No Contest Book 3 Tallying the Score 2001 2003Chapter 18
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No Contest Book 3: Tallying The Score 2001-2003Chapter 12 free porn video
Joe and Cheryl headed south around noon the next day, Joe driving his Mercedes sportster. A leisurely trip. Neither were in a hurry to get anywhere.
“You seem ready to join the group thing,” Joe said as they finally left Manhattan, getting on the New Jersey Turnpike.
“I realized that wasn’t really my problem,” Cheryl said. “Being with Jo, and having Li join us, it never felt uncomfortable. The opposite actually. I felt loved and welcomed, even after being such a bitch.”
“Never a bitch, Cheryl. You wanted to retreat.”
“I thought I did. To have love one-on-one. Something I thought we never quite had. Obviously it wasn’t enough for him. Maybe it wasn’t enough for me, either. I don’t think I was ever as happy as I was with you. Not just that I missed you, but I missed all the people I loved. The kids of course. But your wives as well. And those who might as well be your wives. Jo. Shawn, even if she has found a mate.
“What I figured was this selfish impulse to just have you, which probably had a lot to do with jumping into marriage to the first guy to promise monogamy so as not to pull you away from those you love, whom I love as well, was really something totally different. I think I realized it when I suspected Ned cheating, and wasn’t mad because he was fucking someone else, but because he was lying about it. I would have had no problem joining him in his affairs, just like I had with our wives and lovers.
“No, what I actually wanted was not to be that slut anymore. The one who could fuck anyone. Any man really. But I suppose women too if I didn’t love them. Men were the problem though. The one-on-one thing, the monogamy, was a way, I think, to simplify things. To control who I shared my bed with. To feel the exclusivity of love, specific to the one I was with.
“Problem was, I already had that. You and I have never been exclusive. And yet we always were. Whether it was just the two of us in bed together, or a bed full of bodies, when we made love, in those precious moments...” she giggled, “or hours often enough, it was just us. The rest of the universe disappeared. I always knew that, but for some reason I forgot.”
“Partly my fault,” Joe said.
“Joe!”
“Hear me out please. It takes a lot of confidence to sustain relationships with so many amazing women. To consider myself worthy of it. Anyone of you could have found a lover you didn’t have to share. And yet you wanted to be with me and each other. But when my confidence sagged for whatever reason, I felt less and less worthy of you. And you proved I wasn’t. With Ned. And Moe and Chandi with each other. Maybe the confident man might have fought for you. Maybe my lack of confidence drove you away. But I think, at the least, I wasn’t there as I once was in that place I once was making you feel exclusive with me when we made love.”
“Not when we made love, Joe. That never ended. In fact it might have been stronger. Your need for me to be there was stronger. But our friendship might have suffered. We both were more guarded, which we never were before.”
“Yeah,” Joe simply said.
“But I think the old Joe is back. And I’ll do all I can to keep it that way.”
“Me too,” Joe smiled.
They became silent for a while. Ironically because they had just promised to communicate like they once did, the way that had first drawn them together. Except the silence was part of that. Being okay with it. Comfortable in it. Not needing to fill in the blanks.
“What do you think of Consuela?” Joe asked, ending the silence.
“Interesting choice,” Cheryl answered.
“How so?”
“I think she’s a complicated woman. Her complexity must have made it less obvious she would be one of us women you wanted to save.”
“Except that she’s an escort.”
“You’ve met many prostitutes in your life. I brought you to several in my research. But I only recall two before you felt compelled to save. And Chandi wasn’t ever really a whore.”
“True. Go on.”
“Well she has three essential traits. She’s smart, beautiful, and you two get along.”
“And she gets along with you.”
“She does, but you didn’t know that except for Ginny.”
“It seemed likely. Her being bright, having a good sense of humor and a lack of arrogance.”
“Her regal bearing might suggest otherwise, especially first impressions. Part of her complexity, because it’s there and yet it barely lasts a moment before being subsumed by other aspects. Like layers. One of which is a simmering anger.”
“My guess is it comes from her parents,” Joe surmised. “Especially her father. The whole thing about having a royal legacy. The ruler becoming the servant. Proud, angry and ashamed. Bitter. How would such a man treat a daughter? Especially a rebellious one?”
“I don’t think she was abused. At least not physically.”
