The Mayans Were Wrong

Laura Brookes lay still as the Mayan prophecy deadline whispered through her mind, cataloging every touch she'd never had. Two boxes clicked off before Vanessa Veracruz's hands even left the massage table. Laura opened to it all and Vanessa took the invitation without hesitation, easing Laura's thighs apart until that small, pink cunt winked under warm lights. Vanessa hovered. Breath first, then the flat of her tongue dragged along slick folds without entering. Laura arched, and Vanessa stripped, breasts brushing Laura's belly as fabric dropped. She couldn't keep her fingers away from Laura's skin. Their mouths met, wet, tongues sliding slow, swapping heat and spit. When Vanessa's lips left Laura's, they trailed to each nipple, sucking until the points stood tight, then continued down. She sealed her mouth over Laura's clit and drew it in, tongue flicking in rhythm. Moans rose from both. They shifted, bodies folding together, heads between spread thighs, licking and sucking until their hips rocked and the climax rolled through them in steady, shared waves.