Chapter 12

Once she was satisfied with Brit’s cleanup job, Kari opened the door to the adjoining bathroom and stepped inside—pulling Brit behind her by the hand like a naughty little girl being taken somewhere she knew better than to enjoy.

Ken and I followed, lifting the massage bench and positioning it right in the middle of the spacious, tiled room. Everything gleamed. Clean. Cool. Ready.

Kari turned, patted the soft leather cushion at the edge of the bench, and gave Brit a look.

“Up,” she said simply.

Brit obeyed, climbing onto the bench and perching at the edge. Kari and Ken each grabbed one of her toned thighs and pulled her legs upward and forward, spreading her open with ease. Brit braced herself on her elbows, panting, her breasts rising and falling quickly.

I stepped in between her legs, hard cock in hand, and cupped her chin.

“Spit.”

She obeyed without hesitation.

I held my palm under her parted lips as she dribbled into it—one stream, then another.

“More,” I said.

Another drop slid onto my hand. Then another.

“That’s it. One more...”

Perfect.

I brought my hand to my cock and smeared her spit along my shaft, stroking slowly while the three of them watched—eyes locked, breath held.

Then I stepped forward and began tapping the heavy, wet head of my cock against her clit—rhythmic, teasing, almost punishing.

Brit whimpered, her hips twitching with every smack.

Suddenly, Kari and Ken lifted her thighs higher and rocked her forward.

With zero resistance, my cock slid inside her soaked pussy—deep and smooth, like she was made to take it.

“Ooooh—” Brit gasped, nearly yelping as I pulled back and slammed in again, hard.

Then Kari leaned in behind her and purred, “Stand still, sweetheart. Ken and I are going to rock her on your cock for you.”

I stood frozen in place, my hands on Brit’s thighs, while Kari and Ken began to swing her gently—but firmly—on my shaft.

Back ... and forth.

Back ... and forth.

Her slick cunt clutched at me with each motion, her body grinding into mine like a living, breathing fucktoy.

Brit moaned helplessly, her voice climbing higher as her body was worked like a toy between her dominants.

“Oh gosh—oh Jesus—oh God,” she cried, gasping as the swing-fucking grew faster.

Kari and Ken, both in perfect shape, lifted and rocked Brit’s lithe body like she weighed nothing—like she was a feather between their palms. Their grip was secure. Their rhythm flawless.

I held on as her pussy milked me, her clit grinding against my pubic bone with every pass.

“Leo, you’re fucking me!” Brit squealed joyfully.

Then, between squeaks: “No—I’m fucking you?”

We all laughed—delirious, aroused, drunk on motion and moans.

“No, sweetheart,” Ken cut in gently, voice warm and deep. “We’re fucking you. My wife. Our boyfriend. Me. All three of us are fucking you, sweet girl.”

“Oh...” Brit gasped, clearly overwhelmed. But her body said yes in every way—every twitch, every breath, every shake.

Kari grinned. “Let’s lower her down, baby. Keep her legs open—but plant that ass.”

They lowered Brit gently onto the bench, her legs still held wide by Ken and Kari’s strong hands. She was open, exposed, trembling.

“Leo,” Kari said sweetly, like she was giving a treat. “Grab the back of her neck—and give it to her. Hard.”

“Oh—mm’yeah,” Brit moaned.

I didn’t hesitate. One hand cradled the back of her neck, the other gripping her shoulder. Then I slammed into her.

My cock drove in deep. Out. In again. Fast. Brutal. Unapologetic.

Splat. Splat. Slosh.

The sound of it—the wet, sticky slaps, the deep, obscene squelch of her cunt—lit us all up.

I lost myself.

“YOU LIKE THAT, BRIT?” I shouted, fucking her like my life depended on it. “IS THAT GOOD? HUH? FUCK?!”

“FUUUUUCK!” she screamed. “FUCK ME!”

Her eyes rolled up, almost disappearing into her skull. Her body convulsed around me. Her face glowed with heat. Sweat misted across her brow.

Kari and Ken looked on—watching Brit like proud artists admiring their masterpiece. Then they turned their gaze to me, smiling, pleased. This was why they did it. Not just the pleasure, but the permission—to be more, to feel more, to do things we’d never dreamed of doing in front of anyone else.