“Not physically. Passive aggressive to the extreme. His little princess. His little weapon of pride and arrogance. Fed bitterness as well. And rejecting it. Rejecting him. Him rejected from all sides. His work and his home. Fueling his anger.”
“Sharpening the blades of his words. How would that model the men in her life?”
“Johns.”
“Having power over her because they purchased her.”
“And yet manipulated. Formed into lovers.”
“Controlled.”
“Or at least tried to be. The way she claimed to accept her lot as prostitute at first. And then finally admitted times when she just needed to get drunk to alleviate the horror of it.”
“Controlling rather than controlled.”
“Maybe angry like her father. Or maybe even success was bitter victory. More and more Pyrrhic. She likened it to any normal job. Getting tired of it. Going through the motions.”
“At such an intimate level. From trying to make the john into a lover not like her father to not caring. Wow.”
“Yeah.”
“I believe she did need saving.”
“Yeah. But what does that mean? How am I to her?”
“Because she’s broken? You’re fixing her like the rest of us. You love her, and not just for a moment. Not a fake, bought moment.”
“Even though I did buy her?”
“She does want the supposed fiction of her being your research assistant to be real.”
“True. But do you think she’ll need more than I can give? Since I won’t just be with her.”
“I think it’s exactly right for her. She can be loved and appreciated and be herself. Be independent. Even if there’s the monetary component, I don’t think she’ll feel bought by you. Because the relationship is real. Honest. Maybe for the first time in her life.”
“Do you think I can help her with her demons?”
“I think you have, or started to. You discussed what she thought about being an escort. In a way that brought out the truth. Perhaps loving her the way you love your women will break through all those walls she has needed to build. Against her father’s abuse. Against all those johns she tried to make love her, but of course never really succeeded.”
“Do you think she’ll get angry at me? Fighting those demons? And would that be a good thing? Breaking down those walls? The psychiatrist couch becoming my bed?”
“You think it dangerous being a layman shrink so to speak? I don’t. You’re particularly and maybe peculiarly experienced in this sort of thing. You’ve brought a lot of women out of their dark place by loving them.”
“Let my love light shine,” he chuckled.
They both sang the old Bobby Blue Bland song. Turn on Your Love Light.
They stopped at a cheap motel near Cape Hatteras. Walked the cool, dark and rainy beach, arm in arm. The sweep of the light from the lighthouse making it that much more romantic. Returned to the funky but comfortable and clean room and made love. The squeaky bed might have kept neighbors up if there’d been any. Slow and relentless until it became fast and relentless.
They slept until the time they needed to check out. Showered quickly and individually. Went back on the road and talked. Making love that way. Connecting.
What was different was the connecting. Reconnecting. They were an old couple. Familiar with each other, and also refamiliarizing. In the past, particularly in their early days, just talking like that would get Joe hard and Cheryl wet. This was different. It warmed their souls rather than their genitals. Stopping didn’t mean urgent fucking. Instead of dashing into the motel bed, they had dinner and walked. When it was time, when it was night and time for bed, only then did it become about sex. Again without urgency. Slow and loving. More rediscovering. Bodies and reactions. Eyes having intercourse as well as lips and tongues, penis and vagina. But Joe being Joe and Cheryl being Cheryl, it became relentless. Three orgasms for Joe. Several for Cheryl.
Enough for Cheryl to need a break. At least her pussy. So the third night, in Miami, they just relaxed in bed and talked. It was making love. And exactly what they needed. Cheryl offered her patented deep throat blow job and Joe said no.
Though she did wake him up that way that next morning. And he reciprocated. Before they had to rush out to catch their flight to Barbados.
Unlike almost every time Joe arrived there, Linton didn’t pick him up in his limo. Moe did in her vintage Mini. Greeting them both with an enthusiastic kiss.
“I’m horny,” she said. Cheryl and Joe laughed.
“That won’t do,” said Cheryl.
Moe drove them to her house as quick as possible. Clothes got strewn on the path to the bed. Moe spread her legs and Joe entered her. Cheryl kissing and caressing her. Only after Moe came a couple times and Joe released inside her did things slow down.
Cheryl took Joe’s place atop her longtime lover and ex-wife. Kissing her and making love to her. Joe behind them. Tasting himself in Moe’s cunt, and Cheryl’s sweet familiar flavor. He masturbated to get hard again, sucking two of his favorite quims helping as it always did. Until he steered himself back into Moe. Fucking her slowly. Bringing her a much quieter orgasm before pulling out and pushing into the pussy just above hers.
