Old and young

Doris meets Piros in the dim corner of a hotel lounge, a quiet place between piano notes. The younger woman wears a silk slip, her nipples tight against it from the chill. Piros reaches across the table, catches Doris’s chin, and drags her in for a kiss that tastes of brandy and tongue. Doris answers, legs parting under the table so Piros can push a knee between them and press against the damp strip of cotton between her thighs. They barely reach the suite before Piros strips the younger girl bare, clothes landing in a scatter across the carpet. Doris sinks to her knees and pulls Piros’s hips forward, the older woman’s scent strong and warm. Her tongue works slow, careful circles, and Piros grips her hair, guiding. Doris opens her mouth wider, lets Piros rock until slickness coats her chin. Piros lies back on the bed, spread open, cunt flushed and glistening. Doris climbs over her, letting her own wetness slide along Piros’s belly until the older woman’s fingers find her entrance and press inside. Two knuckles, then three. Doris grinds down, breath short, coming in sudden tremors that shake her thighs. She slumps forward, breasts against Piros’s mouth, and the older woman sucks hard on each nipple while Doris keeps moving on those fingers. They roll. Now Piros straddles Doris’s face, sinking onto her tongue in greedy pulses. Doris laps and swallows, lips sealed over the swollen bud. Piros rocks, breath catching in her throat. She rides until the pleasure bites sharp, then comes hard, thighs clenching around Doris’s cheeks, the taste thick and salty on the girl’s tongue. Later they lie tangled in sheets damp with sweat, Piros’s gray hair spread across Doris’s shoulder. Outside the window the city lights flicker, and the two women breathe in the same heavy rhythm, skin still flushed, the room carrying the sweet heat of recent sex.