The Art of Pussy Eating: How Wet Can You Get

After practice the three of them are drenched, the locker-room air thick with sweat. Uma heads straight for the showers—alone—but Angela and Carter linger in the hallway, snickering as the door clicks shut. They press their ears to the wood, hear fabric sliding over skin, then Angela eases it open a sliver. Inside, Uma peels away her t-shirt and gym shorts, pink panties clinging between her thighs, a dark, glossy circle blooming right at the crotch. Angela mouths the word wet to Carter, eyes glittering. They kick the door wide, scoop Uma up before she can cover herself, and dump her across the bed. “Look at these,” Carter laughs, hooking a thumb under the soaked cotton and peeling it away. The panties disappear between Uma’s teeth, muffling every protest. Angela drags a finger through the slick on Uma’s inner thigh. “Not sweat, baby.” She leans down, tongue flicking once, twice, and Uma’s hips jump. The taste confirms it—sweet, sharp, needy. They rearrange in a tangle of limbs. Uma straddles Carter’s mouth, grinding while her own tongue dives between Angela’s slick folds. Every moan vibrates straight into Carter, and the chain tightens when Angela bends forward to lap at Carter’s clit too. Their three tongues work in feverish rhythm until Carter’s thighs lock, a raw cry ripping out of her as she comes against Angela’s lips. Angela swings a leg over Uma’s face, smothering her protests with wet heat. Carter kneels between Uma’s open thighs, mouth and fingers busy, licking and stroking until Uma’s legs tremble and fresh wetness coats her tongue. The girls trade spots; now Angela lies on her back with Carter straddling her, while Uma kneels behind, tongue flicking Carter’s clit in time with Angela’s deeper strokes. Bodies arch, breath stutters. When Carter comes again, she grabs fistfuls of hair, dragging both mouths harder against her, riding the aftershocks until every muscle gives out and the room is left heavy, quiet, and soaked.