Soule went rigid, arching. She cried out, husky and helpless. They both tilted their heads and watched as she began to come, watching her little cunt swell more, straining, glistening and pink, Winter’s fingers still f*****g her, Isidor’s fingers still rubbing her c**t, sending a wave of pure lust through Isidor’s lower belly, his c**k surging.
She strained in her climax for so long that she finally jutted on Winter’s fingers desperately, her voice high with the pleasure, sending another wave through him. She gave a series of small satisfied noises as she pulsed, her little p***y spasming. She stopped for a delicious moment and began pulsing again. She was panting as they withdrew their hands, long catches in her breathing. His own breathing was ragged, Winter’s was.
“Good girl,” Winter
