while you fist her.’
A choked gasp escaped Cathryn’s throat. Not shock, exactly. Anticipation. A fresh wave of heat, shameful and electric, washed over her skin, momentarily eclipsing the chill and the ache. Andrew wanted more. Deeper. Filthier. He wanted her wrecked and tasting the remnants of another man inside her, captured for his pleasure. Her core clenched reflexively, a fresh trickle of her own arousal mixing with Tom’s drying spend.
Lyka pocketed her own phone and knelt smoothly beside Cathryn on the damp floor. Her movements were deliberate, unhurried. She didn’t ask. She didn’t need to. Cathryn’s obedience, her desperate need to please Andrew, hung heavy in the rancid air.
"Show me," Lyka murmured, her voice low, accented, devoid of judgment, only focused execution. Her gaze locked onto Cathryn’s sticky thighs, the mess Tom had left.
Cathryn hesitated for only a heartbeat, a flicker of vulnerability crossing her face before it was swallowed by the familiar mask of submissive hunger. She shifted, spreading her trembling legs wider on the cold concrete, exposing the glistening, swollen mess of her cunt and the trails of white semen drying on her dusky skin. The scent intensified, raw and animalistic. She tilted her hips up, an offering.
Lyka reached out. Not gently. Her fingers, cool despite the room’s damp heat, traced a path through the sticky residue high on Cathryn’s inner thigh, scooping up a thick glob of Tom’s pearly cum mixed with Cathryn’s own slick. She held her fingers up, the viscous fluid clinging, glistening obscenely under the bare bulb. The smell was immediate, pungent and primal.
"Open," Lyka commanded softly, her dark eyes fixed on Cathryn’s.
Cathryn whimpered, a low sound torn from her throat. Shame warred with a perverse thrill. She leaned forward, eyes fluttering shut as her tongue, pink and tentative at first, darted out. The taste exploded on her senses – salty, bitter, musky, undeniably masculine and foreign. It was the taste of violation, of Andrew’s fantasy made brutally real. She gagged slightly, then forced herself to lick again, cleaning Lyka’s index finger slowly, thoroughly. Her tongue swirled around the digit, collecting every trace, pulling the thick fluid into her mouth. She swallowed convulsively.
"Good girl," Lyka breathed, a note of approval that sent another jolt through Cathryn. "All of it."
Lyka moved her fingers lower, dipping them unceremoniously into the wet, open mess between Cathryn’s legs. Cathryn cried out as the cool fingers plunged through her sensitive outer lips, sinking knuckle-deep into her still-stretched, swollen cunt. Tom’s seed, pooled inside her, was warm, thick. Lyka’s fingers twisted, scooping, gathering the viscous fluid mingled with Cathryn’s own arousal.
She pulled her fingers out, coated thickly now with the combined fluids, strands of it stretching obscenely between her knuckles. She held them up again, slick and glistening, inches from Cathryn’s mouth. "Again. Clean them."
Cathryn moaned, a sound of utter degradation. The taste was overwhelming now, thick and salty-sour on her tongue as she obediently licked Lyka’s fingers clean. She sucked the digits, hollowing her cheeks, her eyes closed tight, lost in the filthy act demanded by the man she craved. Each swallow was an act of submission, a sacrament to Andrew’s voyeuristic desire. She tasted Tom, she tasted herself, she tasted their violent coupling. Her body trembled, not just from cold or pain, but from a dark, unwinding coil of arousal tightening low in her belly.
Before Cathryn could catch her breath, before the taste could fade, Lyka moved. She didn’t withdraw her hand. She positioned her glistening, saliva-slicked fingers, now coated only with Cathryn’s own wetness, back at her entrance. But not for penetration. Lyka curled her fingers into a tight fist, knuckles prominent.
Cathryn’s eyes flew open wide, locking onto Lyka’s face. Understanding dawned, bringing with it a spike of primal fear and a terrifying surge of wetness. "Lyka... wait..." she breathed, her voice thick.
