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The very first night that they touched Kes had been entranced by Talen's shining skin. His fingers had been gready for it, his eyes wide with such wonder when Talen offered him a taste.
The first night after Kes was accepted into their group the touch of oil on his own skin was enough to bring him the full hardness only seconds after the warmed spiced oil touched his shoulders. No more than four strokes of Talen's shinning hands around his cock mingled Kes' seed with the liquid.
And now, leaning back in the curve of Talen's arms, his back resting on Talen's chest, his head cradled in the curve of Talen's shoulder, the young man watched as Karin annointed her lover, Skein's pale cream and gold skin becoming burnished under the sweep of Karin's hands.
The fall of Karin's hair conceiled her expression, but Skein's pleasure was written bright and clear on her sharp features as painted nails scored lines in the oil on her belly and pinched her nipples to red fullness. All the while the women kept up their low throbbing song.
The beat of it drove Karin's hands, deft and sure, weaving a pattern of pleasure. Skein in turn wove her signs and cries into a melody deigned to carry their audience with them into abandon. Amet's low echoing drum beats threaded through as naturally as if they were a heartbeat, and the strings of bells that wrapped Karin's wide hips flowed into the music, tying them all together as sure as ropes and knotcraft.
The first night after Kes was accepted into their group the touch of oil on his own skin was enough to bring him the full hardness only seconds after the warmed spiced oil touched his shoulders. No more than four strokes of Talen's shinning hands around his cock mingled Kes' seed with the liquid.
And now, leaning back in the curve of Talen's arms, his back resting on Talen's chest, his head cradled in the curve of Talen's shoulder, the young man watched as Karin annointed her lover, Skein's pale cream and gold skin becoming burnished under the sweep of Karin's hands.
The fall of Karin's hair conceiled her expression, but Skein's pleasure was written bright and clear on her sharp features as painted nails scored lines in the oil on her belly and pinched her nipples to red fullness. All the while the women kept up their low throbbing song.
The beat of it drove Karin's hands, deft and sure, weaving a pattern of pleasure. Skein in turn wove her signs and cries into a melody deigned to carry their audience with them into abandon. Amet's low echoing drum beats threaded through as naturally as if they were a heartbeat, and the strings of bells that wrapped Karin's wide hips flowed into the music, tying them all together as sure as ropes and knotcraft.
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