[Group] Exploring my deepest desires in the dark steaminess of a Russian sauna…

Note: Light BDSM themes. It’s an all-girl orgy, y’all!

~

I met Anya at the women’s only spa in town, in the dry sauna. I noticed her immediately; I always came on the same days, the same times, and had not seen her before. I would learn later that she usually arrived after I’d gone home. This day had been a fluke. I saw her first when she had passed me a few times in the hall between the sauna and the soaking tubs, a flash of dark, curly hair and breasts that draped down her body elegantly. Her brown nipples stared at me as we passed, our bare shoulders nearly grazing each other. The soft hair on her arms bristled against mine. I shivered, despite the humidity. She was on her way to the dry sauna, and I was on my way to the cold tub. After I saw her swish into the dry sauna, I changed my mind, opting instead for a cold dunk from the bucket shower.

I pulled the rope and a frigid splash ached down my shoulder blades, trickling down my lower back to sputter out between my thighs. I pulled it again. My nipples hardened toward the water. I felt the warmth between my thighs escalate. I pulled the rope again. Then I turned back to the dry sauna.

Once I settled my towel down, white and plush on the wooden bench, I eased myself onto it, careful to keep my eyes to myself. The dry sauna was rather large, allowing for small pockets of people to group. There were three layers of benches that rose quite high to allow for different levels of heat, and most people opted for the lowest bench. On the first bench were four women, quietly chatting and giggling amongst themselves. Their closeness and comfortability in the nude made me wonder if they all knew each other before, or if they had met in this liminal space that provided ease and comfort so that one could chat intimately with a stranger.

On the highest bench were me and Anya, though I didn’t know her yet. I sat on the edge of the bench, breathing deeply with my eyes closed as I adjusted to the heat. In, out. I must remind myself when I’m in hot rooms to breathe in, breathe out. Eventually, the discomfort subsides into total surrender. My shoulders begin to relax and slope over my torso, my neck shakes out, hairs sticking to nape of it, sweat dripping to my collar bones. I like to sit in this position, hung over, wet, and warm, until my breath regulates itself. I was in the middle of getting into this state of total surrender when a voice interrupted my breath work.

“It’s hot, eh?” I looked up to see Anya, bright dark eyes obscured behind a curtain of curls. I nodded.

“It’s a secret club, up here,” she continued, a faint accent wiggling through her words, “most Americans pick the first row.”

“It makes sense,” I found myself saying, “America doesn’t have a culture of sauna.” Dumb. Idiot, I thought to myself. Duh. She laughed shortly, warmly.

“You like sauna. You like it hot.”. Who is this woman, I thought to myself.

“I guess so.”

“It’s hurts a little, no?”

“Yeah, but it’s nice.” At this she raised an eyebrow and laughed again.

“My name is Anya.”

“Anya,” I said back, pressing the shape of her name into the roof of my mouth.

“Yes, Anya… and your name is?”

“Bella.”

“Belllllllla,” she said, stretching the el sound. “It’s pretty.”

“Thank you.”

“Bella, it’s nice to meet you.” She stuck her hand out for me to shake. I took her hand in mine, felt the sweat in our palms, the soft pad of her thumb, the graze of her nail. Before releasing she softly tapped the outside of my hand with her finger and slid it, ever so gently across my skin, so sweetly that I couldn’t be sure if she meant to do it at all. She wrapped herself in a towel and walked down the stairs, her toned calves rippling under her towel.

After she left, I returned to my breathing. In, An. Out, ya.

I had bought myself the spa membership as a gift to myself, after receiving a promotion at work that incurred more stress and also more money. It had become my ritual, to leave the office on Mondays and Wednesdays at 5PM to spend a couple hours in the spa, rotating between the dry and steam sauna, the hot and cold tubs, and, on occasion, getting a vigorous body scrub to exfoliate my skin. I enjoyed the exfoliation for the same reason I liked the intense heat: an almost painful way to relax into complete serenity. After, my skin felt new and raw, clean.

After I met Anya, I found myself subconsciously coming later in the evening. Instead of wrapping up in the office at 5PM, I found myself finding something else to do to occupy my time. By 7PM, I was antsy for the heat. I found her again in the dry sauna. She didn’t acknowledge our previous conversation, but gave me a slow smile from across the room. The next time I went, she sat with me again. It went like this for a couple of weeks – we didn’t exchange numbers, we didn’t spend time in other parts of the spa. We’d just sit together in the sauna, keeping a patient distance between us. We had spoken, minimally, about our lives. I knew she was from Russia; I knew she worked in real estate; I knew she had an ex-husband.