Lyka’s expression remained impassive, focused. "Andrew wants it," she stated simply, a final justification. She pressed the broad, hard knuckles of her tightly clenched fist firmly against Cathryn’s stretched, vulnerable opening. The pressure was immense, unnatural. Cathryn felt the impossible width, the unyielding hardness.
"Fuck! Oh god, no, it’s too..." Cathryn’s protest died in a ragged gasp as Lyka leaned her weight forward. Not shoving, but applying relentless, inescapable pressure. Cathryn’s body resisted violently, muscles clenching in instinctive panic, fighting the invasion. The burning stretch from Tom was nothing compared to this slow, deliberate assault. Tears welled anew, spilling hot down her cheeks. She braced her hands on the keg behind her, knuckles white, her back arching off the floor as she tried to accommodate the impossible girth forcing its way inside her.
"Relax," Lyka murmured, her voice low but firm, almost hypnotic. "Open for Andrew. Take it. Show him his filthy little whore can take anything."
The words, the invocation of Andrew’s name, cut through Cathryn’s panic like a knife. A choked sob escaped her, but she forced her muscles to relent, to yield. She pushed down against the agonizing pressure, grinding her hips back onto the invading fist. There was a sickening, wet pop as the widest part of Lyka’s knuckles finally breached her outer lips, forcing them obscenely wide. Cathryn screamed, a raw, tearing sound that echoed off the concrete walls. The stretch was excruciating, a deep, burning agony that felt like being split open.
Lyka didn’t stop. She maintained the pressure, slowly, agonizingly working more of her fist inside. Cathryn could feel the bones of Lyka’s hand, the hard contours, displacing her inner walls, filling her beyond comprehension. Her cunt strained, stretched taut around the brutal intrusion, throbbing with a white-hot pain that blurred her vision. Her inner muscles spasmed wildly, helplessly, fluttering against the unyielding flesh and bone buried deep within her.
"Fuck! Fuck! Oh Christ, it’s in..." Cathryn babbled, her voice high and broken. "It’s so deep... Andrew... Andrew!" She was impaled, stretched impossibly wide on Lyka’s slender fist. Lyka’s forearm was slick with Cathryn’s juices and sweat. She held still for a moment, buried to the wrist, allowing Cathryn’s body to convulse around the foreign, dominating presence. The pain was immense, a constant, brutal pressure, but beneath it, beneath the tearing sensation, an undeniable fire raged. A deep, perverse pleasure sparked from the sheer extremity of the violation, the absolute surrender Andrew demanded. Her clit throbbed, neglected and desperate.
"Look," Lyka commanded, her own breathing slightly uneven now. She tilted her head towards Cathryn’s discarded phone, its screen still lit. "He’s watching."
Cathryn forced her tear-blurred eyes towards the small screen. The image was shaky, intimate, horrific: a close-up of her ravaged cunt stretched obscenely wide around the base of Lyka’s wrist, her swollen lips straining, glistening wetly. The sight, knowing Andrew was seeing her reduced to this – a trembling, impaled hole – sent a violent spasm through her. She came, hard and sudden, her inner muscles clenching in a futile attempt to grip the unyielding fist buried inside her. The orgasm was sharp, almost painful itself, ripping through her with the force of a seizure, utterly divorced from pleasure, born purely of degradation and the visceral power of Andrew’s gaze through the lens. Her scream dissolved into ragged, gasping sobs, her body shuddering uncontrollably around the fist that filled her.
Lyka held her there, anchored deep within Cathryn’s convulsing core, feeling the desperate clench and release. She watched the phone screen, ensuring the angle captured every tremor, every tear, the utter ruin of Cathryn’s body. Only when the violent tremors subsided into faint, exhausted shivers did Lyka slowly, carefully, begin to withdraw her fist. It slid out with a wet, sucking sound, the release almost as agonizing as the intrusion. Cathryn collapsed forward onto the cold floor, gasping, her body a trembling wreck, her cunt gaping open, raw and throbbing, dripping fluids onto the already stained concrete.
