“This isn’t going to work.” Mike’s voice was tortured as they stood atop the small rise over the clearing, both men training their binoculars on Taylor as she fucked herself to peak in the clearing below.
Her fingers were saturated with her glistening cream, her little mound swollen, the folds reddened from the fucking she was giving it. The pestle was obviously less than satisfactory, but she was making due with amazing efficiency. Sweat gleamed over her body, her sweet juice coating her fingers and her pussy, slick and slippery.
How easy it would be, he thought, to slam every inch of his cock up that sweet, tight little sheath. “Damn, when is she going to stop?” Mike’s voice was tormented as they watched the thick-knobbed tip of the device ease from her gripping muscles then stroke along the slit.
Ivan was silent. His cock ached like a vicious wound, but he knew if he didn’t allow the woman time to ease her hungers then her restless twisting against his body at night was going to end up getting her fucked eventually.