“What happened,” I had asked.

“What always happens with men,” she said, unaccusing. “They’re tiring. Possessive.”

“My ex was possessive, too.” He was, but we hadn’t been together in years. I hadn’t dated at all in years, but I didn’t tell her this, yet.

One Monday, she wasn’t in the dry sauna. I felt my disappointment, and found myself almost turning around to leave. I sat for a while, waiting for her, but she didn’t show. I sat for longer than I should have, and was dizzy by the time I stood up. I managed to stumble out of the sauna and into the cold dunk tub, floating my hair on the surface of the water and letting the chill permeate through my skin. When I got back to the locker room to change, there she was. Right as I threw my towel into the bin, with my clothes balled up in my hand, she appeared before me. Naked as I was.

“Oh! Hi!”

“I’m sorry, “I had some things to take care of.”

“Oh, it’s ok…it’s not a problem–”

“Listen, I want you to come see my new property. I bought a cabin, not far from town, on the river. I have a banya. It’s just me and a few girlfriends, you’d really like them.”

“What?”

“Bella, trust me. It’s beautiful. Just come for the weekend, we’re going up Friday.”

“I’ll, um, I’ll think about it.”

“Great,” she said, smiling. She rummaged around her locker and pressed a business card into my hand. “Call me.” Then she was gone again, through the saloon doors separating the locker room from the sauna and the tubs.

All week, I had thought about it. On Wednesday, I called her. She sent me the address, basic instructions, and said to come anytime. I left immediately after work on Friday, half convincing myself out of it the entire time. I don’t know this woman, I said to myself, what kind of person invites strangers to their cabin, I’m definitely going to get murdered. Then again, I considered, it’s hard for me to make friends, maybe this is just how people do it these days. When’s the last time you had even a short vacation? By 7PM I was pulling into the driveway of the cabin, which was more a small ski chalet, incredibly tasteful and chic, which, despite never having seen Anya dressed, made sense.

I rang the doorbell and held my breath. The door flung open.

“Bella!” Anya pulled me in to kiss my cheek before handing me a glass of red wine. “Come in, please! Shoes off!” She waved her hand to the shoe rack next to the door. “And take some slippers.” She had a row of fresh hotel slippers next to the shoe rack. Pretty impressive, I thought to myself, if unusual.

“It’s Russian custom,” she said, reading my thoughts. I nodded instinctively, following her through the foyer into the kitchen, where I was greeted by two more incredibly beautiful women in robes and slippers. I noticed suddenly I was the only one actually dressed.

“Everybody, this is Bella, my sauna friend. Bella, this is Karine and Nadia.” Karine and Nadia all waved and smiled at me.

“It’s good to finally meet you, Bella,” Karine said, making unwavering eye contact with me. I found it unsettling, but enticing at the same time. She had short blonde hair, in a stylish pixie cut, and enormous blue eyes. Her petite frame was obvious even under her large robe, with slender legs and lithe arms poking out. Her neck stretched up at me with mischief. She could not have been more than 5’2,” yet I felt instantly intimidated. Nadia was taller than me, with pin-straight black hair done up in a bun, a wooden hair stick stuck fashionably through it. I felt frumpy in my straight from work clothes, my pencil skirt suddenly silly with the addition of slippers.

“Let’s get you more comfortable,” Anya said, taking me by the elbow and leading me into a guest room off the kitchen. “This will be your room. Here’s a robe and the bathroom is just right next door.” She pointed to the door next to the room. She waited outside the room as I changed into my robe, and then took me on a tour.

“It’s nice, eh? I have a friend, amazing contractor, he builds all kinds of things. He built this for me, just to my specifications.” It was an incredible house. The second floor had two more bedrooms and bathrooms, an office, a workout room, and skylights throughout the hallway. Downstairs, in addition to the kitchen, guest room, bathroom, and laundry room, there was a spacious dining room and living room, with vaulted ceilings and floor to ceiling windows that looked out onto the remote forest. Off of the kitchen was a small sunroom filled with plants, from which you could see down the hill to the river, where a small wooden structure sat.

“What’s that?” I pointed through the window.

“That’s the banya,” she smiled. “A proper Russian sauna. You’ll see.”

