She's satisfied

“Oh please sister,” you moan whorishly. “I learned my lesson. I’ll never use such foul language again!”

“Let’s not go so far,” Brigette giggles, sliding down the muddy wall until she lies beside you. She pulls you down, your fertile figure conforming to hers as you both embrace. “I think there are…times when it’s appropriate.”

You purr and press your curvy flesh against hers. “You really think so?” you ask, running your hands down her back, pulling her flush against you. Your lips meet as your breasts mash together and you both stroke one another enthusiastically, running fingers down flesh sullied by milk and mud. You’re both a mess, in more ways than one. The small space of the dugout is wreathed in the spicy scent of sex and warmed by the three bodies within. Your fingers stroke up and down Brigette’s sides causing her to moan and gasp like she’s your personal instrument while you pepper her face in adoring kisses.

“Sister,” you say. “I love you. So much. Please. Let me worship you.”

“Always,” Brigette gasps. “Always.”

As you both writhe together you catch sight of the wug standing over you. His excitement from spanking your pert bottom and the scene of you and his goddess stroking one another before him has drawn his cock from his slit of flesh once more. Is it just the angle or is it bigger? He’s pumping it eagerly in frantic strokes, his panting thick from his massive mouth, his eyes rolling about his head.

“Tokonga. Tokonga. Tokonga,” the frog man gasps desperately, accompanying the beat of his webbed fingers on his wedged cock.

Brigette giggles. “Sister. I feel like one of the hogs at the abbey,” she says.

It’s not all that funny, but you’re so drunk on pleasure you can’t help but join in. “Oh we are. We’re just filthy creatures aren’t we. Rutting in the mud with a wug of all things. What would the war mother say?”

“Oooh,” Brigette groans, fondling her massive breasts. “I don’t care sister. I don’t care at all.”

“Neither do I,” you admit, taking her breasts and feeling their heft, massaging their size and marvelling that still milk trickles from her udders. “It feels too good.”

“It’s too good,” Brigette confides as she wraps her arms about your head and pulls you deeper into her Sapphic embrace. You lick and nuzzle her massive tit flesh, their firmness squeezing your head as if to never let you go.

“Tokonga. Tokonga,” the wug pants, his jerks becoming more eager and uneven.

You pull back with a pop and glance back up at the wug. “Oh no,” you giggle. “I think he’s about ready to cum.”

“Mmm. Let him,” Brigette says, nestling her face between the globes of your breasts, her tongue flicking at your nipple, drinking of your bounty. “I don’t care.”

“He’ll spill all over us,” you say, and the idea does not fill you with the revulsion it might once have.

“Let him,” Brigette says. “Oh goddess let him. Let him spill his seed all over us. Oh goddess sister. I never want it to end.”

“Me neither.” Your fingers find her folds and delve within once more. Brigette keens with delight and slides her green digits against your red nether lips.

“Tokonga. Tokonga!” the wug croaks as he frantically beats himself over both your writhing forms as you frantically masturbate each other in the mud. Finally, with a throaty croak, the wug cums. Ropes of his seed spill over you both. This final debauch is too much. You moan and cream yourself on Brigette’s fingers. Your own digits are suddenly warmed and slickened as your sister does likewise, and together you cum, draped in mud, milk, sweat and the ropy cum of the frog man.

With this final act, you feel yourself done. You collapse against Brigette, nestling your head in the valley of her fertile breasts. Your green sister coos, seemingly inexhaustible, and pets your matted hair as you begin to doze. You sigh, barely reacting when you feel the wug’s cock prod your slit, humping you even as you sleep. You smile and press your palm filling rear against him and fall into a restful sleep.