Anniversary Gift

You can hear the annoyance threading through her voice, tight and apologetic.

“The shoot’s delayed. Something about lack of direction from the director—I don’t know. I’m sorry but I can’t leave until it’s done.”

“Don’t be,” you manage, though your breath catches. “I’ll still be here when you get home. It will still be our anniversary.”

“I miss you, baby.”

The groan that escapes you is involuntary, pulled from somewhere deep as the sensation overwhelms your thoughts.

“I miss you too, Ning.”

“Are you okay?” There’s a shift in her tone, curiosity edging into something else.

You look down, inhaling sharply at the sight—at the feeling of her mouth working you over with single-minded focus. Your hand travels down to the head between your legs, threading fingers through silky hair, and she hums in response. The vibration travels up your length as her tongue traces a slow path from base to tip, swirling around the head before she takes you in. Her cheeks hollow, suction building, and the wet heat of her mouth makes your vision blur at the edges.

She’s loud about it—obscenely so—taking more of you with each pass, the slick sounds filling the room.

“Hmm… Yeah, I’m good.”

“Who is it?” Ningning asks, and you can hear the breathlessness in her voice now, the way arousal has crept into the question.

“Karina. And she’s doing great.” Your hand tightens in her hair instinctively, guiding her down, pushing until she’s pressed flush against your stomach. She gags immediately, spit spilling from the corners of her stretched lips, and she tries to pull back. You don’t let her. The heat is overwhelming—her throat contracting around you, her lips stretched wide, the desperate sounds she’s making driving you closer to the edge.

“Fuck… I can hear her gagging. Is she being a good girl?”

“A very good girl,” you rasp.

You relent, letting her come up for air, and she gasps before diving back down with renewed hunger. Each pass she takes more of you, hollowing her cheeks, building a rhythm that makes coherent thought impossible. After a few deep pulls that leave you gripping the couch cushions, she pushes forward, forcing you into her throat, and the tight convulsing grip nearly undoes you right there.

You groan into the phone—can’t help it.

“Hmm… I’m so wet. I think I’m going to ruin the clothes.”

You’re barely processing Ningning’s words anymore, too focused on the way Karina’s throat massages your length, how she gags again but doesn’t pull off, determined. When she finally does release you, it’s with a wet gasp that echoes in the quiet apartment.

She grabs you at the base, angling you toward her face, and slaps your cock against her flushed cheek once, twice, moaning each time like the contact alone gives her pleasure. Her hand starts moving—slow, deliberate strokes with a twist at the head that makes your hips jerk. She leans in close, tongue darting out to trace the underside, to lap at your slit with kitten licks that are somehow more torturous than everything that came before.

At this point you’ve brought the phone down to her level without thinking. Ningning hears everything—every wet sound, every moan, the rhythmic stroke of Karina’s hand. When you bring it back to your ear, you’re greeted by Ningning’s ragged breathing, little whimpers she’s trying to suppress.

“I want your cock, baby.” She whines it, needy and desperate.

You chuckle at her desperation before the sound morphs into a moan. Karina’s pressed her tits around your length, enveloping you in soft warmth, and she’s moving fast—up and down with purpose, leaning forward to lick the tip whenever it emerges from between her breasts. They’re impossibly soft, like two pillows working in tandem to massage every inch of you, and the combination of textures and heat is starting to unravel your self-control entirely.

“I have to go, baby. Bye.”

You end the call before she can protest, tossing your phone aside without looking where it lands.

“I thought you’d never end it.” Karina’s looking up at you through her lashes, smirking in that knowing way she has, before she continues stroking you with her tits. This time she slows down, deliberate and torturous, letting herself suck the head for a few seconds each time it appears, tongue swirling.

You feel it building—the tightening in your balls, the throb that signals how close you are. She senses it too, her rhythm quickening, but you’re not finishing like this.

You push her off before she has the chance, turning to the other side of the couch where Winter’s been watching, grinding slowly on Giselle’s thigh.

