Hosting the Pool Party
The day was molten—warm air licking bare skin. Lawn mowed velvet-smooth, bean bags strewn like fuck-me invitations, market umbrella shading the longest lounger, fairy lights already strung, waiting for night to turn filthy. Mood set. Shamelessly.
We drifted naked through the garden, your golden curves gleaming, nipples pebbled tight, pussy already slick with anticipation. My cock hung heavy, thickening every time your ass swayed ahead of me. Bare feet on hot grass, fingers grazing hipbones, the dip of your waist, the sensitive crease under your breasts. Electric.
Strong margaritas—Patrón burning slow, lime sharp, salt rims glittering. We sipped, eyes locked, tequila loosening everything.
Guests arrived shedding clothes at the gate. Laughter turned to gasps, wet slaps in the pool, slick skin on skin across the lawn. Bean bags cradled writhing bodies. Air thick with sunscreen, chlorine, raw sex.
We watched from the lounger, thighs glued, your hand curled around my shaft, stroking lazy and firm. My fingers parted your folds, found you dripping, circled your swollen clit until your hips jerked.
“Look at them,” you breathed against my ear, voice wrecked. “Fucking like animals already.”
A woman rode her man reverse on a bean bag, ass bouncing, his hands bruising her hips while she moaned loud enough to carry. Another pair fucked standing against the house wall—her legs hooked over his arms, his cock slamming deep, her head thrown back in broken cries.
You let icy margarita drip down your tits, trails racing over your stomach to your pussy. I chased every drop with my tongue, sucked your nipples hard until you whimpered, then licked lower, tasting lime and your arousal.
You straddled me, grinding your wet slit along my length, coating me. “I want you inside while we watch them come undone,” you whispered. “Slow. Deep. So I can hear every filthy sound. And when I come—I want them to hear me scream your name.”
I lifted you, notched myself at your entrance, pulled you down inch by torturous inch until you were seated full, clenching around me like a fist. We froze, breathing ragged, feeling every pulse.
Then you rode—slow rolls turning filthy, hips snapping, tits bouncing in my face. I gripped your ass, spread you wider, thumb pressing your clit while I sucked marks into your throat.
The lawn was pure debauchery: moans layering, wet slaps, someone begging “harder—fuck—don’t stop,” another woman coming loud on fingers and tongue, bodies swapping, sharing, tasting.
Your rhythm faltered, thighs trembling. “I’m—fuck—” Nails raked my shoulders. You shattered—loud, shameless, my name ripped from your throat in a raw cry that echoed. Your pussy clamped down, milking me hard. I thrust up once, twice, buried deep and pulsed inside you, filling you while you shook and whimpered.
We stayed locked, sweaty, dripping, listening to the aftershocks ripple around us.
You kissed me slow, filthy-sweet, then murmured against my lips............
You turned your head, eyes half-lidded, voice a wrecked whisper.
“Water… another margarita… or round three?”
We both laughed—low, satisfied.
The sun was still high.
The party was far from over.
