Deep in the woods, holiday sun filtering through leaves. Chantal and I, Colette, strangers turned instant temptresses. A casual walk turns feral. I blurt it out—want to lick her pussy. She doesn’t flinch. Heart pounds. Pulse races in my throat.
Thorn stabs my foot. She kneels. Heel on her knee. My swollen lips spread wide, glistening, reeking of arousal. Her breath ghosts my pubes. Fingers pluck spines. Hot exhales tease my folds. Tongue tip peeks. My clit throbs. She kisses toes, nibbles pads. Electric tingles shoot up thighs. ‘Careful, or I won’t resist your scent,’ she purrs.
The Fever
My turn. She slips off sneakers. Arched feet, long toes, dark polish. Goddess soles. We press close. My hand cups her tit, nipple hard under palm. Sweat mingles. Hearts hammer together.
Her spot: tee on pine needles, clothes strewn like teen chaos. Jean over bush, panties dangling. We squeeze butts on fabric. Map unfolds. Thorn hits my ass cheek. Deep in the crack. ‘Kneel,’ she commands. Elbows down, ass high. She spreads cheeks. Fingers probe sulcus, near anus. I finger my dripping slit. Juice floods. She laughs. ‘Work first.’
The Blaze
Pull cheek wide. Thumb at pussy edge. She presses index along crack. Near rosebud—sharp sting. Thorn’s deep. ‘Teeth?’ Hell yes. Heart slams ribs. Urgency builds. Skin burns.
Her mouth nears star. Breath scalds. Pulse in my core accelerates. Desire coils tight.