Minnie and Sweet Red Mary

The older woman leans back against silk sheets. Minnie settles between parted thighs, tongue already wet with wanting. She drags it slowly up slick folds until the taste blooms across her mouth, then dives back down. Each lick curls deeper. Fingers spread the older woman open while Minnie sucks that swollen bud between her lips, rolling it, pressing her teeth just enough to sting. The older woman gasps. Her back lifts. Hands fist the sheets. They trade places after a ragged minute, and now Minnie straddles the knowing mouth. She rocks forward, needy, greedy, gripping the headboard. The older woman's tongue slides inside her, fingers pressing high and firm against that soft forward wall. Their hips pulse in opposite rhythm. Gasps turn guttural. The bed creaks. A name slips free. Then two names, louder, broken. Their thighs shake. Their mouths stay pressed to each other until both bodies lock, hips stuttering, wetness spilling over tongue and fingers, the room suddenly louder than skin and sheets.