The Cult - Part 5

The fog hangs low through the shrine's broken ribs. Janine sits half-naked on the raised stone, knees wide, ankles hooked behind her calves. The pendant between her breasts swings each time she breathes. Below her, two men kneel in the damp earth, mouths open, waiting. She slides two fingers along the seam of her cunt, gathers slick, then lifts her hand so they can see the shine on her skin. One man leans forward. Janine catches his chin and guides him back. "Not yet." Her voice barely lifts above the wind through the ruined arches. The second man strokes himself without shame. Janine watches him, lazily matching the rhythm with her own hand between her thighs. She opens wider. Lets him see the way she parts. When she finally tips her hips and takes the first cock in her mouth, the second man comes without touch, spilling across the flagstones. She swallows, wipes her mouth on the back of her hand, then pulls the second closer. "Clean it up," she says. He licks the cooling mess from stone while she rides the first man's face, slow and exact, until her breath stutters and her thighs clamp hard against his ears.