SEX STORY 3A THREESOME EROTICA

One Night at the Faraway Club
PART ONE

Robin White's evening was definitely starting to look up now. Until the

handsome stranger had bought her that first drink at 10:30, she had been

starting to think she was losing her touch. It was Saturday night, the party

night, on a warm summer's evening and, for the first time in nearly a year

now, no one, not a single male, had asked her to accompany him to the

Faraway Club for a night of drinking, dancing, and, as was well known among

the public servants of Marshall County, fornication after it was all over.

Not one paramedic, EMT, firefighter, cop, or ER tech had wanted to

experience her charms that night, this despite her well-earned reputation as

the woman who willingly gave it up for the price of a night out. What was

wrong with her? Was she losing her looks? Her charms? Had they all

experienced her enough now that they didn't want her anymore? She had

fretted over these questions for most of the previous week, stressing more

about her lack of a date than she ever had about her unpaid bills, or her

deteriorating relationship with her roommate, or any of the other hundred

and five things she should have been worried about.

Still, date or no date, she simply could not stay away from the Faraway Club

that night. The popular dance club in downtown Heritage-a place with an

almost infamous reputation-was her weekend home. She never missed a Saturday

there, not even the time she'd had the flu. She had even gone the week her

father had died, accompanying John Mallet, one of the day watch Sheriff

Deputies, the night before the funeral. And she had fucked him well

afterwards, too. Just because no one happened to ask her out for this

particular Saturday night, she was damned if she was going to sit home and

watch her roommate study.

And so, feeling depressed, dejected, old and used up, the 25-year-old

registration clerk from Valley Medical Center had driven her own vehicle

downtown to Faraway, had walked alone to the front entrance of the club, and

had paid her own cover charge for the first time in forever. She was dressed

to kill, as was the usual case on weekends, sporting a strapless black

mini-skirt that showed off her bulging boobs on the top and her slightly

chunky, though well-muscled dancer's legs on the bottom.

The club was its usual loud, semi-chaotic self as she entered. Modern dance

music boomed from the sound system while men and women, most between the

ages of 21 and 30, most dressed in the latest trendy clothes, bumped and

grinded out on the floor. The bartenders behind the large bar at the front

of the room worked frantically to keep up with the endless stream of

customers. Every cocktail table was filled, many with other regulars like

her, men and women she knew well from running into them twice every week.

Many of the men had experienced her sexual charms at one time or another.

She saw John Mallet out there dancing with Jana Hansen. She even saw Jim

Hartman, the divorced, reclusive paramedic whom she had initiated to this

place not so very long before and who had taken her on return trips three

times since. He was rubbing chests with Darlene Sandringham, one of the

young nurses from the VMC-ER's swing shift. Robin, just two weeks before,

had been the one to suggest they might have a little something in common in

the first place. How ironic that Jim the hermit was now here with a date

while she was going stag.

Since she did have many friends among the Faraway crowd it didn't take her

long to find a table to sit at and some friendly conversation. All of her

friends expressed disbelief at her inability to find a date and seemed to

take a perverse delight in mentioning it to her again and again. A few of

the regulars asked her to dance and she went willingly with them out onto

the floor, displaying her usual tireless grace, but without an official date

it just wasn't the same. The regulars she danced with all knew the peculiar

set of rules she had established long ago. They could be friendly with her

out on the floor, even overly friendly to a degree, but she would only leave

the club with her date, would only sleep with her date when the evening was

over. As such, her prospects for getting laid tonight seemed dim since all

of the men who danced with her kept a respectful distance. Another rule was

that she would allow only her date to buy drinks for her. Since no one else

in here qualified as her date and since all were well conditioned to this

rule, she found herself forced to spend her own money for her Long Island

iced teas, and, as such, she drank very little since the fucking things cost

seven bucks apiece.

In truth she had been just about to leave in despair, to make the long drive

home alone, almost completely sober and with no prospect for sexual relief

except the vibrator in her nightstand drawer. That was when a hand tapped

her on the shoulder and asked her if she would like to dance. It was a man

she had never seen here before.

She didn't think too much of him at first. He was tall and reasonably

good-looking, though obviously a bit squarer than what she was used to. He

was dressed nicely, in a pair of navy blue slacks and a yellow shirt, and he

was a little older than the majority of the crowd, seemingly in his

mid-thirties. His brown hair was cut short and styled in a corporate

professional sort of way. On his left ring finger was an expensive looking

gold band.

