This work is a fictional sexual fantasy created for adult audiences only. All characters, events, and situations depicted are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to real events or circumstances is purely coincidental and unintentional. The story does not depict real individuals and should not be interpreted as describing actual conduct, relationships, or experiences.
Daughter’s Soccer Team Pt 1 – Wet and Wild
Images of the characters can be found here: forum.xnxx.com/threads/my-daughters-soccer-team.720293/
The sky cracked open without warning, a warm, relentless rain that soaked everything in seconds. The field turned to slick mud, and the girls kept playing, laughing, sliding, bodies gleaming. I sat high in the stands, sharing one umbrella with Heather Lynch, her lush 40-year-old curves tucked tight against me. The umbrella was small; we had no choice but to press close. Her auburn hair dripped onto my shoulder, and every breath she took pushed those heavy DD-cup tits against my arm, soft and warm even through wet fabric.
Down on the field, Sara, my tall, blonde 18-year-old, sprinted through the downpour. Her white jersey had gone sheer, clinging like liquid silk to her slim torso. Her C-cup breasts, pert and high, bounced with every stride, nipples stiff and dark against the soaked cotton. Mud streaked up her long thighs as she slid, shorts riding high, the curve of her ass flashing beneath. She didn’t care. She grinned, wild and free, ponytail whipping water like a lash.
Diana, Heather’s brunette daughter, moved like she was born for this. Her D-cup tits strained the front of her jersey, the fabric plastered so tight I could trace the lace edge of her bra beneath. Rain traced every line of her body: the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips, the hard peaks of her nipples. She dove for the ball, rolled, came up laughing, mud smeared across her cheek and down one firm breast like a lover’s fingerprint.
Kaylee, the raven-haired athlete, was pure motion. Her C-cup chest rose and fell fast, jersey translucent, abs flexing beneath. She tackled hard, landed in the mud, and rose slowly, water streaming down her toned legs, shorts molded to the cleft between her thighs. She caught my eye for a split second, smirked, and wiped rain from her lips with the back of her hand.
Beside me, Heather shivered. Not from cold. “You’re staring,” she murmured, voice low, amused. “Hard not to,” I said.
She shifted, deliberately. The motion opened the neckline of her blouse another inch. Rain had turned the fabric nearly invisible; her bra was pale pink lace, soaked through. Her large nipples pressed against it, dark and swollen, begging to be seen. I could feel the heat of her skin through my shirt, the weight of her breast brushing my ribs every time she breathed. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she leaned in, letting the umbrella tilt so a ribbon of rain slid down her collarbone and vanished between her tits.
“Cold?” I asked. “Getting warmer,” she whispered.
Her hand found my thigh under the cover of the umbrella, slow, testing. Her fingers traced a lazy circle, inching higher. On the field, Sara scored, the crowd roared, but Heather’s eyes never left mine. She pressed closer, her soft belly against my hip, her breast spilling over my forearm. The rain drummed on the nylon above us, a private rhythm.
“Watch the game,” she teased, lips brushing my ear. “Or don’t.”
I didn’t.
The final whistle blew, and the scoreboard flashed victory. The girls erupted, jumping into each other’s arms, mud flying. Diana spotted us first and broke into a run, Sara and Kaylee right behind her. Three soaked, triumphant bodies streaking across the field, uniforms plastered like wet paint.
Diana’s jersey had ridden up, exposing a strip of taut midriff; her D-cup breasts bounced heavily with each stride, nipples dark and prominent through the translucent white. Mud streaked her hips and thighs, shorts wedged high between the firm globes of her ass. Sara’s long blonde hair streamed behind her like a banner, C-cup tits jiggling in perfect rhythm, the soaked fabric outlining every pert curve. Kaylee sprinted last, athletic legs pumping, C-cup chest heaving, shorts molded so tight the cleft of her sex was a shadowed promise beneath.
They reached the stands breathless, laughing, dripping. “Mom, can I go to Sara’s to clean up and hang?” Diana panted, hands on hips, chest rising fast. Heather glanced at me, auburn hair plastered to her cheek. “That okay with you?” “Plenty of hot water,” I said. Heather’s smile turned wicked. “Let me know if you need help with the girls.” I met her eyes. “I just might.”
The three of them piled into my SUV, muddy cleats on the seats, giggling like conspirators. Rain drummed the roof as we drove; every pothole sent ripples through their soaked clothes, breasts shifting, thighs rubbing. Sara reached back from the front, squeezing Diana’s knee. “You’re filthy.” “So are you,” Diana shot back, voice husky.
At the house, I grabbed thick towels from the linen closet. The girls kicked off shoes in the foyer, leaving muddy prints. I draped a towel over Diana’s shoulders first, she stood still, eyes half-lidded, letting me. She stood motionless in the half-light, soaked jersey gone nearly transparent, clinging to every curve as if the rain itself had decided to worship her. I unfolded the warm towel and draped it over her shoulders like a priest clothing a supplicant. She did not flinch, did not help, did not speak. She simply froze.
The moment the warm cloth touched her chilled skin, her shoulders loosened, her head tipped forward, lashes heavy with rain. I began to dry her the way one strokes a flame into being: slow, deliberate, reverent.
I started at the nape of her neck, pressing in slow circles, watching rivulets chase down the slope of her collarbones before I caught them. Lower, across the soaked cotton that outlined her breasts. I pressed the towel gently, firmly, feeling the soft weight shift beneath my palms. Her nipples stiffened instantly (two dark, urgent points beneath the clinging fabric), and a low, helpless sound slipped from her throat, half sigh, half moan.
She melted further.
Her knees softened; her weight settled back against me, trusting, yielding. I could feel it then: the sudden, unmistakable quiver between her thighs, a delicate, rhythmic pulse that fluttered against the seam of her soaked shorts when the towel brushed there. Her breath stuttered; her hips gave the tiniest, involuntary roll forward, seeking more pressure, more heat.
Behind us, Sara and Kaylee had gone still.
Sara’s towel hung forgotten in her slack fingers, hazel eyes wide, lips parted as she watched me dry Diana’s trembling body. A visible shiver ran through her; her own nipples pressed hard against the wet cotton of her blouse, and when she shifted her weight, the faint whisper of her thighs brushing together carried the softest, slick sound of arousal.
Kaylee, her beautiful face framed by her raven hair, leaned against the wall, one hand unconsciously pressed low on her belly, just above the waistband of her skirt. Her dark eyes were fixed on Diana’s face (on the slow flush climbing her throat, the way her lips stayed parted on silent, pleading breaths). Kaylee’s chest rose and fell too fast; the hand at her stomach slipped lower, fingers curling, pressing, as though she could ease the ache blooming between her own legs simply by watching.
Diana’s pussy fluttered again (stronger this time), a delicate, helpless spasm I felt through layers of cloth and heat and want. She leaned fully into me now, the line of her back against my chest, the curve of her ample ass nestling against my growing hardness as if it were the most natural place in the world.
I kept drying her (slow, reverent circles over her breasts, down the tremor of her stomach, along the trembling length of her thighs), and with every pass the quiver between her legs grew more urgent, more shameless.
Sara let out a soft, involuntary whimper. Kaylee echoed it, thighs pressing together, knuckles white where they gripped the doorframe.
The towel had begun as courtesy, nothing more.
