Three (12) - closing instalment

T gave herself over to her task. Sliding a couple of fingers inside Jessica accompanying her tongue flat on top of the clit, T looked like she was greedily satisfying a longstanding hunger - rarely indulged, never sated.

She was taking full advantage of her opportunity.

Jessica bucked against her face, grinding her hips against T's tongue and fingers with an urgency that I recognized, smiling to myself at the sense-memory of burying my own tongue deep within the very same sensitive folds.

But where I would have paused for a breather, broken off the swirling dance of tongue and fingers, T just kept going.

Even when Jessica had come a few times, her hips arching up, hands clawing the sheets... Even when she seemed exhausted, T kept going - like she was extracting the orgasms from Jessica's innards.

At some point I shed the delusion that I understood what they were doing, and merely paid attention.

T probably didn't either, at least not in some verbally communicable self-conscious way. It was a musical understanding of tempo, force - of cadences of fast and slow, hard and soft, gentle and brutal that undulated between the two of them.

(Weeks later, I enjoyed failing at imitating this, alone with Jessica. She appreciated the effort, but it was clear that if this was a race, I was the one-legged contestant).

The concluding rush of orgasm rolled in across Jessica's body and receded with a moan of exhaustion. T didn't so much stop as let Jessica go, releasing her to curl up in between the two of us while the sweat cooled on our skin.

For a moment that stretched as long as we could make it stretch, nobody made a move towards the edge of the bed. And no one mentioned what time it was.

Motivated by a superhuman sense of duty, Jessica finally reached out to check the clock.

While the receptionist downstairs summoned a cab for her, she pulled her clothes on and gathered her playthings with a laudable presence of mind that was alien to me and T, draped naked across the bed while Jessica made herself fit to set out into the darkened world of London at night.

When she was ready to go, she stood looking, smiling with the automatic authority that anyone with their clothes on will command over the naked. Before she leaned over to give each of us a kiss, her gaze lingered like she wasn't quite done with us yet, but there's no arguing with a waiting cab.