As usual, it took Cheryl longer to cum. So that Moe turned around beneath her, adding laps of her tongue on Cheryl’s clit, Joe spreading both sets of legs wide and taking care to still Cheryl while driving downwards into her to make room. It definitely helped. Cheryl came powerfully.
Moe pulled Joe’s cock out once Cheryl came down from her great height of pleasure and sucked Joe, getting him closer to his own release, and then returning to Cheryl’s cunt. This time letting him fuck Cheryl hard. Just fingers helping. While Cheryl did all she could with her mouth to bring Moe over. And succeeded.
Not long after, Cheryl came again. She then pulled herself off of Joe’s erection, turned herself and Moe around so that Moe was on top and her ass high, pussy ready to receive Joe’s cock again. Cheryl watching from below. Rubbing clit and bouncing balls. Joe hanging on to Moe’s tits, squeezing nipples. Fucking hard. Getting himself there. Holding back just enough for Moe to cum again. Then pressing as deep as he could in a pussy he knew could never take all of him. But the careful pressing of Moe’s cervix actually made it somehow better. For both of them. Throbs meeting throbs.
They relaxed, Joe at the center between his two long time lovers.
“So,” Joe started, for no apparent reason garnering giggles from just that word. “I imagined you’d rent a room, Moira. Is Chandi staying somewhere else?”
“No,” said Moe.
“But...”
“She’s as much your lover or wife or whatever as I am. I want her here. With you. For her.”
“I know she knows what I wanted,” said Cheryl calmly.
“And she agreed with you. She was willing to stay away. But more she wanted her time with you.”
“With Joe.”
“With both of you.”
“But...” Cheryl started.
“She may have favored me and Joe, but you know she loves you.”
“And I love her.”
“Of course. Like I said, she’s our wife, or had been before I pulled her away. I know Joe. She’s done well because of it. But I shouldn’t have made it such a painful fracture. I was too selfish to understand.”
“And she was too quiet to explain,” Joe said.
“She wanted me to be happy. To feel like I was the most important person in her life.”
“Which you are.”
“No. You are.”
“Moira...”
“You know it’s true.”
“I don’t actually. You’re her lover now. I’m a visitor.”
“A most welcome visitor.”
“Nevertheless. Maybe she missed me. Maybe she needs me. But we’re here in your bed. The one you share with her every night. I think your bond is as least as strong as mine is with Cheryl.”
“You’re still soulmates?”
“Yes,” said Cheryl.
“I guess I never really was.”
“I love you as much as anyone else except Cheryl,” Joe insisted.
“No you don’t Joe. You love Chandi more. I know she’s up there with Liang and Esther. Chandi made me realize I do need you in my life. I know we love each other. I did miss you. I did feel your absence. And you removing your head from your ass like I did and being back with Joe, Cheryl, and being here with me, I do feel complete. Like old times.”
“Like old times,” Cheryl agreed. “And Chandi snuck into our hearts just like Yanhuo and Essie.”
“Essie was always part of our heart, even before the slut took over as legal wife.”
“When she was that little girl proclaiming her destiny.”
“Yes.”
“Did you have that weird feeling that that five year old was right?”
“I did.”
“You never said.”
“That was your job. To encourage her flights of fancy. I was always the disciplinarian. The realist.”
“It was your job to rein us in.”
“Not you, Cheryl. I envied your impulsiveness. Your wildness.”
“My sluttiness.”
“Yes.”
“And now that I am no longer a slut?”
“I ... empathized. And again you were the bold one.”
“Leaving Joe.”
“Before I left him.”
“I’m right here,” he sniffled.
“So are we,” said Moe, kissing a damp cheek. “Is this what this is about?” she asked Cheryl.
“Yes,” Cheryl admitted. “And you’re right. Chandi is part of it.”
“Just as long as you don’t invite Ned down,” said Joe.
“Ned is the problem, Joe,” said Cheryl. “A mistake I guess I had to make to realize what my change really meant to me. To us.” She looked at Moe.
“And Chandi ended up being a solution,” Joe said. “At least for me.”
“For us once she gets here,” Cheryl giggled.
“Until then, how about we go shopping. I’d like to cook dinner for my former and future wives.”
“Exactly what I miss,” Cheryl grinned. “Domesticity.”
“You were always the better cook,” said Moe to Joe. “What’s for dinner?”
