Poor Little Shyla

She released it March 6th, 2011, those miles of white thigh parting under his mouth as he licked a slow line up the crease where leg meets pussy. Her slip rode higher with each breath, already damp at the seam, a dark patch spreading through expensive silk. He pressed his tongue flat against the soaked fabric until her clit pulsed beneath it, then peeled the lace away with his teeth and dragged two fingers straight into the wet heat waiting for him. She clamped down at once, thick cream coating his knuckles before he'd even started to work her open. He pushed deeper, curled, and found that spot that made her thighs jump. She grabbed the bedsheets, legs spread wider, hips lifting to meet every stroke. When she came the first time her back arched hard enough to pull her ass off the mattress, a bright arc of fluid hitting his palm. He didn't pull out. Kept rubbing, gentler now, coaxing another wave before she could catch her breath, slick dripping down his wrist while she shook again, quieter, her cunt fluttering around his fingers like a second heartbeat.