Mira's breath hitched—panic and need warring in her eyes as she lifted her head just enough to look at me.
"Please…" she whispered, so quiet the wind almost stole it. "Don't… don't make me cum yet… I'll… I'll soak through everything… they'll see…"
I grinned—slow, filthy—then angled the jetpack into a gentle dive, letting gravity and vibration do the work.
"Too late, baby girl."
The thrusters pulsed once—harder—sending a deep thrum straight to her clit.
Mira's eyes rolled back. Her thighs clamped vise-tight. A broken, high-pitched moan tore from her throat—lost to the wind but unmistakable to the three of us.
She came—hard, sudden—hips jerking wildly against me, pussy spasming through denim, soaking my pants in hot, gushing waves. Her tits heaved against my chest; tears of overstimulation pricked her lashes.
Lisa and Angela both laughed—soft, cruel, delighted—pressing closer, grinding their own aching bodies against me as we soared.
