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For the past century, she's kept her sex toys lined up pretty over a display table in her bedroom, the entire collection visible for all to see. She's proud of them, a vast hoard of toys from various planets and cultures and practices, all equally pleasurable and immeasurably different.
They're hers, but Lura won't let her choose tonight. Jett strokes the side of Nahla's face as she secures the silk rope around Nahla's wrists, tying them just tight enough to stimulate the skin. Nahla shivers as Jett positions her: her head in Jett's lap, Jett's forearms underneath Nahla's shoulders, holding her in place. It's a beautiful, blessed stance, Nahla thinks. After time loops itself around your neck a few times, it begins to strangle, to suffocate the living out of your life; only underneath their touch, between the sweat and buck of sex, is there freedom from the loop, however brief it may be.
She watches as Lura slips down to her boxers. She watches as Lura studies her collection with intrigue, picking up each piece to examine its girth and length and texture.
"You've been around," notes Lura. She picks up a thick, orange toy and twirls it between her fingers. It's one of Nahla's favorites; the sensation of the ridges, the way it stretches her open just right, always makes her crumble.
"I've had some time to grow my collection," Nahla reminds her. "Many of them were gifts from... very satisfied past lovers."
"Do you always have to be this cocky?" Jett laughs.
"Always."
Lura takes the toy and begins to strap herself into her harness, fastening it around her waist. Nahla feels Jett's hands start to slither down her neck, tracing circles over her breastbone. She cups Nahla's breasts, rubbing her nipples between two fingers, and, when an impatient groan is drawn from Nahla's throat, she trails her fingers downward, right between Nahla's spread thighs.
Jett always gives in.
Nahla loves this part: as Jett's fingers work the soak of her underwear off, she tilts her head to look up, drawing their eyes into a tractor beam lock, into a standoff. She maintains eye contact even as the tips of Jett's fingers begin circling over her clit, entirely unbreaking in Jett's arms. The intimacy of the act makes them both feel rigid, frozen, slightly sick, but Nahla melts for them, always melts. If Nahla didn't know better---
There's the hint of a tear in Jett's gaze. A glisten. Emotion.
Nahla's legs tremble as Jett slides a finger right inside, her touch icy but warm within Nahla's wet cunt. Jett's other hand finds her breast again, and Nahla breathes out every swear she’s been holding in: fuck, fuck, fuck.
But when Lura makes her way to the bed and grabs Nahla by the ankles, Jett pulls away, retracting her fingers and her touch and her warmth. She climbs off of the bed and heads for Nahla's display, a twisted expression like a shadow falling over her face.
She picks up another one of Nahla's toys. This one is rather complex; it's already built into a harness, and where one end has the typical phallic head, the other slips inside of you, settles in, and carries each sensation the partner's body makes against the toy directly into you. An Orion invention. She watches Jett's face curl with excitement when Jett realizes what she's got on her hands--admittedly, it's a little cute.
Nahla shivers as Jett straps herself in, fixing the straps around her pants. She's developed an odd affinity for clothed sex the past century or so; after years and years and years of vulnerable nakedness, obscurity can become a comfort. It spices things up when you hide parts of yourself.
She looks down at Lura when she feels soft kisses press against her ankles, the touch too tender for the casualness of their trysts. Lura's lips travel down over the tops of Nahla's feet and then back up over her calves and kneecaps, finally making their way to her inner thighs with an amused, sharp laugh.
"Lean back," whispers Jett from behind Nahla's head. "I want you to take both of us."
"You can handle it," Lura says, her head parting Nahla's legs further and then pulling back up, "can you not?”
Nahla's only answer is to arch her back, lean her head as far down as she can, and open her mouth wide. It's a little humorous to watch Jett approach her from an upside-down angle, but somehow it only makes Nahla's need scorch her down further. Jett grunts as Nahla takes the toy into her mouth, lips brushing over the head and enveloping the entire cock only moments later. God, she has a right to brag; God, she's good at this.
She tries to keep her composure when she feels Lura at her entrance, giving gentle strokes, gentle pressure. When Lura pushes the head of the orange dildo in, slow and careful and hesitant, Nahla's eyes close against her will.
She listens to the noise of Jett's pleasured moans, feels Lura go deeper, stretch her wider, spear her. She struggles against her restraints as Lura fucks into her, her movement entirely restricted by them both, and thinks freedom.
