Hosting the Pool Party" PART 2.

And then…  the flood of our combined release spilled out of you in a slow, thick trickle—warm, pearlescent, sliding down between your cheeks and pooling on the lounger beneath your ass. The sight of it made my cock twitch again, already half-hard despite the fresh orgasm still echoing through me. You lay there panting, thighs parted shamelessly, skin flushed deep rose from neck to navel, nipples still peaked and glistening from earlier mouths. I eased you back fully onto the lounger, spreading your legs wider with gentle but firm hands on your inner thighs.

Your pussy looked utterly debauched—swollen lips dark and glossy, clit still throbbing visibly, a steady drip of cum leaking from your entrance every time your walls fluttered. I lowered my head slowly, inhaling the heady, filthy cocktail of us: salt, musk, lime remnants from the margaritas, the sharp bite of sex. My tongue flattened against you first—broad, slow licks gathering every drop, tasting the mingled cream of us sliding out of you. You moaned low, hips lifting instinctively toward my mouth.

I ate you like I was starving—lapping deep inside, sucking gently on your folds, then circling your clit with the tip of my tongue until your fingers tangled in my hair and pulled hard. The taste was obscene, addictive—sweet-salty, warm and slippery. Every swallow made you whimper louder. When I finally rose, lips and chin slick, I crawled up your body and kissed you deep sharing it all. Our tongues slid together, wet and sticky, passing the taste of us back and forth in long, filthy strokes. You sucked my tongue like you wanted to drink every last trace, moaning into my mouth, hands clutching my shoulders.

Mr B had been watching the whole time, his huge cock still rigid, bobbing with every heartbeat, the head flushed dark and shining. He moved closer now, slow and smiling, settling on your other side.

We flanked you—two mouths descending at once. His lips closed over one nipple, mine the other. We sucked hard, almost aggressive—teeth grazing, tongues flicking, pulling the tight peaks deeper until you arched off the lounger with a sharp cry. Our hands roamed in tandem: stroking down your ribs, over the soft curve of your belly, along the tops of your thighs, then up the insides—fingers feather-light, teasing, never quite touching where you ached most. Juices kept dribbling out, slick trails cooling on your skin.

Then one of us—his finger, I think—grazed your clit so lightly it was barely there. Your whole body jerked, a full shudder ripping through you, hips snapping up like you’d been shocked. That broke the restraint. Fingers—ours—finally explored the wet, swollen folds. Slipping through the mess, parting you, dipping inside where you were still hot and pulsing. Two fingers from each of us, stretching you gently, curling, stroking the sensitive front wall while thumbs brushed your clit in lazy, matching circles.

You stroked Mr B in return—hand wrapped around that thick length, sliding up and down with increasing urgency, feeling him swell harder, veins throbbing under your palm, pre-cum beading at the tip. He couldn’t wait any longer. He shifted between your legs, kneeling tall. You reached down, guiding him—fingers slick, wrapping around his shaft, rubbing the fat head along your folds, coating him in the dripping mix of cum already inside you.

Then you notched him at your entrance and pulled him forward. He sank in slowly—inch by thick inch—stretching you open again, filling the space I’d just left. Your legs wrapped around his waist instantly, heels digging into his ass, urging him deeper until he bottomed out with a low groan.

He felt enormous, pressing everywhere at once, the heat of him mixing with the slick warmth already there. You reached for me, pulling me close. Our mouths met again—still tasting ourselves, still sticky—while he started to move. Slow, rhythmic thrusts at first, long drags out and deep pushes in, every stroke pushing more of our combined release out around his cock. It shimmered in the late-afternoon sun—glistening strands connecting us, dripping down his balls, pooling beneath you.

He was rock-hard, veins pulsing, and you could feel how close he already was—how every clench of your walls made him shudder. My hand drifted down between you, fingers finding your clit again, rubbing in tight, steady circles that matched his rhythm perfectly. The pleasure built fast.

Your muscles tensed thighs locking tighter, breath shortening to sharp gasps. His pace quickened—harder, deeper—cock slamming home now, wet slaps echoing over the lawn. Your moans turned to groans, then to desperate cries, louder and louder.

I could feel it rising in you—the coil tightening, your body going rigid. He thrust faster, chasing his own edge, grunting with every drive. Your walls fluttered hard around him. Then it hit—you came with a beautiful, broken scream, pussy clamping down like a vice, milking him relentlessly.

That tipped him over. He buried himself to the hilt and exploded—hot jets of cum shooting deep, filling you even more, pulse after thick pulse until it overflowed, running out around his shaft in creamy rivulets. The rhythm slowed. He held you tight, hips still rocking gently through the aftershocks.

I kissed you hard, possessive, my hand cupping your mound firmly, palm pressed to your clit, so you felt every last flutter and throb. He finally withdrew—slow, careful—his cock slipping free with a wet sound.

A fresh flood followed: warm, thick, spilling from you in a slow cascade, coating your thighs, dripping onto the lounger, mixing with everything that came before. You collapsed between us, boneless, glowing, a dazed smile curving your swollen lips.

Mr B kissed your neck. I kissed your forehead.

Around us the pool party kept raging—moans, laughter, wet slaps, bodies tangling on bean bags and in the water—but right here, in this pocket of heat and spent pleasure, it felt like the world had narrowed to just the three of us.

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.