Each one stretching her, making her gasp and moan with the sensation of filling, each one pushing the one inside her before it even deeper, until she felt herself full to bursting. I was glad for the churning water to camouflage my own wetness. The taste of her own blood was bitter in her throat. They were lying on the bed, kissing and fondling each other while he looked at pictures in a photo album. Her hand pulled on the white gate, the padlocked clanked against it. Each new shock of feeling drawing another tensing that would move them still further. And then felt his fingertips on the knots gathered at her waist, carefully untangling them. She wore no brassiere. His stiff cock curved slightly, and as her hands pumped up and down its thick length, drops of slippery fluid coated the mushroom head. And as it pressed against her sex, widening it and finally slipping inside her, she realized that is was a sphere of some kind.