As we re-entered the kitchen, Karine and Nadia were in full swing, rosy cheeked and giggling over chopped vegetables and the now-empty bottle of wine. Anya opened a cabinet next to the fridge to reveal a temperature controlled wine rack, and grabbed another bottle.

“Might as well,” she said, to nobody that needed convincing.

Over dinner, I got to know Karine and Nadia better. They were co-founders of an interior design company downtown . They each spoke of their ex-husbands with contempt, their accents adding special shine to the vitriol.

“It’s not like he did everything wrong,” Karine said of hers. “He just didn’t care to get it right.”

“He wasn’t open to my needs,” Nadia said. “He only cared about himself.”

I listened, nodding as if I could relate, as if I had ever gotten anywhere close to marriage. Divorcees get a bad rep for being pathetic, I found myself thinking, but I don’t even have that excuse. I’m just a single 30whatever year old. What’s my excuse? The longer I sat and talked with them, the more I became envious of the lives they each led: Each traveled, lived in foreign countries, had multiple successful careers, and were stunningly gorgeous. I couldn’t quite figure out why I was there, but I spent all evening craving their attention and validation. I wanted them to tell me I was good, worthy of their attention.

After two, three bottles of wine, Nadia proposed a game of Never Have I Ever.

“I’ll start,” she said. “Never have I ever… gotten alcohol poisoning.” Karine drank, then spoke.

“Never have I ever…fucked multiple members of one family.” Anya and Nadia drank.

“Never have I ever,” Anya started, looking at me, “been picked up at a sauna.” I swallowed the lump in my throat, hard. Then I drank. The women cheered.

“Never have I ever…had a threesome,” I managed to whisper out. They all drank.

“Never have I ever been whipped,” Nadia said. Anya drank. The women laughed. Anya looked at me.

“Bella, never? Hm. That surprises me.”

“It…does?”

“Sure. You seem to like pain, no?”

“I hadn’t thought about it.”

She shrugged. “ Never have I ever whipped anyone,’ I said. Anya drank, still looking at me.

“Let’s hit the banya before we get any drunker,” Anya said softly.

We gathered up our towels, changed into shoes, and trekked down the hill to the banya. The cool night air, the darkness of the trees around us, everything whispered of good trouble. The river rushed next to us, refreshing already. Anya disrobed first, hanging her robe on a hook outside the structure. Karine and Nadia followed suit quickly. I hesitated, then shed mine as well, shivering and rubbing my goosebumped arms. As we stepped into the banya together, I could smell eucalyptus.

“Have you ever been to Russian banya before?” Karine asked.

“No, never.”

Though it was dim, I could hear her smile. The room was set up in a large circle. This was not a dry sauna, but a steam room. The clouds of steam made it hard to see, and the minimal light coming from light panels installed in the floor and lamps in the wall didn’t do much to help my vision, though I could make out a shape in the middle of the circle, and I could see three shapes settling onto the benches, and hear the rustle of something coming from the corner Anya was in.

“Part of banya is banny venik,” Anya’s voice floated out to me from across the room. “Dried birch branches. We use this for relaxing.”

“How?” I heard my voice say.

“You hit someone with the branches, first lightly. Then, harder. It stimulates blood circulation. Mental clarity.” She paused. “You want to try? It’s really good.”

“Sure.”

“Come.” She came closer to me now, so I could feel her leading me to the mysterious shape in the middle of the circle: a flat, wooden platform

“Lie on your stomach,” she directed.

I lay down and closed my eyes. I heard her pick up the branches, my skin sparking with sweat and anticipation. I had never been hit, or whipped, or whatever was about to happen, but I liked the intensity of heat, and exfoliation, and my skin being raw, and I anxiously awaited what happened next.

The branches came down gently, at first. She shook the branches over my skin, the leaves tickled my wet back.

“It feels ok?” She asked softly. I realized it was quiet outside of the sounds of the branches on my back. Karine and Nadia were, I could feel, intently watching. She continued gently wiggling the tips of the leaves across my back, igniting my skin with anticipation. The waiting alone was excruciating. Just as I began to accept this sweet and slow procedure, she pressed the leaves at the nape of my neck and slowly stroked the leaves down my body, crossing in easy waves around my back, down the backs of my thighs, calves, over my sensitive arches, stopping at my toes. Then she went back up the way she came. I realized my nipples had hardened into painful peaks, pressed into the wooden platform with no shield. After this bodily tracing, which went on for a number of minutes, she raised the branches off my body. I heard leaves rustling. When she brought the bundle back to my skin, the leaves were hotter. She pressed these lovingly into different points of my body, between each time rustling the leaves and gathering more heat. And then she began to lash me. She started hitting me slightly harder, then trailing the branches from my back down my legs, tickled my calves and heels. I could feel every nerve of my skin alight.

