Camouflage

Cath knew then that Hunter Winslow was going to fuck her too. And, as his eyes bored into her, taking possession of her, she no longer cared. She felt a long sigh, ending in a whimper, welling up from her core and escaping through her clinched teeth. She was defeated without even having struggled.

Grant was laying on the small of his back at the bottom edge of the lounge, his feet flat on the floor and his legs spread. Cath perched astride him, facing him, skewered on his cock. She was moving, leveraging off the lounge top with her knees and calves planted on either side of his hips.

She shuddered in fear and anticipation—and of want—for what she knew was coming. A groan escaped her lips as she felt Hunter’s hands palming her breasts from behind and knew that he was standing between Grant’s legs.

“Tilt her,” she heard Winslow instruct Grant in a low, hoarse voice, and she whimpered, knowing exactly what he was going to do, but not having the strength or resolve to try to prevent it. She cried out and ineffectively tried to pull from Grant’s smothering embrace as she felt the head of Winslow’s cock at her anal shaft and then felt him work his way inside, deep.

She stopped struggling as both men bottomed in her separate channels, and she began to whimper and moan as the two started to slow pump her in counter rhythm. Winslow was nibbling and sucking on the hollow of her neck as one of his hands went around her waist. His thumb was on her clit and two of his fingers were working their way inside her on either side of Grant’s stroking cock. Grant’s hands came around and palmed and spread Cath’s buttocks cheeks to give Winslow even greater penetration. With a little cry, she felt the fireworks start and her pelvis involuntarily moving back and forth, taking one deep and withdrawing—only to be taking the other one deeper. Winslow longer; Grant thicker; both demanding their all.