Two can play this game
By: Date: 2023.12.12. Categories: Sex Stories Tags: , , ,

I. My Cherokee girl Do you love someone? Did you ever…? Sometimes I don’t know and I doubt
I ever did. “Love” is a word, not a feeling… And can you describe
feelings by saying out loud what is going inside you? I also do not know
the answer to that question. You live and you feel, that’s all I know
and care about. I have had my share of lovers, male and female, but never felt alive,
really alive as you read in those internet sex fantasy stories. Lovers
come and go, being swept in and away like ocean waves. I try to reach
for a deep feeling but reality sneaks upon you and you get lost, you
don’t know the way anymore. There was an exception to this steadfast emptiness: a girl I admired
immensely, a ray of light piercing the darkness and shining on my
“frail” feminine body and my willowy soul. She was strong in every sense
of the word, and I fantasized about her mouth covering me with kisses,
leaving me helpless and senseless, every day of my life. God, I wanted her! Snow was falling the day I saw her for the first time. She seemed a
Cherokee warrior, with her long dark hair, her strong brown arms, proud
cheekbones, her long legs slowing down to a quiet pace, while her dark
mysterious eyes wandered about the street and store windows. I was
shocked by her beauty and the inner peace her eyes betrayed. I wanted
that peace and more than that I wanted her strength. She caught my stare and smiled, but that contact didn’t last. Her eyes
returned to the store window and scrutinized whatever was in store. I
followed her example and forced myself into window-shopping, a pleasure
I could die for but not right then. She went past me and my eyes could not leave that uninteresting
window… I don’t know what I was waiting for but whatever that was
didn’t matter anymore. I heard a voice inside me, singing and crying at
the same time. It was a call… a mating call? I turned and saw her
walking away, her unhurried pace unchanged, her quiet gaze jumping from
the store windows to the traffic to the people who passed her by. A little boy and his granny having an argument about a toy the old woman
couldn’t afford captured the Indian girl’s attention. She went up to
them and exchanged a few words with the boy’s granny. The old woman’s
frown grew more intense and the boy cried out ever louder. Then his
granny ceased to shake her snow-white head and, for a short moment, the
cries subsided, as the Indian girl’s hands wiped his tears away. The
trio entered the store and a few minutes later the boy and the old woman
returned to the wind-swept street, where I’d remained, unable to move
and run away while I could. I didn’t hear any crying. I didn’t hear any
shouting. Must be a good sign – the little boy had been appeased. I waited and felt the cold bite my face and ears. I was not able to wait
any longer and walked the distance and peeked into the window. The
Indian girl was still inside. Again her peaceful way of doing things
became obvious as she sifted through a heap of blouses. Sick of being
cold and miserable I walked in, being welcomed by a solicitous
salesclerk. The Indian girl didn’t look at me, seemingly ignoring my
entrance, my daring act of coming closer to a woman I didn’t know from
Adam (should I say Eve instead?). I heard the call again in my head, growing stronger and closer… I
closed my eyes and felt as if I was fainting… Suddenly I was someplace else, as though I had been transported into a
green prairie… I saw wolves and hawks and eagles and coyotes… No
people, absolutely no people… God, I didn’t know where I was. I
reached for my machete but I didn’t know how to use it. Fear engulfed
me. A hand touched me and I saw the Indian girl beside me. We didn’t
speak but her eyes sang me this song: “Daughter of the Moon, be my sorrow,
be my joy until we die, together.
Daughter of the Owl, be wise,
be my Sun and I won’t die in darkness.
