Chapter 11: The Breaking Point

The wine had done its work. Sarah’s limbs were loose, her cheeks flushed, her words slurring at the edges when Danielle finally set her glass on the deck and stood.

“Inside,” Danielle said. “All of us.”

The patio door slid open on silent tracks. The house was dark beyond the kitchen, but a warm amber glow spilled from the master bedroom at the end of the hall. Sarah followed the three of them—Danielle in front, Becca and Brittney flanking her like escorts—her bare feet silent on the hardwood.

Danielle pushed the bedroom door open.

Sarah stopped. Her knees unlocked. She fell back, and Danielle’s arm hooked around her waist, holding her upright.

Jeff was on the bed. On his back. His legs were in the air, knees bent back against his chest, his cock in his fist, stroking himself in slow, lazy pulls. And Matt—Matt was behind him, kneeling between Jeff’s spread thighs, his hips flush against Jeff’s ass, his thick cock buried to the root. Matt’s chest was slick with sweat. His jaw was clenched. He pulled back an inch, then drove forward, and Jeff’s whole body jerked, a low, broken moan tearing out of his throat.

“Fuck,” Jeff gasped. “Fuck, Matt, don’t stop.”

Brittney skipped—actually skipped—across the carpet. She climbed onto the bed on all fours, swung one leg over her father’s chest, and sank on his cock. Jeff’s erection disappeared into her small, hairless pussy in one wet swallow. She planted her hands on Matt’s chest, leaned forward, and kissed him—deep, open-mouthed—while her hips began to move.