A simple act: shielding Diana from the chill, chasing the rain from her skin. But the moment the warm terry cloth grazed the hollow of her throat, innocence slipped away like water through fingers.
She melted into my hands.
Her shoulders dropped, her spine softened, and she leaned back (just slightly, then more) until the full length of her was resting against me. The soaked jersey had turned translucent; beneath it her breasts rose and fell in quick, shallow pulls, nipples dark and achingly hard against the fabric I now pressed and circled with deliberate care. Each slow pass of the towel dragged another tremor from her (a shiver that began at her collarbone and ended in the sudden, unmistakable clench between her thighs).
I felt it.
A delicate, rhythmic pulse fluttering against the seam of her shorts when my hand drifted low, pretending to dry, no longer pretending at all. Her breath fractured; her hips gave a tiny, helpless roll forward, seeking friction, seeking more. A soft, needy sound escaped her lips (half sigh, half plea) and hung in the steamy air between us.
Across the foyer, Sara and Kaylee stood transfixed.
Sara’s towel had fallen to the floor unnoticed; her own nipples strained against wet cotton, a visible shiver rippling through her slim frame. Kaylee’s hand had slipped beneath the waistband of her shorts without thought, fingers pressing hard against herself as she watched Diana come undone under my hands.
The towel moved lower.
I traced the line of Diana’s hip, the curve where thigh meets torso, letting the thick cloth linger at the apex of her legs. Another flutter (stronger, shameless). Her knees parted on instinct, just enough for the heat of her arousal to bloom against my palm through layers of soaked fabric. She was drenched in every possible way and seemed to grow wetter.
I leaned in, lips brushing the shell of her ear, voice low enough that only she could hear.
“You’re shaking, Diana.”
A broken exhale. A nod so small it was almost imperceptible.
Sara and Kaylee watched from the hallway, towels forgotten, eyes bright. Diana’s hands found my shoulders for balance, fingers digging in as I rose, towel forgotten entirely. My palms slid up her ribcage, thumbs grazing the undersides of her breasts. She leaned in, lips brushing my ear. “Don’t stop,” she whispered.
Behind us, Sara’s voice was velvet. “Dad… we’re all pretty wet.”
Sara stepped forward, towel dangling from one hand, her soaked jersey clinging to her slim frame like a second skin. The hallway light caught the rain still dripping from her blonde ponytail, tracing silver lines down her neck and between her pert C-cup breasts. She didn’t ask; she simply placed herself in front of me, shoulders back, chin lifted, eyes gleaming with the same challenge she’d shown on the field.
I took the towel from her fingers. Our hands brushed; hers were cool, trembling just enough to betray her. I started at her throat, pressing the terry cloth in slow, deliberate circles. Water wicked away, revealing the delicate line of her collarbone, the faint flush rising beneath her skin. Sara’s breath caught as I moved lower, the towel gliding over the soaked cotton stretched across her chest. Her nipples, already stiff from the rain, hardened further under the friction. I let the towel linger, rubbing in small arcs until the fabric was nearly dry and her back arched involuntarily, pushing her breasts into my palms.
She made a small sound, half sigh, half whimper, and her hands settled on my hips for balance. I kept going, sliding the towel down her flat stomach, tracing the faint ridges of muscle earned from years of sprints and slides. The jersey ended just above her navel; I tucked the towel beneath the hem, skin-to-skin now, my thumbs brushing the soft underside of her ribcage. Sara’s hips shifted forward, seeking more contact.
I dropped to one knee. The towel swept down her long legs, over the mud-streaked thighs that had powered her through the game. I dried the backs of her knees, the delicate hollows behind them, then moved upward again, slower this time. My palms followed the curve of her calves, the taut hamstrings, stopping just beneath the hem of her shorts. The fabric there was drenched, molded to every contour. I pressed the towel against her, feeling the heat radiating through, and Sara’s thighs parted a fraction, an unspoken invitation.
Her fingers threaded into my hair, guiding without words. I rose, letting the towel fall away entirely. My hands replaced it, sliding up the slick skin of her sides, thumbs grazing the outer swells of her breasts. She was trembling now, a fine shiver that had nothing to do with cold. I cupped her face, thumb brushing her lower lip; she caught it gently between her teeth, eyes locked on mine.
Kaylee leaned against the wall, arms folded beneath her own soaked chest, watching with parted lips. Diana stood just behind Sara, one hand resting lightly on her friend’s hip, the other tracing idle circles on her own thigh. The air in the hallway was thick, humid with rain and anticipation.
Sara’s voice was barely a whisper. “I’m still wet, Dad.” Her hand guided mine downward, over the soaked waistband of her shorts, pressing my palm against the heat between her legs. The fabric was warm, saturated; beneath it, she pulsed once, unmistakably.
“Everywhere,” she finished, and smiled.
Kaylee pushed off the wall with a slow, feline grace. Her athletic frame gleamed under the hallway light; every muscle defined beneath the translucent jersey. Mud streaked her arms like war paint, and her soaked shorts clung to the sculpted curve of her hips. She didn’t wait for an invitation; she simply stepped into the space Sara had vacated, close enough that the heat of her body radiated against my chest.
I reached for a fresh towel. Kaylee caught my wrist, guided it to her shoulder, and let the towel drape there like a cape. “Start here,” she said, voice low and rough from shouting on the field. I pressed the terry cloth to her collarbone, rubbing in firm, deliberate strokes. Water beaded and rolled, tracing the sharp line of her deltoid, the swell of her bicep. Her skin was furnace-hot despite the rain, and she flexed subtly under my hands, testing.
I moved lower. The towel skimmed the soaked jersey stretched across her C-cup breasts, pert and high, nipples already peaked. I circled them slowly, the friction drawing a sharp inhale through her teeth. Kaylee’s head tilted back, exposing the long column of her throat; a single droplet slid from her jaw, down the center of her chest, and vanished beneath the fabric. I followed it with the towel, pressing harder, feeling the rapid thud of her heartbeat beneath my palm.
Her hands found my forearms, nails digging in just enough to anchor. I let the towel slip away, palms sliding over wet cotton to cup her breasts fully. They fit perfectly, firm and warm, and she pushed into the touch with a soft growl. I brushed my thumbs across her nipples; she shuddered, thighs pressing together.
Down I went, kneeling again. The towel swept the length of her toned legs, over calves carved from endless sprints, up the backs of her thighs. Mud smeared beneath my fingers; I wiped it away in long, possessive strokes. When I reached the hem of her shorts, I paused. Kaylee’s hips rolled forward, an impatient nudge. I pressed the towel against the soaked fabric between her legs, feeling the heat, the slick pulse beneath. She exhaled a shaky laugh. “You missed a spot.”
I stood. My hands replaced the towel, sliding up the slick skin of her sides, tracing the ridges of her abs. Kaylee caught my gaze, held it, then leaned in until her lips brushed my ear. “I’m filthy everywhere,” she whispered. Attempting to act mature, her tongue flicked the lobe, a teasing spark. “Think you can handle it?”
Behind her, Sara and Diana watched, towels forgotten, eyes dark. Their arousal swelled to a point of need, looking for a release. The hallway smelled of rain, mud, and something sharper, something electric. Kaylee’s fingers hooked into my belt, tugging once. “Your move,” she said.
The seed of desire was well planted in these firm young ripe bodies. Sara clapped her hands once, sharp and playful. “Shower time, before we track mud through the whole house.”