Show me the way, and I will follow;
Lick my wounds, and I will praise
The Great Spirit, hear me,
I will not speak again.” When I regained my senses I saw million faces crowding me. Somehow
someone helped me to stand up. I looked at my savior, a middle-aged man,
with gray hair, curious eyes, and a worried face. I scanned the store
for the Indian girl but apparently she was gone… and that hurt. How
blase can you get? I asked the salesclerk if I could use their bathroom and, yes, she was
in there, powdering her nose or whatever she was doing in that small,
humid room. We stared at each other and before I could understand what
was happening her long arms drew me closer and I was kissed with fervor
and passion. I stepped away from her. I could not breathe. She said something in Cherokee, her dark eyes filming over. She sang the
song I had heard before: “Daughter of the Moon…” I didn’t understand
whether she was crying… She made sudden moves that frightened me, made
me start, as if I was her prey, the animal she had cornered and her
tribe was going to eat for supper… “Clear-Eyes never fear,” she said, her first words in English. She
smiled a wide smile, showing her perfect white teeth. “Clear-eyes…
That suits you.” Then she left the room, leaving me with all my
questions and fears. Damn! Where did she think she was going? I rushed back to the street. I looked for her but could not find her
anywhere. Doubts about my mental sanity began to arise, but then I heard
someone calling from above. I looked up. The Indian girl waved at me
from a small balcony. She was eating some grapes and was spitting the
pits at the flower bed her neighbor so devotedly tended to. “Come on up. The door’s open.” In fact, next to the store entrance there was a door. I turned its knob
and made my way in. I didn’t even stop to think what I was doing. Going
to someone’s apartment without a more or less formal introduction was
not on my list of bad habits. She was waiting for me at her doorway, smiling a twisted smile, her hand
holding a couple of grapes, which were still waiting for doom’s day at
the hands of a merciless Indian squaw. She said, “So beautiful… for a
woman.” I looked at her, probably showing my very obvious puzzlement. She
invited me in once more, enjoying herself with my confusion and
curiosity. Heard some music, Meredith Baxter or something similar coming
from her den. She beckoned me to follow her and forget all the Cherokee
baskets and other crafts that decorated her house. A magnified photo of
a younger version of the Indian girl with an old man dominated the den. “That’s my dad,” she said, her hands resting on her hips. With some
effort I evaded her prominent breasts that refused to be restrained by
her loose low-cut blouse. “Is he a chief?” “Yeah, but I’m no princess…” Right, I thought. “Why did you do what you did?” I said out loud. She laughed, hurrying to the balcony. I heard her spit her last pits,
then she said, “Because you were asking for it.” “How come?” “You wanted me to.” I chuckled in disbelief. Was this woman for real? “So you think you know
what I want…” “Yep.” “Okay. Two can play this game. I also know what you want.” She just smiled. “I think you want to get laid,” I said, amazed at my own nerve. This was
not my usual me speaking. “No, you’re wrong. I don’t have sex with chicks…” “You just kissed them, right? On the lips…” She gave a loud laugh, scratching her tattooed right cheek. Three dots
forming an imaginary descending line had been drawn on her light-brown
skin. “Only the cute ones,” she said. “I have to draw the line somewhere.”
II. The phone call My Cherokee girl and I became friends, despite the wishy-washy start of
our friendship, if you could call what we had between us friendship. You
see, I am pretty demanding as far as my friends are concerned. I do not
let up until I get what I want. I am a go-getter, I’m told, and
apparently that showed when I “stalked” her. She introduced me to her friends, most of them men but there were also a
few women, who were already spoken for. They were a friendly pack of
wolves, whose dominant female was definitely my Cherokee girl. She
flirted with both men and women but apparently she hadn’t committed
herself to anything or anybody. I watched her as she laughed and took a deep drag on her cigarette. She
wore skin-tight black pants and a dark gray cashmere turtleneck sweater.
Her long, dark hair fell down her shoulders, her long limbs moved with
elegance and poise. She laughed again, quietly, taking another sip of
wine, as she listened to Fred Wallace telling a dirty joke he’d known
since kindergarten. It was an unlikely story but Fred’s honesty was not
questioned seriously. The end of the evening soon came and we returned to where she’d parked
her car. “They liked you,” she said as she drove off. I sat on the
passenger’s seat, shivering from cold. Her banger’s heater didn’t work
or so had she told me. “Maybe,” I said. “Why are you always so defensive?” “I have my reasons…” She looked at me, with her wriest smile. “Please, do tell.” “You were showing off your latest trophy… I have my doubts about it.” My Cherokee just smiled and asked for a cigarette. I don’t smoke, so I
was allowed to search for them in her purse, groping through her stuff.
