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“So tight,” Danny mutters through gritted teeth, as though in pain, and inside me I sense him testing the new barriers within, fighting the contracting wall of muscle against his delicate fingers. The touch of him is light, ticklish, the remedy for a long-held, desperate ache. “She’s clenching.”
“Keep doing what you’re doing,” Rory instructs, and I wonder whether the room is unraveling or if I’m swaying. The world has shrunken to Danny, stroking me into a dazed rapture, the knowing lilt of Rory’s husky voice, and the eternal buzz of my talisman toy. To be touched, to be ruined, by my best friend’s purposeful fingers, inch by slick inch.
The world falls to peace. The world falls to pieces. I rock back onto Danny’s hand — his full hand, I realize with illicit satisfaction — and arch blatantly into the smooth control of Rory’s palms. Pleasure is dragged from me like spindles, gripping the ecstasy of my naked, overwrought body and pulling all of it apart.
With a fierce clasp to my left breast, Rory savagely orders, “Grab her cunt.” I moan loudly, my temple leaning needily against Rory’s heavy blazer. His gilt crown badge shines in my tear-soaked periphery, my tears a glitter of jewels along the crown’s rim. The toy still sings its insistent long-note melody. All of me is open and brutalized, gushing and pure. When Danny’s hand works around my thigh to indulge the hard bud of my clit, all of me soaks him, stains him, tattoos and imprints him, as my juices spurt across his sweet, searching fingers like a wrecked fountain.
I’m obscene. Every part of me is a sopping machine amid a breakdown, my mind thrumming with loss and lust and, flickering ever-present in the back, the hot, strange, arousing shame. Wetness streams past Danny and down my thighs. I’m leaking everywhere: crying, sobbing, and yet so light, shining so pure with this release. Because it is a release — my heart grows unburdened, my mind lifts beyond the ceiling and toward the sky, while the unsteady slickness of me drip, drip, drips past Danny’s crushed hand and onto the wooden desk below.
Eventually, my body slowly relaxes and my breath deepens. Danny gradually eases himself from my drenched cunt, leaving nothing but the soft, wet squelch of my cathartic climax. With him no longer filling me up in the most satisfying ways, I find myself missing the weight of his presence. I want to look behind me, meet Danny’s doe-brown eyes, and bask beneath his soul-warming smile. But I still feel rigid on my hands and knees, embedded in the wood grain of the desk, Rory pinning me into place with grasping hands that, I realize belatedly, are holding my quivering, aftershocked body upright.
“How was that?” Rory whispers, his warm palm leaving my chest to tuck a strand of hair around my ear. The shocking tenderness of this one act makes me whimper.
My lips are dry. My voice is stuck in my moan-ravaged, ragged throat.
“Yeah, little saint, I think you liked that,” Rory concludes with a ghost of his genuine, boyish smile, and plants a soft kiss on the back of my sweat-slicked head. I see him turn to Danny, and in an altogether different, brusquer tone, he directs, “Use her mouth to clean yourself.”
It should disgust me. It should spike shame within me. It doesn’t. I’m just grateful I get to see Danny’s kind face again. He approaches me with uneven, staggered footsteps, as though he too is equally dazed. When Danny stands in front of me, I’m at eye level with the buttons of his shirt; Rory takes my chin with two fingers and tilts my neck upward until I’m craning to meet those familiar, reassuring brown eyes.
Danny’s face is a beautiful tableau of cherry red, his freckles fragments of stone. We do and say nothing for a long moment, except capture our breaths and pass on our deep, eternal love wordlessly. The spell breaks when the toy rumbles across the desk and bumps against my wrist. I blink away from Danny to glance down at it, but Rory lifts my chin again and growls to Danny, “Her mouth.”
It’s then I see the mess I’ve made of his hand. His skin is coated with thick slickness, clear and dripping. He guides it awkwardly to my parted lips, as though to make clear this isn’t his idea, but even the thought of how degrading this is is enough to keep my exposed cunt resplendent and slippery.
