Russian Caviar

Abisha knows quality. She brought the caviar anyway. I stretched out on the silk sheets while she popped the lid and dipped a pearl-handled spoon. The first taste went between my legs. Tiny pink, already wet, she pressed a fat grain of roe against my clit and watched it melt. Her tongue followed. Slow. Thick. She licked until the salt was gone and my slick took over. My hips rolled. She held them down, nose buried, fucking me with her mouth while another spoonful of the good stuff melted over my belly. Every time her lips tugged my clit the sound came out louder than the last. She moaned right into my cunt and the vibration ran straight up my spine. Caviar at my navel. Her tongue after it. Fingers sliding in two at a time, curving until I shook. When I came the sheets beneath me were wet and shining with her spit, my come, and the faint gleam of eggs still clinging to my skin.