After all I was trustworthy, I thought. Getting more intimate than this
would be stretching it. “Can’t find them.” “Damn, you’re right. I forgot I had to buy a new pack.” When we were only a few blocks away from my place, she pulled over to
feed her habit. I remained in the car wondering if I should get off the
car and run away as fast as I could. I didn’t know why I had accepted
her invitation to come and meet her friends. Was this our first date? She scrambled back into the car, shaking, and complaining about the
cold. She tried to start the car but the old banger didn’t react. “Damn, it’s always the same shit.” She stormed out of the car and vented
her anger on the old banger’s front wheel – as if that would help. She
cried out loud all her repertoire of foul language, but the old banger
didn’t take pity on us. “We have to walk,” she said apologetically after
opening the passenger’s door. I nodded, accepting our unavoidable fate. We walked silently, watching
the traffic go by, the street lamps and the skyline of the big city we
lived in. I’d usually take a cab in a situation like this, but my
Cherokee girl had a strange effect on me. I’d lost my fear of the
darkness and the unknown. She walked me home, being my perfect date for a not so perfect evening.
I invited her for a night-cap. She shook her head. “Can’t. My sister’s in town. Have to go home.” “It won’t take long,” I insisted. “Later,” she said, turning away and leaving me out in the cold.
“Unless…” She stopped and turned to face me again. “Unless you wanna
join us.” It sounded as if this was an invitation to an orgy but I took it in my
stride. “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m tired and I want to get some sleep
tonight. It’s been a tiring week.” I saw her walk away, her breath snaking upwards in the cold air as I
crushed my desire with my both hands. Yes, I wanted her. I wanted her
bad, but was unable to scratch her defenses away. Later that night, when I was checking my very uninteresting income tax
form, I got a phone call. I heard a lot of panting and laughter. “Very funny,” I said. “It’s supposed to be funny,” my Cherokee girl replied, still giggling. “I’m gonna hang up.” “Before you do that, don’t you wanna hear what my sister and I just
did?” “No, I don’t,” I said with the most serious tone of voice I could
muster. “Pancakes… I know you like pancakes. Come and join us.” There were
some more giggling and stifled laughter. I thought I heard a moan but I
dismissed it as the product of my fertile imagination. “Oh, yes…” I heard her hiss suddenly. “I’m gonna hang up, bye.” And I did just that. Enough of being the
laughing stock of the nation, I decided. She called a couple of times but I let the phone ring. I still wanted
her, though. I could feel how wet I was between my legs. I had just
taken a shower and was naked under my robe. I could pleasure myself if I
wanted to… I imagined how it’d be like to kiss her and have her in my arms; how
she’d lick my nipples, how her hands’d caress my stomach and inner
thighs. Her lovemaking was overwhelming, her tongue an expert, her eyes
so dark, her desire so immense. I drowned in my pleasure, crying out
loud as I came, my fingers inside me, revelling in my own wetness.
