the very words only served to inflame her further.
“And now, taste it,” Margaret urged. “See what this perfumed slime tastes like.” She put her finger at Joan’s lips, and trembling, Joan opened her mouth. Margaret’s finger slid inside, and with a groan Joan closed her lips over it and sucked it clean in a single motion, then gulped as though she had swallowed an entire cupful of water. The taste was indescribable, but more than that, the sensation of what she swallowed, the meaning of her doing it assailed her reason.
“Lou was right,” Margaret chuckled. “Most of your pleasure still comes from your idea that all this is dirty. Well, so be it. It doesn’t matter to me right now what’s in your head. We each use our own devices to get us off.” A stern note crept into her voice and she said, “Take off your clothes, Joan. I want to see you in the flesh.”
With a sense of unreality, Joan began to remove her clothing. First the blouse, button by button, and then the bra, freeing her captive breasts. Margaret reached forward and cupped Joan’s large tits in her hands. They fell from her chest like pears, possessed of that same ripe fragility that makes one want to bite into a fruit. Her nipples were very small, but because of that were doubly sensitive, so that the slightest touch sent ripples through her entire body. Now, as Margaret appraised and teased, Joan began to feel the generalized tingling that heralded an onslaught of sexual eruption. It began to be unimportant that the hands that turned her on were a woman’s hands. All she could feel was the softness, the firmness, the gentle indifference of the touch. She knew that, as with Lou, she was in the presence of a master of the craft of sensuality.
“I don’t know what it is about you,” Margaret said in a low voice, “that makes me want to give you pleasure. But it makes me almost come to see you getting hot, watching your lips purse, seeing your cunt drool, feeling your nipples get hard. It’s as though everything you feel gets projected outward, so that the more you enjoy, the more I can enjoy through you.”
She guided Joan to a standing position by increasing the upward pressure on her breasts. Margaret knelt in front of her and began to unzip Joan’s slacks. “Soon, soon,” she crooned, “I am going to have that succulent cunt on my mouth and I’ll suck the juices right out of you and drive you crazy.” As she spoke she tugged the pants down Joan’s long curved legs, revealing the private flesh, until they had been brought to the floor, and Joan stepped easily out of them. She now wore only her panties, the crotch of which was already soaked with secretion. Margaret pressed her face into the sopping mound and ran her tongue along the groove where the silk had stuck in the crack of her cunt. Joan let out a soft grunt and her knees buckled.
“Keep standing,” Margaret ordered.
She bent even lower until she was completely between Joan’s spread legs, and then brought her face up to the exact center of Joan’s thighs, pressing her lips into the hot musky-sweaty space between cunt and asshole, smelling the deep body aroma and licking the moisture from hair and panties and flesh. She brought her hands up and worked her fingers around the edge of the elastic, feeling at last the vulnerable folds of flesh that had only one last shred of protection.
From the outside, they made an extraordinary picture—the young soft Joan, swaying and moaning, her hair cascading down her back and over her shoulders, while the stunningly beautiful Margaret, naked, crouching, her hair still pulled back in its severe bun, burrowed in the most central space between the other woman’s legs, her tongue lapping indiscriminately, her fingers probing, pushing into the now overflowing hot cunt and the throbbing asshole.
“Oh God, I’m falling,” Joan cried, as she felt her legs give from under her.
She let herself sink to the floor and as she fell,
“And now, taste it,” Margaret urged. “See what this perfumed slime tastes like.” She put her finger at Joan’s lips, and trembling, Joan opened her mouth. Margaret’s finger slid inside, and with a groan Joan closed her lips over it and sucked it clean in a single motion, then gulped as though she had swallowed an entire cupful of water. The taste was indescribable, but more than that, the sensation of what she swallowed, the meaning of her doing it assailed her reason.
“Lou was right,” Margaret chuckled. “Most of your pleasure still comes from your idea that all this is dirty. Well, so be it. It doesn’t matter to me right now what’s in your head. We each use our own devices to get us off.” A stern note crept into her voice and she said, “Take off your clothes, Joan. I want to see you in the flesh.”
With a sense of unreality, Joan began to remove her clothing. First the blouse, button by button, and then the bra, freeing her captive breasts. Margaret reached forward and cupped Joan’s large tits in her hands. They fell from her chest like pears, possessed of that same ripe fragility that makes one want to bite into a fruit. Her nipples were very small, but because of that were doubly sensitive, so that the slightest touch sent ripples through her entire body. Now, as Margaret appraised and teased, Joan began to feel the generalized tingling that heralded an onslaught of sexual eruption. It began to be unimportant that the hands that turned her on were a woman’s hands. All she could feel was the softness, the firmness, the gentle indifference of the touch. She knew that, as with Lou, she was in the presence of a master of the craft of sensuality.
“I don’t know what it is about you,” Margaret said in a low voice, “that makes me want to give you pleasure. But it makes me almost come to see you getting hot, watching your lips purse, seeing your cunt drool, feeling your nipples get hard. It’s as though everything you feel gets projected outward, so that the more you enjoy, the more I can enjoy through you.”
She guided Joan to a standing position by increasing the upward pressure on her breasts. Margaret knelt in front of her and began to unzip Joan’s slacks. “Soon, soon,” she crooned, “I am going to have that succulent cunt on my mouth and I’ll suck the juices right out of you and drive you crazy.” As she spoke she tugged the pants down Joan’s long curved legs, revealing the private flesh, until they had been brought to the floor, and Joan stepped easily out of them. She now wore only her panties, the crotch of which was already soaked with secretion. Margaret pressed her face into the sopping mound and ran her tongue along the groove where the silk had stuck in the crack of her cunt. Joan let out a soft grunt and her knees buckled.
“Keep standing,” Margaret ordered.
She bent even lower until she was completely between Joan’s spread legs, and then brought her face up to the exact center of Joan’s thighs, pressing her lips into the hot musky-sweaty space between cunt and asshole, smelling the deep body aroma and licking the moisture from hair and panties and flesh. She brought her hands up and worked her fingers around the edge of the elastic, feeling at last the vulnerable folds of flesh that had only one last shred of protection.
From the outside, they made an extraordinary picture—the young soft Joan, swaying and moaning, her hair cascading down her back and over her shoulders, while the stunningly beautiful Margaret, naked, crouching, her hair still pulled back in its severe bun, burrowed in the most central space between the other woman’s legs, her tongue lapping indiscriminately, her fingers probing, pushing into the now overflowing hot cunt and the throbbing asshole.
“Oh God, I’m falling,” Joan cried, as she felt her legs give from under her.
She let herself sink to the floor and as she fell,
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