Aftershock Mathilde

She couldn't sit still while she was telling us all this. She stood up, pulled her arm up as she told how she was pulled away by the wrist, followed her wrist around the room like a pantomime and laid her upper body on the back of the sofa as if it were the aforementioned gravestone. Her arms were initially crossed behind her back, but one hand came loose and pulled her dress up over her bare ass.

I could see that she didn't wear any panties. Then she started slapping herself as she told about it. There was loud slapping through my living room, her ass turned red from self-martyrdom. Later, when she talked about her intercourse, she jerked rhythmically forward on the back of the sofa as if she was actually being pushed from behind, rubbing her sex against my furniture. She maltreated her own breasts, pulled her hair and finally had an orgasm, which she moaned out loudly.

Then she slid sideways onto the sofa and came to lie with her head on Kendra's lap. Kendra lovingly stroked her hair out of her face and massaged her battered breasts with her other hand. The girl's legs were spread obscenely and I could see deep into her insides.

The silence that followed this performance was merciless. I looked at the girl lying there, the two people sitting there looked at me.

The whole story and the dramatic presentation of her **** had left visible marks on me. My sex was noticeably standing out from me, fully aroused, and clearly lifting the blanket upwards. That was what the girls looked at, saw it twitch when a wave of excitement passed through me, but none of them said anything.

At last Mathilde opened her eyes, startled a little and closed her legs demurely before arranging her dress and sitting down again dutifully. She even seemed to blush a little. Apart from the pointed nipples poking through the fabric, there was nothing left to bear witness to the spectacle that had just taken place. Perhaps a stain on the seat beneath her.

“Then I guess it's my turn,” Lucy declared.