Squirting Latinas

Gina smelled the room before she saw Veronica. Sweat. Sex. Old carpet and old perfume. The sheets were still warm from someone else. Veronica stood there barefoot with her hair dripping and her mouth open like she had something mean to say and swallowed it instead. She grabbed Gina by the waist and pushed. Not hard. Just enough to prove she could. Gina hit the mattress hard, legs flying apart. Veronica crawled up between them, wet already, mouth hot against Gina’s bare cunt. Two fingers. One knuckle. Then gone. Back in. Different angle. Gina made a sound she hated hearing from herself. Veronica kept her wrist loose and her eyes on Gina’s face, reading it like she had to pass a test. The first gush came quick—sudden, ugly, straight up her stomach. Gina reached for Veronica’s wrist, but Veronica slapped her hand away. “Again,” she said. Gina felt the next one building before she even knew what it was. Pressure. Ache. The mattress got loud under them. Veronica didn’t slow down. Gina came once, twice, again—wet every time, soaking the sheet, soaking Veronica’s wrist, dripping over her own tits. The room stank of it. The sheets stuck to Gina’s back. Veronica never smiled. She just wiped her hand on Gina’s thigh and started over. By the fifth time Gina couldn’t catch her breath. The sixth time she stopped trying. By the seventh the blanket was ruined and Veronica was still moving her fingers, slower now, meaner, like she wanted Gina to remember who started it. Gina came again anyway, eyes squeezed shut, thighs shaking, too soaked to care who heard.