She accepted the dance, since she accepted almost any dance on general

principals, and, much to her surprise and delight, he danced rather well,

much better than she would have thought based on first impressions. He moved

his body perfectly in time to the beat, always seeming to put his hands in

exactly the right spot. They stayed on the floor through three different

songs, until both of them had a slight sheen of sweat on their foreheads.

They didn't talk during this time, just enjoyed the motion and the rhythm.

After that third song faded away her opinion of him went up considerably

when he said the words she had been waiting all night to hear: "Can I buy

you a drink?"

Of course she gave the appearance of playing hard to get. "You sure your

wife won't mind?" she asked slyly, pointing to the ring on his finger.

He chuckled a little. "She doesn't seem to be making any objections, does

she?"

Robin had to agree that she wasn't, and so, with the token protestation of

flirting with a married man out of the way, she told him that she would love

a drink.

She accompanied him to the bar, of course, never letting her drink pass

through his hands. That was just a common sense safety precaution in these

days of date-rape drugs. He either didn't notice her diligence in this or

pretended not to. They found two empty chairs to sit at while she sipped at

her fresh Long Island and he sipped from a rum and coke.

"I've never seen you around here before," she told him.

"I'm from Seattle," he said. "I'm only in Heritage for a few days on

business. I fly out tomorrow morning."

"How'd you end up in the Faraway?"

"My hotel is right across the street," he said. "Since all my business has

been done I thought I'd slip over here and check out a little of the

nightlife."

"I see. So you're staying at the Stovington Suites then?"

"That's right."

The Stovington Suites was a four-star hotel, arguably the nicest in the

Heritage metropolitan area. Standing 36 stories tall and overlooking the

riverfront, it was the hotel that visiting dignitaries usually stayed in,

including the President of the United States on those rare occasions he

visited the Northern California area. The cheapest rooms there ran 150

dollars a night for weekday rates. "Nice place," she said, impressed.

He shrugged, disinterested. "It's all right," he told her. "The view is the

best thing about it. My room is up on the 33rd floor."

"Thirty-three, huh?" she said, even more impressed now. Though she was not

quite a member of high society she was savvy enough to know that the cheap

rooms would not be located on the 33rd floor. She was also savvy enough to

know just why he was mentioning his room across the street and his view. He

was a married man, far from home on a business trip, and he had hopes of

luring her up there to check it out in person. She was not exactly opposed

to this idea. As a rule she stayed away from married men-there were just too

many single men around who were willing to fulfill her considerable sexual

appetite-but, like many other rules in life, she had been known to break it

on occasion. If it turned out that he was a nice guy and if he continued to

buy her Long Island iced teas at seven bucks a pop... well, why shouldn't

she accompany him up to his room for a little fun? It wasn't like she was

ever going to see him again. And there was one thing she had learned about

sex from her many encounters-another general rule so to speak. Men who

either were married or once had been tended to be much better in bed than

men who had always been single, probably from the regular practice they got

with a steady partner.

They finished their drinks and hit the dance floor once more, heading out

there by unspoken consent. He wasted little time in letting her know he was

interested in her body. His hands began to touch her a little longer, in

more strategic places. His fingertips would glide down her flanks and onto

the top of her ass, giving gentle strokes from time to time as they moved to

the music. His legs would brush frequently against hers, the material of his

slacks whispering against her bare thighs. His chest would bump gently into

hers, allowing him to feel her large boobs against his body. She encouraged

these touches the best she could, silently sending him the message they were

not unwanted.

It was a message he received very well it seemed. Soon he was even closer to

her, unabashedly rubbing himself against her, his hands now straying down

onto her ass, giving it quick squeezes, even dipping down to the back of her

thighs on occasion and stroking the skin there. She began to get turned on,

feeling the familiar dampness in her panties, and she knew that if he asked

her to go back to his room with him she would say yes. But he didn't ask. He

simply kept dancing with her, kept rubbing his body on hers, and kept buying

her fresh Long Islands every third or fourth dance. All of this was fine

with her, however. She was getting both drunk and horny and her prospects of

having the latter condition taken care of for her at some point during the

night seemed assured.

It was during a slow dance that things really started to heat up between

them. They held each other closely as they swayed slowly, sensuously to the

soft rhythm. He held his face close to hers and she could feel his breath on

her ears. His chest he kept firmly pressed against her breasts. His crotch

he pushed slowly, purposefully into her stomach. There was absolutely no

mistaking the feel of a turgid cock beneath those pants.