Lyka wiped her glistening hand indifferently on the hem of her own skirt. She picked up Cathryn’s phone, checking the video had saved. The screen glowed, a silent testament to the extremity just performed. She looked down at Cathryn, curled on the floor, breathing raggedly."He saw," Lyka stated, her voice flat. She pocketed the phone. "Every second." She offered no comfort, only the cold certainty of Andrew’s satisfaction. The dim bulb flickered overhead, casting long, distorted shadows. The distant roar of the pub was a world away. Cathryn lay broken on the filthy floor, the taste of Tom’s seed still faint on her tongue, the brutal emptiness inside her a gaping wound, already aching for the next impossible demand. The game wasn't over. It had only plunged deeper into the abyss they’d agreed to explore. Her body was a trembling map of pain and submission, waiting for the next command.
The cold concrete leached the last warmth from Cathryn’s trembling limbs. Her cunt pulsed, a raw, gaping ache echoing the brutal emptiness left by Lyka’s fist. Tom’s dried cum flaked on her inner thighs. The taste, salty and sour, still clung faintly to the roof of her mouth. She curled tighter on the filthy floor, each ragged breath scraping her throat. Lyka stood silent, a shadow against the stacked kegs, Cathryn’s phone dark in her hand now. The deed was done. Sent. Andrew had witnessed her utter ruin.
Days blurred into a haze of throbbing discomfort and restless anticipation. Cathryn moved gingerly, the memory of that impossible stretch a constant, low hum beneath her skin. She applied ointment, winced in the shower, watched the fading bruises bloom purple and yellow on her hips. Andrew’s texts were sparse, clinical. ‘Recover.’ ‘Be ready.’ The anticipation coiled tighter than the lingering pain. Ready for what? Her body, still tender, already craved the next violation, the next proof of her submission. The Anchor’s dank backroom haunted her dreams, the scent of stale beer and sex a phantom in her nostrils.
Saturday night crashed over The Anchor Pub again, the same raucous energy, the same thick scent of spilled ale and sweat. Cathryn’s brown hair was pinned up, exposing the elegant line of her neck. She wore a simple black dress, easier to remove. Or tear. Lyka, beside her at the crowded bar, sipped vodka neat, her dark eyes scanning the throng of rugby players with detached interest. Cathryn’s pulse hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat beneath the forced calm of her smile. Her core clenched, phantom pains mingling with fresh, illicit heat. She was ready. Empty. Waiting to be filled.
A hand, large and calloused, clamped onto Cathryn’s shoulder from behind. Not Tom this time. Dave. Prop forward. Thicker neck, broader shoulders, eyes glazed with lager and predatory intent. "Heard you like it rough, yeah?" His breath, hot and beery, washed over her ear. His other hand slid down, groping her ass roughly through the thin fabric. "Your bloke likes a show. We aim to please." He didn’t ask. He hauled her off the stool, her drink spilling forgotten.
Lyka was already moving, phone out, screen glowing cold blue in the dim light. She followed Dave as he dragged Cathryn, not towards the keg room, but deeper into a shadowed alcove near the overflowing bins. The stench of rotting food and stale urine was sharper here, cutting through the beer fumes. Dave shoved Cathryn face-first against the damp, brick wall. Rough mortar scraped her cheek. "Hands on the wall, slag. Spread ‘em." His voice was a guttural command.
Cathryn obeyed instantly, palms flat on the cold bricks, legs pushed apart. Her dress was yanked up around her waist. Cool air hit her bare ass. Dave fumbled with his belt, the clink loud in the confined space. His trousers dropped. His cock, thick and already slick at the tip, slapped against her exposed thigh. It felt heavier than Tom’s. Rougher. Lyka positioned herself slightly to the side, the phone’s lens capturing Cathryn pinned, exposed, waiting.
