Seashell doubted if Ocean really knew what she was saying in her fit of pre-orgasmic desire. Seashell simply went on fisting her, moving her hand in and out as far as she could, though this was not far because Ocean gripped her, both with her cunt, and also with her hand, fastened around Seashell’s wrist as if to keep it locked inside her for ever. And then the orgasm burst open, her whole body wracked with a shaking, her legs entwined around Seashell, her hips trembling, pounding up and down until the orgasm died, becoming just little tremors, like the ripples of gentle waves on a calm beach. Gingerly Seashell pulled out her hand. Ocean seized it and raised it to her nose, sniffing delicately. She smiled. “Don’t you always like to know what you smell like, what you taste like, little slut