"You're a very sexy woman," he whispered softly into her ear.

"Thank you," she said coyly, cooing a little as his hands slid over her ass

and onto the back of her thighs once more. She let her own hands drop down

to his ass, touching it for the first time. It was a nice one, firm beneath

her fingers, as if he regularly worked out. "You're kinda sexy yourself."

"Just kind of?" he asked playfully, giving another little grind against her.

"Okay," she amended. "Very sexy."

"Mmmm," he said. "That's nice to know." His lips slid down just a little and

touched her skin just below her ear, planting a light kiss there. She felt

the tip of his tongue reach out just for a second and then withdraw, leaving

a small wet spot. The touch was electric, sending tingles through her.

"I just love the way you dance," she sighed, giving his ass one more squeeze

and then moving her hands up to his back again, so she could pull him

tighter against her.

"Do you?" he asked. "Do you like the feel of my hard cock pushing into you?"

"Oooh," she cooed, "you're talking dirty to me. And on such short notice

too."

"Don't you like it when a man talks dirty to you?"

"Yes," she said. "I love it."

"You're just a nasty little girl, aren't you?" he asked, his lips touching

her earlobe this time.

She could feel herself getting flushed with excitement now. "Yes," she told

him. "I'm a nasty little girl."

"And you love the feel of my cock pushing into you, don't you?"

"Yes," she said, her lips going to his neck now. She licked at the slight

dampness of his sweat, inhaling the scent of his cologne.

"You want to feel this cock sliding into your wet pussy, don't you?"

"Yes," she breathed. "I want you to fuck me."

"Because you're nothing but a little slut, aren't you?"

She trembled a little, feeling a pleasant sort of shame at his words. What

he was saying was insulting, yet blackly exciting at the same time. Very

rarely did anyone talk to her like this, especially on such short

acquaintance. She groaned at his words, but didn't answer. He was insistent

however.

"Aren't you?" he repeated, grinding into her again. "A little slut who wants

me to fuck her like a bitch until you're begging me for more?"

"Yes," she admitted, feeling a gush of moisture flooding from her pussy as

the word left her mouth.

"Say it," he told her.

"I'm a little slut."

"And what do you want me to do to you?"

"Fuck me," she said. "I want you to fuck me."

"Like a bitch?"

"Yes," she said, almost moaned. She was so very turned on now. "Like a

bitch."

He put his lips gently against hers and kissed her, the tip of his tongue

licking the underside of her mouth, gliding across her teeth, and then

pulling back. She refused to allow him to break the kiss though. Her hands

went to the back of his head and she pulled him back, thrusting her own

tongue out and swirling it against his, sucking lightly on it. God, how she

wanted this man, how she wanted him to treat her like the slut she was. No

one had ever made her feel the way she was feeling now.

And then, just when she thought they were going to leave, the unexpected

occurred. A woman appeared beside them. She was tall and solidly built, not

fat, but somewhat Amazonian in stature. Her hair was a rich brunette, her

breasts large and well rounded. She was wearing a conservative blue dress,

the hem knee-length, the top showing only a small amount of cleavage, her

well-muscled legs bare of nylons. She, like Robin's dancing partner, looked

to be in her mid-thirties. Overall, she gave an impression of a

well-manicured, professional woman. She looked at the two of them for a

moment, a slight smile on her face, and then she said, "May I cut in?"

Robin shot her a look of annoyance. How dare she try to cut in on her dance

now, when she was as worked up as she was likely to get without removing her

clothes. "No," she told her coldly. "I don't think so."

The woman's smile turned into a smirk. The look in her eyes became slightly

dangerous. "I wasn't talking to you," she answered. "I was talking to him."

"Huh?" she said numbly, not quite understanding.

It quickly became clear what she meant, however. Before she really realized

it was happening, the man was gone and the woman had her arms around her,

pulling her close, dancing with her. Another woman! What in the hell? And it

was a woman who towered over her. Robin was barely five feet, four inches

tall. This woman was damn near six feet. Her arms held her tightly around

the waist, so that getting away from her would be a chore.

"Uh... what exactly is going on here?" Robin asked, her voice tough to mask

the sudden nervousness she felt.

"I'm dancing with you," she said simply. "Do you have a problem with that?"

Robin looked at her, trying to read the expression in her face. It was

impossible. "Well," she said slowly, "I don't usually dance with other

women. I don't really... you know... swing that way."

"Oh no?" she asked, pulling her a little tighter. "You don't like the way my

boobs feel against you? The way my hands feel, squeezing you?"

