She tastes semen in her mouth

She tasted cum in her mouth.

At first, just the salty edge at the front, a twitch on her tongue—not the surge yet. The third one dug his fingers into her hair. The second one thrust harder from behind into her open ass—wet, deep, the clock ticking with every stroke. Silke sucked. Her cheeks hollow. Her nose pressed against her stomach. No more glances at the bottle. Just that throat and the bill she wanted to turn over.

The boy cursed.

Too high. Too close. His math tipped over in her mouth. Silke gagged and held it there—saliva mixed with the first spurt—and took him all the way in again until her lips were at the root. From behind, the rhythm grew short and greedy. The second one groaned as if he still had three thrusts left. Silke had one.

The third one came in her mouth.

Warm. A lot. Before the second one came from behind. A pulse against her tongue—the second, the third—bitter—and Silke didn’t even swallow consciously; the stuff was just there, while a hard, unfinished cock was still stuck in her ass.

That was it.

The game was over.

Whoever came in her mouth was out. The third guy was out. The second guy had to stop. The rule—which he himself had had to read—came back to haunt him. He thrust one more time, reflexively, and pulled out, cursing, hard, without coming. The hole remained open. Wetness trickled out. Silke let go of the cock in her mouth, coughed, and slumped forward.

Her forehead on the floor.

Her arms outstretched. She said nothing. Just breathing. The taste. The burning in the back. Her pussy empty and wet. She was glad it was over. No flip. No pop. Not even two seconds. The three holes were allowed to close as best they could.

The confirmation appeared in the chat.

Peter: Silke won. The game is over. Get some rest. We’ll pick you up in a minute.

She read it out of the corner of her eye, one eye on the floor, and didn’t even nod. She’d won. The strategist hadn’t gotten anything except the mouth that had knocked him out of the clock. The second guy stood there, his cock in his hand, and belatedly realized that the remaining time didn’t belong to him.

Silke stayed where she was.

The LED kept glowing. Somewhere, a pair of pants. Somewhere, a bottle that no one was spinning anymore. In her mouth, the proof that she’d won the race. Behind her, the proof that the other two had already gone through.

She recovered without saying a word.

“Happiness” was too big a word. “Over” was enough. The chat had said “pick up.” She closed her eyes and waited for footsteps that were no longer part of the game.