I followed a few steps behind as they bounded up the stairs, the three of them still dripping, mud-streaked, and laughing. The staircase was narrow; their hips swayed with every step, and the soaked shorts clung like paint. Sara led, her long blonde ponytail flicking water onto the banister. The wet fabric of her shorts had ridden high between the firm cheeks of her ass, outlining every flex as she climbed.
Diana was next, brunette curls plastered to her neck, the jersey stretched so tight across her D-cups that the soaked cotton looked translucent from behind, the curve of her lower back leading to the soaked shorts wedged deep between her round, firm globes. Kaylee brought up the rear, athletic legs pumping, her shorts molded to the sculpted muscles of her ass, a dark wet line tracing the cleft with every stride. I watched the play of wet fabric, the flash of skin, the way the rain had turned their uniforms into something almost obscene.
They veered into Sara’s room; door left ajar a deliberate inch. I continued to my bedroom, peeled off my own soaked shirt and jeans, and pulled on dry sweats. The house was quiet except for the muffled giggles from Sara’s room down the hall. Curiosity pulled me back.
Sara’s door was still cracked open, a sliver of warm light spilling into the hallway. I stopped just outside, heart thudding.
Inside, Diana and Sara were already half naked. Diana stood with her back to me, jersey peeled up to her ribs, revealing the smooth expanse of her back and the flare of her hips. She tugged the soaked fabric over her head in one slow motion, her heavy D-cup breasts spilling free, nipples dark and stiff in the cool air. The jersey caught on her arms for a moment, lifting her breasts higher before dropping to the floor with a wet slap. She bent to push her shorts down, the motion presenting the perfect curve of her bare ass, the shadowed cleft between her thighs. When she straightened, I caught a glimpse of her bare pussy, lips flushed and smooth, a neat landing strip of dark hair above.
Sara had her back to the door, jersey already gone. Her slim torso tapered to a narrow waist, the soaked shorts clinging stubbornly. She hooked her thumbs in the waistband and peeled them down slowly, the fabric resisting before sliding over the pert swell of her ass. As the shorts dropped, her cheeks parted slightly, revealing the pink pucker between and the neat triangle of blonde curls just visible when she turned sideways. She stepped out of the shorts, kicking them aside, and stretched, arms overhead, breasts lifting, the trimmed patch of pubic hair catching the light.
Kaylee was last. She faced the mirror, gripping the hem of her jersey. She pulled it upward in a slow, deliberate striptease, the wet cotton dragging over her toned abs, catching on the underswell of her C-cup breasts before peeling free. Her nipples were small, dark, and erect, the jersey finally surrendering with a soft, wet sound. She let it fall, then hooked her fingers into her shorts. The fabric was plastered to her like a second skin; she had to wriggle to get them down, hips rolling, the shorts inching over the firm curve of her ass. When they cleared her thighs, she bent forward, giving me a full view of her athletic backside, the tight pucker between her cheeks, and the neat, dark trim of pubic hair framing her pussy as she stepped free. She straightened, ran a hand through her damp hair, and laughed at something Sara said, completely unaware, or uncaring, that I was watching every second.
The three of them stood there, gloriously bare, skin still flushed from the rain and the heat of their victory, giggling as they grabbed towels and ready for the shower. I stepped back into the shadows of the guest room across the hall. The door swung wider as they passed, and for one heartbeat, all three asses flashed in the light, round, firm, and glistening, before they vanished down the hall, leaving the scent of rain, citrus, and warm skin behind.
The bathroom door was left ajar, steam curling out like an invitation. I stood just outside, drawn by the sound of running water and the low, playful laughter that echoed off the tiles. The shower was a large walk-in with a frosted-glass door, but the gap in the bathroom door gave me a perfect, angled view of the misted interior.
Sara stepped in first, the spray hitting her shoulders and cascading down her slim, athletic frame. She tilted her head back, letting the water sluice through her blonde hair, rivulets racing over her pert C-cup breasts, tracing the curve of her waist, and slipping between her thighs where the neat triangle of trimmed curls darkened under the flow. She sighed, a soft, satisfied sound, and reached for the body wash, lathering her hands before sliding them slowly over her skin, down her neck, across her nipples, which stiffened instantly under her own touch, then lower, over the flat plane of her stomach, fingers brushing the trimmed patch before she turned, presenting the long, graceful line of her back and the firm swell of her ass as the water pounded against it.
Diana followed, stepping under a second showerhead. The water hit her harder, plastering her brunette curls to her shoulders before she pushed them back with both hands. Her heavy D-cup breasts bounced with the motion, water streaming between them in thick rivulets, pooling briefly in her navel before spilling over the soft curve of her belly. She turned slowly, letting the spray hit her back, and I watched the water trace the dimples above her ass, then slide down the cleft between her cheeks. She bent forward to rinse her legs, and the motion parted her thighs just enough to reveal the smooth, bare lips of her pussy, flushed and glistening, the neat landing strip above catching droplets like tiny diamonds.
Kaylee was last, but boldest. She didn’t wait for space, she stepped in between them, laughing as the water hit her from both sides. Her athletic body gleamed, every muscle defined under the spray. She grabbed the body wash from Sara and squeezed a thick ribbon across her chest, then rubbed it in with slow, deliberate circles. Her hands slid over her C-cup breasts, thumbs flicking her nipples until they stood hard and dark. She turned, back to me, and lathered her ass, fingers digging into the firm muscle, spreading suds down the backs of her thighs. When she bent to rinse, her legs parted naturally, and I saw the neat, dark trim of her pubic hair, the water rushing between her lips, her fingers lingering just a moment too long as she “washed” herself.
They moved around each other like dancers, hands brushing, hips bumping, laughter rising over the hiss of the water. Sara reached past Diana for the shampoo, her breast pressing briefly against Diana’s arm. Diana retaliated by flicking water at Kaylee, who ducked and splashed back, the motion sending droplets flying in slow motion. Kaylee grabbed Sara around the waist from behind, both of them laughing as Sara’s ass pressed back against Kaylee’s hips, water streaming down both their bodies in a single, unbroken sheet.
At one point, all three stood under the central rainfall showerhead, heads tilted back, arms raised, letting the water pour over them. Their bodies glistened, Sara’s long and lean, Diana’s soft and curvy, Kaylee’s hard and sculpted, three different kinds of perfection, slick and steaming. Sara’s hand found Diana’s hip, steadying herself as she laughed; Diana’s fingers trailed down Kaylee’s arm, leaving a trail of suds. The air was thick with citrus, steam, and the faint, unmistakable scent of arousal.
They didn’t rush. They lingered, touching, teasing, washing each other’s backs with slow, soapy hands. When they finally stepped out, the mirrors were fogged, the floor slick with water, and their skin glowed pink and warm. They wrapped themselves in towels, but not before I caught one last glimpse of three perfect, bare asses as they padded back to Sara’s room, hips swaying, droplets still clinging to their skin like secrets.
They spilled out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam and citrus, three towels barely clinging to damp skin. The hallway was warm, the air thick with the scent of clean bodies and lingering arousal. Sara led the way back to her room, towel knotted loosely above her breasts, the hem skimming the tops of her thighs. Every step made the towel ride higher, flashing the curve of her ass and the neat blonde curls beneath. Diana followed, her towel wrapped lower, slung around her hips like a sarong, leaving her heavy D-cup breasts bare and swaying, nipples still dark and stiff from the hot water. Kaylee brought up the rear, towel draped over one shoulder like she’d forgotten to use it, her athletic body completely exposed, water beading on her toned abs and the dark trim between her legs.