Robin swallowed, feeling herself tremble just a little. "No," she said. "I

really don't." But even as the words left her mouth, she knew she was lying.

Though it was hard to admit to herself, she did kind of like the way this

woman's body felt against her. It was strong, like the man she had just been

dancing with, but it was also soft, a stark contrast to his.

"You don't sound so convincing," the woman said with another smirk. "Have

you been with a woman before?"

"No," she said firmly. "I told you, I don't swing that way."

The woman looked directly into her eyes, as if she was probing into her very

soul. "You're lying to me," she said. "I can tell."

She trembled again, turning her eyes away from that gaze. How did this woman

know? How could she know? It had only happened once, back when she was in

high school, something she rarely even thought about anymore. She had been

working in a hair-cutting salon, running the cash register and sweeping up

the hair from the floor between customers. The manager had been an athletic

woman in her thirties, pretty, well-built, divorced. She had invited her to

stay after work one night for a free hair cut and style. While doing the job

she had produced a bottle of rum and a six-pack of cola, offering some to

her young charge. By the time the cut and style was finished Robin had been

half-drunk, a relatively new experience for her back then. The talk had

turned to intimacies she had shared with her various boyfriends. And before

she knew what was happening, the talk had turned to kissing, to sliding

their tongues in and out of each other's mouths. Her shirt had gone to the

floor, then her bra. She had wanted to stop the woman from going any further

but her mouth on her nipples had just felt too good. That led to her jeans

being slid off and a wet, knowing mouth between her legs, bringing her to a

series of sharp orgasms unlike anything she had experienced to that point in

her life. And then it had been over, never to be repeated or offered again.

She had worked another month there and then moved on to different pastures,

burying the incident as deeply as possible. At least until now. What was

happening here? Who was this woman? And what had happened to the man she'd

been dancing with? Why wasn't he stopping this from happening?

"It's okay," the woman said now, leaning closer, so her lips were against

Robin's ear. "I know what it's like. We don't like to talk about such

things. But when we experience them, it's something special... isn't it?"

"Yes," Robin said, confused, horny, unsure of herself. "I mean... uh no.

Uh... I mean, I have to go now." She tried to twist out of the woman's arms

but they held fast, pinning her even tighter against her body.

"Don't leave," the woman told her, her voice turning hard again. "You didn't

seem to mind rubbing your body against my husband. Why should you mind

rubbing it against me?"

"Your... your... your husband?" she stammered, feeling a bolt of adrenaline

shoot through her. Was that was this was about? Was all of this touchy-feely

a prelude to taking her out in the parking lot to kick her ass?

"My husband," she confirmed, her hands dipping down now to touch Robin's

thighs. "He probably mentioned to you that we were in town on business."

"I didn't know he was married," she blurted. "Really. If I had..."

"Please dear," she said, amused. "Let's not cheapen our relationship with

more lies. Of course you knew he was married. You just didn't know his wife

was here."

"Look, I'm sorry but... Uhhhng." She grunted as the woman's fingers suddenly

went up the back of her skirt and dug into her ass, just below the edge of

her panties.

"You've been a very bad girl, haven't you?" she asked. "A slutty little

bitch, if I read this right."

"I'm going to scream if you don't let me go," Robin said. She was afraid,

but below the fear, just beneath the surface, she was aroused too. She liked

the way this woman's hands were digging into her flesh. She liked to be

treated like a bad girl and called filthy names.

"You're not going to scream," the woman said, her tongue sticking out and

licking wetly down the side of Robin's neck. "You're going to come back to

our room with us, aren't you?"

"No," Robin said, shuddering, feeling another gush of moisture between her

legs. God, what was happening here?

"Yes," she insisted, her hands squeezing and kneading Robin's ass in a

deliciously rough manner. "You're going to come back to our room with us

right now and we're going to treat you like the slutty little bitch you are

and you're going to love it, aren't you?"

"Uhhhh," Robin groaned, feeling the tongue licking at her neck again,

feeling the tits pushing into hers, most of all feeling those soft hands

squeezing her ass so harshly.

"Aren't you?"

"Yes," she said, almost sobbing. "Yes, I am."

"Let's go," the woman said, instantly breaking the embrace. She took Robin

by the hand and led her across the dance floor, toward the front door. Her

husband, still sporting an impressive bulge in his dress pants, fell in

behind them and followed them out.

