become her own best friend. She had never been able to do that…before. On the advent of her rebirth she had vowed to herself that she would try. But first, unfinished business. And that involved Nicholas Linnear. Oh, yes. Most surely it did!
Akiko’s eyes opened wide. Sato and Yōki were entangled on the futon. The folds of their kimonos rippled about the edges of their working flesh like the sea’s waves upon the shore, concealing and revealing at once.
The panting bellows of their breaths rose toward her like a flock of gulls, pulling her onward as a third member as it fueled the furnace of their passion.
She saw Sato’s erection, large and reddish from the stroking ministrations of his partner. Yōki’s eyes were fluttered closed in pleasure and her soft breasts heaved into Sato’s calloused palms as his head slid down and down until his open mouth touched the insides of her heated thighs.
Unconsciously Akiko strained forward, and when she saw his tongue flick out to caress the flesh there, she gasped silently. A line of warm sweat trickled like a serpent’s tail down the deep indentation of her spine, staining her kimono, marking it with her lust. Her palms traced a circular pattern inward across her own spread-apart thighs until, lifting the material of her kimono, she encountered bare flesh.
Now, instead of her own fingertips, she felt Sato’s flickering tongue in maddening repetition as it moved across Yōki’s damp thighs, his hands behind her knees for an instant, lifting her legs.
Yōki’s thighs, Akiko’s thighs. There was no difference there to the touch. What had been done to her had not marred the silkiness of the flesh. But, she knew, should Sato see what lay along the inside, hidden skin there he might call off the wedding and that she could not afford. Afterward…well, then he would have no choice but to accept her.
Sato’s mouth moved upward, covering the curling black hair covering Yōki’s high mound. Akiko could see the other girl’s hips trembling with excitement and the building of her orgasm. Sato’s head burrowed down into the heat and the wet and Yōki threw her head back, the thin cords at the side of her neck standing out, her lips open, her teeth bared. Her thighs trembled uncontrollably.
And all the while, Akiko’s deft fingers were opening up her own petals, making gentle circular sweeps in concert with the movements of Sato’s head. She felt him but it was not enough; she needed more. The sensations touched her, beading like rain. But what she craved was a torrent, a tidal wave to lift her off her feet and tumble her helter-skelter into the arms of ecstasy.
It would not come, and she increased the pressure of her fingers, beginning to dig into the soft folds, pulling them apart, pressing harder against her clitoris.
Sato’s head came up. His chest was heaving like a bull’s. His great male form arched itself above Yōki’s supple female one, shadowing her from the diffuse light, streaking her face so that she appeared to be wearing some bizarre makeup.
And now she drew him upward, rubbing him against her until she had no other choice but to arch up and impale herself on him, thrusting her hips wildly off the futon, the breath whooshing out of her with an audible rush, the mounds of her breasts quivering with the strength of the sensations running rampant through her.
How Akiko longed to feel what she was feeling: the tide gathering, calling, running inward from the vast depths of the sea toward her like a blanket of night, blotting out all thought, all pain, all memories in the shooting inundation of vibrating pleasure.
Sato was stroking down to meet Yōki’s frantic thrusting, their hips hot in contact, the warm salty sweat dripping down from Sato’s bulging muscles, beading along the girl’s rippling skin.
She began to cry out, her arms enfolding him, drawing him all the way down on her, so that to Akiko it seemed as if he was burying her with his mass.
Akiko’s eyes opened wide. Sato and Yōki were entangled on the futon. The folds of their kimonos rippled about the edges of their working flesh like the sea’s waves upon the shore, concealing and revealing at once.
The panting bellows of their breaths rose toward her like a flock of gulls, pulling her onward as a third member as it fueled the furnace of their passion.
She saw Sato’s erection, large and reddish from the stroking ministrations of his partner. Yōki’s eyes were fluttered closed in pleasure and her soft breasts heaved into Sato’s calloused palms as his head slid down and down until his open mouth touched the insides of her heated thighs.
Unconsciously Akiko strained forward, and when she saw his tongue flick out to caress the flesh there, she gasped silently. A line of warm sweat trickled like a serpent’s tail down the deep indentation of her spine, staining her kimono, marking it with her lust. Her palms traced a circular pattern inward across her own spread-apart thighs until, lifting the material of her kimono, she encountered bare flesh.
Now, instead of her own fingertips, she felt Sato’s flickering tongue in maddening repetition as it moved across Yōki’s damp thighs, his hands behind her knees for an instant, lifting her legs.
Yōki’s thighs, Akiko’s thighs. There was no difference there to the touch. What had been done to her had not marred the silkiness of the flesh. But, she knew, should Sato see what lay along the inside, hidden skin there he might call off the wedding and that she could not afford. Afterward…well, then he would have no choice but to accept her.
Sato’s mouth moved upward, covering the curling black hair covering Yōki’s high mound. Akiko could see the other girl’s hips trembling with excitement and the building of her orgasm. Sato’s head burrowed down into the heat and the wet and Yōki threw her head back, the thin cords at the side of her neck standing out, her lips open, her teeth bared. Her thighs trembled uncontrollably.
And all the while, Akiko’s deft fingers were opening up her own petals, making gentle circular sweeps in concert with the movements of Sato’s head. She felt him but it was not enough; she needed more. The sensations touched her, beading like rain. But what she craved was a torrent, a tidal wave to lift her off her feet and tumble her helter-skelter into the arms of ecstasy.
It would not come, and she increased the pressure of her fingers, beginning to dig into the soft folds, pulling them apart, pressing harder against her clitoris.
Sato’s head came up. His chest was heaving like a bull’s. His great male form arched itself above Yōki’s supple female one, shadowing her from the diffuse light, streaking her face so that she appeared to be wearing some bizarre makeup.
And now she drew him upward, rubbing him against her until she had no other choice but to arch up and impale herself on him, thrusting her hips wildly off the futon, the breath whooshing out of her with an audible rush, the mounds of her breasts quivering with the strength of the sensations running rampant through her.
How Akiko longed to feel what she was feeling: the tide gathering, calling, running inward from the vast depths of the sea toward her like a blanket of night, blotting out all thought, all pain, all memories in the shooting inundation of vibrating pleasure.
Sato was stroking down to meet Yōki’s frantic thrusting, their hips hot in contact, the warm salty sweat dripping down from Sato’s bulging muscles, beading along the girl’s rippling skin.
She began to cry out, her arms enfolding him, drawing him all the way down on her, so that to Akiko it seemed as if he was burying her with his mass.
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