In Sara’s room, the door stayed half-open, the glow from the bedside lamp spilling into the hall. I lingered just outside, drawn by the rustle of fabric and the low, conspiratorial laughter.
Sara dropped her towel first. It pooled at her feet, revealing her long, lean frame in full. She padded to her dresser, hips swaying, and pulled out an oversized gray tee, soft, worn, the kind that clung in all the right places. She didn’t bother with underwear. Instead, she lifted her arms high, letting the shirt slide down her body in one slow motion. The cotton caught on her damp skin, dragging over her breasts, nipples catching briefly before the fabric settled. The hem barely reached mid-thigh, and when she bent to grab a hair tie from the floor, the shirt rode up, exposing the perfect half-moon of her ass and the shadowed cleft between her thighs, the trimmed blonde curls peeking out as she straightened.
Diana let her towel fall next. She stood in profile, breasts heavy and round, the neat landing strip above her pussy catching the light. She took her time ***********ing a shirt, a faded blue one with a faded logo, holding it up to her chest as if deciding. Then, deliberately, she turned her back to the door, bent at the waist to pick up a pair of socks she didn’t need, and stayed there a moment longer than necessary. The motion parted her thighs, offering a full view of her bare pussy, lips flushed and slightly parted, the dark strip above glistening faintly. When she straightened, she pulled the shirt over her head slowly, arms raised, breasts lifting high before the fabric dropped, clinging to her curves. The hem stopped just below her hips, and when she twisted to check herself in the mirror, the shirt lifted, flashing the curve of her ass and the shadowed promise beneath.
Kaylee was last, still naked, still unhurried. She stretched overhead, arms high, back arched, the motion elongating her toned torso and lifting her pert C-cup breasts. Water droplets slid from her collarbone, down the center of her chest, and over the neat dark trim of her pubic hair. She grabbed a black tee from Sara’s pile, but instead of putting it on, she held it against her front like a tease, letting the fabric brush her nipples. Then she turned, facing the door, and let the shirt fall to the floor. She bent to pick it up, slowly, deliberately, legs straight, ass high, the motion spreading her cheeks and revealing the tight pucker between, the dark curls framing her pussy as she lingered. When she finally stood, she pulled the shirt on in one fluid motion, the cotton stretching tight across her chest, nipples dark against the black. The hem barely covered her mound, and when she hopped onto Sara’s bed, knees apart, the shirt rode up completely, exposing everything: the neat trim, the flushed lips, the faint glisten of arousal.
They moved around the room like they knew I was watching. Sara flopped onto the bed beside Kaylee, the motion lifting her shirt to her waist, legs sprawling to reveal the blonde curls and the soft pink beneath. Diana stood at the mirror, brushing her hair, one foot on the bedframe, the pose lifting her shirt and parting her thighs, the landing strip and bare lips on full display. Kaylee rolled onto her stomach, shirt riding up to her lower back, ass bare and perfect, the dark trim peeking between her thighs as she kicked her feet playfully.
The room smelled of warm cotton, citrus, and the faint, sweet musk of aroused pussy still flushed from the shower. They didn’t speak much, just soft laughs, the rustle of fabric, the occasional whisper. But every movement was deliberate, every flash calculated. They were dressing, yes, but they were also performing, and the door stayed cracked just enough for the show to continue.
They weren’t careless. They were choreographing. Every door left ajar was a curtain pulled back just far enough for the audience of one. And every stolen glimpse, every flash of bare skin, every slow pull of cotton over damp curves, was an invitation written in the language of cracked hinges and half-closed doors. I left my perch to get some food ready for the young ladies and decided to relax them with some wine.
Daughter’s Soccer Team Pt 2 – Wined and Dined
Fifteen minutes later the three of them drifted down the stairs like conspirators. Hair still damp and tousled, they had raided Sara’s dresser and emerged in identical oversized high-school tees (soft, faded cotton that hung loose on their frames, hem skimming mid-thigh, sleeves slipping off shoulders with every breath). No bras. No panties. Sara had declared it solidarity with a wicked little smile: if her friends were going bare beneath, so was she.
The fabric clung where shower droplets still lingered, outlining the soft sway of breasts, the occasional dark shadow of a nipple, the long, smooth line of thigh when they moved. Every step threatened a flash of hip, a glimpse of the curve where leg met torso, then the cotton settled again, teasing, never quite revealing.
Sara led the way, arms full of their discarded uniforms (soaked jerseys, shorts, knee socks twisted into ropes) and the tiny scraps of underwear they had worn beneath. She cradled the bundle against her chest like contraband, the damp cotton leaving translucent patches on her tee where it pressed. Kaylee followed with an armload of used towels, still heavy with rainwater and the faint scent of their bodies.
They padded barefoot into the laundry room, hips brushing in the narrow doorway. “Evidence first,” Sara announced, voice low and laughing.
She dumped the uniforms into the washer with theatrical ceremony (a flash of lace panties tumbling last, caught on her wrist for a second before she let them fall). Kaylee tossed the towels in after, then leaned back against the humming machine, arms folded under her breasts, lifting them just enough that the tee rode higher on her thighs.
Diana lingered in the doorway, one shoulder against the frame, sleeve slipping down entirely now, baring the soft upper swell of her breast. She watched them with half-lidded eyes, lips curved in a small, secret smile.
“You two are enjoying this way too much,” she murmured.
Sara turned, slow and deliberate, and let the hem of her tee ride up as she reached high to grab detergent from the shelf (just long enough for the curve of her bare ass to peek beneath, pale and perfect in the laundry-room light). Kaylee’s breath caught audibly.
“Enjoying what?” Sara asked, all innocence, letting the tee drop again. She poured detergent with exaggerated care, hips swaying to some silent beat.
Kaylee pushed off the washer and stepped close behind Sara, close enough that the front of her tee brushed the back of Sara’s. She reached around her to snag a dryer sheet, letting her arm linger, letting her breasts press softly against Sara’s shoulder blades.
“Careful,” Kaylee whispered, lips near Sara’s ear. “Keep bending over like that and someone might get ideas.”
Diana’s laugh was low, velvet. “Someone already has ideas,” she said, pushing away from the doorframe and padding forward. She stopped just short of them, close enough that all three tees brushed when they breathed. Her fingers toyed with the hem of her own shirt, lifting it an inch, then two, revealing the smooth plane of her stomach, the shadow beneath. “Question is,” she continued, voice husky, “who’s brave enough to say it out loud first?”
The washer clicked on starting its wash cycle, a low, rhythmic thrum that vibrated up through their bare feet.
None of them moved. They just stood there (three damp, half-dressed girls surrounded by the warm scent of detergent and the heavier, unspoken scent of want), giggling softly, flashing glimpses of skin, daring each other with eyes and tiny, deliberate shifts of cotton on bare thighs.
The secret desire (already fully formed, already burning) hovered between them like steam, waiting for one of them to give it a name. The sexual tension was nearing a boiling point, it just needed a nudge to burst.
