If you missed the start of this cheerleader mischief, you can catch it here: Cheerleader Fantasy with Bi Duo Escorts in Gloucester Road — Part One. What follows is where the whole thing tipped into something stranger, hotter, a little too real.
“Lie down,” he told me, wiping sweat off his forehead.
I didn’t argue. Just shifted on the pillows, hips tilted, waiting. Audrey clambered above me, her knees bracketing my shoulders like she’d rehearsed it, except she hadn’t. She just wanted it.
He hauled my legs up, resting them over his shoulders, and pushed into me again. That rhythm — needy, unsteady — made it almost impossible to focus, but Audrey was right there, close enough to taste. I worked at her, tongue flicking faster, though my body was pinned, barely able to move. She was winding up tight, and I could feel myself fraying too. He stopped just when I was ready to let go, pulling me right back from the edge. Audrey gave in anyway, collapsing against me with a cry, pressing so hard it almost hurt.
Her legs shook as she pulled away, but she didn’t care. She laughed breathlessly, eyes glittering, and turned to him. “Alright-y, baby,” she teased, “your turn now.”
He sat back on the couch, chest heaving. Audrey looked at me, head cocked, wicked grin. “So, what’s it going to be — Brimming or something deeper?”
I paused. My tongue already felt worn out. “Deeper,” I said, quietly.
She nodded, dropped to her knees in front of him. I slid beside, curling my hand around him, teasing slowly while Audrey found her place behind. The contrast made me smile — her little noises, my steady movements.
He leaned back like a man losing control. I dragged my lips over him, unhurried, testing, coaxing every reaction I could. Audrey’s soft sounds spurred me on. I edged further each time until his hand found my head. I let him guide me. Less thinking, more surrender. Just focus on breath, on rhythm.
A glance down caught Audrey lost in her own pleasure, and I almost laughed at the madness of it — three bodies tangled in some unscripted dance.
“You should share,” she whispered, playful but firm.
So I leaned into her idea. Together we worked at him, lips brushing, bumping, messy, not perfect at all — and somehow that made it thrilling. For that moment, it didn’t feel like an act. It felt like something raw, shared.
From then on, it all blurred. His hands, my trembling, Audrey’s laughter turning to sighs. The finish came rough and tangled, not graceful, but I didn’t care. I turned to her, kissed her, long and messy, until we broke apart, gasping.
He just stared, wide-eyed, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe it. “God,” he muttered, “I love you girls.”
And for half a second, with the sweat still clinging and Gloucester Road humming outside, I almost believed him.
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