It's not about size

Viki’s older lover knows her. She traces every line of skin with a hand that still remembers hunger. They move like they own the hour. An empty house opens every door. Viki stretches across cool sheets and arches into the skilled mouth between her thighs. The older woman parts her with a confident tongue, presses deep until Viki gasps and fists the bedding. Hands stroke her belly, cup her breasts, pinch nipples to hard peaks while that tongue circles and sucks. Pleasure keeps coming. Viki’s thighs tremble, her wetness clings to fingers that fill her and stretch her until her toes curl. In return she slides lower, tastes the musk and salt she’s learned to crave, presses her lips to the swollen bud, circles and flicks until the older woman gasps her name. They shift, lock together, thighs on thighs, mouths and cunts meeting in wet hunger. Sweat gathers at the small of Viki’s back as hips rock, grind, chase the edge. The house stays silent except for the soft wet sound of skin on skin and the occasional broken moan. When release finally hits, it rolls through both bodies in long, slow pulses that leave them breathless and smiling in the tangled heat.