I was in the kitchen, sliding sandwiches onto a baking sheet, when Diana hopped up on the counter opposite me. She crossed her legs casually, but the motion lifted the shirt just enough: a quick, tantalizing glimpse of smooth, bare pussy, lips flushed and glistening from the heat of the shower. She caught me looking and smirked, letting one knee drift wider before hopping down.
Kaylee leaned over the island to snag a grape from the bowl. The shirt rode up in back, revealing the tight, perfect curve of her ass: two firm globes, a faint tan line, the shadowed cleft between. She wiggled deliberately, then straightened, shirt falling back into place like nothing had happened.
Sara poured wine with exaggerated care, three glasses clinking. “We’re celebrating,” she announced, handing one to each friend. They drank too fast, cheeks flushing, trying to look worldly. Diana licked a drop from her lower lip; the motion tugged the shirt tight across her D-cups, nipples dark against the gray cotton. Kaylee took a long swallow, then leaned back against the fridge, legs parted just enough that the shirt gaped at the front: another flash of bare, athletic mound, a hint of pink.
I passed the warmed sandwiches around. They ate standing, hips swaying to silent music, wine glasses tilting. Every laugh, every reach for another bite, offered another stolen glimpse: Diana’s shirt riding high as she stretched for the bottle, Kaylee bending to set her plate in the sink, the brief, perfect arc of Sara’s bare ass when she turned to refill a glass.
The kitchen filled with low voices and the clink of glasses, the air warm with wine and the promise of more.
The kitchen glowed under the pendant lights, warm and golden. The second bottle of wine was nearly empty, the third already uncorked. Sandwiches had been reduced to crumbs and crusts scattered across the island like battlefield debris. The girls moved in slow, liquid orbits, barefoot on the tile, oversized tees fluttering with every laugh, every reach, every deliberate bend.
Sara perched on a barstool again, one foot on the rung, the other swinging free. The gray cotton rode high on her thigh; when she leaned forward to top off her glass, the shirt gaped at the neckline, offering a soft, shadowed view of her pert C-cup breasts, nipples dark against the fabric. She let the pour go long, wine sloshing, then licked a crimson drop from the rim with deliberate slowness. Her knee drifted outward, just enough. The hem lifted another inch: a flash of trimmed blonde curls, the smooth inner curve of her thigh, the faint glisten of arousal catching the light. She caught my eye over the glass and smiled, slow and wicked.
Diana leaned against the fridge, hip cocked, blue tee clinging to the heavy sway of her D-cups. She’d twisted the fabric at the small of her back, knotting it so the hem stopped just below her ribs. The motion lifted the shirt in front, exposing the soft undercurve of her breasts and the neat dark landing strip above her bare pussy. She took a slow sip of wine, then set the glass on the counter behind her, stretching, arching, breasts lifting high. When she relaxed, the knot loosened; the shirt fell, but not before the light painted every contour of her body in gold. She traced a lazy circle on her bare stomach with one fingertip, watching me watch.
Kaylee had claimed the island itself. She sat cross-legged in the center, black tee stretched tight across her chest, hem pooled around her hips like a skirt she’d forgotten to wear. She reached for the last sandwich, leaning forward so the shirt rode up in back, revealing the perfect, athletic curve of her ass, the shadowed cleft, the dark trim peeking between her thighs. She took a bite, chewed slowly, then licked mustard from her thumb with a flick of tongue. Shifting to her knees, she turned sideways, giving me the profile: nipples hard against cotton, the long line of her torso, the shirt barely covering her mound. She stretched overhead, arms high, back arched, and the fabric lifted completely, exposing everything for one breathless second before she let it fall with a soft laugh.
They played off each other like instruments in a trio. Sara slid off the stool and padded to the sink, hips swaying. She bent at the waist to rinse her glass, slowly, deliberately, the gray tee riding to her lower back, ass bare and perfect, the blonde curls visible when she parted her legs to steady herself. Diana joined her, reaching past for a dish towel. Their hips brushed; Diana’s hand lingered on Sara’s waist, fingers tracing the hem of the shirt before sliding lower, just grazing the curve of her ass. Sara pushed back, a playful grind, and both of them laughed, low and husky.
Kaylee hopped down from the island, landing lightly. She circled behind me to grab the wine bottle from the counter, her breast brushing my arm, nipple hard through the cotton. She poured with exaggerated care, leaning across me so the black tee gaped at the front: a full, shameless view of her C-cup breasts, the dark trim, the flushed lips beneath. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she let the bottle hover, wine forgotten, and traced a cool fingertip along my forearm. “Oops,” she murmured, voice velvet. “Spilled a little.”
The air was thick with wine, warm bread, and the sharp, sweet scent of young pussy. Every movement was a dare: Sara twirling a lock of damp hair, shirt lifting with the motion; Diana stretching to set her glass in the sink, breasts swaying heavy and free; Kaylee bending to pick up a fallen napkin, legs straight, ass high, the black cotton riding to her waist. They orbited closer, laughter softer now, eyes brighter. The teasing had shifted from flashes to lingering touches, fingertips on wrists, hips bumping, breaths shared in the small space between bodies.
Sara ran to put their washed clothes into the dryer. She was only gone for a couple minutes, but it seemed like hours sitting in silence with the two horny teenagers, waiting for someone to make the first move. As Sara came back, I cleared my throat, breaking the charged silence. “Let’s watch a movie to warm up.” Kaylee’s head snapped up, eyes bright. “Something racy,” she blurted, then dissolved into giggles, covering her mouth with one hand while the other tugged at the hem of her black tee.
That was exactly my plan. I had a high-production adult film queued up, one that started slow, built tension like a thriller, and centered on a father figure seducing his daughter’s best friend. The acting was convincing, the cinematography lush, the buildup deliberate. Perfect.
We migrated to the living room. The girls grabbed the last of the sandwiches, the open bottle of wine, and their glasses. I snagged two thick fleece blankets from the ottoman.
Sara and Kaylee claimed the wide sofa first, flopping down side by side. As they sat, legs spreading to settle, the motion lifted their tees just enough: Sara’s gray cotton rode high, revealing the neat blonde curls and the flushed, glistening lips of her bare pussy; Kaylee’s black shirt shifted, exposing the dark trim and the slick, swollen folds beneath. Both were visibly wet, arousal shining in the low light. I handed them a blanket, letting my fingers brush Sara’s knee as I draped it over their laps.
Diana started toward the sofa, but when I dropped into the oversized recliner, she changed course. “Don’t want you sitting alone,” she purred, and slid onto my lap before I could respond. Her weight settled warm and soft, the blue tee bunching at her waist. I draped the second blanket around us, tucking it at her hips. Beneath it, her bare ass pressed against my thigh, then shifted, deliberately, until her slick, heated pussy rested directly on my leg. The dampness soaked through my sweats almost instantly, a growing patch of warmth that pulsed with every subtle rock of her hips.
I hit play. The screen filled with moody lighting and a slow jazz score. The film opened innocently enough: a backyard barbecue, laughter, lingering glances. The girls’ eyes locked on the screen. Wine glasses tilted, throats working as they drank.
On screen, the father figure, silver at the temples, calm, commanding, brushed past his daughter’s friend in the kitchen. A hand on the small of her back. A whispered joke. The camera lingered on her sharp inhale, the way her nipples hardened under her sundress.
