The moment the shower door shut behind us, Omotola moved—hiking her leg over my hip with a hunger that sent fire racing down my spine. Her fingers dug into my shoulders as she guided me inside her, our bodies slamming together with a wet slap that echoed off the tiles.
“Fuck—!” The groan tore from my throat as her tight heat swallowed me whole.
The water cascaded over us, but nothing could drown out the sounds—Omotola’s breathy moans against my lips, the slick smack of skin on skin, the gasp from Ginika as she watched, transfixed. My thumb found Omotola’s clit, circling just the way she loved, and her nails raked down my back in desperate, beautiful retaliation.
“Yes—yes—like that!” Her voice was a broken chant, her tits bouncing with every rough thrust, water droplets flying as we fucked like we were starving for it.
Then—her climax hit.
Omotola arched, her back bowing off the shower wall, her scream of “FUCK!” bouncing off the tiles. The way her pussy clenched around me? I was done for. My stomach tightened, my balls drew up, and pleasure detonated up my spine.
But then—
A fingertip pressed under my chin, turning my head.
Ginika and Tamara were watching us, their hands tangled in each other’s wet curls, their fingers working in slick, frantic rhythm. Tamara’s head was thrown back, Ginika’s teeth sunk into her shoulder—
“Oh shit!”
I lost it. My cock jerked, pumping Omotola full as my vision whited out, my cum spilling over in thick pulses, dripping down her thighs only to be washed away by the shower. We slumped against each other, trembling.
Omotola’s laugh was pure wickedness as she turned to our audience—our fantasies made flesh—her grin lazy and satisfied.
Tamara, ever the hostess, licked her lips and said:
“Now… who’s ready for cake?”
***
We lounged around the table—still gloriously naked—as Tamara served slices of her sinfully rich chocolate cake. The buttercream melted on my tongue, almost as sweet as the sight of Ginika licking frosting off her fingers with deliberate slowness.
“So,” Ginika purred, her bare foot sliding up my calf under the table, “about this Delay Game…”
Omotola’s eyes lit up like a child on Christmas morning. She glanced at me, practically vibrating with the need to spill.
“Ikenna,” Tamara called from the kitchen, her voice dripping with mischief, “you always say honesty is the best policy… abi?”
I groaned, running a hand down my face. “Fine.” After what we’d just shared, secrets seemed pointless.
Omotola didn’t hesitate. “It’s easier if I show you,” she declared—then, bold as brass, she sprinted out the front door completely nude, returning moments later with my laptop clutched triumphantly to her chest.
“Omotola—!”
Too late. She dropped the computer onto the table, pulled up my private videos folder, and—
“This is the latest one?” she asked, her finger hovering over the trackpad.
I swallowed hard, nodding.
The video played.
Omotola’s face filled the screen, flushed and breathless. “You watching, babe?” she panted, then slowly tilted the camera down—revealing her glistening fingers three knuckles deep in her dripping pussy.
“This is Hardcore “, Ginika said, leaning closer.
Then—my voice crackled through the speakers:
“Then… while you and Tamara watch… I pin Ginika to the bed…”
On screen, Omotola moaned, her fingers working faster.
“…straddle her chest…”
Ginika was stunned.
“…and squeeze my long, aching cock between her big, soft breasts—”
Tamara’s fork clattered onto her plate.
Then—Omotola’s voice, husky and raw: “And then I throw Tamara down next to you—”
The real-life Ginika and Tamara turned to face us, eyes wide.
The video continued playing, Omotola’s breathy moans filling the room as my own voice answered from the recording:
“And what do you do to her?”
On screen, Omotola bit her lip, thighs squeezing together as she confessed: “I climb on top of her beautiful, gorgeous face and I—ah!—I drop myself onto her mouth and she—oh fuck!—she licks me until I’m screaming her name—”
CLICK.
Tamara’s finger froze the video, her dark eyes wide with realization. The room felt suddenly hotter, the air thick with the scent of vanilla cake and something far more primal.
“So this… game of yours,” Ginika breathed, her ample chest rising faster. “These stories… sometimes they’re about… us?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Actually,” I said, watching Ginika’s nipples harden visibly under her thin top, “They’re always about you.”
Tamara’s gaze burned into Omotola, equal parts shock and arousal darkening her features. “And you—you were okay with this? You never got jealous?”
Omotola’s smile was pure sin as she leaned back, letting her legs fall open just slightly. “I started it.”
The confession hung in the air like smoke. I could see Ginika’s pulse fluttering at her throat, could smell Tamara’s sudden arousal.
“Truth is,” I continued, voice rough, “You two are the most irresistible women I’ve ever known. At first it was just fantasy, but after months of seeing you in those tiny bikinis, hearing you moan through the walls…”
“It became our entire sex life,” Omotola finished, licking cake frosting from her fingers with deliberate slowness.
The silence was deafening. Then—
“More cake?” Tamara squeaked, her voice an octave higher than usual, hands trembling as she served slices nobody really wanted anymore.
The cake distraction lasted all of two seconds before Omotola snatched the slice right off my plate with a devilish grin.