"No fucking warm-up," Dave grunted. He spat onto his palm, then smeared it messily over his cockhead and shaft. The wet sound was obscene. He gripped her hips hard, fingers digging in, and positioned the swollen, ruddy tip against her entrance. Still tender. Still stretched from Lyka’s fist days before. Cathryn braced, sucking in a sharp breath. "Take it!" Dave snarled, and drove forward.
The blunt force ripped a choked scream from Cathryn’s throat. Her inner walls, sensitive and bruised, screamed in protest as his brutal girth tore through her unprepared opening. No easing in. Just a single, savage thrust burying him to the hilt. The impact slammed her pelvis against the unforgiving brick. Pain, bright and searing, exploded deep inside her. Tears sprang instantly to her eyes. Dave groaned, a sound of pure animal satisfaction. "Christ, still loose from last time, eh? Good little fuckhole."
He pulled back almost all the way, dragging his thick cock through her clenching, protesting flesh. The ridges scraped raw nerves. Cathryn whimpered, her knuckles white against the brick. Then he slammed home again. Harder. Deeper. Each brutal piston drove the air from her lungs. The wet slap of his balls against her clit was jarringly rhythmic. Cathryn’s cries were muffled against the wall, a mixture of agony and the dark, degrading thrill Andrew demanded. Her abused cunt burned, but beneath the fire, a treacherous slickness gathered.
"Fuck! Fuck me!" Cathryn gasped, turning her head towards Lyka’s lens. Her voice was raw, desperate. "Show Andrew! Show him his whore taking it raw!" She pushed back against Dave’s thrusts, meeting his force, amplifying the brutal impact. "Harder! Use me! Fucking wreck me!" The words tumbled out, fueled by adrenaline and the desperate need to perform, to be seen enduring this.
Dave laughed, a harsh bark. He gripped her hair, yanking her head back sharply. "Yeah! Scream for him, cunt!" His pace intensified, becoming a relentless jackhammer. Short, punishing strokes that focused the brutal force directly onto her cervix. Cathryn’s body jolted with each impact. Her breasts crushed against the brick. Spit flew from Dave’s mouth as he grunted, lost in the rhythm of his own pounding. Lyka zoomed in: the obscene stretch of Cathryn’s lips around Dave’s thick base, the glistening shaft disappearing with each thrust, the tears streaking her cheeks.
Dave’s hand snaked around, fingers finding her clit. He rubbed it roughly, calloused skin grinding the swollen nub in time with his brutal strokes. Cathryn’s eyes flew wide. A sharp, involuntary cry tore from her. The dual assault – the deep, punishing penetration and the rough stimulation – short-circuited her overloaded nerves. Her inner muscles spasmed violently around the invading cock. "Oh god! Andrew! I’m coming! Fuck!" Her orgasm ripped through her, sharp and shocking amidst the brutality. It wasn’t pleasure; it was a convulsive release born of extremity, degradation, and the sheer force of violation. Her juices gushed, mixing with Dave’s spit and pre-cum.
"Filthy bitch!" Dave roared, spurred on by her involuntary climax. His thrusts became frantic, wild. "Gonna pump you full! Breed this used cunt!" His grip on her hip tightened impossibly. He buried himself to the root, grinding hard, pelvis grinding against her ass. A guttural roar ripped from his throat as he came, jet after hot, thick jet flooding her already battered passage. Cathryn felt the scalding pulses deep inside, painting her raw walls. He held himself there, shuddering, his cock twitching violently within her.
Lyka kept filming. The close-up on Cathryn’s face captured the dazed wreckage – sweat, tears, saliva smeared near her mouth, eyes unfocused. Dave finally pulled out with a wet, sucking plop. His softening cock, dripping their combined fluids, swung heavily. Cathryn sagged against the wall, trembling violently, her legs buckling. Dave zipped up with a satisfied grunt, wiping his hand on her discarded skirt. "Tell your bloke cheers," he slurred, staggering back towards the noise without a backward glance.
