Latifa, like she always did, slid forward without hesitation and pressed her tongue right to my crack. She licked in a long, deliberate trail, slow and teasing, and the tiny flicks made my toes curl and my spine shiver. That wet, warm contact at the base of me sent little shockwaves up through my hips. It was an intimate, electric kind of pleasure that pooled low and hot. Latifa worked with practiced rhythm, her mouth exploring, tasting, and every pass warmed me more.
Above her, I kept driving into Ayane in a mating-press—my weight pinned over her, my hips driving down in a hard, steady cadence so my cock slammed her cervix repeatedly. Every downward thrust hit that raw, bruising place and left a delicious sting that buzzed through my bones.
