I just moaned. I guided his hand down my stomach and to my leg. He squeezed my thigh and stroked it, working his fingers up my skirt. He began rubbing...through my pants, and even though I couldn't feel myself, I knew how wet they were. "Someone's happy to see me," he whispered into my mouth, smiling. "Can you blame me?" I retorted, moving my panties to the side to give him better access. I needed his fingers in me. He began rubbing my clit, and I moaned into his mouth. He slipped one finger. This would be their last night together. They both knew it, were both saddened by it, but both treasured it as a priceless gem. He brought the red candles from the bath, setting them on the dresser and lighting them before starting the music, the soft strains of a lone Celtic flute. She stood and watched, warming and smiling at the smallest details that he remembered and tended to: the candles, the music, the wine. He was making it perfect for her . . . for them. Returning behind her, he. On the screen now was what looked to be the same kind of room I was in, except it was made out of glass. There was a guy on either side. One guy was on his knees and was working the pole of the other guy through a square hole in the glass. He was playing with the tip and then plunging it deep down his throat over and over again. If I thought my cock hurt earlier, I had no idea what I was thinking compared to now. I was rock hard and at a weird angle dripping pre-cum like crazy. I unbuttoned my. I just stood there silently and watched as she washed my stomach, thighs, hips, and eventually moving to my crotch. She moved to my right, standing partially behind me, and to my side. She reached around me with her soapy hand and grasped my dick and began stroking. I let my head tip back, looking up at the ceiling of the shower with my eyes closed. My time playing with her boobs had really gotten me worked up, because even though I had just cum a lot in bed, I still came again in no time.I let.