“We’re on an island. Fish stew.”
“Bouillabaisse!” the ladies exclaimed and giggled.
“I’ll leave a note,” said Moe while they got out of bed.
“Have her meet us at the market,” Joe said. “Unless you don’t expect her anytime soon.”
“The freshest fish is just up the beach at the pier. We can take our time getting there. She’ll probably be here in about an hour.”
“Perfect,” said Cheryl.
The ladies dressed in loose shorts and t shirts. Joe wore similar shorts as well, and an old aloha shirt he’d bought during a Hawaiian vacation he’d shared with his wives at the time. Cheryl and Moe and Liang. Moe had them put on protective lotion. Joe thought her deep tan didn’t need any, but she put some on as well. Or rather, Joe put it on her.
Once at the beach, they removed their flip flops. Joe once more walking on sand. This time with the two women he loved most. At that moment, he disagreed with Moe. His love for her was nearly equal to his love for Cheryl.
Joe put his footwear in his ubiquitous shoulder bag so he could hold their hands. Except when the two ladies cheerfully danced at the edge of the waves. Their laughs and youthful behavior made him as happy as he’d ever been. Their beauty seemed to shimmer in the sun.
When they reached the pier they stopped. Joe joined them playing at the edge of the water. Getting knee deep with them. A little higher for them. Especially Cheryl, who came close to wetting the bottom edge of her shorts.
A deeply tanned beauty suddenly embraced Joe from behind. He turned and hugged Chandi, who wore pulled up slacks and a blouse tied beneath her full breasts. Obviously not bothering to change. They lingered on the kiss until she jumped into his arms. He barely could hold her, threatening to dump her into the water. But managed it long enough for the lusty effect of pressing groins together before she landed on her feet, giggling.
Then she did something perfect for the moment. She lifted Cheryl like Joe had held her, and kissed her. Cheryl held on, arms around Chandi’s neck, for as long as possible.
“God, I’ve missed you Chan,” Cheryl murmured before dropping from her arms.
“I’ve missed you too, Cher. I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
“You guys...”
“Yep!” Cheryl giggled.
“Good. I didn’t want to...”
“I know. And I appreciate it. But Moe reminded me you’re always welcome. In my heart. And my bed,” she giggled again.
“Good to know,” Chandi giggled too.
“Don’t I get some?” Moe pouted.
“Years. Months. Hours,” Chandi pointed.
“So?”
They embraced and kissed almost as intensely, though both kept their feet on the ground. The sand. Under the water. Joe glanced at their audience on the beach. Lust. Envy. A spattering of hate. Mostly from the females. Mothers turning their youngsters away from the shameful display of lesbianism. Joe chuckled.
“We better get to shopping before they close up shop,” said Chandi.
She walked hand in hand with Joe. Neither Cheryl nor Moe minded. They walked hand in hand as well.
Moe chose a flying fish from the market, and brought it to be deboned in a shop, where Joe bought Mahi Mahi steak and freshly shucked scallops and mussels, still in their shells. Along with the fresh herbs and spices and vegetables he needed.
Joe did the carrying back to the house while all three ladies danced and played at the edge of the water. He and Moe prepared the stew while Cheryl and Chandi got to know each other intimately. He brought bread and cheese and figs to the bed to share with the ladies before getting naked, along with Moe. Cheryl and Moe caressed Joe and Chandi coming together in a missionary fuck. Until they looked at each other. Cheryl giggling, beckoning her ex-wife. And two sets of lovers made love.
Once Joe climaxed into a well sated Chandi, they broke apart. Joe getting everyone’s attention getting him hard again. Moe sitting on his mouth to encourage him. Then those two commenced making love to each other while Cheryl and Chandi returned to their explorations. Moe took their attention when she rode Joe enthusiastically until she came. Joe was still hard.
“We’ll check the stew,” Moe winked at Chandi.
Cheryl swallowed up Joe’s erection. Joe pulled her over him. He came first in the expert mouth and throat, but made sure she got hers before they broke apart.
Just t-shirts covered his lovers in the kitchen. He spanked each naked butt before checking the stew.
“I think it’s ready, Joe,” Moe giggled, giving him a kiss. He also wore only his top, and she patted his damp penis.
He carefully sampled the broth and nodded. “You’re right,” he smiled.
They decided to cover their bottoms. Commando. They moaned their pleasure at the deliciousness of the stew.