“Oops!” she giggled, before smearing the entire thing across my face like a toddler with a paintbrush. Buttercream clung to my eyebrows, crumbs stuck in my stubble—messy as a danfo driver after rush hour.
“Sorry, let me help you clean up,” she said, her voice dripping with fake innocence. Then, without warning, she swung one smooth, naked leg over my lap, her warm thighs caging me in as she leaned close. Her tongue—soft, wicked, teasing—darted out to lick a slow stripe up my cheek. “Mmm… sweet,” she murmured against my skin, her breath hot.
I burst out laughing—but oh, my body wasn’t laughing. By the time she finished “cleaning” me up, my cock was standing at attention.
“My turn,” I growled, grabbing her slice of cake. I aimed for her face—then at the last second—SPLAT!—dropped it right onto her chest. Thick buttercream oozed between her perfect breasts, dripping down her dark nipples.
“Ehn! See this nonsense!” she shrieked, but her outrage lasted all of one second before my mouth was on her, licking, sucking, devouring every last sugary drop. Her back arched, her fingers tangled in my hair, and her breathy moans told me she wasn’t mad anymore.
Across the room, Ginika decided to join the fun. With a squeal, she grabbed a slice, turned around, and slapped it right onto her own juicy butt. “Tamara, come and clean!” she teased, wiggling her hips.
Tamara didn’t need to be told twice. She dropped to her knees behind Ginika, her tongue tracing slow, filthy circles around the cake-smeared curves. Ginika’s giggles turned into gasps, her hands gripping the table.
Enough games.
I hauled Omotola up, plopped her bare backside onto the table, and smeared another handful of cake right where she needed me most.
“Ohhh, finally,” she sighed, spreading her thighs wider, her pussy glistening under the sticky sweetness.
“I know, baby,” I groaned, dropping to my knees. “Let’s taste the real dessert.”
And then? Ah, heaven. My tongue dove in, lapping up cake and Omotola in greedy strokes. She moaned, her hips bucking, her fingers tightening in my hair as I feasted—licking, sucking, worshipping.
“We definitely need to try this,” Tamara said, hopping onto the table with a wicked grin, her bare thighs pressing against Omotola’s. The air was thick with sugar and sex, the kind of heat that makes your skin prickle and your mouth water.
Out of the corner of my eye, Ginika dipped her fingers into the frosting—slow, deliberate—before dragging a thick, glistening stripe down Tamara’s inner thigh, higher, higher, until—
“Fuck—!” Tamara gasped, her back arching as Ginika’s tongue followed the same path.
Omotola whimpered beside her, her legs already falling open for me, her dark skin flushed under the dim light. I didn’t hesitate. I feasted.
The taste was intoxicating—vanilla frosting and her, sweet and salty and perfect. Omotola’s moans pitched higher, her fingers knotting in my hair as I licked deeper, as Ginika’s muffled sounds of pleasure filled the room.
Then—a gasp.
I looked up just in time to see Omotola and Tamara staring at each other, their lips swollen, their chests heaving.
“Kiss her,” Ginika breathed, her voice dripping with lust.
And they did.
It started soft—testing, teasing—until Tamara groaned into Omotola’s mouth and dug her fingers into her hips, pulling her closer. Omotola’s hands flew to Tamara’s breasts, squeezing, kneading, her nails scraping over taut nipples.
“Oh, fuck yes,” Omotola panted, her voice wrecked.
The sight alone had me aching, my cock so hard it hurt.
“Bedroom. Now,” Tamara demanded, breaking the kiss with a gasp.
Omotola nodded, dazed, but at the last second, she turned to me—her eyes wide, questioning.
“Are we… really doing this?”
I cupped her face, my thumb brushing her lower lip—still glistening with Tamara’s taste. “Only if you want to.”
She glanced back at Tamara, who was walking slinking toward the bedroom, her hips swaying, that unbelievable ass bouncing with every step.
Omotola’s breath hitched.
“I want to,” she whispered—then chased after her, the door clicking shut behind them.
Ginika and I were left in the heavy silence, our lips still wet, our bodies thrumming.
My eyes flickered toward the shower—steam curling, bodies moving, Omotola’s laughter mixing with Tamara’s breathless moans—but God help me, I couldn’t look away from Ginika.
She moved like a panther, crawling toward me on all fours, her full, heavy breasts swaying with every deliberate shift of her hips. The sight alone was enough to make my cock twitch, aching against the confines of my shorts.
“That first night,” she purred, her voice dripping with wicked promise, “where did we leave off?”
“Back rub?” I managed, my throat tight.
Her laugh was low, sinful. “I think we can skip past that part, don’t you?”
“Hell. Yes.”
And just like before—just like that night I’d replayed in my head a thousand times—Ginika launched herself at me. But this time? I didn’t pull away.
I hit the floor with her on top of me, her lush body moulding against mine, every curve pressing into me like she was made to fit there. My cock strained against her thigh, hard, insistent, and when her lips crashed into mine, it was all I could do not to flip her over and take her right then.
My hands dropped to her ass, gripping those perfect, round cheeks as I lifted her hips, aligning us just so—until the swollen head of my cock nudged against her slick, dripping heat.
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