Eating Whitney

Whitney may have decided she’s ready, but her body isn’t yet, so I know I’d better go slowly—starting with the fact that she needs to make room for me between her thighs. “Whitney,” I say gently, “I need you to spread your legs for me.” She looks at me for a moment, biting her lip adorably, then spreads her knees apart and pulls up her dress. I trace the curves of her legs up to her thighs and gently massage them; she relaxes a little more and hums very softly, deep in her throat. I bend my lips to her inner thighs, caressing her silken skin with my lips and brushing it with the tip of my tongue. She trembles slightly when my lips approach her sex, first from one side, then from the other.

Whitney’s bush is clearly untrimmed, but quite short; like the hair on her head, it’s very fine and very pale. I slowly spread her outer lips with my thumbs, making her gasp softly. Her mound and her outer lips are puffy, but her pussy is small, and her inner lips are unsurprisingly small and delicate. Her quim is the color of rose gold, which makes a striking and beautiful contrast to the pale skin and downy ice-blonde hair around it. She isn’t wet at all yet. I lean forward, looking closely at her shell-like labia minora and breathing on her sex; she twitches and moans softly, then moans louder when I move in on her clit and tease it with puffs of breath. Her pearl is surprisingly large, already peeking out from under its hood, and a startlingly hot pink.

With a little stimulation, Whitney’s juices are starting to leak out, but I want to speed up the process. I start bathing her twat with my tongue, first painting it with broad, flat strokes, then exploring its curves and crevices. She cries out softly and grabs my head, and now her girl-honey is flowing in earnest. She tastes of flowers, tangy and sweet, and her scent reminds me of a spring morning. I let my tongue play, swirling up and down her slit, between her inner lips and along their outsides and skimming on their edges; I tease her lovebud at one end and just poke the tip into her fuckhole at the other. Her moans grow louder and she begins to tremble.

I lift my head from my feast for a moment to look Whitney in the eyes and say, “Your pussy is beautiful, Whitney. Your husband will be a lucky man.” She blushes furiously at the compliment, but looks thoroughly aroused by it as well. She’s wet enough for my fingers to play now, so when I press my lips to hers in the ultimate French kiss, while my tongue teases her inner lips, I stroke them lightly with a finger as well and then dip it into her hot, wet hole. She gasps and starts to shake at my gentle invasion. She’s as tight as I expected, but it feels like her hymen is minimal, so it won’t be a problem.

I let my finger dally just inside Whitney’s gates and trail my tongue up the road to her clit. I tease it lightly, brushing its tip with mine and giving feather-light licks all around it. She mewls and writhes, her fingers twining restlessly in my hair. I trill her clit with my tongue, and her moans grow louder and higher in pitch; I can feel the energy building in her body, like a storm looming on the horizon. I push my finger gently past her hymen—to my surprise, her G-spot is large, prominent, and rough. She mewls to feel me plumbing her velvety depths, then keens hungrily when I begin to stroke her pleasure center. When I fasten my lips around her pearl and start suckling it, she erupts in orgasm. Her spine pulls taut, drawing her shoulders down and her head back; her keen rises to a shriek and then cuts off with a strangled gasp. Her cunt clamps down hard on my finger, then goes into rolling, roiling spasms.

When Whitney’s muscles unlock and her back relaxes, I trade places in her quim. I suck hard on her fuckhole, plump my tongue up round, and push it in; as tight as she is, I know I won’t get far with my tongue, so this seems like the best way to use it. I put three fingers around her button, circling it, wiggling it a little, and squeezing it lightly. She writhes and twists above me, and before long, a second climax blasts through her like a rocket launch. I suck greedily as her girl-cum pours into my open mouth and keep on diddling her clit as she cums.

I don’t even wait for her climax to stop before switching places again. As soon as her movements start to slow, I fasten my lips on her clit and suck hard, like I’m trying to suck a watermelon through a straw, and slide a middle finger into her cunt to rub her G-spot. Whitney lets out a faint shriek and her body detonates around me. Her sex squeezes my finger like she means to break it; her hips buck, pushing her snatch into my face. Her body thrashes and her grip tightens on my head as if she’s hanging on for dear life, trying to stay afloat as waves of ecstasy flood her body.

Her third climax is the longest yet. Before I can move again to try to give her a fourth, Whitney tries to push my head back. It’s a feeble effort, but I recognize it, so I honor it. I sit back on my heels and look up at her; she looks positively dazed. She tries to look down at me, but her eyes won’t focus properly. Finally, she gives up the effort, leans her head back, and closes her eyes. “Thank you, Andrew,” she whispers. “That was . . . was . . .” Her voice fades out. After a few moments, she continues, “I have no words.”

“Who’s next?” Alyssa asks.