

A Summer Memory
A Sexual Fantasy
It was our last night in Spain, at Elena’s small house by the coast. Camille had brought me along to visit her, and we’d spent the day at the beach, soaking up the sun and the freedom of summer. That evening, after a few glasses of wine, Elena’s energy shifted. Her gaze lingered on me, her hand brushing my arm. Before I realized what was happening, her lips were on mine, soft but confident, as if she’d been waiting all week.
I barely had time to process before Camille joined in, her fingers sliding over my thigh, her lips teasing my neck. I melted between them, their hands and mouths exploring every inch of me. Elena was firm, in control, Camille more gentle. I let them take me completely. We didn’t stop until late into the night, finally falling asleep tangled together.
The next morning, groggy but still buzzing from the night before, we caught the train back to France. Even now, I can’t think about that summer without feeling the heat of their touch all over again.
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