Sunday Funday
Saturday shivered at the tongue caressing his lobe. Wednesday bit down on his ear, moaning.
Straddling him, Wednesday moved like a marathon horse: all speed and strength and agile grace. He held fast to her hips, his jaw clenching and unclenching spasmodically. Her brunet curls bounced on her shoulders, her small breasts moved in time with her thrusts. Saturday would have liked to feel the smoothness of her breasts in his hands–would have liked to put one of those rosy nipples in his mouth–but, right now, it was all he could do just to hold onto the girl, her voice rising with every violent thrust.
Thursday, a toy strapped to her waist, worked Wednesday from behind, sandwiching her between the two of them. She contented herself with the occasional stolen kiss, silencing Wednesday’s cries every few seconds with her lips. Wednesday, reaching over her shoulder, grasped a handful of Thursday’s short, spiked hair and gripped her tight. Rather than protesting, Thursday rocked her hips faster, spurred on by Wednesday’s excited cries.
Tuesday and Monday were the quieter of the two–content with their light play and gentle kisses. The girls sat on the edge of the bed, Monday still clad in her cardigan sweater and Tuesday only now unbuttoning her crisp, white shirt. The outline of her voluptuous bosom pressed against the buttons that she had not yet undone. Her dark hair weaved into a fishtail fell into her shirt, lost between her bountiful cleavage.
Atop him, Wednesday’s hips jerked as her walls tightened around his shaft. Her mouth opened in a silent cry as her body, her breasts, trembled. Wednesday let out a contented sigh before collapsing on a heap of pillows beside him.
Saturday reached out for the girls and, as their pink, swollen lips were locked in a sweet kiss, he pulled the pin from Monday’s hair. The tight bun fell apart instantly and a cascade of thick, auburn curls fell down her back. Saturday tangled his fingers into those locks and pulled gently until Tuesday’s lips unlocked from hers and Monday’s mouth was close enough for him to reach.
As Saturday’s lips trailed down Monday’s neck, Thursday slipped across the bed like a wraith, pulling Tuesday into her arms. Her chest pressed to the girl’s back, Thursday undid the last of Tuesday’s buttons and pulled the shirt free. Tuesday’s bra unclasped, her silk, white panties thrown to the floor, the Argyle knee-highs slowly rolled down her delicate calves and over perfectly formed toes, Thursday laid the girl down on the bed beside Saturday.
Flipping her onto her back, lying her down beside Tuesday, Saturday pressed his lips against Monday’s collar bone. He stopped to suckle her breasts, round and firm, before leaving a trail of kisses over her belly, until he’d found his place between her legs. He kissed and licked her through the satin briefs before pulling them away, down her smooth, thick thighs, and dropping them onto the floor. She was already so wet. He worked his tongue over her clit until her cries matched with Tuesday’s. Lying side-by-side, Monday and Tuesday held one another as Saturday and Thursday brought them to climax. The two girls shuddered, mewling gently as their lips pressed together.
Wednesday curled up with the girls, their hands clasped together like children sharing a secret. Three girls satisfied and Saturday was still just as hard as when they’d first began. These girls and their missionary play weren’t enough to satisfy him. He needed teeth and claws. Chains and whips.
Absently, Saturday watched Thursday as she loomed over the girls, the strap-on gone and a vibrator in her hand. Tentatively, she kissed them one by one. Wednesday wrapped her arms around the girl’s neck and Thursday had found her target; she laid herself on top of her and, together, they began again.
“You started the party without me,” purred a succulent voice just over Saturday’s shoulder.
Clad from head to toe in leather–from the crisscross band across her chest doing little to conceal her ample breasts to the tight pants and 6-inch heels that came to a stop at the centre of her thighs perfectly shaping her vivacious curves–Friday stood in the doorway. Her fiery-red hair hung in ringlets over her left shoulder and down her back. In her hand, she held a cane braided of dull, black leather that she tapped rhythmically against her leg making a gentle thwack, thwack, thwack.
Friday. This bronco was the wild one. She was the one he’d been waiting for.
“You ready?” Friday asked, presenting him with a pair of handcuffs.
Saturday’s dick twitched with anticipation. Wordlessly he turned--his arms behind his back--and nodded.
Copyright © 2016 by Caillen James