III. My Cherokee’s sister If the prophet doesn’t go to the mountain, the mountain goes to the
prophet. I was no prophet but my Cherokee was no mountain either. Still,
I found that metaphor appropriate when I opened my front door and saw
two beautiful Cherokee girls standing at my doorway. “You should’ve called first,” I complained. “I would’ve if you answered my calls,” she said, a little smile forming
in her proud face of a warrior. She introduced me her sister as I
stepped aside to let them in. I took their coats and hanged them on the
respective hanger. “We decided to accept your night-cap.” Night-cap? Oh yes, that. Three days had gone by since our first date. The two girls sat down in the very same couch where I had experienced my
lonely pleasure. My fantasy became more real, and so much so that I
could grab it and feel it with my own lips and fingers. I sat down on
the armchair across from them, and I examined my Cherokee and her sister
as I handed them their drinks. I liked her sister’s large bright eyes. They were as dark as my
Cherokee’s, but their irreverence was mixed with doubts. You’d say she
was shy; I’d say she was just being careful – there are a lot of
rattlesnakes these days. They talked about their sisterly stuff, and how much my Cherokee’s
sister enjoyed our huge, dirty city. Sometimes they held hands as if
they were a couple. I was assaulted by this strange daydream: I saw them
kiss and make out passionately. Incest at its best, I’d say… I
experienced some nausea, which didn’t last long. My desire prevented me
from moving; I felt it and pressed it in with my thighs. “Have brothers and sisters?” my Cherokee’s sister asked politely. “No,” I said, shaking my head. “My folks spoiled me rotten.” “Boyfriend?” “Occasionally,” I said truthfully. “You?” “Girlfriend,” she answered categorically, placing her empty glass on the
coffee table. Her eyes became wider as if she wanted to assess my
reaction. “It’s seems we’re in a chatroom,” my Cherokee quipped. Her sister
laughed and whispered something into her ear. They held hands still, and
I wondered what the hell all that giggling meant. My Cherokee excused
herself, standing up. “Where’s the bathroom?” she asked, freeing her sister’s hand. I told her what she needed to know and she left. In the meantime I
prepared a second scotch and handed it over to my Cherokee’s sister. I
scrutinized her long dark hair, her long-limbed, willowy body, her dark
pants and her dark-red lips. She asked permission to smoke. “The ashtray is over there,” I said, pointing to my bookcase. She went
over to fetch it, her firm, sexy rear passing just a few inches from my
left cheek. I could smell her perfume – it was more intense and sweeter
than her sister’s. She studied my collection of books and, after a while, she returned
without making any comment about them. So much for my reading taste. “You know,” she began, looking straight into my eyes. “I’m kinda
curious…” “About what?” “If you ever loved someone, deeply, passionately?” I shook my head, sipping away at my scotch. “Why not?” she asked as if she was not pleased with my answer. “Never found the right person, I guess. Why? Have you?” “Yes, definitely,” she said, stubbing out her cigarette in my ashtray, a
present of an ex of mine, who wanted to make sure he’d have a place to
put his cigarettes before and after having sex. She faced me with a wide
smile, her eyes shone, her hands on her thighs. “Don’t you wanna know
who that is?” “Surprise me.” “I guess not. I think that’s pretty obvious…” “I guess.” That was my noncommittal answer, although I was not sure who
she meant. I gave her some line but she didn’t take the bait. Did she
mean her sister? And if she did, why would she tell me that? Why would
they tell me about the nature of their relationship? And if that was
true, that meant that my Cherokee I’d lied to me. Her sister was a
“chick”, right? And she’d assured me she didn’t sleep with chicks,
right? I shook my head… This story stinks!
IV. The dream I dreamt about my two Cherokee sisters. I saw them kiss in the prairie,
my Cherokee squeezing her younger sister tight. Their long dark hair
danced with the wind, while their hands played with each other’s
breasts, backs, ears, lips, eyes, fingers. They kissed for a long time,
the younger sister’s lips tasting my Cherokee’s. She moaned. The wolf howled. I was afraid. They kissed once more, the
younger girl opening her sister’s dress, her expert hand sliding in,
cupping the other’s full breast. Her thumb rubbed her sister’s nipple,
and my Cherokee moaned into her sibling’s mouth. “Sis…” she hissed. “Yes,” her sister replied, while her other hand sneaked in and handled
the other breast the same way. “Ooohhhh…” my Cherokee moaned, shutting her eyes and tipping her head
back as though she howled at the wind. “Yes, Sis…” her sister whispered into her ear. “Come, come for me,
come in my hand, as I rub you, as I feel inside you…” My Cherokee moaned into her sister’s ear. “Please, fuck me. I want you
to.” And she felt a hot tongue licking and sucking her nipples, one
after the other. Her knees trembled, she could barely stand. They fell down onto the grass. They rolled and giggled, and kissed each
other away. My Cherokee stared at her sibling with pride. “I love you,”
she whispered. “I love *you*”, it was the answer, while hands peeled the dress off my
Cherokee’s willowy body and a tongue licked her navel. My Cherokee grunted and almost screamed her pleasure out. Her head swam
with pleasure. She begged. “Please… fuck me, lick my pussy. I want you to.” And her sister’s tongue obeyed, licking my Cherokee’s lower belly,
inhaling her sister’s aroma, feeling the wetness with her deft fingers.