Silence, thick with the stench of sex and decay, descended. Cathryn slid down the rough brick wall, collapsing onto the filthy floor beside a leaking bin bag. She gasped, every muscle trembling, the deep ache inside her profound. Lyka lowered her phone, the recording light blinking off. She knelt beside Cathryn, her expression unreadable. Cathryn’s phone, clutched in Lyka’s other hand, buzzed sharply. Once. Twice. Insistent.
Lyka turned the screen towards Cathryn. Andrew’s command glowed in the gloom: ‘Make her suck Dave’s cum off your cock. Then piss in her mouth.’
Cathryn stared at the words. The taste of Tom’s seed flooded her memory. The brutal emptiness inside her throbbed. A fresh wave of heat, shameful and electric, washed over her skin. Her tongue felt thick. She looked up at Lyka, her eyes wide, pleading, hungry. Lyka’s hand moved to her own waistband. The game plunged deeper into the abyss. Cathryn’s trembling lips parted.
The alley’s stench – rotting food, piss, and the thick musk of Dave’s spent seed inside her – choked Cathryn’s throat. Her trembling lips parted, not for air, but for Lyka’s command. Lyka’s fingers, slick with Cathryn’s own wetness and the remnants of Dave’s brutal intrusion, hooked into the waistband of her tight jeans. She shoved them down her hips just enough. Her cock, slender but rigid, sprang free, glistening faintly in the dim light filtering from the pub’s rear door. It was already wet at the tip. Cathryn stared, the taste of Tom’s cum a phantom memory overlaying the fresh humiliation. Andrew wanted this. Needed it.
"Clean it," Lyka murmured, her voice devoid of inflection, only purpose. She gripped the base of her cock, angling the flushed head towards Cathryn’s waiting mouth. The scent was intimate, musky, mixed with the alley’s decay. Cathryn leaned forward, her body screaming protest, her mind submerged in submissive hunger. Her tongue, tentative at first, flicked against the slick slit. Salt, warmth, Lyka. She opened wider, taking the head into her mouth, sucking gently. Her own juices, mingled with Dave’s deposit, coated her tongue anew.
Lyka’s hips jerked minutely. "Deeper. Get his taste off me." Cathryn obeyed, hollowing her cheeks, taking more of Lyka’s length. She sucked harder, swirling her tongue around the shaft, cleaning the faint traces of Cathryn’s own arousal and Dave’s lingering essence. The act was profoundly degrading, servicing the instrument that documented her violation. She gagged slightly, then pushed through, swallowing around the intrusion, feeling Lyka harden further against her palate. Her phone buzzed again on the filthy ground beside them. Andrew, watching. Approving. Cathryn moaned around the cock filling her mouth, the vibration drawing a sharp intake of breath from Lyka above her.
Lyka pulled back abruptly, her cock slipping wetly from Cathryn’s lips. "Stand," she ordered. Cathryn struggled to her knees, then her feet, legs shaky. Lyka positioned her against the damp brick wall, facing her. "Open your mouth. Wide." Cathryn complied, tilting her head back, exposing her throat. The anticipation was a live wire. Lyka met her gaze, dark eyes unreadable. Then, a low grunt, and a sudden, hot stream hit Cathryn’s tongue. Bitter, acrid, startlingly warm. Lyka’s piss. Cathryn choked, instinctively trying to pull away, but Lyka’s hand clamped on the back of her head, holding her in place. "Swallow it, whore. Andrew’s watching his filthy cunt drink piss."
The hot liquid flooded her mouth, overwhelming, impossible to contain. She swallowed convulsively, gagging, tears streaming anew. It tasted of salt and ammonia, a violation deeper than any cock. Lyka kept pissing, the stream splashing over Cathryn’s tongue, dripping down her chin, soaking the front of her dress. Cathryn’s stomach roiled, but she forced herself to swallow, gulping down the degrading offering, her body trembling violently. When the stream finally stopped, Lyka released her. Cathryn slumped against the wall, gasping, spitting, the taste burning her throat, her dress clinging cold and wet. Utterly broken. Utterly owned.
