Every nerve in my body stood at attention, totally enraptured by her tender touch, which became more and more urgent as her thumb probed deeper into the sopping wet crease.
"You have the perfect little pink pussy," she told me. I still wasn't used to hearing her curse, but it was strangely arousing. "It's so soft. And, fuck, you smell so good. Does that feel good? You like this? Good."
"Yes," I responded between jagged breaths.
I could feel my heart pounding in my fingertips and the soles of my feet. My body was overcome with pleasure, like a series of increasingly-powerful waves crashing against the shore. Her fingers cupped my inner labia, applying deep pressure, massaging me in small, tight circles. "Oh, God," I moaned.
"OMG."
Without stopping what she was doing, she told me she wanted to taste me. I shuddered hard, overwhelmed by arousal at that thought.
This was it—this was the moment I had wondered about in the darkest, most secret parts of my mind. This is where my thoughts had wandered time and time again while Charlie had fumbled around down there with his thick fingers, fiddling with my anatomy like he was trying to operate a radio dial. As I worked myself up to yet another Broadway-worthy performance of a fake orgasm, a part of me that I was ashamed of always wondered what it would be like to feel a woman's velvet tongue there instead of a man's clumsy fingers.
Well, you're about to find out.
As tongue replaced fingers, I let out a shriek. I was loud, obnoxiously loud, and I didn't care. Whatever shame I probably ought to have felt had been bound, gagged, and locked in a soundproof basement.
Her lips and her tongue felt better than I could have possibly begun to imagine. She slurped up my juices almost as fast as they could gush out of me. When she came up for air, I could see that nearly her whole face was sticky and wet, and a small trail was dripping off her chin. The force with which my hips bucked against her face would make a mechanical bull jealous.
Her thumb massaged my sloppy, wet opening while she continued sucking and lapping at me with her tongue. Slowly—so painfully slowly—she slipped two of her perfect fingers inside of me. My hips strained against her hand, engulfing her fingers deeper and deeper into me, meeting each increasingly forceful stroke. The harder my hips gyrated, the more deeply her face was buried in my aching pussy—if she can call it that, so can I—and the more ravenously she devoured me.
Her pointer finger joined her ring and middle fingers, then her pinky. The force behind her frantic thrusting continued to increase. Who knew a girl so petite could be so strong?
I grabbed her by her hair and ground my pussy into her beautiful face, humping it like a wild animal. Her tongue matched the enthusiasm of my hips. No matter how hard my body bucked, she kept up fairly effortlessly. Oh, to be twenty years old again.
The room was spinning. Everything was blurry. I could barely breathe. My body was entirely outside my control, as was my voice. Loudly, deeply, I grunted over and over, almost certain I was going to explode from the overwhelming ecstasy my body was experiencing.
I couldn't think. I could barely breathe. So consumed was I by pleasure and desire that nothing inside of me functioned except the force that kept my pussy pressed into her face.
Every muscle in my body contracted violently. With a moan so deafening that I thought the windows might shatter, I came. My first real orgasm ripped through me with all the force of a tornado, wrecking me, emptying me, then filling my abdomen with constellations of glittering stars and phosphorescent.
Slowly, lazily, I found my way back down to earth, guided by the faint sensation of her warm tongue lapping at my opening, licking me clean. I whimpered and shook, totally helpless, having been thoroughly ravaged by my talented, beautiful young lover.