Joe raised his glass of white Bordeaux, appropriately French. “To us,” he toasted.
“To love,” Cheryl added.
“To being together,” said Moe.
“To never being apart again,” said Chandi.
“Uhm,” Joe reacted.
“Two years, Joe. I promise,” Chandi explained.
“To never being apart,” Joe smiled.
“Never apart,” the ladies said. And everyone clinked glasses and drank.
And the conversation focused on that.
“I’ll be up for full professorship and tenure,” Chandi said. “But I’m afraid I’ll have to refuse their generous offer.”
“Columbia?” Joe asked.
“I’m thinking something closer to home. Hunter.”
Joe chuckled. “I’m not sure I’d be such a great influence. Back to one semester a year, and no involvement in the workshop.”
“They’d still hate to lose the famous Joseph Solomon.”
“So, blackmail?”
Chandi snorted. “Nothing so sordid. I’ve already discussed things with the head of social sciences. Though it may end being at the New School. I’ve found more enthusiasm for the text book I’m working on.”
“Text book?” Joe asked.
“Expanding my dissertation. On the cultural upheaval of the indigenous population from the conquerors and their slaves in the Americas. I’ve already finished and published a section on Mexico and Central America.”
“Why haven’t I seen it?”
“Sorry,” said Moe.
“You have a copy?” Joe asked Chandi.
“Yes. Anyway, the next part is South America. I spent some time in the Andes last summer. Then the Southeast US. Followed by the West and Midwest. Then New York and New England.”
“What about Canada?” Cheryl asked.
“It’s sort of inclusive to other parts. The Arcadians moving to New Orleans. The forced relocation of the Inuits relating to similar goings on south of them. The trapper culture as well, in New England. Anyway, I’m looking for collaborators. And there’s a fellow at the New School who’s interested.”
“In you or the book?” Joe smirked.
“Jealous?”
“I’m kidding.”
“Are you?” Cheryl asked.
“After Ned?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve always been okay with any of you being with other lovers. Women or men. It did hurt that you went off with him of course. And believe me, I’d hate it if Chandi chose to be with someone else.”
“It would,” said Moe.
“But...”
Chandi laughed. “I’ve never even met the fellow. Just correspondence. I found a cultural anthropologist whose writings fascinated me, so I sent him mine. He’s definitely interested. In my writing!”
“He just hasn’t met you yet,” Cheryl giggled.
“It can’t be a large group,” Joe asked. “Cultural anthropologists.”
“I haven’t exactly put myself out there in that academic community,” Chandi admitted. “Bridgetown is a bit of a backwater institution. I’ve never gone to any gatherings. Actually my first will be in a couple weeks. In LA at the UCLA campus. They invited me to present my paper and sit on a panel focusing on the annihilation or usurpation of Amerindian cultures.”
“Congratulations,” Joe said.
“Thanks. And George will be there. Professor Lockwood. On the panel with me.”
“George?” Cheryl giggled.
“He prefers informal, even in our correspondences. Of course he’s fairly young and not likely to move on, or would the New School likely hire redundantly. But the professor at Hunter is getting on. A problem in that we don’t see eye to eye on much. It won’t be her choice who replaces her, but I imagine her recommendation might sway things.”
“Or not,” said Joe. “With publications and invitations and the idea of fresh blood replacing stale blood, the head of the social sciences might be inclined to ignore her opinion. Added to that is the ambitiousness of authoring a text book. One that may well be used by other colleges. But if you’re incorporating your papers to create this book, why do you need the collaboration?”
“Because it can’t be a singular thesis if it does become the main text of a class. It needs to be well rounded. Inclusive of other viewpoints. I know the previous scholarship, but George has a much deeper understanding. He teaches the history of it.”
“So he would edit your text?”
“I think of it more as a synthesis. His analytical approach and his knowledge of previous thinking meshing with mine.”
“But specific to the Amerindian survey?”
“Yes. Although it isn’t exclusive to the Amerindians. They are necessarily the starting point. It’s much broader than that. The culture of the various conquerors and their slaves. The influx of European workers. But the native culture being conquered is ubiquitous, which gives the text its unity.
“The other part of bringing George into it is his previous publications. Both Oxford and Harvard, both of which he actually attended, have published him.”
“But isn’t textbook publishing a specialty thing?”
“I suppose it is.”
“I think she’s talking about prestige,” said Moe.