Diana’s grinding started slow, almost imperceptible. A gentle roll of her hips, the slick heat of her pussy dragging along my thigh. The blanket hid the motion, but I felt every glide, every pulse. Her breathing deepened; her hands settled on my knees for balance, fingers tightening as the scene escalated.
Under the sofa blanket, Sara and Kaylee had gone still, then not. A soft rustle of fabric. A faint, wet sound. Sara’s head tipped back against the cushion, lips parted. Kaylee’s arm moved in slow, rhythmic strokes beneath the fleece. Their thighs pressed together; Sara’s foot hooked over Kaylee’s ankle, spreading them both wider. A muffled moan, Sara’s, floated up, quickly stifled by Kaylee’s mouth covering hers in a lazy, open-mouthed kiss.
On screen, the friend was backed against the counter, the father’s hand sliding up her thigh, pushing the sundress higher. The camera cut to a close-up: her panties soaked, his fingers tracing the damp cotton before slipping beneath.
Diana’s hips rolled harder. The blanket tented slightly with the motion. I could feel her clit swollen and slick, grinding in tight circles against my leg. Her arousal dripped, warm and viscous, soaking through my sweats and into my skin. She leaned back against my chest, the blue tee riding up to expose the underswell of her heavy breasts, nipples dark and stiff against the fabric. Her hand slid beneath the blanket, not touching herself, just resting on my thigh, inches from where her pussy worked against me.
Another moan from the sofa, louder this time. Kaylee’s head was turned, mouth on Sara’s neck, her hand moving faster under the blanket. Sara’s hips lifted off the cushion, chasing the pressure. The fleece shifted; for a split second, I saw Kaylee’s fingers buried between Sara’s thighs, two knuckles deep, slick and shining as they pumped slowly. Sara’s hand was under the blanket too, stroking Kaylee in return, their rhythms syncing with the film’s escalating tempo.
The screen showed the friend on her knees now, the father’s cock in her mouth, her eyes watering as she took him deep. The girls’ breathing filled the room, ragged, wine-scented, desperate. Diana’s grinding turned frantic, her pussy clenching against my leg, leaving a slick trail. She buried her face in my neck, a soft, keening whimper muffled against my skin as the first tremor of her climax rippled through her.
The movie was only halfway through.
Diana’s back arched against my chest, her hips rolling in tight, desperate circles. The slick heat of her pussy soaked through my sweats, pulsing with every grind. As her breath hitched into a soft cry, I slid my hands up under the blue tee, palms gliding over the warm, damp skin of her ribs until I cupped her heavy D-cup breasts. Her nipples were thick, eraser-sized peaks, stiff and begging. I caught them between thumb and forefinger, pinched hard, and rolled them slowly.
She came instantly. A sharp, shuddering gasp tore from her throat; her pussy clenched against my thigh, a fresh gush of wetness flooding my leg. Her body convulsed, thighs clamping around mine, breasts heaving in my hands as wave after wave rolled through her. I kept kneading her tits, thumbs flicking the sensitive tips, drawing out every tremor until she sagged, boneless, against me.
But she wasn’t finished. Within seconds her hips started again, slower now, deliberate, grinding her soaked cunt along the ridge of my trapped cock. I could feel her clit dragging, swollen and slick, painting my sweats with her arousal.
Across the room, the sofa blanket had slipped to the floor. Kaylee was on all fours, black tee pushed up to her shoulders, bare ass high in the air, athletic cheeks spread. Her face was buried between Sara’s thighs, tongue working in long, hungry strokes. Sara lay sprawled, legs wide, gray tee bunched under her arms, pert breasts rising and falling with each ragged breath. Her fingers were tangled in Kaylee’s damp raven hair, guiding, pulling. Neither of them noticed Diana’s climax; they were lost in their own rhythm, the wet sounds of Kaylee’s mouth on Sara’s pussy filling the room.
I hooked the hem of Diana’s tee and peeled it upward. She lifted her arms, letting me strip it off completely. Her breasts spilled free, heavy and flushed, nipples dark and glistening from my earlier attention. I tossed the shirt aside, then lifted my hips. Diana rose just enough for me to shove my sweats down, kicking them free. My cock sprang up, thick and rigid, the head already slick with pre-cum.
She turned to face me and settled back immediately, thighs spreading to straddle my lap. The heat of her bare pussy met my shaft in one slick glide. She moaned, low and filthy, as her swollen lips parted around me, coating me in her wetness. The underside of my cock nestled perfectly between her folds, her clit grinding against the vein that ran my length. She rocked forward, then back, slow and deliberate, letting me feel every inch of her soaked heat.
On screen, the father had the friend bent over the kitchen island, cock buried deep, her cries echoing. In the living room, the only sounds were wet flesh, ragged breathing, and the soft, rhythmic slap of Diana’s ass against my thighs as she rode my lap without taking me inside, yet.
I slid my hands from Diana’s breasts up the slick skin of her sides, fingers digging into the soft hollows beneath her arms. She was trembling, thighs quivering around my hips, her arousal dripping down my shaft in warm rivulets. With a firm grip under her armpits, I lifted her, her weight light in my hands, her legs spreading wider as she rose. Her bare pussy hovered just above my cock, lips swollen and glistening, the neat landing strip dark with her wetness.
Diana’s hand darted between us, fingers wrapping around my shaft. She was slick with herself, and her grip glided easily as she angled me upward, the thick head of my cock nudging against her entrance. Her folds parted, hot and impossibly tight, kissing the tip. She exhaled a shaky moan, eyes half-lidded, and I began to lower her.
My girth stretched her slowly. The head breached her, slipping past the slick resistance of her outer lips, then the tighter ring just inside. Her pussy clenched, fluttering around me as I eased her down, inch by thick inch. Her walls were velvet and fire, gripping me like a fist. Diana’s head fell back, brunette curls spilling over my shoulder, her mouth open in a silent gasp. When I was halfway in, her eyes rolled back completely, whites flashing, and a low, guttural sound tore from her throat as her body adjusted to the stretch.
I paused, letting her breathe, then lowered her the rest of the way. Her ass settled against my thighs, my cock buried to the hilt, her pussy stretched taut around the base. She was fullest she had ever been, her clit grinding against my pelvis as she rocked instinctively. I kept my hands under her arms, controlling the rhythm, lifting and dropping her in slow, deliberate strokes.
Her orgasm hit on the fifth deep thrust. I lifted her until only the head remained inside, then pulled her down hard, impaling her fully. Her walls spasmed, clamping down so tight I groaned. Her entire body seized, thighs shaking, breasts bouncing as she convulsed. A sharp cry escaped her, muffled against my neck, and a fresh flood of wetness coated my balls. Her nails dug into my shoulders, and she ground her clit against me, riding the peak until she sagged, panting.
I didn’t stop. I lifted her again, faster now, her slick pussy sliding up and down my shaft with wet, obscene sounds. Her next climax built quicker. I angled my hips, the head of my cock dragging against her front wall with every stroke. On the eighth thrust, she shattered again. Her back arched violently, breasts thrusting upward, nipples dark and rigid. Her pussy pulsed in rhythmic waves, milking me, and she squirted, a hot gush that soaked my lap and dripped onto the recliner. Her eyes were glassy, mouth open in a silent scream, body trembling as I held her through it.
