Vanessa Veracruz / Scarlet Red

Vanessa Veracruz wants Scarlet Red. Craves her hard. She pictures herself in that short plaid skirt, white blouse knotted under her breasts, knee socks snug against tan thighs. Only the blue-tinged lights of Scarlet’s apartment exist now. Vanessa kneels on the cool tile, hair pulled back in a neat ponytail, lips shiny. She’s the eager schoolgirl in her own dirty dream. Scarlet’s legs part. Her cunt—soft, flushed, already slick—gleams like ripe fruit. Vanessa leans in, tongue flat, licking a slow, wide stripe from Scarlet’s clit all the way back to the glistening opening. The taste floods her—sweet musk, the faintest tang of soap. Scarlet moans. Vanessa answers with a wet, greedy sound, closing her lips around the swollen nub, sucking gently at first, then firmer. Spit and arousal smear her chin. She pushes two fingers inside, curls them, feeling that silky heat grip and pulse. Every pull of her mouth makes Scarlet drip more. Vanessa’s clit throbs untouched; a bead of her own slick slides down her inner thigh. She groans against Scarlet’s flesh, tongue flicking quicker, fingers thrusting in steady rhythm. The game-girl uniform clings, sweat-damp, to her skin. Right now she isn’t acting school-innocent—she’s a filthy, hungry little thing worshiping her neighbor’s cunt, swearing she’ll come from Scarlet’s taste alone. And every time the fantasy loops through Vanessa’s mind, her own pussy clenches in wet, frustrated greed.