“Winter, baby, come here.”

She rises from Giselle’s lap, and you can see the evidence of her arousal glistening on Giselle’s skin, a thin sheen that catches the light. Winter moves toward you slowly—performative in the way she crawls, hips swaying, eyes locked on yours.

You don’t particularly care for the theatrics, but you let her have her fun.

When she reaches you she plants kisses along your body like a trail of sparks—starting at your thigh, traveling up over your chest, finally landing on your mouth. You don’t move, letting her take what she wants. For now.

She straddles your lap with practiced ease, reaching down to position you at her entrance before sinking down. Slowly, inch by inch.

“F—fuck… it’s too big,” she moans into the curve of your neck, and you can feel the tremor in her voice.

You grab her by the jaw, turning her head to face you, and kiss her roughly—no gentleness, no buildup. Your tongue pushes into her mouth without asking permission, swallowing the moans that spill from her throat.

Your other hand grips her waist hard enough to bruise, and you pull her down until she’s taken all of you in one brutal thrust. Her scream is muffled by your mouth, her nails digging crescents into your shoulders.

You don’t give her time to adjust, don’t let her catch her breath. You set a punishing pace immediately, hips driving up to meet her as she bounces on your cock, the rhythm building into something frantic.

The room fills with the wet slap of skin on skin and her breathless, broken moans. Her hands grip your shoulders for stability, nails raking down, and the sting only spurs you on.

“Harder… please,” she gasps against your mouth.

You oblige. Both hands grab her ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh as you drive up into her again and again, each thrust harder than the last. Her tight pussy stretches around you, walls clinging and fluttering whenever you pull back, like her body is trying to keep you inside. She’s soaked—her arousal dripping down your length, coating your balls, making everything slick and desperate.

She’s lost in it, eyes rolled back, a line of drool escaping the corner of her mouth. Every wet slap against her ass pulls another high-pitched moan from her throat, and the sounds are intoxicating—music layered over the obscene rhythm of your bodies. Her walls flutter violently around you as you impale her, trying to take everything you’re giving her and somehow still wanting more.

“You…you’re…oh fuck…” The words dissolve into incoherence.

Her head rolls back, neck arched in a tight line of tension, mouth open in a constant wordless cry. You can see her pulse hammering in her throat, can feel how close she is in the way her entire body tightens.

You glance over at Giselle, who’s watching with heavy-lidded eyes, fingers pumping into her own cunt, matching your brutal pace thrust for thrust. Karina’s beside her, one hand on her breast, the other between her legs, mouth latched onto her own nipple as she touches herself to the sight of you breaking Winter apart.

Winter’s cries pitch higher, breaking into fragments, and you can feel the exact moment she tips over the edge—the way her pussy clamps down on you like a vice, the tremor that runs through her entire body, the way her nails drag lines down your chest. She goes limp against you, forehead pressed into your neck, breathing in ragged gasps that are half sobs.

But you’re not done.

You lift her off you, her whimper of protest lost as you guide her to the side, and turn your attention to where Karina’s been watching, hand still working between her legs.

She’s flushed from chest to cheeks, lips parted and slick, and when your eyes meet hers there’s a challenge in her gaze that says she wants to prove something, wants to be the one who makes you lose control. You’ve seen this competitive side of her before—on stage.

“Come here,” you tell her, and she moves without hesitation, crawling across the couch with predatory grace until she’s straddling your thighs. Her hand wraps around your cock, still slick from Winter’s arousal, and she strokes you slowly while maintaining your gaze. She brings her mouth close to your ear. “I want to feel you cum inside me,” she says, voice low and certain. “Want to feel how deep you can go.”

The words send a jolt through you, your hips jerking up into her grip without permission.

She lines you up with her entrance, and the heat of her is already overwhelming before she even sinks down. She takes you in one smooth motion—no teasing, no hesitation—and the tight grip of her walls makes your breath stutter in your chest.