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Alma and Bee

by | flash fiction, mff | 0 comments

Bee’s whimpers of need were, frankly, pretty pathetic. As was the way she raised her hips in the air, trying in vain to reach something to rub against. Her greedy cunt was glistening wet, shaved bare, and swollen from hunger and torment.

She was tied to a table. The ropes were thick tan hemp, coiled neatly around her wrists and ankles, in complex webs across her chest, and binding her tightly to the broad wooden surface. Her arms and legs were spread, her light brown skin had a patina of sweat. She radiated need.

The guests of the party stood around the table and examined her. They held sweating glasses of white wine and laughed as she squirmed.

Alma was at my arm, graceful and aloof. It was fun to kiss her in front of Bee, knowing the crush she had on both of us. Bee strained against the rope, and her gag as the pretty blonde and I made out. Alma was such a good kisser I almost forgot that it was mostly for show.

It wasn’t really Bee’s fault. I had worked her up to a state so that she was less a pretty girl and more an animal.

I sat Alma on the table. She was in nothing but garters, stockings, panties, and a bra. She was a good girl and knew to keep her panties over her garter, and so it was easy enough to pull them off. I pushed her back until she was pressing her naked ass against Bee’s struggling body. 

Kneeling on the floor, I kissed Alma’s thighs softly. There was something elegant about her, not clumsily wanton like Bee. I kissed up her thighs, left then right, then from her knees to her inner thighs, until I couldn’t take it anymore, and I slipped my tongue over her pretty lips.

She was sweet-smelling and perfectly wet. Not the dripping mess that Bee was, but just enough. Perhaps more than enough when I buried my face between her thighs and circled my tongue against her clit. 

From the corner of my eye, I could see Alma’s hand absentmindedly resting on Bee’s chest. As Alma sat back, her palm pressed hard into Bee’s sternum. Her other hand gripped Bee’s thigh, leaving small half-moon marks where her nails dug into the tender flesh.

The little crowd around us buzzed with conversation. Others were forming couples or threesomes, kissing and pawing at each other’s clothes. Still, most attention was on Bee, as she struggled and Alma leaned against her harder.

When I came up for air, Alma kissed me hard on the lips, her hand around my waist, her sweet breath whispering, “please.”

I undid my belt and laid it across Bee’s bound legs, then quickly took off my shoes, pants, socks, and boxers and threw them all over Bee. One sock draped over her face. 

A friend passed me a condom as Alma kissed my neck. I pulled her to her feet and spun her around, laying her across Bee’s body.  Then I slipped my cock into the pretty girl.

Looking down at Bee, I could just barely make out the faraway trance-like look in her eyes. The frustration having melted into tiny cycles of masochistic pleasure and humiliation.

I fucked Alma hard, both to get her off and to wake Bee up. I wanted her to feel it too. I wanted her to feel how hard she wasn’t getting fucked. I wanted her to feel Alma’s elbows digging into her chest as she rested on her. I wanted her to understand that she was just a piece of furniture to fuck on.

I liked how Alma didn’t mind being used like this, and how Bee could fall into this well of humiliation and need.

Sometimes an orgasm feels like a wave of electricity. It comes over you and deletes all of your thoughts, no matter how intense and complicated. Where the thoughts were, there are only images.

As I fucked sweet Alma, I pictured doing bad things, things I wasn’t supposed to do. I thought about coming inside of her, thought a condom, that raw skin on skin, feeling the true wetness of her and my come filling her. I imagined my hand hard in Bee’s hair, making her lick up the mess I made. Then faster images of violence, of an orgy around me, of Bee and Alama and a hundred other women I fucked or loved or passed in the streets.

And when I was done, I saw Alma panting and languid. I saw bruises forming on Bee’s skin. I heard the orgy around me. And all was right with the world.

And I set to untying Bee, kissing her, and laughing as she asked if she could finally come.

“Of course not. Don’t be stupid.”

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