I saw her lick and the pleasure wave up that beautiful squaw’s body.
Fingers reached up and pinched my Cherokee’s hard nipples, and her
answer was thrashing her head from one side to the other, with her eyes
closed, giving herself to her sister. Soon pleasure came in waves and ebbed away slowly. The phone on my nightstand rang and I woke up. I automatically answered
the phone. I was in a bad mood and was ready to curse the asshole that
called me at 6:00 AM on a Sunday morning, and interrupted my very sexy
dream. “Yes?” “Are you awake?” “Yes, thanks to you.” I sat up on the bed, yawning. I recognized the
voice of my Cherokee’s sister. “Did I wake you up?” “It’s Sunday morning… What did you expect? Don’t you ever sleep in?” “No. I think sleeping is a waste of time.” There was a pause. She
hesitated and seemed anxious. I was too tired to think straight but that
much I was able to feel. I touched myself between my legs and realized
how wet I was. It’d been a nice dream… “So,” she began, “I was
wondering if you wanted to jog with me this morning.” My answer was a
yawn. “Guess not, huh?” she added, showing her disappointment. I said yes, eventually. I just couldn’t refuse such an invitation. She
was a brazen hussy, and the subject of a very sexy dream of mine.
Apparently I was also attracted to this young woman… perhaps because
she reminded me of her sister… We shook hands when we met. It was a beautiful morning that promised a
mild winter day. We jogged for 2 long hours, and we laughed and giggled
and panted for breath. It was about 9 AM when we decided to stop. We sat
down on a park bench, enjoying the winter sun. She explained why her
sister hadn’t joined us. An art gallery had organized a show with my
Cherokee’s paintings. My Cherokee was an accomplished artist, I realized
as I saw the pride in that young girl’s dark eyes. “She wants you to come,” she said. I ignored the pun and smiled.
V. The show Once again I accepted my Cherokee’s invitation and showed up at the
show. My Cherokee was too busy to see me walk in with John Silverman, my
date for the afternoon. I’d known him since kindergarten and we’d been
good friends since I broke up with my last boyfriend. He wanted us to
get married but I felt I was too young for such a commitment. My Cherokee’s sister came closer and dragged me aside. I expected a
couple of questions about my date’s identity but jealousy was not her
motive. She was worried with her sibling. She told me that my Cherokee
had cried all morning. She’d had this fierce argument with their mother,
so much so that the old woman refused to go to her daughter’s show. I
made my doubts clear when she suggested I should go talk to her sister.
My Cherokee was still entertaining her guests, a collection of well-off
gentlemen, polite women, and avant-guarde self-made art critics. “Please, she needs you.” “You are her sister. You know her better than I do… And besides she
didn’t ask me for help… I hate to intrude into other people’s lives.” “Trust me, she needs you.” “Sorry, no can do.” “Fine,” she huffed, turning her back on me. I saw her go in her tight dress that showed off her attractive long
curves, her long legs and arms… She was a beauty, no doubt, and I felt
my pleasure running below. I wanted her as well, I realized. I wanted
them both. I want to have them feel me as I felt their curvaceous
bodies, their twin breasts, their shiny, silky long hair… My date
sidled up to me and as predictable as any man can be he asked me about
the Cherokee girl I had just been talking with. After a while my Cherokee came and greeted my date and me. She played
the role of the perfect host, while John told her how much he enjoyed
her paintings. “You should buy one,” I teased. “Maybe I will,” he replied. My Cherokee just smiled quietly, the inner peace I admired so coming to
the surface. Unfortunately I didn’t stay longer as John was somewhat
impatient and wanted to leave. That same evening my Cherokee called and, to my surprise, she was very
agitated. She cried before she could tell me what was wrong. I offered
to come over so we could talk. And so I did. She waited for me at her doorway and hugged me, still sobbing. This was
not the strong Cherokee girl I had once idealized. I was not
disappointed – far from that. I saw my Cherokee’s sensitive side. Even
when she cried I was able to see her pride in being what she was: a
girl, an Indian woman, the daughter of the Moon, the daughter of the
Owl. It was about her sister… She was desperate… Desperate? I asked.
