It’s the come of another creature. It’s me pre-evolution. It’s carnality manifest. It has got nothing to do with my mind. Everything is wet. The sheets are drenched. I’m squirting and coming again. I stow away my embarrassment and I ride the climax as it travels up and down my body. This third one is pure fun and joy. I laugh. Amidst all this, I feel Ben tense. He lets go of my hair and punches the mattress. He arches up—our bodies only touching at his cock and my pussy. He looks strong and handsome and happy. I exercise the only control I have while still bound—I squeeze my pussy tight around him. I feel the head of his cock expand then release into me again and again. I smile at the loud, animal sound he makes. When it’s passed and he looks down at me, I smile. ‘Sorry about the mess,’ I say. ‘Shhhh!’ he says softly. It’s too early. He’s still not back from wherever his orgasm sent him. He pulls out of me and lays a kiss on my neck. He works his body down and kisses my breast then. He looked at her for a second, then to his mates, and as if on a hidden signal, he withdrew a short knife (well, it may have been a long dagger, I couldn't really tell) and sliced right through the waist band and belt just at her hips.I don't suppose they were quite ready for the sight that greeted them, as evidenced by the excited murmurs that quickly were replaced by hoots and cheers.You see, Tess never wore tights (panty-hose, I think you Yanks call them). As such, when the dress flew off of her, she displayed the suspender belt and nylon stockings of a bygone age, an age that had gone by most other women, but not Tess. The small lacy knickers did little to hide the rest of her charms as well. She had just shaved that morning, and her labia made what I believe you call a "camel-toe". The man with the knife stepped up to her and ran his blade right up her ribcage, slicing the buttons from her blouse. It was next to go. The bra, which I'd spent almost 20 pounds on just a few days.
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