Ass plays - part II.

There is nothing quite like learning a lover’s body by heart. I already knew her curves, but tonight I wanted more—another inch of warmth, another moan that would echo in my ear. We sprawled across silk sheets in matching black lace that barely hid what we meant to share. She is blonde, I am brunette; the contrast looked good in the mirror as we knelt on the bed, cheeks spread, our eyes locked. We took turns with the heavy toys, slick with oil, pressing the blunt heads against the tight ring of flesh until each of us yielded, until the stretch came with that slow, burning pleasure. Every push sent a fresh tremor through the other girl’s hips. Our breath grew ragged, matching, the lace straps digging into flushed skin while the toys slid deeper. The ache was sweet. We did not rush. We simply listened to the wet sounds and the small, broken cries that proved we had found the right angle, the right pressure, the exact place where pleasure tipped into something hotter.