She wiped again, the sheet now damp with her juices, and she couldn't help but notice how thick and sticky it was.
[This is… this is so much… How can I be this wet…? I'm an old woman… I shouldn't be…] But the truth was undeniable—her body wanted more, craved more, and the memory of my tongue, my hands, my cock—it was all too fresh.
Once she was sure she was clean, Kasumi quickly slipped into the new kimono, her fingers trembling as she tied the sash.
The fabric was cool and dry against her skin, but it did little to calm the fire still burning inside her. The memory of my tongue, the feel of my hands, the way her body had betrayed her—it was all too fresh, too intoxicating.
She glanced around the room one last time, her heart pounding as she made sure everything was in order. The old futon was folded, the wet sheet hidden beneath it, and Tomiko was still asleep, her breathing slow and steady.
