Dayanara Chapter 16
Sunday night, and we were in bed. The guys were snuggled up to me. We had the television on, supposedly watching a movie. I wasn’t paying attention. The truth was, I couldn’t. I was dying to have them touch me, do more than kiss me, and then say goodnight.
I knew they did it out of concern and the desire not to hurt me or disrupt my wound’s healing process.
But I’d spoken to Zara. She said to let my body indicate if something was too much.
If pain spikes, then stop. She told me that when she sutured the wound, she also glued it.
She preferred to do both to make the wound doubly secure.
Short of us going wild with sexual gymnastics, her words, it shouldn’t open up.
I knew they wanted me, too. I saw the erections they sported when we kissed.
Hell, they hadn’t even fondled my tits or fingered me.
I offered to suck their cocks or give them a hand job, but they declined.
My frustration was about to bubble over.
Deciding to give it another try, I rolled to face Stalker more.
When his gaze met mine, I said nothing. I reached over, cupped the back of his neck, and drew him to my mouth.
Our kiss was a hungry, deeply satisfying one, like always.
When we stopped, I was flushed, and he was panting a bit.
I turned to Predator and repeated the process.
When that second kiss was over, the sexual tension was palpable.
Both had enormous erections straining their pants.
My nipples were taut, and my pussy slick.
“I need you,” I bluntly told them.
“And we need you, but you’re not healed. Just hang on a while longer,” Stalker replied.
“My wound is fine. I asked Zara if sex was alright. She said yes. If something becomes more painful, then stop. The wound itself won’t open up.”
“Still, there’s a chance it’ll hurt. We don’t want that. How about we get you off?” Predator suggested. His hand came to rest on my stomach. Anger hit me, and I shoved his hand away. Surprise registered.
“Move,” I ordered.
“What?” Predator asked.
“I said move. I want up.”
“Why? What’s wrong?” Stalker asked.
“I need to get up,” I demanded.
Slowly, Stalker got off the bed. He held out his hand to assist me, but I ignored it.
When I was on my feet, I headed into the bathroom.
I shut the door. I paced, catching my reflection in the mirror.
If they wouldn’t listen to a medical professional, then I was stuck.
And their offer was like an adult trying to pacify a child throwing a tantrum.
If that were all I could get, then I’d do it myself.
I turned on the shower. The hot water would feel good, and I’d use the soap to help make my body and pussy extra slick. I stripped off my nightgown and got under the water.
After wetting down my whole body, I poured body wash into my hands and covered my tits in it.
Then I went to work. The hot water pounded into my back, and I kneaded, tugged, and twisted my tits and my hard nipples.
Streaks of fire were racing from them to my clit.
I didn’t try to hold back my sounds of pleasure. Screw them.
I was so wound up from over a week of no sex or foreplay that it took a mere couple of minutes to make myself orgasm from my breast play. It wasn’t the most intense one I’d ever had, but it felt good.
Then I took a hand and ran it down my body to rest above my clit.
Anticipation mixed with the hum still in my blood from the orgasm I just had.
When I stroked my slick finger over my clit, I moaned.
Another stroke, this one running the length of my slit to the opening of my vagina.
I paused and ran my finger around it. My free hand went to the wall.
I wanted to make sure I stayed up for this.
Another slide, and then I let my finger enter my vagina. I let my head tilt back as I moaned. In and out, my finger stroked. I jumped when I heard a deep, tense voice. It was Stalker's.
“What the hell are you doing, Melyster?”
I didn’t turn to him as I answered. “What does it look like I’m doing, Riggs? I’m pleasuring myself.”
“Why? We said we’d do it,” Predator said, sounding upset.
“If foreplay is all I can get from you, and only after I make a move and get rebuffed, I’ll do it myself.”
I knew I sounded bitchy, but I was. I knew my body and what it could handle. I spoke to a doctor to be sure. Fuck, would they wait six weeks before they’d think of making love or having sex with me? Thinking was making me angrier and ruining my vibe.
“Please leave. You’re ruining my pleasure vibe.”
I didn’t bother to look at them. And the truth was, their response was making me recall a past boyfriend.
He used sex as a punishment. If I didn’t act the way he wanted or upset him, he’d withdraw and leave me to take care of myself.
If I’d pushed or asked for sex, he’d grudgingly perform foreplay as fast as he could or say he was tired.
It had hurt, but with these two, it was worse.
Remembering had hot tears filling my eyes.
I tried to hold them back. No way would I cry in front of them.