Going Down On You

Last weekend I stayed with Keisha Grey at a sleek hotel downtown. The second she slipped into that tight little swimsuit, pool plans vanished. We grabbed the camera instead. In the elevator we moved like dancers, bodies brushing, breath quickening. By the time we hit the pool we slid beneath the surface, the lens catching every lazy stroke of skin on skin. Teasing turns into hunger fast. Back upstairs the door barely shut before her hands were on my breasts, lifting, weighing, letting them fall. She tugged the bikini strings loose, knelt, and dragged her tongue through my slick folds. I tasted her right after—sweet, warm, addictive. The little red light kept running, so now you can watch every wet second yourself.