“Okay,” Joe said. “That makes sense. Papers and prestige, the hierarchy of the professor. And Harvard even trumps Columbia.”
“Yes Joe,” Chandi smiled.
“And what about you, Moira? Your part in the two year plan to come ... home?”
“It will be coming home Joe. I love it here, but sometimes it feels like a really long vacation. That it isn’t a real place. My work here is more piecemeal rather than anything permanent. I won’t have any business to sell when I move. Mostly my copy and choosing from a pool of graphic artists. Leo and I often collaborate on concept. I guess that will be the partnership that gets dissolved, but she’s a clever girl and will do fine without me. And I have kept my toe in New York advertising. Sort of like my dad did after he retired. My old company knows I have an eye for latent talent, so they’ll fax me portfolios. Sometimes they hit a dead end or a client fits my particular style. Since I don’t actually go up there, it’s occasional. Having to deal with things electronically at a distance isn’t really conducive to the work, since campaigns tend to be a group thing. Every once in a while a couple of them will come down, but I think it’s just an excuse for a paid vacation,” Moe chuckled.
“So you think they’ll rehire you?” Joe asked.
“Only if they hire me part time. Being here is an excuse to act as a consultant. Once I’m there, they might expect me to put my full focus on it like I did as a partner. I don’t want it to sap my energy. I enjoy writing my scary little stories too much.”
“Why do you think they would require you to work full time?” Cheryl asked.
“Because my old partners miss me? Miss my unique vision? What made the company different? Maybe that’s why they wanted my advice on hiring. Finding those who might stir up the creativity. But it’s the culture that makes the difference. One that doesn’t want to take chances. That has more of a sequel mentality than one in which campaigns can be utterly unexpected, or can shift in unexpected ways. A new employee might not want to upset the boat. They want the paycheck and the career. When I was there, I didn’t just expect input from everyone, I required it. New ideas, however wild. In fact the wilder the better. And if the newbie thinks an idea is shit, I expect them to say it. A group of equals without hierarchy. Not one based on seniority where the most experienced rules.”
“If they say they want that back,” Joe suggested, “why not be the one to make it happen? Show each group the way it should be done, then step away? Fire those who can’t give up command, who treat the others as underlings. Let the newbies flourish, and eventually get rid of those who don’t.”
“You could always promote the arrogant bosses out of the group,” Cheryl chuckled. “The old Peter Principle.”
“Luckily they haven’t got that bureaucratic,” Moe smiled. “Even the partners remain working stiffs. I’d probably need status like a partner if I’m given the power to restore the culture, and especially the power to fire. I can’t imagine a staff being comfortable with an outside consultant. Like one of those fucking efficiency experts.”
“Are you talking about buying in?” Joe asked.
“Definitely not. Partner status, not actual partner.”
“You should at least get a bonus for improved profit,” Cheryl suggested.
“Let’s not jump the gun. A lead salary would be fine. Until I’m sure I’m not pulled into full time. Then we can discuss getting me a better contract, Cheryl.”
“Lead?” Joe asked.
“Even though I expect input from everyone, someone needs to supervise. To pull things together. Anarchy doesn’t do well with due dates.”
“Makes sense.”
They finished off their meal with coffee and cognac. Chandi pulled out a sizable and effective splif. They giggled their way into the bedroom. Stripping and entering the bed.
Chandi became the center of attention. From toes to the top of her head. Joe finally entered her missionary style. Teased to the edge for a long time, she exploded after only a couple thrusts. Joe continued thrusting, eventually turning over for her to ride him, where Chandi achieved her next orgasm. After somewhat recovered, Cheryl straddled Joe’s face, and the ladies above him leaned into each other and caressed and kissed each other.
Moe grabbed her Joe sized dildo and the harness to strap it on. Chandi slowed her ride to allow Moe to lube her asshole. She relaxed enough to let the dildo pop past her sphincter. It remained slow. Almost imperceptibly building speed. Until Chandi rode Joe wildly, while Moe found a way to keep her thrusts at a slower pace. Chandi pressed down hard and rubbed, pubic bone against pubic bone. A keening sound emerged from her mouth. Her body undulated, physicalizing the intense washes of pleasure. Her pussy pulsed and shimmered, effectively milking Joe of his cum, which shot up into her as she crested. Joe getting to feel all of it as it was coaxed out rather than brought forth from fucking.
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