Realizing that other guests of the resort could probably hear the sound I was making all the way from their rooms, I arched my back and dunked my head all the way into the water, letting the rest of one moan pour out of me in a muffled torrent of bubbles instead.
It was only seconds, though, before I had to surface for another gasp of air.
Diane caught my upper body in her arms and held me, stroking my breasts softly, while Debbie used those two fingers to pull me to the left, then the right, rocking me back and forth like a pendulum, with Diane as my anchor point.
The water’s turbulence gained a tantalizing amount of strength with that back-and-forth motion, brushing over and over my exposed pussy. I tried to think of it like a massage showerhead, but a showerhead would have offered more pressure, even on the lowest setting. This was enough to give hope, but not enough to follow through on that hope.
“Do you want to ask me that question again?” Debbie asked, stopping the motion to hold me in place. She thrusted her fingers straight up into my G-region again, while Diane held me steady by the shoulders.
It took me a moment to catch her meaning, but when I did, I couldn’t help but smile.
“Are we there ye—”
Debbie brought her thumb down firmly on my clit, making me break off with a cry of surprise.
“You tell me,” she said, rubbing me in brusque, efficient circles.
“Almost,” I groaned. “Almost. We’re so close if you don’t stop.”
“Then we’re close, hun,” she assured me, continuing her firm, circular attention without pausing.
I felt myself relax, even while the buildup continued, trusting that I didn’t need to worry about either rushing or holding back.
For one moment, I ceased to strategize. I forgot all about competing and impressing. I dissolved into the moment, the lapping of the cool water, the warmth of the rum in my blood, the scent of the ocean, so close by that this pool could be mistaken, from some angles, for part of it. The softness of Diane’s hands in my hair, on my cheek, around my breasts. The irresistible sureness of Debbie’s thumb and fingers.
It was a moment too perfect to be allowed on a postcard.
Diane gave my nipples a gentle squeeze, Debbie powered on at that unrelenting pace, and in a matter of seconds, the pleasure rose naturally past the point of containment. I cried out and bucked in their arms, and they went on holding me. Diane propped my face up in the crook of her arm as if I were some beginner who needed help to keep from drowning, but just for now, I didn’t care. If these two wanted to make it easier for me to let go even more completely, then I was letting go, I was gone, into the pleasure waves they had made for me, for as long as they lasted.
Debbie waited patiently for me to go completely limp in the water before sliding her fingers out of me and turning my legs gently upright again.
“Come on,” Diane said, with a kiss on my cheek, and guided me in a direction.
I followed along, still floating so high on the afterglow that I didn’t understand that we were headed toward the pool steps until my feet touched them.
Debbie got out of the water first, and then held her hands out to help both Diane and me.
“Let’s get you out of this wet thing, okay?” Debbie asked, tugging down on the straps of my swimsuit.
“Why?” I asked.
I must have sounded overwhelmed, because Debbie patted me on the cheek and used her most reassuring voice to say, “I just want you to lie there and be beautiful.” Her eyes flicked to a couple of the poolside lounge chairs, and then to Diane. “The scenery does enhance the experience, you know.”
I helped her peel the wet fabric off of me, more than happy to be counted as part of that scenery for these two. “It sure does.”
Diane rubbed me down with one of her own beach towels, to help with the negligible chill, and settled me down on one of the loungers, where I stretched out, completely naked, ready to watch as much as to be watched.
Debbie and Diane exchanged another round of excitable giggles as they raked their eyes over me, knocking their shoulders against each other.
“Enjoy the breather,” Debbie told me, lying backwards on the next lounger, with her head resting where her knees were supposed to go. “There’s plenty more of the night left.”
Diane climbed on top of Debbie, straddling her face in a sixty-nine, and the two of them unfastened each other’s bikini bottoms with practiced hands. Both of them managed to sneak glances at me as they slowly, methodically began to lick.
The sincere intimacy of the interaction was striking, the way they both so easily anticipated each other’s movements and responses, and I stared at them with a fair measure of awe at being included, even as an observer.
And I breathed. Debbie was right. There were hours left before dawn.
***
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