She hit me again, stroked the branches down my feet, then bent over, her lips breathing in my ear.

“You’re doing a good job,” she whispered. Goosebumps flooded the back of my neck.

“Thank you.” Her lips grazed my ear as she pulled back. I could not tell if this was on purpose.The branches continued to fall. Between the rhythm of them falling, I thought I felt her fingers, sliding along the back of my legs, pressing into the outside of my hips, nudging my boundary to see where I’d stop her. I didn’t. She leaned down again.

“I’m going to go harder now, okay?” I nodded quickly. She stuck her tongue in my ear then, coating me in her sweet saliva, and bit my earlobe as she pulled back.

“Good.” She continued to hit me, and my skin was aflame. The sweat rolling down my brow soaked into the wood below me instantly, I could feel my legs shaking.

“You want more?” She said, loudly this time.

“Yes,” I said meekly. She hit me harder. The beating felt good, I felt alive. My mind, despite the haze of the room, felt sharp and intact. The pain was incredibly excruciating. I thought my skin would tear open.

“You want me to touch you?” She said. I was embarrassed. Karine and Nadia were still watching. I didn’t even think I was gay, and here I was, absolutely gutted beneath this sauna witch.

“Yes,” I heard myself say. She laughed, and stuck one of her hands underneath me to pinch my nipple. I gasped. Before I could register the pain fully, she had navigated her hand between my legs, and was running her finger up my slit. Sweat had beaded on each lip, I could feel it, and as she parted them with her fingers, I could feel the slickness that waited underneath. At this, she giggled more. And right as she was about to wiggle her finger at my opening, she retracted, and hit me harder than she had previously on my ass. I yelped, and heard the other women laugh.

“Ignore them,” Anya whispered. “They’re jealous.” I obeyed. She hit me again, this time the back of the thighs, my calves, my feet. The pain made me shudder.

“Just a little bit more, slatkaya. Then, a break.” The kindness in her voice was reassuring, despite me not knowing the foreign word that rolled off her tongue so easily.

“Don’t stop,” I managed to choke out. With each blow, a fire in my stomach was stoked, the heat crawling under my skin, above my skin, enveloping me in a constant state of acute awareness. The pain began to seep into my face, as she began to beat my arms, I felt myself sink further into the platform. She beat my feet, even the arches, until I felt sweat pool between my toes, the ball of my foot flexing against the sensation, ripping through the softness.

“I want to try,” a voice called out from the dark. I recognized it to be Nadia. A shiver rolled from my tongue to my heels.

“I think she’s earned a break,” Anya responded, sheltering a giggle behind her teeth. I felt her come to my side, crouching next to me so she could whisper in my ear.

“How are you feeling? Do you need a break?” She cooed. Her cool breath raised every hair on my earlobe. I realized how hot I was, suddenly, the sweat pooled above my lip distracting me. No, I wanted to say, never stop, but instead I nodded. She stood up, and offered her hand to take. I sat up too quickly, swinging my legs around so I could situate myself. A rush of speckles flooded my eyes. My head felt completely empty.

“Careful,” Anya said, using her hand on the small of my back to steady me. She helped me stand. Karine and Nadia were waiting by the open banya door, smiling slyly. Anya led me to them, and as I got closer, they turned and ran out the door. I heard a splash. It was dark, and hard to see, but the sounds of water rushing and tipsy laughter were enough of a guide to the riverside. I stepped into the cool water, my muscles tensing and relaxing at the shock. Anya held my hand as we walked further in, and then I felt her go beneath the surface, pulling me down with her. The water was cold and alive, the lashes on my back cooled with relief. Total numbness overtook the ache in my skin. I opened my eyes under the water, unable to see anything. Anya’s hands found mine and squeezed my fingers into hers. My hair swirled around my face, Anya’s hands found my forearms and she gripped them, tightly, pulling me into her body. Our breasts collided in the dark cold. Her thigh pressed into my mons pubis, awakening a moan that lived in my ribcage, that I had forgotten existed. Before I could register the sound escaping my mouth, our heads crashed against the surface, the slow motion dance we had become entangled in abruptly interrupted by the need for oxygen. Mischievous laughter filled the air. I sputtered momentarily, freeing my tongue from the tendrils of hair that had gotten caught.

