After eight

Esmerelda and Misty stretch a whole day across the room like a slow knot tightening. Hours slide. Misty finally clears her throat and asks outright whether Esmerelda has ever tasted another woman. The question lands warm and naked. Esmerelda smiles with her mouth, already decided, and slides closer on the couch until their knees touch. She takes Misty’s hand and presses it flat between her thighs so the girl can feel the heat. Esmerelda parts her lips, guides two of Misty’s fingers inside, and moves them for her, slow and instructive, letting her learn the rhythm. Misty’s breaths come quick; Esmerelda keeps her gaze steady while she eases open her own slick folds and shows where pressure feels best. When Misty leans in, Esmerelda stops her, makes her watch instead. She spreads wider, rolls her hips once, twice, then pulls Misty’s mouth down between her legs and holds her there until the rookie finds her own tongue. Wet sounds fill the quiet. Esmerelda murmurs praise in a low voice every time Misty curls deeper or flattens her tongue just right. She keeps one hand in Misty’s hair, setting the pace, until the girl licks and sucks like she was made for it. Legs tremble. The air thickens. Esmerelda’s thighs clamp once when the rookie gets greedy, then relax so she can come again, softer, letting Misty feel every pulse and flutter on her tongue.