A Birthday Feast, part 11

kategodiva.jpgI’m relieved when Andale takes the blade from me. Watching Molly’s tongue on my Lover’s throat, feeling Andale’s fingers return to their occupation between my thighs and her breasts pressing into my back, feeling the light breeze across my own now, imagining the torture Janie must be feeling – it’s all too much, and I’m afraid my hand may not remain steady.

Gratefully, I sink back into Andale’s body and slip my arms behind me. I want to stroke her pussy the way she’s stroking mine. I can only reach her thighs, and I shift a bit to one side. I can still only just reach the top of her cunt with one hand, and with my other I begin to stroke her thigh. We mark out a rhythm between us, slow but grinding.

I’m entranced and distracted from my own ministrations watching Molly trade wine with Janie. It’s a tender ceremony of compassion I see, and it moves me. Their eyes are locked, and mine flit back and forth between theirs. Andale is bringing me close, and I can’t help it when my fingers begin to tighten on her thigh.

My eyes have closed and I’m lost in myself, my hips responding to Andale’s fingers without my control. Our rhythm has picked up, and continues to increase in pace and intensity. I can feel her breath on my neck, and hear the little moans and sighs from Janie and Molly.

I’m suddenly startled by Andale’s voice, quiet but commanding.

“Molly! Out!”

My eyes snap open and I see Molly wearing a sheepish pout in reaction to her reprimand. She hesitates a moment, and it’s only when she moves that I understand her transgression. Reluctantly, she slips her fingers from inside my Lover, making sure to glide them along her clit as they pass in a last tiny act of defiance.

Janie moans in unfulfilled disappointment, and a little begging whine of “Please” escapes her lips. I can only look on and smile in playful sympathy for my Love.

“It’s not time yet, dear Janie.” Andale’s voice is full of almost motherly placating.

Molly turns her gaze to me, filled with lust and desire and need, and want, and gently offers me her glistening fingers. I take them slowly into my mouth, inhaling and tasting Janie, reveling in the feeling of these women’s fingers penetrating me from opposite directions and seeing my poor tormented Love watch now that her head is free to move a little. I am at the very edge.

Andale withdraws before I’m ready, and her sudden retreat is too unexpected for me to catch. Molly however, isn’t so interested in ending this moment so quickly. She remains where she is, and as Andale stands behind me and then heads back to the baskets, I saturate my own fingers in my slickened cunt and offer them in trade to Molly.

“It’s time for the next course, ladies.”

A Birthday Feast, part 11, written by Kate. Part 12 to come soon. To see the entire story, so far, click here.

~ by Molly Montrevoir on February 23, 2007.

8 Responses to “A Birthday Feast, part 11”

  1. Just remember, Kate and Andale:

    What goes around, comes last when it …

    no, wait.

    She who comes last…

    No, that’s not it either.

    You two are gonna get it!

    That’s what I mean!

    Teasing a poor girl like that… You should be proud… I mean ashamed!

    πŸ˜‰

  2. Listen to you, so distracted by unsatisfied desire that you can barely keep your aphorisms straight…

    I really was trying to help you.

    No, that’s not quite true is it. I was helping myself *to* you, wasn’t I …

  3. Oh, help yourself, dear Molly.

    Feel free! (but a kiss might cost ya’!)

    πŸ˜‰

  4. (And my aphorisms don’t seem to be the only things I can’t keep “straight”!)

    πŸ™‚

  5. Straight, bent, no matter πŸ™‚

    And as for costs, well, you can collect once you’re free. Until then, I’m on a payment holiday!

    Caveat emptor

  6. Now that, Dear Molly, is a date.

    And I intend to collect with interest! πŸ˜‰

    Just so y’know.

  7. Oh I have no doubt about your interest πŸ™‚ I believe it is compounded daily, is it not?

  8. Indeed. In fact you might say it swells with each passing day, and that it’s tied tightly to the rock of the Primed Interest Rate of the Banks of the South Pacific, rather than resting on the shifting sands of overeager investors.

    πŸ˜‰

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