We told you that you could join us.

We're fucking on the couch right now. I've got her on her back, fucking her intimately, slowly. Not so much fucking as making love. Something I've been denying you for ages now.

The shackles linking each of your wrists to the adjacent knee scrape against the floor while you try and shuffle toward the bed. I'd placed you on the far side of the living room, on your side, some 20 feet away.

You struggled just to right yourself while we made out and she sucked my cock. You watched me go down on her while you tried walking your shoulders and knees forward, your head contorted to the side just to get a glimpse.

Exhaustion is settling in. Your aching pussy keeps you moving, but your knees and chin and neck and arms are so sore you can no longer make a constant effort forward.

But by the time you make it over the couch, my cum is leaking out of her, leaving a thin, translucent stream down the side of the couch and onto the hardwood floor.

I sit down in front of you, grabbing a fistful of your hair and using your mouth to clean my cock. Your neck strains to service me and you end up falling back into your side, painfully.

Once my cock is cleaned, I stand up and shake my head.

"There was nothing stopping you from joining us, sweetheart."