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She starts to buck her hips more toward me, as if she wants me to explore some more. Keeping the nipple in my mouth, I continue to play with her as I lead my way to her slit. Still kissing her, I guide myself by memory. Placing a finger at the top of her slit, I trace it with a finger, watching her tremble, hear her ask me for more. She’s already wet, she’s so hot and slick. I flick her nipple once more, then lick my finger. She has a prominent taste; one I crave. Closing my eyes, I moan at the taste, my erection lengthening at the memory of her taste.Rising to all fours, I place my body directly over hers, kissing my way down, pausing at each nipple before continuing. Taking a few minutes to swirl the tip of my tongue over her aureoles, kissing and nibbling my way first across her chest then down her side to cross to the middle. Parting her legs, I can smell her, feel her heat. She’s so dripping wet, her juice is leaking out of her slit. Gingerly, I begin to first lap up her juice,. She would often find herselfwandering around the girls sections of clothes stores fantasizing aboutthe sorts of outfits she would buy her imaginary daughter. Sometimes, inmoments of madness, she had found herself buying clothing, chatting withthe cashier about how her little girl had a birthday party that weekend."She's such a fussy little madam," she would say to the cashier. "I pickedher up a dress the other day, but noooo apparently that wasn't 'pinkenough' for her!" she'd say smirking. "They don't get any easier," thecashier would reply with a chuckle.She'd leave the store on such a high, carrying her purchases, but as soonas she arrived home, her illusion would be shattered, no little girl wouldcome running up to her, eager to see what Deborah had picked out for herto wear, and the spare room was still a spare room, quiet and empty. Shewould hang the purchases in the back of her closet where they wouldremain, unused and untouched.She sat down on the spare room bed and took.
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