“Dance?” She pulls me to my feet and we’re snugged together in the dry desert air, my bare feet following the slow march of her battered cowhide boots. They give her a couple of inches, enough to put us on eye-level. Both my hands are on her waist, pressing her soft flesh against the edge of her hand-tooled leather belt. She looks over my shoulder at you:
“You don’t mind.”
I can hear the grin in your voice. “Not at all.”
She slides her hand up my back and neck and presses the back of my head. This time the pressure of her mouth makes me forget you’re there. Kris Kristofferson is crooning about the silver-tongued devil. I sink my fingers into the ripe curve of her bum. Without missing a beat she pulls my hair, forcing my chin up. A flush is spreading over my chest and exposed throat and there is a reciprocal tingle suffusing my pelvis. The last notes of the song fade. Sally steps back. My legs feel as wooden as a marionettes. I don’t have to look to know the expression on your face. The crotch of my cut-offs is rubbing my swollen pussy.
“Drink?” you ask.
We sink into our respective chairs. Rum glugs from the bottle. Ice cubes splash. You reach for the pineapple juice to top off my drink but I shake my head, take a sip, savour the cold ice and the alcohol burn.
Sally knocks back a mouthful. Adjusts her shirt. “You’re quite a girl.”
Your hand is on my leg, fingertips probing the strip of denim between my legs.
“You two should dance,” I say, my voice thick and distorted as an old 45 record.
“She pushes her chest against you and tilts her head. I’ve never watched you kiss someone else.”
Sally squeezes my thigh. You drag the ball of your thumb down my wet slit then suck it as you stand up. You look in my eyes as you pull her close. The two of you dance out of time to a bouncy, fiddle-driven tune. Her back is arched, your hips stuck together like magnets. She pulls away, twirls; even in the faint light I can see her pupils are dilated. She pushes her chest against you and tilts her head. I’ve never watched you kiss someone else. My heart is beating so hard it must be audible. Envy and desire ripple down my spine. I’m salivating. Your mouth is so familiar I can feel you kiss her: the warmth, the pressure, the taste.
Transfixed, I watch you open the remaining buttons of her shirt and tweak her nipple through the dark lace of her bra. I pinch my own nipples. They harden against the thin fabric of my top. The song changes. Willy Nelson sings about being on the road again. You turn her, look at me and beckon. My body moves of its own volition, drawn by your eyes. You catch my extended hand and pull me in. The three of us are clasped together: your hand cupping my bum, fingers teasing inside my shorts. One of my arms is around your waist, my other thumb hooked over Sally’s waistband, fingers kneading beneath the fabric. Our lips make soft, damp noises as we explore each other.
Sally and I kiss deeply while you nibble my neck. When I turn my attention to you, tongue in your ear, you moan as you lean into her. I reach for her breast, feel her quiver as I pull down the fabric of her bra cup. I know one of your hands is working the groove beneath her hip, rocking against her pelvis. She moans and melts further into your grip, turning to kiss you. But her hand is beneath my top, tugging my nipples. My clit throbs against my wet gusset. I wriggle myself between you – not to separate you but because I’m aching to feel your two bodies against me. Sally looses her arms and shucks her shirt. You pull my vest over my head and bite my breast as you toss it aside. Reaching around me, you unfasten her bra and pull it off. Her skin is butter soft against my back, except for the hard pegs of her nipples. I squirm to face her, raise her breasts to my face and flick my tongue over their hard points. You squeeze my breasts together with one hand and run the other down my belly and beneath the waistband of my cut-offs. Your cock feels like a truncheon pressed against me. The thought sends an electric jolt from my hips to my heels but I’m distracted by the delicious, acrid sweat rising from Sally’s body.
