"Their Plaything"

Whispers in darkness, She sighing softly as cloth slides away from skin, as lips caress newly exposed territory. Throat, shoulder blade, curve of breast and... Ahhhh, yes, lips closing around nipple, teeth scraping lightly at first as pressure is applied...

"Yeah..." A low voiced whisper of approval, Him lurking nearby with avid eyes... watching, waiting for his invitation to play.

Fingers touching, caressing, feeling... Here, at the peak of the other breast. There, now, teasing the inner crease of thigh. Up, brushing across parted lips. Over, tucking a lock of hair behind Her ear.

"Lower." comes the instruction, murmuring approval as His command is obeyed.

Palm cupping, holding something precious a moment before fingers slide between folds, dancing lightly across sensitive skin before moving away again.

"Tease." She whispers, hips shifting in invitation.

"Yes." my voice, distant in the haze of need, passion's hunger.

"Lower." His voice again.

Lips relinquish the captured peak and blaze a trail lower, ever obedient. Distracted before reaching His intended goal, traveling over the curve of hip with a trail of moist kisses. Bite here, not hard. Fingers moving, parting, revealing... as my eyes raise to meet Hers, and then His. The invitation is soft "Hold her."

He moves to the bed, leaning in for a kiss. First from you. Then from Her. Then, rearrangement as She leans back against him, his hands coming 'round from behind, fingers delving, parting, holding as requested...

Hands free, one claiming the curve of hip, the other toying lightly as I watch Her face. Tracing edges and lines, never slipping within, not even when another impatient shift of hip threatens. Nuzzling against his knuckles, kissing the back of his hand, then kissing Her in that place more intimate... Tongue flicking lightly for a moment before lips claim, then release. Experiment, tease, play...

Her voice soft, a whimper. Knowing she can feel his hardness against her, knowing he won't play without the invitation. Her hands taking hold, holding, a low almost growl "No teasing."

Obedient, fingers slipping within, tongue and lips dancing. Well taught, poetry of movement as her whimper becomes a pant, then a cry, hips bucking as His palms flatten against her belly, holding her in place. Not stopping until She does, then sitting up.

Wrist captured, not by Her... by Him. Together, without speaking, they move me into her place. Held down, him holding my wrists in his hands, his lips against my throat as he watches Her, commanding "Lower."