You Can Shove It In Up to the Wooden Leg, Commander

Chapter 66

Climbing the stairs, I felt the warm cream dripping and soaking my panties, sticking to my clit, burning like hot iron. Mariana was chattering behind me, but I was quiet, replaying the scene in my head: me lying spread open on the bed, shoving the "thing" in until it disappeared, feeling every throb, and him standing there, fist working away, that disgusting horny face that pisses me off and turns me on all at once. I thought about the wet sounds, the suction as it swallowed her up, the hitch in my breath when a finger pushed just a little deeper, and him watching hungrily, begging, almost mine. The cold railing in my palm, my thigh trembling, and my panties turning into a delicious mess. I almost snapped "shut up, Mari," but I held back—I needed her tonight.

I stopped at the door, smirked sideways, and let her go into the room all innocent, not knowing she was about to get to work. I followed, closed the door, turned the lock, put on some music from my phone, connected it to the speaker, and turned on the AC. It wasn't hot. I wanted noise to cover things up. It was early, and I wasn't waiting for the house to go to sleep.

She started talking about getting a voice assistant, said it was way more practical than messing with Bluetooth pairing. I cut her off.

"Mariana, shut up for a second."

She blinked, startled by my face.

"You wanna fuck me?"

She laughed, naughty like she always is, always down.

"Yeah…"

Her dirty smile spread wide.

"Shit, you've got that slutty look. What the hell got into you?"

"No chit-chat. You got clean hands?"

I flipped up my skirt, unbuttoned it, and pulled everything off along with my panties.

"Whoa… damn, cousin!"

I turned off the light. Left just the glow from the streetlight outside. I didn't want to see—I wanted to feel. I threw myself on the bed, belly up, and spread my legs wide, giving in.

"Mariana, pay attention. I want fingers. And I want it hard."

She climbed onto the bed on her knees, the mattress creaking softly. Her warm hand trailed my thigh, pushed my knees apart, her thumb marking the path. The first touch was at the edge, light. I let out a short moan, impatient as hell.

I opened my legs as wide as they could go and felt the sheet scrape my ass—the skin was already hot. The cool air from the AC hit between my thighs and sent a shiver up my belly. I wanted fingers. Deep. I wanted to hear the wet sounds and feel her palm slapping my bone with every thrust. My whole body needed it.

"There. Shove it in."

I grabbed her wrist and guided her, no bullshit.

The first finger slid in slick and easy, spreading my wetness all the way to the base. My pussy gave way like it was the loosest thing in the world. I moaned low, a tight sigh. The second finger came without warning, and I spread wider, rolling my hips, finding the angle, showing her the way. My mouth fell open on its own, hot breath spilling out, heavy.

"Yeah, fuck."

My voice cracked.

"Straight, deeper."

She started pumping in a rhythm made just for me. Straight, firm, perfect fit. With every in and out, the skin of my pussy pulled soft, and I felt the quiet "slap" of her palm hitting my pubic bone. The mattress creaked in time, driving me crazy. My clit throbbed, begging to be touched, and I reached down myself, just the tip of my finger, rubbing sideways, no rush, finding that line that breaks me.

"Faster. And twist."

I grabbed her wrist, setting the pace with my own breath.

"Add another finger."

"Three?"

Her tone was somewhere between amazed and scared.

She shoved all the fingers I ordered inside, and the "good stretch" opened me up from within. The inner wall responded right away, that grazing touch sending sweet shocks down my spine. My thighs shook without me meaning them to, and I pushed my hips up, offering more, wanting more. The hunger rose, raw, no romance—I wanted to be dug out. I wanted to end up limp, used, satisfied.

Her other hand went to my tit at my say-so. Squeeze. Harder. I gasped when she pinched my nipple between her fingers, a electric sting that licked my abs. When her mouth came down, hot and wet, tongue sliding over the fabric first, I almost laughed at my own impatience. I yanked the fabric off with my free hand, shoved my tit in her face, and the suction hit. Her tongue circled slow and stopped at the tip, matching the rhythm of the fingers down below. Wicked sync.

"Like that. Don't stop."

I tried to finish the sentence, but it barely came out.

"Mariana, try to shove your whole hand in if you can."

She obeyed in a way that made me even more wicked. I tilted my hips quick, pressing my heel into the bed for leverage. It was about four fingers, and every thrust went straighter, deeper, making a wet noise that would embarrass any neighbor. I wanted him to hear. I wanted him to know my body was begging. That I wanted three, four, however many fit right.

"Aim up. There."

I grabbed her wrist and shifted the angle by millimeters. A burst of light exploded behind my eye.

"Fuck, right there."

She found the spot and started working it like she was carving her name in me. I lost my breath. My body went tight, rigid, demanding more speed. My hand on my clit sped up on its own, that tiny precise circle I know blind. The pressure built instant, a weight low in my belly warning of the crash.

"Suck."

I ordered, pulling her head between my legs.

Her mouth sealed over me, perfect vacuum, firm tongue. I felt the suction pulling all my nerves out, a tourniquet of pleasure. Her hand didn't stop, fingers plunging, twisting, pulling out just a bit, plunging again, palm slapping, her wet knuckles pressing into me. I shook all over. My thigh bumped her arm lightly. My breath stuttered, turned to gasps.

I wanted deeper. I wanted to open more.

"The hand, the fist. Now. Slow, then push hard."

My voice came out rough, no room for doubt.

"Jully, you're scaring me."

I felt her trying to do what I said, but my body set the limits.

"It won't go in, cousin, you're so tight."

When any part of her hand pushed in further, my body complained for half a second, then accepted with hunger. I pushed back against it, opening, breathing through my nose, my hand on my clit slowing just so I wouldn't lose it too soon. When it fit, it fit. I laughed in the dark, owning my own mess, feeling the inner wall adjust to the fullness, the weight of her hand filling me up.

"Go on. Fuck me."

I said it simple.

She thrust. Deep. Fast. The wet sound turned obscene. My hand on my clit went back to that killer swirl, short, steady. I felt every detail: the skin of her fingers, her trimmed nail grazing lightly, the knuckles bumping at the entrance, the hot musky scent of my sex mixing with the smell of skin and AC in the room. The music faded to noise. All I heard was my body saying "more."

"My clit's right here."

I guided her head a finger's width to the side.

"Pressure, not licking."

She switched. Her whole mouth pressing down, tongue still, just the weight. I nearly cried with relief. The circuit closed. My abs locked, my ass clenched, the skin on my arms prickled all over. I held her fingers deeper and my body decided for me. The orgasm hit short and brutal, a snap that started in my hips and grabbed my throat. I moaned ugly, no shame, a sound I didn't even recognize.

She kept the rhythm, perfect, until my spasms counted two, three, four. I loosened slow, but didn't let go of her wrist. Not yet. It was still pulsing inside, a greedy throb that didn't want goodbye.

I lay there a moment, chest heaving heavy, hearing my own heart pounding in my ears. My skin still sparked, the room spun slow. I left her fingers quiet at the entrance, just resting, like banking embers. The cool AC air licked my sweat, and I felt the come-down warm, trailing down my thigh. It wasn't over. Just a break. My pussy released her wrist slow, I took two, three deep breaths, and let my body settle. The hunger didn't fade, just shifted shape. My clit still throbbed low, a polite beg. I turned my face into the pillow, laughed short, licked my lips. Possessed, just waiting for the next command to spill from my mouth.

"It's not over."

I whispered, voice hoarse.

"Open my closet, grab anything that can go in, put a condom on it, and bring it here—don't forget the hairbrush."

And I laughed, taken over.