The Art of Older Women: Part Three

Alice March slammed her textbook shut. Dr. Matthews said Vicki Chase was the tutor who made the words finally click. One call later and Vicki’s free at six. Alice tossed the phone, heart hammering, and twenty minutes later there’s a knock at the door. Vicki walks in like she owns the room, flips open Romeo & Juliet, and starts on irony. The words spill out fast and Alice is hardly listening. Instead she’s staring at Vicki’s smooth thighs, her cotton panties peeking out whenever she shifts. That teasing glimpse fires something low in her belly. She drifts closer, hand brushing over paper, then over skin. Fingers settle between Vicki’s legs, tracing the heat through thin fabric. Vicki pauses, notices the wet spot blooming under those fingertips, and a slow smile spreads across her face. Without a word she grabs Alice by the chin. “You want this,” she says. It isn’t a question. “Kiss me.” Alice’s mouth crashes into hers, tongues sliding hot and slick. Vicki lifts her own top, offers small, soft tits. Alice follows, baring hers, and soon both shirts hit the floor. Panties peel away. Vicki drops between pale thighs, mouth sealing tight over Alice’s pussy. She sucks deep, tongue flicking fast, while Alice moans loud enough to rattle the lamp. They switch fast. Alice ends up straddling Vicki’s face, grinding slick heat until they both gasp. Fingers dig in. They kiss again, spin into sixty-nine, hips bucking. Every lick leaves them wetter, louder, until the air tastes like girl-cum and they can’t stop coming. Books lie forgotten. Irony of the lovers? Nothing compared to the way these two grind and suck their way through the night.