A few weeks slipped by like the dusty winds across the Highveld, but the memory of that Potchefstroom night clung to me like sweat on skin. Linda's messages lit up my phone at odd hours—playful at first, then feverish: photos of faint bruises on her thighs, a close-up of her fingers tracing the ghost of my grip. "Paul can't stop staring," she'd text, followed by a winking emoji. "He wants more. We both do." Paul's contributions were rarer, but potent: a single line—"Sy praat van jou elke nag"—admitting in clipped Afrikaans how her dreams echoed with my name. I replied with teases, promises of deeper claims, until the itch became unbearable. "Next Friday," I typed. "Your place. Bring the lube this time."

The drive from Klerksdorp felt electric, the platinum mine lights flickering like distant fireflies as I gripped the wheel of my Audi. I'd packed light—a bottle of that same Chenin Blanc, and a fresh set of sheets in my mind, though theirs would do fine, soaked or not. Their farmhouse door swung open before I could knock, Linda in a silk robe that barely skimmed her thighs, her blonde waves tousled like she'd been waiting in bed. "Sean," she breathed, pulling me inside with hands that trembled just a touch. Paul stood in the kitchen doorway, sleeves rolled up on his work shirt, a glass of Klipdrift steady in his fist. His eyes held that same quiet storm—hunger sharpened by the last time. "Goeienaand," he said, voice gravelly, stepping forward to clasp my hand. Firm grip, no hesitation. "Sy's reg vir jou."

We bypassed the lounge this time, the air too thick for pretense. Straight to the bedroom, where candles flickered on the dresser, casting shadows that danced like secrets. Linda untied her robe as I poured the wine, letting it pool at her feet—naked underneath, her body a map of soft curves and sun-freckled skin, already flushed. Paul dimmed the lights, settling into his chair by the bed, closer now, like he'd earned the front row. I stripped methodically, my shirt first, revealing the broad planes of my chest, then my pants, freeing my cock—already half-hard, thick and heavy, curving upward with anticipation. Linda's gaze locked on it, her tongue darting across her lips. "Kom hier," she whispered, patting the bed.

I joined her, pulling her flush against me, our bodies aligning like puzzle pieces forged in heat. My mouth claimed hers—deep, devouring kisses that tasted of wine and want—while my hands mapped her anew: kneading her full breasts until her nipples pebbled under my palms, then sliding down to cup her ass, fingers dipping between to tease her slick entrance. She was drenched already, her arousal coating my fingertips as I circled her clit. "So ready for me, Liefie," I murmured against her throat, nipping the pulse there. Paul shifted in his chair, the zipper of his pants rasping softly as he freed himself, but his eyes never left us.

I laid her back, spreading her thighs wide to expose her glistening core—pink and swollen, begging. No teasing this time; I dove in with my tongue, broad strokes from her entrance to her clit, sucking that sensitive nub until her hips bucked wildly. "Sean—God, ja, so!" Her Afrikaans fractured into moans, fingers tangling in my locs as she rode my face. I slipped two fingers inside her, curling them against that spot that made her walls flutter, and she shattered fast—her first orgasm ripping through her with a cry, juices flooding my mouth. I lapped it all, savoring her taste, before rising to kneel between her legs.

My cock throbbed, the head brushing her folds, slicking itself in her wetness. "Tell him," I commanded, locking eyes with Paul over her shoulder. Linda turned her head, voice husky: "Kyk, Paul. Kyk hoe hy my gaan vul." Paul's breath hitched, his hand moving slow on himself, face etched with that exquisite ache. I thrust in then—one long, unyielding slide until I bottomed out, her heat enveloping me like a glove too tight, too perfect. She gasped, arching up to meet me, nails digging into my biceps. "Vol... so vol," she whimpered. I set a punishing rhythm, hips snapping with force that shook the bedframe, my balls slapping against her with each deep plunge. Her breasts bounced hypnotically, and I leaned down to capture one in my mouth, sucking hard as I drove into her.

Paul's strokes quickened, his free hand white-knuckled on the armrest. "Sy's joune," he rasped, the words a surrender. I grinned, feral, flipping Linda onto her stomach so her ass lifted high—offering herself like a gift. From behind, I re-entered her with a growl, one hand fisting her hair to arch her back, the other reaching around to rub her clit in tight circles. She pushed back greedily, meeting every thrust, her moans turning to pleas: "Harder, Bull—maak my joune!" I obliged, pounding relentlessly until her second climax hit, her walls clamping down like a vice, milking me toward the edge.

But I held back, pulling out with a wet pop, her pussy gaping slightly, flushed and needy. "On your back," I ordered, and she complied, legs splayed wide. Paul leaned forward now, transfixed, as I hooked her ankles over my shoulders and sank back in—deeper this time, the angle letting me grind against her core with every stroke. Sweat slicked our skin, the room filled with the obscene sounds of flesh on flesh, her breathless Afrikaans curses blending with my low grunts. "Gonna fill you up, Linda," I growled, feeling the coil tighten. "Pump you full of my cum—let him see it drip out." Her eyes rolled back, a third orgasm building as I hammered home, relentless. "Ja—vul my, Sean! Cum in me!" She shattered around me, and I followed with a roar, burying deep as I erupted—thick, hot ropes flooding her, pulse after pulse until I overflowed, my seed spilling out around my shaft with each final thrust.

I eased out slowly, my cock glistening with our combined release, and watched as my cum began to leak from her—white and creamy against her pink folds, trickling down to her ass. Linda panted, boneless on the sheets, a lazy smile curving her lips. But the night wasn't done. I glanced at Paul, his face a mask of raw need, his own release forgotten in the moment. "Clean her up," I said, voice firm, nodding toward her spread thighs. He hesitated only a beat—eyes flicking to mine, then to her—before sliding from the chair to his knees at the bed's edge.

"Paul..." Linda murmured, half-protest, half-invitation, her hand stroking his hair as he leaned in. His tongue darted out tentatively at first, lapping at the mess I'd left—our mingled tastes coating his lips as he delved deeper, sucking gently at her clit before thrusting his tongue inside her, gathering every drop. She moaned softly, hips lifting to feed him more, her fingers tightening in his salt-and-pepper strands. "Good man," I praised, stroking myself lazily as I watched—his broad shoulders hunched in devotion, face buried between her legs, cleaning her thoroughly with long, reverent strokes. The sight was intoxicating: my cum on his tongue, her pleasure reignited under his mouth, soft whimpers escaping as he brought her to a gentle fourth peak, her body quivering.

He pulled back at last, lips shiny, eyes glazed with a mix of shame and bliss. Linda reached for him, pulling him up to kiss her—sharing the taste, sealing the bond. I joined them then, drawing her into my arms, Paul curling against her other side. "Dankie," he whispered to me, voice thick, hand resting possessively yet submissively on her hip. Linda nestled closer, tracing idle patterns on my chest. "Volgende keer... meer," she sighed, her green eyes sparkling with promise.

As the Potchefstroom stars wheeled outside, the farmhouse quiet save for our slowing breaths, I knew the spark had kindled into flame. Six years of these nights, and with them? It only burned hotter.