Page 27 of Please Open Me
“Oh my God, Seb, I’m so sorry.” Mason snatched the plastic lid off the floor and scooped what she could off of me.
Strawberries and cream smeared all over her hands and into the crevasses of my abs. And, while she got most of the sponge and whole berries, it felt like she’d made more of a mess with everything else. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, this feltgood.
I suppressed a groan as Mason looked up at me, cheeks flushed, eyes wide.
“I’m so sorry,” she repeated. “I didn’t mean to–”
“To get Sebby all messy?” Sophia teased.
Slowly, I turned my head just enough to face her. Sophia sat there, focusing on us with rapt attention. Her posture was still relaxed as she lounged on the edge of the couch, but she’d moved a hand to cup her chin.
“If you’re going to get him all dirty, you should probably clean him up,” she urged.
“I’m trying!” Mason protested.
Sophia tsked as she shook her head.
“Not with your hands, honeybee. Sebby looks good enough to eat, might as well use your tongue.”
Mason choked as she looked away from me. Her hands hovered just above my waistband, as if she hadn’t undressed me nearly once a day for the last year. My heart smacked against my ribs at the idea of her tongue running along my skin.
Reaching forward, I threaded my fingers in her hair before pushing her head back far enough for her to look me in the eye.
“Now’s not the time to be bashful, Princess.” My hand moved from her hair to her chin. “I’ve had my dick in every single hole of yours, and now you’re playing shy about licking some sugar off me?”
I could practically see the metaphorical hearts in Mason’s eyes, but before we could get further, long pink acrylic nails dug into my cheek. Sophia looked down at me, her lip jutted out in a mock pout.
“I know my sweet little nerd isn’t tellingmyhoneybee what to do.” Her honied tone barely concealed the venom in her words.
I froze, unsure of where I fell in this dynamic. Sophia was a domme, but she wasn’tmydomme. And, with Mason, I was her boss, right?
“I am,” I said plainly. “Now if you–”
Sophia squeezed me tighter, her nails digging into my skin. I suppressed the urge to flinch. Despite her smile, I could see irritation behind her sapphire gaze.
“That pretty little mouth of yours only gives orders whenIallow it.”
Sophia’s attitude should have pissed me off, but it wasreallyhard to be mad when Mason was in front of me on her knees. She looked up at me like I was hereverything.
“Sebby, get on the floor like the dirty pet you are.” She growled the last word, not even giving me a chance to argue as she pushed me out of my seat and onto the ground. The throw rug was soft against my back as she slipped a decorative pillow under my head.
My cock stood tall, proud, and unbelievably ready for whatever came next. Mason crawled to me on her hands and knees like the good girl she was.
Once she was close enough, she lowered her head to my stomach and began to lap at the cream decorating the ridges of my stomach. Warmth followed each caress, lighting my skin ablaze as she showered me in kisses and licks.
A lesser man would have cum right on the spot. And I—well, I began to think that I may be a lesser man.
A broken whimper escaped my lips as Mason kept going, and that seemed to ignite something evil in Sophia.
“Oh, my god!” Sophia chortled. “Did you just whimper? I’ve never heard a man do that!”
Heat rushed to my cheeks, this time not from my overwhelming arousal, but from white-hot embarrassment.
“Honeybee, do it again, I need to hear Sebby make those cute little sounds.”
Mason was too fucking obedient with her request, but instead of just licking me, she pulled my shorts down, allowing my cock to spring out. The barbells spanning my frenulum caught the light, and the tip of my dick wept glistening pre-cum.
Mason’s tongue traced the underside of my cock, spinning the piercings just enough to shatter me. A broken sound, somewhere between a gasp and a sob, tore from my throat as a ribbon of ejaculate shot out. Thanks to the position of my dick, the cum splattered on my chest, mixing with the sticky remnants of whipped cream and strawberry glaze. It dripped down my ribs. Onto my side. I felt almost like a painter's easel, but instead of being coated in paint from a masterpiece, I was slathered in shame.