“Feels good, no?” Anya said.

“Soooo good!” I heard Karine shout before plunging under the water.

“I’m cold,” I said as I realized it.

“Good.”

I adjusted so I could float on my back. The moon hung low and ripe between the tall trees, a glowing white orb, ominous as it was comforting. Aside from the disrupted water and the laughter and my heartbeat, all I could hear were cicadas and the wind through the trees, which came by every so often to raise bumps on my arms and tighten my nipples. My arms moved lazily in the water, flapping like a slow bird, kicking up whorls of colder water that slid over my stomach and ass and the balls of my feet. I realized I had not felt so close to my own body in ages; the absence of intimate touch had created a barrier between my mind and my corporeal form, such that even my own touch felt foreign. It had been years since I had dated, yes, but also since I had been with anyone. Aside from one disappointing hook up with a man from a dimly lit, yeast-thick bar, I had been alone. The hook up was disappointing largely due to the anticipation that had preceded it. I had met the man while nursing a shitty martini, alone, at the bar near my home. I didn’t go there often, as it was a dive that attracted people who liked talking to strangers, which, despite my floating in a river with three women I barely knew, I am not wont to do. On the night I found myself at the bar, I was particularly lonely. I didn’t set out to have sex, but I harbored a secret desire for conversation. Within sips of my martini, the man found me and settled in.

“I’ll have whatever she’s having,” he said to the bartender, who smirked at him with familiarity.

“It’s a martini,” the bartender replied. The man made a displeased face.

“Nevermind. I’ll have a tequila shot. And another martini for the lady.”

“Oh, no thank you, I’m still working on mine,” I tried to say, but he waved me off.

“Just in case,” he said.”

Although he was pushy and clearly too much of a regular, he didn’t strike me as rude or dangerous, and so I acquiesced. We talked and it was fine; he worked in cyber security and lived down the street and had a geriatric dog. I had no pets and lived down the street and a similarly boring job. A perfect match. Between tequila shots he ordered cans of cheap beer. I drank my martini, then my second one, then I joined him in shots. After two, he invited me outside for a cigarette. In the streetlight, I got a better look at him. Mid-forties, not unhandsome, salt and pepper hair and matching stubble. He had a prominent and regal nose, large hands, and stood a solid six inches taller than me. His skin was smooth and white; not a tan or freckle in sight. He took a drag of his cigarette.

“Want one?” He said, shaking the box toward me. I declined. After we stood there for a few moments in the quiet, he turned to me.

“You’re beautiful,” he lied.

“Thanks,” I lied.

Then he kissed me, chemical nicotine coated tongue sliding around mine, and despite the unsavory flavor, I felt heat climbing up my knees to my inner thighs and into the pit of my stomach. Before I could help it, that rib-sticky moan floated from between my lips and into his waiting mouth, which he took with hunger. He pressed into me harder, wrapping his hand around my back and pulling me closer, the other hand still holding the dangling cigarette, precariously close to burning to the filter. He guided me so my back was flush with the brick wall of the bar, dropped the cigarette, and ran his smoking hand through my hair, the other gripping my thigh. Now I’m going to have to shower twice as hard, I found myself thinking, clearly able to visualize the cigarette residue sticking to my hair. Somehow, regardless, I met his force with my own, snaking my hand to the bulge growing between his legs, gripping him as best I could through the thick denim.

“You’re so sexy,” he lied again into my ear. I bristled and moaned in response. He pulled away, and led me by the hand back into the bar, through the yeasty air and into the single stall bathroom, where I let him hike up my skirt, peel my panties to the side, and fuck me from behind. My arm blocked my face from the greasy graffitied wall, my forehead bounced against my forearm gently, thudding softly every time he re-entered me. He had fished out a condom from his pocket and expertly torn the package with his teeth, so quick it seemed as though there was a magnetic pull between the lubed latex and his cock. He’d done this before, probably many times, maybe even earlier that night. I didn’t care. He felt good inside, and the wetness dripping down my thighs confirmed it. He finished quickly, snapped the condom off and threw it into the toilet. He leaned against the locked door, grinning.

“That was great,” he said. I nodded, fixing my hair in the mirror as I wondered what I’d make for dinner.

