Her First Happy Ending

Nicole’s hands slicked oil across four shoulders and down two spines in the candle-lit living room. Hime sighed first. Melissa answered with a low, knowing laugh. Every stroke lingered a beat too long, fingers testing skin that twitched beneath them. Hime glanced back, tongue darting over her lower lip. “You’re so good with your hands,” she said, heat coiled in the words. Melissa twisted under Nicole’s palm and spread her thighs a fraction wider, daring her to follow. A gasp, then a giggle, then hands trailing up Nicole’s forearms, finding veins, pulling her in. By the time Hime’s whisper slid against her ear—“finish us, please”—Nicole’s pulse hammered like a fist behind her ribs. She’d never crossed that line, never given a happy ending, yet the want on their faces cracked something open. Oil slicked over slick, and she caved. Clothes hit the floor. The first strap-on hissed as Hime buckled it, matte-black and heavy between her thighs. Melissa rolled Nicole onto her stomach, parted her ass, slicked lube that dripped in slow strings. Nicole’s breath punched out when Melissa drove in; Hime moved in front, lifting her chin so their mouths crushed together. Nicole took one strap balls-deep down her throat while the other piston-fucked her from behind. Then they flipped her, pushed her knees to her ears, and swapped positions. Both toys pressing at once—one buried in her cunt, the other stretching her ass—until the stretch became a white-hot pressure that ripped a raw scream from her chest. Bodies slapped wet against skin; nails dragged red lines across ribs; a hand circled Nicole’s clit and she came so hard her vision cracked, the room blurring to streaks of candlelight and sweat. When the shaking finally ebbed, the straps hit the floor with dull thuds, three women breathing like they’d run for miles, oil and come drying on flushed skin.