Looking for Comfort

Anastasia sits on Ursula’s couch, scowling at her phone. Another night, another heartless text from that useless boy she keeps swearing she’ll dump. She’d come looking for someone who actually listens—someone whose advice carries the quiet weight of experience. Ursula watches her without hurry. The older woman’s silk blouse is open at the collar, the neckline loose enough to show the top swell of heavy breasts. She offers no speeches, only a slow pat on her lap. Anastasia shifts forward, peels off her jeans, and kneels between Ursula’s thighs. The older woman opens her knees. No words pass between them as Anastasia’s mouth closes over warm, wet folds. Her tongue moves in steady circles, eager, relentless. Ursula’s hand rests on the back of her blond head, fingers loose, her sighs the only praise. Anastasia’s thighs glisten; the chair beneath her catches a slick patch where her cunt throbs untouched. She never lifts her face until Ursula’s thighs tense and her hips lift once, twice. When Ursula finally lets her up, she kisses the girl’s flushed mouth, tasting herself on those soft lips. Minutes later Anastasia is flat on the rug, hips canted high, Ursula’s steady fingers sliding in and out of her slick heat. The young pussy clasps at each slow thrust. She whimpers, bites her lower lip, comes in shaking silence, sweetness running down Ursula’s wrist in warm, shining streaks. Ursula strokes the swollen clit one last time, tender, almost motherly, and feels Anastasia melt open all over again.