He pulled out completely.
Both women gasping below him.
Their faces.
Lips swollen. Eyes red. Chins wet. Thick spit running in slow, continuous threads from their mouths down onto their pressed-together breasts, pooling in the valley between them.
He stroked himself.
Once.
Twice.
The wet 'shlick shlick' of his palm running the full length of his shaft filling the quiet between their gasps.
Three times.
"Take my load."
The first rope hit Sugar across the forehead.
Thick. White. The specific, heavy landing of a load that had been building through the alternating throats of both women.
The second caught Nano across both cheeks.
She flinched.
He kept stroking.
Rope after rope — landing across their upturned faces in long, heavy lines, painting their features with the same comprehensive coverage of a man who had decided that both women deserved equal attention.
Their eyes shut.
Their mouths open.