They walked silently across the quiet downtown street, in through the main

entrance to the Stovington Suites Hotel. The plush lobby was almost

completely deserted. A single night clerk sat behind the main desk, reading

a novel. She looked up as they entered, gave a quick, professional smile,

and then went back to reading. Near the elevators a security guard was

stationed behind a small podium. He looked like he was half asleep. Robin

allowed herself to be led up to this podium, still unable to believe what

she was doing. She had actually accompanied total strangers across the

street and was preparing to go up to a hotel room with them. Total strangers

who were planning to treat her like "a slutty bitch," as the woman had put

it. Was she mad? Did she have a death wish? Was this not the stupidest thing

she had ever done in her life? Yes, it undoubtedly was, but she had also

never been more turned on her life. She wanted to be treated like a slutty

bitch. She wanted to be treated like a bad girl. It was sick and twisted,

she was sure, but she wanted it and was going to have it.

The man showed the security guard the plastic, magnetic card that allowed

him entry to his room. The guard gave it a cursory glance and waved them

past, wishing them a pleasant evening. The elevator doors opened immediately

when the button was pushed. The car was completely empty at this time of

night. They led her inside and the woman pushed the button for floor number

33.

The moment the doors slid shut the woman put her hand on the back of Robin's

neck and pushed. With a startled squeal, she fell to her knees, so she was

looking right at the bulging crotch of the man.

"Take his cock out and suck it," the woman ordered.

The fear was back, fighting with the arousal for top billing among her

emotions. She had pushed her down! And now she wanted her to suck him off in

an elevator? An elevator that might stop at any floor on the way up and let

someone else inside? She opened her mouth to protest, to tell them they were

taking this just a little too far, but before anything could come out of it,

the woman grabbed her roughly by the hair and pulled, jerking her head back.

"Take his cock out and suck it," she repeated. "Don't make me tell you

again."

Her hands trembling, she reached out and put her fingers on his zipper. She

unzipped it, exposing a pair of black briefs beneath. She reached inside and

pulled the elastic to one side, allowing his cock to spring free. She pulled

it out through the fly, exposing it to the air. It was a good-sized cock,

not the largest she'd ever seen, but not the smallest either. It was hard as

a diamond, the tip leaking clear pre-cum.

"Put it in your mouth," the woman snapped, giving another tug to her hair.

This elevator ride isn't going to last forever." With that she pushed her

forward.

The tip of his cock hit her right below the nose, leaving a smear of wetness

behind. Instinctively-for she had had many a cock shoved in her face in her

time-she opened up and slurped him in. He moaned in pleasure as she

swallowed him, driving her mouth down as deep as she could without gagging.

The woman released her hair as she started to bob up and down on him but the

man quickly grabbed it in her place, pulling her head back and forth,

guiding her motions. She felt so nasty and depraved, so slutty. And she was

loving it. There was absolutely no denying it. She loved the way these two

were treating her.

As the elevator continued to rise to the 33rd floor, the woman dropped to

her knees behind her. Her hands came around to the front of Robin's dress

and she grabbed it, yanking the front down, exposing her tits. She put her

hands on them, squeezing them roughly, kneading them, her fingers tweaking

the nipples. Robin felt delicious tingles spreading through her body. She

loved her tits to be played with, the rougher the better, and this woman was

being incredibly rough with them.

The woman's mouth was back on her neck now, licking, sucking, even biting.

"You love this, you little slut, don't you?"

Robin didn't answer, just kept sucking and slurping on the cock in her

mouth, letting it go further and further down her throat with each stroke.

"Don't you?" the woman demanded, giving an extra-hard tweak on her nipples,

a bite on her neck that was deep enough to hurt.

"Mmmm hmmmm," Robin grunted. It was quite obvious that she loved it.

"Yes," the woman said. "You know you do. You're just a little slutty whore,

aren't you? You're going to be our bitch tonight, aren't you?"

Robin let the cock slip from her mouth long enough to moan, "Yes!" She was

shaking with desire now. God, she loved being talked to like this, being

treated like this.

"Say it," the woman said. "I want to hear it from your mouth."

"I'm your bitch," she gasped, the cock slipping in and then back out of her

mouth.

"Yes, you are. And you're going to do everything we tell you, aren't you,

bitch?"

"Yes! Oh yes!"

The woman stood up suddenly and yanked Robin to her feet by the hair. The

man quickly reached down and stuffed his turgid cock, wet with her saliva,

back into his pants and zipped up. Robin reached for the front of her dress

to pull it up over her tits but the woman reached out and slapped her hands

back down.

