Your pussy tastes better

Katalin had plans for a quiet dinner at the sleekest table in the house, yet one glance at the waitress changed the menu. Antonya moved with a certain grace, dark hair falling over one eye, the kind of poise that hinted at trouble worth taking. When their eyes met, something inside Katalin flipped. Food suddenly seemed irrelevant. The proposition required no long explanations. Antonya liked the way the light caught Katalin’s cheekbones, and the thought of an oversized gratuity sealed the idea with little resistance. So they skipped the small talk. The starched white cloth came loose, plates pushed aside, crystal trembling on the edge. Katalin pulled the waitress forward and slid onto her back across the polished wood. Her mouth found the bare skin above the low hem of the uniform, tongue working without ceremony until Antonya spread her legs and set one black-heeled shoe on the chair for balance. Antonya tasted sharp, already slick when Katalin sealed her lips around her clit. Quick, flat strokes drew the first breathy gasp from the girl above her. Fingers tightened on Katalin’s hair, holding her exactly where she wanted to be. She licked deeper, savoring the salt, the soft heat, the tremor of Antonya’s thighs. Pleasure crossed both of them in equal measure. The switch came naturally. Antonya crouched, knees wide over Katalin’s face, and returned the favor. Her tongue moved slower, practiced, tracing the swollen bud before pushing inside, lips closing tight and sucking with unhurried hunger. Katalin moaned into the cunt still covering her mouth; the sound vibrated straight through them both. Saliva and arousal smeared across chins and thighs. The dining table shook each time Antonya rocked forward and ground down harder, taking her pleasure while giving it back. They moved without regard for silverware or scattered napkins, only the shared rhythm of tongues sliding wet and urgent between parted lips. Every flick, every drawn-out suck traveled straight through the quiet room like percussion. When the orgasm hit, Antonya arched, thighs locked, trembling around Katalin’s mouth. Katalin followed seconds later, hips bucking upward, fingers clawing the edge of the wood until breathlessness finally dragged the girls apart—flushed, soaked, hungry for another course neither the chef nor the maître d’ had expected to serve.