Cassius had laid them both on his chest, their legs spread wide, their hands pinned behind their backs.
And he had positioned a mirror before them, full-length, angled so they could see everything.
Every inch of their exposed bodies. Their breasts, marked and bitten. Their stomachs, heaving with exertion. Their thighs, slick with their own fluids.
And between their legs, their pussies—ruined. Swollen. Dripping. Looking nothing like the neat, private places they had been when the night began.
But it wasn't enough to simply show them. He had to teach.
With the patience of a seasoned instructor, he began to guide them through their own anatomy.
He would touch a part of Joy's body—a nipple, a hip, the inside of her wrist—and explain what it was called, what it did, how it responded to stimulation.
Then he would demonstrate, making her watch in the mirror as her own body reacted.
