Chapter 432: No Underwear Rebellion

Angela looked up at her—eyes half-lidded, lips curving into a lazy, knowing smile. "Look at you, limping over here like a well-used bride... did he stretch that tight little ass of yours good this morning too? I heard you begging at dawn... sounded like you were crying for more."

Mira froze mid-step, a mortified whimper catching in her throat. But she didn’t retreat. Instead, she closed the last distance—awkward, wobbly—and dropped carefully to her knees beside Angela, one hand hovering uncertainly over her swollen pussy before finally resting lightly on her inner thigh.

"It... it hurts so much... but it feels... good too..." Mira whispered, voice cracking. "Yours looks... so puffy... like it’s still begging..."

Angela hummed low, spreading her legs a fraction wider—shameless now—letting Mira see every swollen detail: the way her lips parted slightly on their own, a thin string of wetness stretching between them, the faint bruises blooming where my hips had slammed into her over and over.

I watched them—two freshly-fucked women, both limping, both leaking me, both blushing and aching—and chuckled dark and low in my throat.

"Alright, you two," I said, voice rough with amusement and fresh hunger. "You’re both walking as if you got railed by a freight train. Lisa—"

I turned to her. She was already staring—eyes dark, pupils blown, one hand unconsciously cupping her soaked crotch through the shorts like she could press the ache away.

"—help them. Take Mira and Angela down to the tide pools. Wash them clean... gently. Help them move so they don’t fall on their sore little asses. Soap them up, rinse them off... make sure every inch of those swollen pussies and tender holes gets taken care of."

Lisa’s breath hitched audibly. Her fingers flexed against her shorts; I saw the moment her thighs clenched hard enough to make a fresh wet sound.

"Yes... sir," she breathed, voice husky and obedient. She stepped forward—predatory sway gone now, replaced by something softer, more reverent—and offered both hands.

Mira took one—hesitant, blushing harder—while Angela accepted the other with a lazy, satisfied grin.

Lisa helped them both to their feet—slow, careful—wrapping an arm around each waist. Angela leaned into her heavily, tits pressing against Lisa’s side, still-naked body warm and sticky. Mira whimpered softly with every step, pressing close to Lisa’s shoulder like she needed the support... or maybe just the contact.

As they moved toward the cave mouth—three women limping together, all marked by me in different ways—Lisa glanced back over her shoulder. Her eyes locked on mine—hungry, pleading, promising.

"I’ll wash them nice and slow..." she murmured, voice dripping with filthy intent. "Get every drop of your cum off their skin... finger their sore holes clean if they need it... make them moan under my hands while the water runs over us..."

Angela laughed—soft, throaty—already nuzzling into Lisa’s neck. "Mmm... be gentle with my swollen pussy, guard... or I’ll make you lick it better..."

Lisa guided Angela and Mira toward the shallow tide pool that had collected inside the cave—fed by a slow drip from the ceiling and the occasional high-tide surge that left it brackish and cool. The water was crystal clear in the morning light, shallow enough to stand in up to their waists, rippling softly with every step they took.

Lisa didn’t bother stripping first. She waded in fully clothed—cargo shorts and cropped tank instantly darkening as the water soaked through, clinging to every curve like a second skin.

Her nipples hardened visibly under the wet fabric, dark circles showing through; the shorts rode up between her ass cheeks, outlining the plump lips of her pussy in obscene detail. She didn’t care. Her eyes were fixed on the two limping women she was supporting.

"Easy now," she murmured, voice low and soothing, but thick with the same hunger that had kept her awake all night. She helped Angela lower herself first—Angela hissing softly as the cool water lapped at her swollen pussy lips.

The shock made her clit throb visibly; a tiny, involuntary squirt escaped, clouding the water for a second before dissipating.

"Fuck... it’s cold on my poor fucked-out cunt," Angela groaned, but she spread her thighs wider anyway, letting the water rinse away the crust of dried cum and squirt that had crusted between her legs overnight. "Feels good though... soothing the burn he left inside me."

Lisa knelt in the water—fully submerged to her chest now—and cupped handfuls over Angela’s mound, gently washing the swollen folds. Her fingers were careful but thorough—tracing the puffy outer lips, dipping just inside to rinse deeper, thumb brushing Angela’s still-sensitive clit in slow, teasing circles that made Angela’s hips jerk.

"Mmm... guard... you’re being too gentle," Angela teased, voice husky. "I said be gentle with my swollen pussy... not torture it with those soft little touches. If you’re gonna clean me, do it right—finger me open, scoop out every drop of his cum still leaking from my ass down here."

Lisa’s breath hitched. She obeyed without a word—two fingers sliding easily into Angela’s slick, abused cunt, curling to stroke the walls while her thumb kept working the clit. Angela moaned—head falling back—water lapping at her tits as her body rocked into the touch.

Mira watched from the edge, still standing awkwardly in her new jeans, cheeks flaming. Lisa glanced over, eyes dark.

"Your turn, little wife," she said softly, extending a wet hand. "Come here. Let me wash that sore ass of yours, too."

Mira hesitated—then limped forward, gasping at each step. She let Lisa help her out of the denim and t-shirt, peeling them off slowly until she was naked again. The cool air made her nipples pebble instantly; between her legs, her pussy was still puffy and glistening, asshole faintly red-rimmed from the morning stretch.

Lisa pulled her into the water—gentle but firm—positioning Mira with her back to her chest. She soaped up her hands with a bar she’d found in the supplies (simple, unscented) and started at Mira’s shoulders—slow, slippery strokes down her back, over the curve of her ass. When she reached the cleft, she spread Mira’s cheeks carefully, letting the water and soap rinse away the remnants of my cum that still clung to her pucker.

"Still tender here?" Lisa whispered against Mira’s ear, one finger circling the rim—light, teasing, not pushing in. Mira whimpered, nodding frantically.

"Y-yes... it... it still feels full... like he’s still inside me..."

Lisa hummed, pressing just the tip of her finger past the ring—slow, careful—feeling the heat and flutter. "He stretched you good. Look at this pretty hole... still winking, still leaking a little. I’ll clean it nice and deep for you."

She worked methodically—finger sliding in and out in shallow thrusts, rinsing, soaping, until Mira was trembling, thighs shaking, soft moans echoing off the cave walls. Angela watched from a few feet away, one hand lazily circling her own clit under the water, eyes hooded.

When they were finally clean—skin pink and glowing, bodies rinsed of the night’s filth—Lisa helped them both out, toweling them dry with spare blankets.

I was waiting with fresh clothes for Angela: a soft cotton sundress, loose enough to be comfortable on her swollen pussy but short enough that it would ride up if she bent over, no panties included. She slipped it on with a wicked grin.

"No underwear? You really are a bad guy."

I just smirked.