Free The Pleasure Quartet by Vina Jackson Page B

wild horse as it bucked. Sometimes it was all
I could do to keep my tongue fixed to her clitoris and continue the evidently effective pattern of my strokes over her bud as she wiggled and squirmed beneath me.
    I followed Iris’s rise into the peak of arousal in my mind, trying to catch up with my body. I concentrated on the rise and fall of her breath, the flush of her skin, the faint sheen of
sweat that appeared on her forehead and her upper arms. My cunt began to twitch in sympathy with hers and I rubbed faster, stretching my legs out in front of me and leaning back as far as I could
without tumbling off the ottoman. I usually masturbated with my eyes closed. Doing so with them open felt daring. I watched Iris’s breasts sway as she moved up and down on the bed, pushing
herself against Thomas’s mouth.
    She came, and I shortly after. The sound of my climax was lost in the aftermath of hers. Neither of them turned to look at me. Iris lost in her lust and Thomas lost in her. He did not lift his
face from her opening until her shuddering had subsided and she had begun to grind against him again, signalling that the hypersensitivity of her orgasm had passed. I pulled my skirt down, now
somewhat satisfied in my body, if not my mind. I had been arrogant enough to think that only I could induce raptures like this in Iris, now I knew I was wrong.
    I picked up my wine and took a sip, and then another. The sweet liquid did little to soothe my troubles, but it did make me thirst for a glass of water. I could hardly get up now, though.
    Thomas had flipped Iris over onto her stomach, her head facing me on a diagonal so that I could see them both in profile. She struggled to lift herself up, supporting her body on her elbows. He
pushed one of her knees forward into a right angle, exposing the cleft of her arse. Briefly I saw a flash of his cock jutting out, straight and hard, resting in the valley of her cheeks. His face
creased in concentration and hers tensed in premonition of what would follow. He pulled his body over hers, holding himself upright with one arm as his other hand directed his head into her
hole.
    I braced myself, expecting Iris to cry out or shudder in pain, but she did not. The moment that he broke through her passage, barely a flicker of discomfort passed over her face. She winced
momentarily and then relaxed again, like a rag doll. Thomas, initially tense that the moment had arrived looked at first relieved as he entered her at last, and then elated as he began to thrust,
slowly at first, waiting for her to adjust to the sensation and then quicker as she pushed back against him, encouraging him on.
    The actual fucking lasted a few minutes. Just at the point when Iris looked overwhelmed by pleasure – eyes closed, cupid lips parted, her breasts swaying as Thomas pumped into her, nipples
hard – he came, and collapsed on top of her. I felt a stab of bittersweet joy at the flash of disappointment evident on Iris’s features, before she turned to curl up in his arms. You
might have a cock, I thought vengefully, but if I were to wear a fake one and plough her, at least it wouldn’t be over too soon. I would fill Iris until she was satisfied, even if it left me
exhausted.
    Thomas lay on his back with his arm beneath Iris’s neck, pulling her against his side. I wondered what he was thinking, if he was worried that it hadn’t been enough. I hoped so, I
thought, bitterly.
    Iris turned herself awkwardly onto her stomach and craned her head up to look at me. Our eyes met. She reached out her hand. Even now, I could not bear to refuse her. I stretched out my arm and
grazed my fingertips against hers. A gesture of affection, understanding, forgiveness, perhaps.
    Or maybe just love.

3
Letter to a Lost Lover
    Nothing changed overtly following the uncalculated tryst: life continued, a quiet routine, but there was an uneasiness in the air. It just floated there like a cloud whenever
Iris and I were together