Tasha tastes

Tasha still hadn’t moved.

Emily could feel the breath from her nostrils, the lingering heat from her lips, the way her eyes never strayed from the place between Emily’s open thighs. Her pussy ached—used, swollen, leaking—but that only made everything worse. Better.

More dangerous.

The washcloth had gone cool in Tasha’s hand. She set it aside.

No pretense.

She leaned in.

Emily’s breath caught before the first touch. Her hands curled into the sheets, tension rippling through her belly like a drawn bowstring—and then Tasha’s mouth was on her.

Not soft. Not tentative.

Hot.

Hungry.

Tasha’s tongue pressed full and firm into Emily’s folds—parting them with slow, deliberate weight, dragging from the base of her opening all the way up to her clit in a single, gliding stroke that left Emily gasping. The taste was soaked in heat and filth—Emily’s slick, Eli’s cum, all of it—and Tasha made a sound like satisfaction and buried deeper.

Emily moaned—raw, humiliated, ****.

Her legs trembled, spread wider, her hips lifting off the towel instinctively. She was too open, too wet, too fucking full still—and Tasha didn’t hesitate. Her tongue pushed inward, not just tasting now but claiming—lapping at the slippery mess just inside her, dragging more of it down to smear across her swollen folds.

Emily whimpered.

She could feel the suction, the gentle pull of Tasha’s lips closing around her clit, the hot swirl of tongue underneath it. Tasha alternated—flat strokes that swept up from her entrance, then quick, tight flicks against the throbbing hood, every pass a spark behind her eyes.

“F-fuck—Tasha—”

Her fingers flew to her own breasts, squeezing, panting—her nipples were too hard, too sensitive, begging to be touched, even as Tasha’s hands slid beneath her ass and gripped tight, locking her to the mattress.

Tasha moaned into her, the vibration making her clit throb.

Then she went lower again—tongue pushing deep.

Emily’s body convulsed, her thighs tightening around Tasha’s face, trying and failing to stay still.

She could feel everything—the way her cunt clenched helplessly, twitching, still messy from being fucked, still drooling thick and hot as Tasha tongued her like she hadn’t just finished seconds ago.

Tasha didn’t let up.

She licked and sucked like she wanted the taste, like she’d waited for it, dreamed of it—drank down the slick mix of fluids and swallowed her moans like they were made for her.

Emily came with a scream—sharp, back-bending, her body wracked with spasms.

Her thighs clenched around Tasha’s head, her hips locked in place, cunt pulsing like it had forgotten how to stop. Wetness poured from her, tremors deep in her core, her nipples dragging across the sheets as she writhed.

And Tasha stayed.

She kept licking—slow now, soothing, tongue bathing the trembling slit with quiet reverence, swallowing her down to the last shiver.

When she finally pulled back, her mouth was slick, her lips parted, her breathing heavier.

Emily couldn’t move.

Couldn’t speak.

Just stared at her, dazed, lips parted, body glowing with aftermath.

Tasha crawled up the bed on hands and knees, eyes locked on Emily’s, her mouth glistening with proof of everything she’d just done.

And Emily?

Emily opened her legs again. Just a little.

She didn’t even realize she’d done it.