I shifted my grip, one hand sliding to the small of her back, the other still under her arm, and began to fuck her in earnest, short, sharp thrusts that never let her come down. Her third orgasm crashed through her like a storm. I lifted her high, then slammed her down, my cock hitting deep, the head kissing her cervix. Her walls locked tight, then fluttered wildly. She screamed, a raw, broken sound, her body convulsing so hard I had to brace her against my chest. Another flood of wetness, hotter and thicker, poured from her, drenching us both. Her legs kicked helplessly, toes curling, and her eyes rolled back again, lost in the white-hot pleasure as I kept her impaled, riding the aftershocks until she went limp, gasping my name.
Across the room, Kaylee’s tongue was still buried in Sara’s pussy, Sara’s hips bucking under the blanket, their moans a distant counterpoint to Diana’s wrecked, trembling form in my lap. The movie played on, forgotten.
Diana’s limp, shuddering weight rested against my chest, her pussy still fluttering around my cock in the aftershocks of her third orgasm, her slick coating my lap and thighs. My hands stayed under her armpits, holding her steady, her heavy breasts pressed against me, nipples dark and stiff. The movie’s moans filled the air, but the real soundtrack was closer, wet, rhythmic, desperate.
On the sofa, the blanket had slipped entirely to the floor. Sara lay sprawled, legs spread wide, gray tee bunched under her armpits, pert C-cup breasts heaving with every ragged breath. Her blonde curls were damp with sweat, the neat trim between her thighs glistening under Kaylee’s mouth. Kaylee was on all fours, black tee pushed up to her shoulders, athletic ass high in the air, cheeks spread to reveal the dark trim framing her own soaked pussy. Her face was buried between Sara’s thighs, tongue working in long, hungry strokes, lips sucking Sara’s swollen clit with relentless focus. Sara’s hands were tangled in Kaylee’s damp hair, pulling her closer, hips bucking to meet every flick and swirl.
Sara’s climax hit first. Her back arched off the cushions, a sharp, keening cry tearing from her throat. Her thighs clamped around Kaylee’s head, trembling violently as her pussy pulsed under Kaylee’s tongue. A gush of wetness flooded Kaylee’s mouth, dripping down her chin, and Sara’s entire body convulsed, toes curling, fingers digging into Kaylee’s scalp. Her pert breasts bounced with each spasm, nipples hard as pebbles, and her eyes rolled back, mouth open in a silent scream as the orgasm ripped through her. Kaylee didn’t stop, lapping greedily through the peak, drawing it out until Sara’s hips jerked helplessly, a second, smaller squirt coating Kaylee’s lips.
Kaylee’s own climax followed seconds later, triggered by Sara’s hand. Sara, still shaking, had slid one hand between Kaylee’s thighs, fingers plunging into Kaylee’s slick, tight pussy. Two, then three fingers pumped fast, curling against Kaylee’s front wall as her thumb found Kaylee’s clit. Kaylee’s head snapped up from Sara’s cunt, a raw moan spilling out, muffled against Sara’s thigh. Her athletic body tensed, ass clenching, cheeks spreading wider as her pussy clamped down on Sara’s fingers. Her orgasm hit like a sprint finish, sudden, explosive. Her back arched, breasts thrusting forward, nipples dark against the pushed-up tee. A hot flood of wetness soaked Sara’s hand, dripping onto the sofa as Kaylee’s thighs shook, her moans rising into a sharp, broken cry. She ground back against Sara’s fingers, riding the waves, her pussy pulsing so hard I could see the rhythmic clench from across the room.
They collapsed together, Sara’s legs still spread, Kaylee’s face resting on her inner thigh, both panting, slick with each other’s arousal. The movie played on, the father’s cock buried deep in the friend, but the girls were oblivious, lost in the aftermath. Diana stirred in my lap, her pussy giving a weak flutter around me, and I knew the night was far from over.
I twisted Diana off me like a rag doll, her body limp and drenched, her pussy still gaping and dripping from her three shattering orgasms. I dumped her into the recliner, her heavy D-cup breasts bouncing as she landed, legs splayed wide, the neat landing strip slick with cum and her own juices. Her head lolled back, eyes half-lidded, fingers already circling her swollen clit as she watched, panting.
My cock throbbed, slick with Diana’s cream, veins pulsing with need. I crossed the room in two strides, eyes locked on Kaylee’s upturned athletic ass, high and proud, cheeks spread wide, the dark trim framing her soaked, swollen pussy like a target. Her face was buried in Sara’s cunt, tongue lashing relentlessly, Sara’s moans sharp and desperate, her pert breasts heaving under the bunched-up gray tee.
I gripped my thick shaft, the head angry and purple, and slammed it against Kaylee’s slick petals. She jolted, a muffled yelp vibrating into Sara’s pussy, then pushed back hard, her tight cunt begging for it. I didn’t ease in. I gripped her hips, fingers bruising the hard muscle of her ass, and thrust. The head breached her, stretching her impossibly tight entrance with a wet, obscene pop. Her walls clamped down like a vise, hot and slick, fighting every inch as I forced my way deeper. She screamed into Sara’s cunt, the sound raw and animal, her body shaking as I buried myself to the hilt in one brutal stroke, my balls slapping her clit.
I didn’t wait. I fucked her like a machine, hips slamming against her ass, the wet smack-smack-smack echoing over the movie’s forgotten moans. Her cunt gripped me like a fist, every thrust dragging her walls along my shaft, the friction white-hot. Sara’s hands yanked Kaylee’s hair, grinding her face deeper into her pussy, Sara’s thighs clamping around Kaylee’s head as she bucked wildly.
Kaylee’s first orgasm hit like a bomb. Her ass clenched under my hands, her pussy locking so tight I roared, my vision tunneling. A flood of hot wetness gushed around my cock, soaking my balls, dripping onto the sofa. Her scream was feral, muffled by Sara’s cunt, her body convulsing so hard I had to pin her hips to keep her impaled. I shoved her forward, burying her face deeper in Sara’s slick folds, her cries smothered as Sara grabbed her head with both hands, grinding furiously to stifle the sound, her own moans climbing.
I didn’t stop. I pounded through her climax, my cock swelling thicker, stretching her even more. Her cunt was a furnace, slick and pulsing, every thrust forcing another squirt of her juices down my thighs. She felt me thicken, the pulse of my cock expanding her tight channel, and it broke her. Her second orgasm exploded, her pussy clamping so hard it hurt, a scream ripping from her throat only to be choked off by Sara’s grinding hips. Her body seized, ass thrusting back, thighs shaking like she’d been electrocuted. I slammed deep, my cockhead kissing her cervix, and unloaded, thick, scalding ropes of cum blasting into her, flooding her cunt, spilling out around my shaft as her walls milked me dry. Her pussy spasmed wildly, sucking every drop, her body writhing as she came again, a third, smaller climax triggered by the heat of my seed filling her.
Sara’s hands tightened in Kaylee’s raven hair, her own orgasm crashing as Kaylee’s tongue, driven by her own climax, lashed Sara’s clit. Sara’s back arched, a sharp, broken cry tearing free, her pussy gushing into Kaylee’s mouth, her thighs clamping so tight Kaylee’s face was lost in her folds.
I held Kaylee’s hips, my cock still buried deep, pulsing with the last of my cum, her cunt fluttering around me like it was trying to keep me inside forever. The room stank of sex, sweat, and wine, the air thick with the wet sounds of flesh and the ragged gasps of three girls wrecked beyond reason. The movie played on, but no one was watching anymore.
