Eating Erin

I lap up Erin’s nectar. She wriggles and squirms and squeaks beneath me. “Your husband is a fool,” I tell her. “Your pussy is beautiful, and you taste wonderful.” Her eyes go wide. I push two fingers through her wet pink doorway—it’s a tight fit, but I get them in—and keep licking. Her G-spot is obvious; her reaction to it is deeply satisfying. She cums hard, squealing and whimpering and thrashing on the couch.

I lick my way up to her clit and probe it with my tongue. It’s the first time I’ve eaten a woman with a pierced clit. I’ve been told that a piercing makes the clit more sensitive. If Erin is any example, I believe it. She cums again at the first touch of my tongue. I keep licking. Having the little metal barbell there is different, but I think I like the sensation. I know she does from the various broken sounds she’s making.

I suck her button as deep into my mouth as I can and hum the bass riff to “Jumpin’ Jack Flash,” curious to see how Erin will react. Her orgasm is cataclysmic. She cums with a tearing scream. She bucks her hips so hard, I lose contact. I keep rubbing her G-spot, though.

Erin cums for a long time, then grabs the hand buried in her cunt. “Enough,” she gasps. “Bedroom. Fuck me. Now.”

I guess I changed her mind.