I close my eyes and catch Danny’s fingers with a languid tongue. Up and down his flesh, without preamble, I draw him into my mouth and drink down all evidence of me into my throat. Finger by finger, I curl my tongue around each soaked knuckle, enjoying the gentle suction of my mouth and the way it encourages soft ruined whimpers from Danny. Eventually, I lick him clean, the presence of my juices no longer a delicious obscenity.
When I open my eyes, Danny’s bulge is huge and compelling underneath his tantalizing and tight dark fabric. “I want to go again,” Danny murmurs to me, his damp hand cradling my cheek, his licked thumb caressing my plump lower lip.
“Tough,” Rory drawls, interrupting us by picking up the toy that bumps between both my wrists. He raises it to his eye line, where it shakes between his thumb and index finger. “I had to say whatever I could to get you out of there, D-boy. For future reference, Jessa’s cunt isn’t your nest, okay?”
“I feel cheated,” Danny mutters, but there’s no anger behind it, just a quiet, peaceful lethargy as he continues to stroke my mouth like he’s never experienced anything resembling paradise more. His thumb dips coyly inside me, and I sear him with a flash of my tongue.
Slowly, Rory walks with the toy toward my sopping cunt. I tilt my head over my shoulder, an eager thrill zipping down my spine as I anticipate the merciless onslaught of those vibrations. It’s what I need. It’s why I’m wet and craving.
“Can,” Danny begins, and the hesitancy in his pleading voice is enough to regain my curiosity. His gaze flickers between me and Rory behind me, as though unsure where to direct his question. “Can I…? I want to…”
Rory’s voice neatly slices through his hesitation: “You’re only allowed to come when you can say the word.”
It takes less than a second for Danny’s face to flush even darker. I wonder if I, too, am the same bright, beaming red. It seems comical, the two of us tomato-red and shy, while Rory remains forever pale and unfazed. Even now, I can’t fathom what Rory’s up to — inspecting me? Watching the slickness of my desperate, fluttering hole, which craves something deep and hard and raw to demolish the mad, yearning ache?
“Come,” Danny says, testing out the word. “I want to come.” His eyes meet mine but his words are for the man who runs this show. “I want Jessa to make me come.”
35
“She’s allowed to,” Rory says casually, before adding, “if shecanwhile this thing is pressing up inside her. She was already distracted when you were there, D-boy, but this toy is much more powerful than either you or me. She may be otherwise… preoccupied.”
I swallow. I’ve never had a toy inside me before, but God, do Rory’s words make the desire literally trickle out of me. I try to concentrate on Danny in front of me — sacred, wholesome Danny — instead of the dark perversion taking control of my cunt. A smooth curved edge is pressed against my entrance, its coolness smearing my wetness across flushed, heated skin, and for a perfect, fleeting moment its strong buzz is the most blissful thing I’ve ever known. But before Rory slides the crown of the egg inside me, he rolls it away from my needy hole and down the crease of my thigh in what must be the cruelest trick he’s played.
My heart thrums, my breath pants, and my nails scrabble as hard as a snarling animal into the wood grain. I’m wild and wanton andI need that toy inside me.
“I think she needs to cool down a bit,” Rory remarks, to which I whimper an audibleno. He merely laughs. “D-boy, unless you’re planning to come in secret like a Victorian gentleman, you’re going to need to take off your trousers.”
Danny fingers the button of his waistband. “But we’re in class,” he mutters uncomfortably.
“Pardon? Do youseemy fiancée?” Rory’s voice is dagger-sharp. “Naked on all fours on a school desk? You were inside her not two minutes ago. Treat her willingness to get naked with equal respect and get over yourself, big boy.”
I watch Danny’s fingers slip across his button at the wordsbig boy, which seems to have struck him on a deep, intimate level. I observe, fascinated, the surge of his glorious clad cock as it rises desperately against the soft material, transforming it into a magnificent tent.
“Fine,” Danny says coolly, his fingers finally managing to unbutton his waistband. With more confidence than I expect he holds, Danny adds, “I know you just want to see it, anyway.”
