Shared self pleasure.

Sonja squatted on her heels in the shallow stream with her knees spread wide and facing Conan. Her vibrant blue eyes were locked with those of her smaller travelling companion, mocking and daring the Cimmerian as she shamelessly pleasured herself. With her thighs widely parted, Conan had an uninterrupted view as Sonja's slender fingers rubbed vigorously in small circular motions at the ruddy folds of her clitoral hood. Her feminine moans were loud and unabashed, perhaps exaggerated for Conan's benefit, the unmistakable refrain of a woman's pleasure.

Conan was on her knees, the cool water of the brook reaching her mid-thighs. The thin material of the **** silk was drenched and clung to the crease of her labia, its sodden transparency revealing the dark, blood-engorged netherlips beneath. Hesitantly, Conan dropped her hand to the negligible cover of the silk loincloth, noting as her eyes remained transfixed upon Sonja's face, the quirk of the warrior's lips as she smirked in triumphant satisfaction. Her fingers pushed the wet silk aside and brushed the swollen lips of her pouting labial cleft, her body shivering in delight at the delicious sensation of her soft fingertips on softer, sensitive flesh.

"No need to be so hesitant, little one," Sonja mocked as she frotted herself with intense purpose. "I can assure you that your cunny will appreciate a stronger, more aggressive touch."

The Cimmerian's fingers teased upwards until the crinkled folds of her hood were reached, and she felt the stiffened tiny nub beneath the thin shield of soft flesh. Conan whimpered as her fingers pressed down, stimulating the erect bud hidden beneath its hood. Her fingers mirrored the motion of Sonja, circling the hard bud, slowly and gently at first but gradually increasing in urgency and pressure as her excitement and need grew more insistent. The transformed barbarian's girlish moans and whimpers harmonised with those of the redhaired warrioress in a melody of womanly pleasure.

Conan could not have broken her gaze with Sonja even if she had the wish to summon her will and turn her head. Though they were separated by several feet in distance and each touched only their own sex, each knew that their pleasure was a shared, intimate act of female desire. Without intention, the movement and speed of the two companions' fingertips upon their sex's synchronised, as did their soft and dulcet moans of ecstasy. Their fever increased pace, fingers rubbing harder and more feverishly as their arousal mounted.

"Crom! I feel it approach," Conan wailed, the pressure of impending orgasm urgent in her fluttering belly.

"Praise Cybelle," Sonja gasped, her own imminent climax making the muscles of her powerful thighs twitch in spasms. "She has blessed you with that body of silk, not your god of iron."

The two women reached orgasm in perfect unison. Their ecstatic squeals and shrill screams mingled as their bodies shuddered and convulsed in the throes of climax. For long seconds, they cried out in pleasure as their bodies shook and pert breasts heaved as they gasped for air stolen by the intensity of their sexual completion. Gradually, the volume of the girlish screams diminished, and the fevered frotting of their fingers slowed and stilled. The companions were left panting, with heavy-lidded eyes and contented smiles playing on parted lips.

CLAP, CLAP, CLAP.

The sound of slow applause startled the two women out of the post orgasmic haze, and both heads whipped around as Sonja's blue and Conan's brown eyes went wide with surprise. Yards away on the bank of the river, a lone, leather-clad figure sat astride a sturdy southern pony.