There will be no vanilla left by the time we sample all the ice creams. Is that where the term vanilla comes from? Vanilla ice cream? I quickly lose concern as my orgasm knots tighter.
Winger hands the brush to Tank and says, “Why don’t you give her the ultimate treatment and brush her hair while we’re taking care of everything else?”
Tank settles beside us on the window cushion. For a moment, the beautiful, snowy landscape that overlooks Peach Bottom Valley flashes through my mind, but only for a second. I shift my eyes to Purge between my legs. The sight of him going to town in pure bliss, looking up at me, can’t be rivaled.
Knowing that his tongue has to be stroking Winger’s cock does something to me, and it’s something really, really good.
Then Tank starts to brush my hair. He’s careful, starting at the bottom, working his way up carefully, and not pulling too hard on the tangles. But even the slight tug, the slight pain, when he catches one unexpectedly, it shoots some kind of connection through me, like my world is perfect.
Then I come unraveled on Winger’s cock. I can feel my pussy contracting around him as I give in to the bliss. A choked sound comes from behind me.
He must not have realized I was that close. His hands flatten around my breasts and he works his hips more carefully while driving me through every iteration of my orgasm until he’s spilling himself inside of me, and I can only imagine that Purge is tasting both of us.
None of them miss a beat as I drift through the amazing moment. When I can focus, Purge is sitting back on his heels, a sly grin on his face. Then he wipes his hand over his mouth.
“You two are pretty fucking tasty. Ready to switch places, or have we completely ruined you? Do you need a break?”
Ruined? They might have ruined me. I can no longer imagine how one guy could be satisfying enough, and yet, all I’ve ever imagined was the white picket fence.
Was that the vanilla version of me projecting itself? I didn’t understand that the white picket fence was vanilla. Maybe I don’t want that.
I’m clearly ahead of myself in thinking of a future with these three. Would they even be willing to settle down? Would I be willing to subject a kid to having three fathers? God, if they father half as good as they fuck, our kids would be so lucky, and they mentioned wanting kids.
It’s not part of the role-play, is it? It can’t be. We all know better. We all know there’s a good chance I’ll be pregnant before the night’s over. I rub a hand over my belly and it catches Purge’s attention.
“You okay?”
I don’t bother to lift my head off Winger’s shoulder where I’ve fallen back against him.
I nod and try to say, “Mm-hmm,” but I’m not sure it comes out.
All I can do right now is melt into him, and Tank beside us, and Purge as he rises up on his knees and lays his head on my belly.
Eleven
Tank
WhenIwakeup,Sasha has already left the bed, which means I’m sleeping in a king-sized bed with Purge and Winger. Not something I ever thought I would do.
The scent of sex between three different guys and one wet-as-hell woman hangs thick in the air. There was plenty of cum to go around.
But, I need her again, right now. I can’t imagine how she could handle a first night so amazingly, but she did. We did our best to give her everything she wanted.
Not bothering to get dressed, I stroke my hand over my morning wood and make my way to the kitchen, where faint sounds of Christmas music come from.
Sasha hasn’t bothered to get dressed either, much to my delight. Then I clue into her choice of song,All I Want for Christmas is You. I’ll take that as another hint that I might not have to walk back my thoughts of keeping her around forever.
My chest swells with hope and pride.
Her perfect peach of an ass swaying back and forth to the music is quite a sight for tired eyes. Hearing my footsteps, she turns around, and I get to enjoy her luscious tits and pretty pink nipples, and the curve of her waist that sucks in underneath that beautiful rack. My eyes trail downward to the flair of those baby-making hips that fit perfectly in my hands and her little tuft of hair hiding that sweet spot.
Jesus. Any chance my morning wood is going to take a break is gone. I’m hard as a rock, and the smile on her face sets my soul on fire. And yet, women don’t stick around. How long before she tires of us? At least I understand not to let that soul fire get out of control.
I hate myself for focusing on sex, but it’s the only way I can be close to her without revealing what I feel.
I’ll give. I’ll take. I’ll do everything in my power to walk away unscathed.
“You up for a breakfast round?” I hope the three of us haven’t worn her out.