Desperate, how? My Cherokee stared at me with sadness in her eyes. “She disowned us,” she finally said. “Our dear mother disowned us.” “May I know why?” She sighed. “She found out my sister is a lesbian…” “And?…” “And that I support her all the way.” “That’s it?” “Yeah, sad isn’t it?” Somehow that story didn’t ring true to me. Somehow I thought I was being
lied to, although I failed to find a good reason for it. Sick of all
these charades, I demanded the truth. My Cherokee smiled and lit up a
cigarette, inhaling the smoke with obvious pleasure. “Sorry, I warned her you wouldn’t believe it.” “But why?” “You gotta talk to her… Don’t ask me.” “Where is she?” “She’s already left because she has to work tomorrow. But she’s waiting
for my phone call.” “Okay, call her… I want to talk to her.” “Okay,” she said as she dialed her sister’s phone number. I heard her greet her sister. She explained I was next to her and wanted
to talk to her. When my Cherokee handed me the receiver her sister hung
up on me.
VI. The confession On the next Sunday, my Cherokee and her sister cropped up at my
apartment, again without warning. I began to accept this previously
unacceptable behaviour. These two girls intrigued me. They were part of
the restricted number of people who could really hurt me emotionally if
they so wished. They sat down on my couch but this time they didn’t hold each other’s
hands. Both of them were more quiet than they should. I was able to see
that my Cherokee’s sister had been crying and that the older sibling was
worried with her. Because it was early in the morning I suggested some
coffee. My Cherokee quickly agreed, whereas her sister avoided my look. My curiosity sped me through the motions of making fresh coffee. Without
knowing the reason why I noticed that I was getting nervous. My hands
trembled and my heart beat faster. Soon enough I returned to my living
room with three steaming mugs of coffee. My Cherokee gave me a quick
glance as she reached out for her mug. I plumped down in my armchair,
watching them both, watching my Cherokee’s sister squirm in the couch
across from me. “My sister and I,” my Cherokee began, “we owe you an explanation.” I remained neutral, waiting for their explanation, whatever that was. I
pressed my thighs together, covering my naked thigh with my robe. I saw
my Cherokee’s sister following this gesture of mine. She looked into my
eyes for the first time that morning. I thought I saw her blush, the
last thing I expected from such a brazen hussy. “Yes, we do,” the brazen hussy said, with a more confident look on her
face. “I want to apologize… I made my sister lie, I made her pretend
that our mother had disowned us… Not that that was a complete lie,
but… the truth is our mother is already dead…” “Why would you contrive such a story?” I asked, taking another sip of my
coffee. “Well… Remember when I asked you if you had ever loved someone
passionately?” “How could I forget?” I said, smiling. “Well… What I meant was… What I wanted to say is that I can’t stop
thinking about you… the minute my sister described you… the minute
she told me how she saw you following her… because I can relate to
that… because I know I am capable of doing just that… My sister is a
fascinating woman, isn’t she? I love my sister dearly and I could do
anything but anything to make her love me the way I do… She did not
lie when she told you I am lesbian… I am… I love women… I love the
way they feel, the way they smell, the way they interact with other
women… Most of all, I love my sister, I am in love with her, the way
you are in love with her… I can tell, you don’t have to deny it like I
don’t deny that I am attracted to you, too.” “Wow,” I let out. I tried not to shake but my nervousness was becoming
increasingly obvious. There was a long silence. I couldn’t speak. I felt
numb. I wondered where we’d go from here. All right, they’d come clean, but
