Sounding Off

Clara and Amy can’t cum for shit these days. They’re tired of the bullshit and two L.A. switch-hitting pussy bandits are done praying to whoever. Up in Dr. Williams’ bleached-bright office the white coats sweet-talk a risk they’ve never heard: urethral sounding. Both girls, Lilith and Vanessa, get one look at those thin chrome rods and they’re on the table, asses bare, legs apart, trust-me grins splitting their faces. Doc slides the polished steel into Clara first, gentle push then sudden drop, stretching her piss-hole the way somebody years ago opened her tightest rental reality. Clara mewls and suddenly she’s shouting. Amy snatches the girl’s wrist the second she makes the sound. Dr. slides a thicker one up Amy next, same angle, same happy ending, piss-slicked glans twitching with uncontained glee, then upside-down tablet heels are swaying at hips eye-level and everyone’s flushed like blood just sobered them to laziness. Three sets of fingers, three open cunts on a sharp slit-salad, cool juice bubbles around shiny rods, heat sticks tongues and when they reverse-love on the exam leather the one perspirous always mutters about friction, because down here close somebody finally drooling over year-round throb in their ruined skeletons - wet climaxes shredded up glorious.