I pulled out of Kaylee’s tight cunt with a wet, obscene pop. A thick gush of our combined juices, her juice and my cum, poured from her stretched pussy, cascading down her athletic thighs in heavy rivulets, pooling on the sofa and dripping onto the floor. Her body went limp, collapsing forward, her face still buried between Sara’s legs, cheek pressed against Sara’s soaked blonde curls. Kaylee gasped for air, chest heaving, her ass trembling in the air as aftershocks rippled through her. Sara, still sprawled with her gray tee bunched under her arms, stroked Kaylee’s damp hair gently, murmuring soft shushes, her fingers tracing soothing patterns on Kaylee’s scalp as she fought to calm her trembling friend.
I spun and sank back into the sofa, my cock semi-erect, glistening with Kaylee’s juices, my chest heaving as I caught my breath. The room reeked of sex, sweat, cum, and wine, a haze of heat and ragged breathing. Diana stirred from the recliner, her body glowing under the dim lights. She rose, glorious D-cup breasts swaying and jiggling with every step, nipples dark and stiff, the neat landing strip above her pussy slick with her earlier orgasms. She walked toward us, hips rolling, eyes locked on my cock.
She knelt between my legs, her heavy tits brushing my thighs, and took my semi-erect shaft in her mouth without hesitation. Her lips were warm, soft, and eager, tongue swirling around the head, lapping up the mix of Kaylee’s juices and my cum. She sucked hard, cheeks hollowing, cleaning every inch with slow, deliberate licks, her hands cupping my balls gently. She pulled off with a wet pop, lips shiny, and looked up at me, voice husky. “I’ve had sex before, but nothing like that. It was fucking amazing.”
Kaylee, still gasping between Sara’s thighs, lifted her head just enough to nod, her face flushed and slick with Sara’s juices. “Fuck… yeah,” she panted, fighting for air. “I nearly blacked out. Nothing’s ever felt like that.” Sara kept petting her head, a soft smile on her lips, her own chest still rising fast.
Diana’s mouth returned to my cock, sucking harder, her tongue teasing the sensitive underside as I hardened fully again, the shaft throbbing against her lips. The sensation was electric, her warm mouth and the sight of her tits swaying as she worked pushing me back to the edge. I wasn’t done.
I growled, grabbed Diana’s shoulders, and pushed her back onto the floor. The carpet was soft beneath her, her brunette curls fanning out as she landed on her back, legs muscular and toned from soccer. I hooked her ankles, hoisting her legs up and draping them over my shoulders, her pussy exposed, lips swollen and dripping, the landing strip dark with arousal. I guided my cock, rock-hard now, slick with her spit, to her entrance and slammed in, no preamble, no mercy.
Her cunt was hot, wet, and still tight despite her earlier fucking, gripping me like a glove as I buried myself to the hilt. Diana’s back arched, a sharp cry tearing from her throat, her huge tits bouncing wildly on her chest, slapping together with every brutal thrust. I fucked her hard, hips pistoning, the wet smack of my balls against her ass echoing in the room. Her legs flexed over my shoulders, her heels digging into my back as I pounded deeper, the head of my cock slamming against her cervix with every stroke.
Her orgasm hit her like a freight train. Her eyes rolled back, mouth open in a silent scream, her pussy clamping down so hard I grunted. Her tits bounced uncontrollably, a hypnotic blur of flesh, nipples dark and rigid. A flood of hot wetness gushed around my cock, soaking my pelvis, her thighs trembling as her body convulsed. Her hands clawed at the carpet, nails scraping, and she screamed my name, the sound raw and broken as her climax tore through her, her pussy milking me in relentless pulses.
I didn’t slow. I fucked her through it, harder, my hands gripping her thighs to keep her legs high, her ass lifted off the floor. Her tits jiggled like mad, slapping against her chin with every thrust, her body shaking under the onslaught. Her second orgasm built fast, her walls already hypersensitive. I angled my hips, dragging my cock against her front wall, the thick vein rubbing her G-spot. On the tenth brutal thrust, she shattered again. Her pussy locked tight, then spasmed wildly, another gush of slick coating my cock and dripping onto the carpet. Her scream was hoarse, her body arching so hard her shoulders lifted off the floor, tits thrusting upward, bouncing like they’d fly off. Her eyes were pure white, lost in ecstasy, as her cunt squeezed me like a fist.
I couldn’t hold back. My cock swelled, stretching her even more, and I slammed deep, burying myself as my orgasm hit. Thick, scalding ropes of cum shot into her, flooding her pussy, mixing with her slick. Her walls pulsed around me, milking every drop as her second climax peaked, her body convulsing so hard her legs nearly slipped from my shoulders. I held her tight, pumping the last of my seed into her, her cunt overflowing, our juices running down her ass and pooling beneath her.
Sara and Kaylee watched, Sara still stroking Kaylee’s hair, Kaylee’s face slick with Sara’s release, both their eyes wide and hungry. The movie’s credits rolled, unnoticed, the room a wreck of sweat, cum, and shattered boundaries.
I pulled out of Diana’s ravaged cunt with a wet, filthy schlorp, my cock slick and pulsing. A thick, creamy stream of our combined juices, her juices and my cum, gushed from her stretched, gaping pussy, pouring onto the carpet in a steady, obscene puddle that spread like a flood. Diana’s body was wrecked, trembling, her huge tits heaving, legs still splayed over my shoulders. I caught my breath, chest burning, the room a haze of sex and sweat.
Figuring we all needed rest, I scooped Diana’s limp form into my arms. Her muscular legs dangled, her head lolled against my chest, brunette curls damp and tangled, her body utterly sated from her explosive orgasms. She curled into me instinctively, a soft, contented moan escaping her lips as I carried her up the stairs to my king-sized bed. I laid her down gently on the cool sheets, her tits jiggling as she settled, her landing strip glistening in the dim light. She sighed, already half-asleep, one hand drifting to her swollen pussy, fingers brushing lazily.
I returned to the living room. Kaylee was still collapsed on the sofa, her athletic body limp, face pressed into Sara’s thigh, her ass up, dark trim and soaked pussy dripping with our mess. Sara knelt beside her, stroking her hair, her own pert tits rising fast, gray tee still bunched under her arms. I slid my arms under Kaylee’s toned frame, lifting her easily despite her dead weight. Her head rested against my shoulder, her breath ragged, her thighs slick with cum as I carried her upstairs. Sara followed close, her bare feet padding softly, her blonde curls bouncing, eyes wide and hungry as she watched me cradle her friend.
I laid Kaylee beside Diana on the bed, her athletic body curling slightly, her ass still glistening. I slid between them, the mattress dipping under my weight, and pulled both girls against my chest. Diana’s heavy tits pressed into my side, her nipple hard against my ribs; Kaylee’s firm, toned frame molded to my other side, her breath hot on my neck. I stroked their young, slick bodies, Diana’s soft curves, Kaylee’s hard muscle, my hands gliding over sweat and cum, soothing their trembling. Sara climbed in last, her slim frame slipping in beside Kaylee, her pert breasts brushing my arm as she nestled close. Their warmth enveloped me, and we drifted off, the room quiet except for soft breaths and the faint scent of sex.
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