The roar of the pub felt alien after the alley’s violation. Cathryn leaned heavily on the sticky bar counter, the sour tang of Lyka’s piss still clinging to her palate, her damp dress chilling her skin. She ordered two double vodkas, neat. Lyka stood beside her, impassive, scanning the crowd. Cathryn knocked back the first burning shot, welcoming the fire that momentarily eclipsed the taste of degradation. Her cunt throbbed, a raw echo of Dave’s assault and Lyka’s fist, but beneath the ache, a hollow need pulsed. Andrew’s silence since the alley video was a gnawing void.
"Look," Lyka murmured, nodding towards a corner booth. Two young women, barely out of their teens, huddled together. One, petite with wide, nervous blue eyes and messy blonde hair (Chloe), nervously sipped a bright cocktail. The other, taller with dark, wavy hair and a hesitant smile (Maya), scanned the room with a tipsy curiosity. Their posture screamed inexperience, drowned in cheap vodka-cranberries. Cathryn felt a predatory spark ignite. Fresh meat. Untouched. Andrew would salivate.
"Another round?" Cathryn’s voice was husky but smoothed into warm invitation as she slid onto the bench opposite them, Lyka following silently. She pushed Cathryn’s untouched second vodka towards Maya. "You look like you could use it." Maya blinked, surprised, then giggled nervously. "Oh, thanks! We’re… celebrating? Sorta?" Chloe shrunk back slightly. "Just… out." Cathryn smiled, leaning in conspiratorially. "Celebrating what? Freedom? Bad decisions?" Her gaze lingered on Chloe’s full lips. "We’re heading to a proper party. Private. Something… stronger than this piss." She gestured dismissively at their cocktails. "Interested?"
Maya’s eyes widened with intoxicated intrigue. "Stronger? Like…?" Lyka spoke for the first time, her accented voice low and enticing. "Good weed. Maybe something smoother. Comfortable." Chloe bit her lip, glancing at Maya. "I dunno… we don’t really…" Cathryn placed a hand lightly on Chloe’s forearm. "Relax. Just fun. No pressure. Andrew’s place is huge. Safe." The mention of safety, of a man’s presence, seemed to ease Chloe’s tension fractionally. Maya nudged her. "Come on, Chlo! Live a little! It’s just a party!" Chloe took a shaky breath, then nodded, a flush creeping up her neck. "Okay. Yeah. Okay."
Andrew’s living room was a stark contrast to The Anchor’s grime: sleek leather sofas, low lighting, expensive sound system humming softly. The air hung thick with the sweet, skunky scent of high-grade cannabis. Lyka expertly rolled a fat joint on the glass coffee table while Cathryn poured generous shots of amber whiskey. Chloe perched nervously on the edge of a sofa, eyes darting. Maya sprawled more comfortably, already reaching for the joint Lyka offered. "Wow. This place is… nice," Maya breathed, taking a deep drag, holding it, then coughing slightly.
"Relax," Cathryn soothed, handing Chloe a shot glass. "Andrew’s… occupied." She nodded towards a closed door down the hall. "He likes knowing his space is enjoyed." Cathryn took Maya’s hand, guiding her fingers to the joint. "Deep breath. Hold it." Maya obeyed, her eyes locking onto Cathryn’s as she inhaled deeply. Cathryn’s thumb brushed Maya’s knuckle. The tension shifted, thickened. Chloe sipped her whiskey, watching Cathryn and Maya, a flicker of confused arousal in her eyes. Lyka moved behind Chloe, her hands resting lightly on the younger woman’s shoulders. Chloe jumped. "Easy," Lyka murmured, her fingers beginning a slow, firm massage. Chloe’s rigid posture softened incrementally.
Cathryn took the joint from Maya’s trembling fingers. She inhaled deeply, then blew the smoke slowly towards Maya’s face before leaning in and capturing her lips. The kiss was soft at first, exploratory, tasting of weed and whiskey. Maya gasped, then melted into it, her hands tentatively finding Cathryn’s waist. Lyka’s massage on Chloe’s shoulders grew more deliberate, thumbs pressing into tense muscles, her lips brushing the shell of Chloe’s ear. "She’s beautiful, your friend," Lyka whispered. Chloe shivered, her gaze fixed on Cathryn and Maya’s deepening kiss. Cathryn’s hand slid up Maya’s thigh, under her short skirt, finding the damp cotton of her knickers. Maya moaned into Cathryn’s mouth.
