The Art of Older Women: Part Two

Kylie Page, real name Bonnie, finally hit the wall with her lying husband. The man couldn't keep it in his pants if she zip-tied it there. Her own sister. A denture-grinning seventy-year-old. That had to be a joke, yet the bruises on her heart said otherwise. Divorce. Empty every account. Leave him with lint. She booked a room with Alexis Fawx, attorney who specialized in castrating cheaters before the ink dried. The minute the receptionist ushered her in, Bonnie started reciting names like she was taking roll call. Alexis closed the blinds, loosened the tie at her throat, and told her they’d settle scores in court, but first they had to let some steam out. A low murmur slipped out of Bonnie’s mouth when Alexis pinned her shoulders and leaned in. Tongues met; teeth clicked. Skirts rucked up. Alexis sucked marks onto soft tits, bite by wet bite. Bonnie’s breath hitched every time Alexis circled a sensitive nipple and pulled, the pink stiff between her lips. Desk papers scattered. They landed on their backs, clothes landing on lamps and the ficus. Alexis slid between thighs she’d barely met, spread Kylie’s pussy with practiced thumbs, and ran a slow lick over the throbbing clit. Two fingers dipped inside, curling until the blonde cursed, legs twitching, wetness coating knuckles. Later Alexis climbed onto her, hips grinding hard, swollen clit meeting swollen clit. The slick glide turned frantic, sweat trailing down their spines, the desk creaking like it might split. Breathing became gasps. Then Alexis straddled Bonnie’s face, knees digging into polished wood, lowering her soaked cunt over eager lips. Kylie’s tongue went deep, sucking and licking until Alexis stiffened, thighs squeezing, wet heat flooding the younger woman’s mouth.