Her cropped copper patch and my beard are both sopping wet with a viscous cocktail of her sweet secretions and my slick saliva. With her pussy splayed wide open, I keep slashing my tongue against her pink flesh where I think her clit used to be. Amid all the thrashing around, I can’t tell where one orgasm ends and the next one begins.
“Whew,” she finally exhales. “That was almost tantric.”
Later, walking past a tea shop, we notice their sign:
Dragonfruit Something
Lavender Whatever
Strawberry Honeybush
“That’s me,” she laughs.
I lick my mustache. “Yup, that is definitely you.”