"Leave it down, bitch," she told her. "I want to look at those boobies while

we walk to the room."

"But... but... what if someone... you know... sees us?" she asked, blushing.

The woman shrugged. "How many people have you showed those slutty tits to in

your life? What difference does one more make?"

Before she could answer, the elevator came to a stop and the doors slid

open. The hallway outside was empty. As they walked to room 3312, they

encountered no one. Robin was surprised to find that she was actually

disappointed. It was depraved, but she had wanted someone to see her, to see

the slutty girl being walked to the room to be treated like a bitch.

The man used his access card to open the door and they led her inside. As

she had suspected, the room was not one of the cheap ones-it was a suite. A

huge, king-size bed sat in the middle of the room, the covers turned back, a

chocolate patty resting on the pillow. A sitting room was opposite the bed,

opulent furniture and a stocked bar taking up space here. Next to the

bathroom was a sunken hot tub with fragrant steam wafting out of it. The

curtains were standing wide open, showing an impressive view of the downtown

high-rises and the waterfront, including the 1930s era drawbridge that was

the symbol of downtown Heritage. The room had the desired effect on her,

making her feel she was in the presence of powerful people, people who were

used to taking what they wanted from life.

As had been the case in the elevator, the moment the door shut behind them,

the woman grabbed Robin, this time roughly by the shoulders. Instead of

pushing her down, however, she spun her around to face her. Her hands slid

up, over her neck, squeezing just enough to show who was in control, and

then onto her face. She pulled Robin's face to hers and kissed her hard, her

tongue jamming brutally into her mouth, her teeth nipping at her lips. Robin

moaned again, returning the kiss, swirling her tongue around, enjoying the

taste and feel of a woman's mouth against hers. The woman's left hand

dropped down from her face, trailing over her tits, and then was suddenly up

under her dress, the fingers pushing against the crotch of her panties,

right over her pussy lips.

She pulled her mouth from Robin's but kept her hand in place, squeezing and

rubbing her pussy through the panties. "You're wet, you little slut," she

said. "You're absolutely soaking."

"Mmmm," Robin groaned, pushing her crotch harder into that hand, feeling the

pleasure radiating through her.

"You love this shit, don't you, slut? You love being treated like a nasty

little whore, don't you?"

"Yes," Robin groaned. "I'm a whore. I'm a nasty whore."

The woman removed her hand and pulled back, prompting a grunt of displeasure

from Robin. It was ignored. She licked her fingers and then slowly backed

up, until her legs were against the foot of the bed. She lay back on it, her

calves dangling over, and then leaned back, so she was resting on her

elbows. She spread her legs wide and reached down, grabbing the hem of her

dress. She pulled it up, first exposing her tanned thighs and then her

crotch. She was not wearing any panties. Her pubic hair was shaved from

around her lips, leaving them bare, only a single black tuft growing above

them. The lips were swollen and very wet, the clit protruding from its hood.

The man was suddenly standing behind her again, his cock bulge pushing into

her ass, his hot breath in her ear. "Get between her legs and eat her," he

ordered.

Her mouth opened to protest. Though the woman's pussy looked very appealing,

she had never put her mouth on one before and wasn't sure if she should

really cross that particular line. But before so much as a syllable could

come forth, the man's hands were on the back of her hair, pulling it

roughly.

"Do it," he said, pushing her forward, continuing to pull her hair. He

shoved her down to her knees once more so she was leaning over the foot of

the bed, her head inches from the woman's crotch. She could smell the sharp

musk of her juices now, a smell not unlike her own, but at the same time,

startlingly different.

"Yes," the woman said, reaching out her own hand and taking over the duty of

grabbing her hair. "Eat me. Make me cum like a good little slut."

The man let go of her hair and the woman pulled harder on it, dragging her

face forward, mashing it directly into her slippery lips and rubbing it

around. Robin's mouth was now full of the smell and taste of her, another

woman's juices saturating her face. She gasped in pleasure and fear, trying

at first to keep her mouth closed. A sharp yank on her hair soon changed her

mind however. She stuck out her pink tongue and started to lick, hesitantly

at first, just brushing the lips.

"Eat me, goddammit!" the woman barked. "Eat me like you mean it! I'm never

going to cum like this!"

She started to lick harder, her strokes more firm, the taste now filling her

mouth, and she found she loved it. She loved the feel of the soft lips

against her tongue. She loved the almost overpowering odor of aroused pussy

in her nose.