Lyka turned Chloe’s face towards her. "Your turn." Her kiss wasn’t soft. It was demanding, possessive, her tongue claiming Chloe’s mouth before the younger woman could process it. Chloe whimpered, a sound of startled pleasure, her hands fluttering before gripping Lyka’s arms. Cathryn broke her kiss with Maya, her fingers now rubbing firmly over Maya’s knickers, feeling the heat and wetness soak through. "So eager," Cathryn purred, hooking her fingers into the waistband. "Let’s see what you’ve got." She tugged Maya’s knickers down. Maya lifted her hips, her breath coming fast, her dark eyes glazed with intoxication and burgeoning desire.
Lyka pulled back from Chloe’s kiss, her hands sliding down to cup Chloe’s small breasts through her top. "Take this off," she commanded softly. Chloe fumbled with the buttons, her fingers clumsy. Lyka helped, peeling the top off, then unhooking Chloe’s plain bra. Chloe’s small breasts were exposed, nipples tight and pink. Lyka lowered her head, taking one nipple into her mouth, sucking firmly. Chloe cried out, arching her back, her hands tangling in Lyka’s dark hair. Cathryn had Maya’s skirt up around her waist now. She knelt on the plush rug, spreading Maya’s legs. Maya’s pussy was neatly trimmed, glistening with arousal. Cathryn didn’t hesitate. She buried her face between Maya’s thighs, her tongue finding the swollen clit instantly.
"Oh FUCK!" Maya screamed, her hips bucking off the sofa. Cathryn’s tongue was expert, relentless – circling, flicking, sucking. She slid two fingers easily into Maya’s slick opening. Young, tight, but eager. "Yes! Oh god, yes!" Maya babbled, grinding against Cathryn’s mouth. Chloe watched, mesmerized, Lyka’s mouth still working her nipple, Lyka’s hand sliding down Chloe’s stomach, under her skirt. Chloe gasped as Lyka’s fingers found her own soaked knickers. "Please…" Chloe whispered, unsure what she was asking for. Lyka’s fingers pushed the cotton aside, finding Chloe’s tight, untouched entrance. Chloe froze. "I… I’ve never…"
Lyka paused, looking up. "Never?" Chloe shook her head frantically, tears welling. "No. Just… just fingers. Once." Lyka’s gaze softened minutely, then hardened with intent. She withdrew her fingers, slick with Chloe’s arousal, and held them up. "Lick." Chloe stared, horrified, fascinated. Cathryn lifted her head from Maya’s pussy, her chin glistening. "Do it," Cathryn commanded, her voice thick. "Taste yourself. It’s yours." Trembling, Chloe leaned forward, her pink tongue darting out to tentatively lick Lyka’s fingers. Her own taste – sweet, musky – flooded her senses. A low moan escaped her. Lyka’s fingers returned to Chloe’s cunt, circling her tight opening with slick pressure. "Relax," Lyka murmured, pressing slowly inward. Chloe cried out, a sharp sound of pain and shock as Lyka’s fingertip breached her virgin entrance. Cathryn watched, licking Maya’s juices from her lips, as Lyka worked her finger deeper into Chloe’s tight, resisting channel, the younger woman’s cries mingling with Maya’s gasping moans. The large TV flickered to life across the room – hardcore porn, the sounds of slapping flesh and guttural groans filling the air. Andrew’s camera, mounted discreetly on a shelf, blinked its tiny red eye. The party had truly begun. Lyka added a second finger, stretching Chloe wide, her cries shifting pitch. Cathryn turned back to Maya, her mouth hungry again. Four bodies, tangled in weed smoke and primal need, moved towards inevitable collision.