Floating in the water was nothing like this. With him, I had been observing my body go through the motions, relieved that someone still wanted me, deriving pleasure from one or two specific points on my body. Here, with Anya, my whole body was alight, and I was too far gone to observe the motions, instead weaving my consent into Anya’s expert hands, psychically letting her know I wanted more.

“It’s time to go back in,’ I heard her say. Within a minute we were back in the banya, this time Karine and Nadia stayed close to the platform as I settled back onto my stomach.

“Flip over,” Anya said. I hesitated, then complied. Like this I felt more exposed, because I was.

“Open your legs,” she said. I opened them. “Wider,” she said. I obeyed. I felt Karine hold my ankles down; firmly, so I couldn’t move, but with a tenderness that told me if I asked her to, she’d release me. Now I could see everything. I felt shy again.

Anya took a bundle of branches and handed them to Nadia, who had let her hair down. She walked over to one side of me, scraping the leaves across my breasts and she did so. She leaned over to kiss my forehead, her hair tickled my neck and collarbone. Anya picked up another bundle of branches, shook them in the air, and brought them down, hard, on my breasts. I yelped and tried to kick my feet, but Karine held them in place. Nadia brought down the branches on my lower stomach, the sensitive skin almost breaking immediately. They took turns like this, hitting me with greater force and acceleration. Karine, in addition to holding my ankles down, would sometimes tickle the bottom of my foot between hits. The combined sensations were overwhelming, I felt myself on the edge of finishing, just like that, without ever being really touched. I desperately wanted to be touched. As if she could read my mind, Anya handed her bundle to Nadia, who moved to take her place. She climbed onto the platform, using her thighs to hold my calves in place, then leaned down to take me into her mouth. Her tongue was shockingly cold against my hot and swollen clit, lapping deeply and breathing hotly. I shivered each time, no longer able to contain my pathetic noises. Karine and Nadia continued to smack my breasts, taking turns to squeeze and twist my nipples, lick the sweat off my neck, stick their tongue into my mouth, spitting gooey and white saliva into my throat, which I swallowed greedily. Anya’s tongue was ruining me, my body begging for release. Before I registered it, she had plunged several fingers into me, curling into a “come here” motion, scratching my g-spot with a meditated pressure.

“Fuck,” I managed to say, my lips barely able to form the letters. Her mouth came back to me, sucking on my clit eagerly and with intent. I felt the rising in my bladder, in my stomach, and squeezed tightly to stop myself from pissing. I had never felt anything like this before.

“Relax,” Anya said, poking her head up. Her mouth was rimmed with glossy juices, her eyes wild. “You need to stop clenching.”

“But I don’t want to, um…” I stopped, embarrassed.

“You won’t,” she said, not breaking eye contact, and I believed her. I closed my eyes and tried to relax, letting the feeling build inside me again. The lashings continued without fail, and the skin across my breasts felt taught and tender. Anya slipped in another finger, my body seemed to want to swallow her whole. Karine mouth found mine again and as we nipped and sucked each other, Nadia’s branches focused on my nipples, bringing me to an excruciating edge over and over. Anya’s hand disappeared inside me, her tongue magnetically attached to my clit. I began to shake uncontrollably, my body overwhelmed with sensation. Spit. Eucalyptus. Steam. Sweat. Eucalyptus. Birch. Spit. Sweat. I knocked my head back, finally releasing the orgasm that had been building for hours, dousing Anya in a torrential stream of come, re-soaking her face and hair with the mess of me. She drank from it, hungrily, desperately. It came in waves, rocking my body like a boat on the verge of capsizing; I craved the cracking of the bow and the shattering of the hull; I craved the taste of salt in my mouth and waves in my skin; with each breath I sank further and further, nearly blacking out. I lost count of orgasms. Anya never left me. The platform was soaked, my back no longer sticking to it but almost sliding off, and I managed to stay on only with the assistance of Karine and Nadia’s hands, which continued to beat and caress my aching body.

Finally, it began to subside, my heartbeat pounding in my ears as I regained my breath. Anya extracted her hand from me and shook it, laughing as drops of come flew off her fingertips and into the steamy darkness. She stared at me and she placed each finger in her mouth, one by one sucking them clean before sliding her body over mine to kiss me. Her breasts met mine, sweat gliding over our nipples as we kissed deeply, for the first time. My legs were still shaking as she stroked my hair, curling it behind my ears and blessing each earlobe with a tiny peck.

“You’re such a good girl,” she murmured. I really am, I thought to myself, such a good girl.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/m4xncc/group_exploring_my_deepest_desires_in_the_dark