their honesty was not helping us at all. “I am sorry I lied to you,” my Cherokee said. “I just wanted to help my
sister… I mean… it was stupid… I just thought if she managed to
seduce you, she’d forget about… I mean… she’d forget her obsession
about sleeping with me… Like I said, I’m not into girls.” “If you were, would you sleep with her?” I asked, relaxing somewhat. “I don’t know…” My Cherokee shrugged and continued, “You don’t seem
surprised at this… I mean, I would be… if I were you.” Fortunately you’re not, I thought to myself. I like the way you are. Out
loud I said, “I could sense that there was something between you two
although I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Still, I find some
ambiguity when you say you’re not into girls…” My Cherokee smiled but gave no answer. The younger girl stared at her
sibling. I almost could read what she was thinking. There was hope in
those shiny dark eyes, a mad mad hope. I could feel her desire, her
passion for her beautiful sister, in the way she wetted her lips with
the tip of her tongue. I was being the catalyst for an incestuous
reaction. Hesitantly the younger girl’s face drew near her sister’s. My Cherokee
shut her eyes and allowed her younger sister kiss her, probably for the
first time. Tenderly the younger girl caressed her sister’s face with
her trembling hand, and kissed her sibling slowly. I was able to see my
Cherokee’s breathing go faster. I saw her let herself go, while her
younger sister kissed her neck. As in my dream I heard her moan. Her sister licked her neck with tip of
her tongue, causing her to shake from pleasure. She moaned again. The desire, the passion became more urgent and the younger girl began to
feel her sister’s body all over. “Uuuhhhmmm,” my Cherokee moaned. Hands in thighs, hands kneading breasts, while my pleasure ran down my
legs. I wanted to open my robe and masturbate; feel my own breasts, my
own hard nipples, my own wet pussy, my own desire for these beautiful
sisters making love to each other in front of me. I saw my Cherokee disrobe, helped by her sister, who undid the buttons
of her sibling’s skin-tight pants. The younger girl slid her hand in,
going for her sister’s sex, producing waves of pleasure in her slender
sister’s body. I could see the strong muscles of my Cherokee’s flat
belly tense up, while her sister caressed her pussy. “Oh God…” she screamed, closing her eyes and thrashing her head from
one side to other. “Oh God…” When my Cherokee got deprived of her pants, I couldn’t resist anymore. I
opened my robe and began to finger myself. My own panties were getting
wetter as I touched my clit. I stood up and got rid of them. My
Cherokee’ sister did the same to her lover, kneeling in front of her
adored sibling, licking her inner thighs, while my Cherokee and I
writhed with pleasure. At this moment, there was a connection between me
and my Cherokee. With her half-shut eyes she stared at me, watching me
masturbate… It didn’t last long, as her sister bit her tenderly,
making her scream, making her cry for more. My Cherokee grabbed her sister’s head and made her plunge into her
pussy. “Oh fuck… Fuck… Oh yes… Sis… Yes… Oooohhhh… Yes, that’s
it… God… No, uuuhhhhmmm… Oh noooooo… I am coming… I am
coming… OOOHHHHHHHHH…” Her body jerked forward as she came… It was a powerful orgasm,
probably the most intense she’d ever experienced. Her hands still
tweaked her hard nipples, her eyes still closed, abandoning herself to
the pleasure her sister bestowed upon her. My own orgasm didn’t take long to hit me. I moaned as I closed my eyes
and felt the throb in my pussy with my fingers. I pressed my thighs
together, becoming weaker, as though I was dying… It felt so good, I
didn’t want to stop… We ended up making sweet love to each other in my bed. My Cherokee was a
wonderful lover… and her sister the most passionate. It was morning again, but I closed my eyes and dozed off…

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