I pressed my lips to the inside of her thigh—slow, claiming kisses that left faint trails of heat and dampness in my wake. Her skin was satin-soft under my mouth, tasting faintly of the warm, clean scent of her body mixed with the faintest edge of anticipation. My hand moved with the kind of patience that makes a person ache, sliding the lace aside inch by inch until it gave way completely revealing to me the wet pussy of her's.
My teacher's pussy looked swollen, greedy—like it knew exactly what it wanted and wouldn't be satisfied with anything less. The slick shine coating her folds caught the light, turning her wetness into something that felt almost decadent, like icing dripping down something forbidden.
The scent of her arousal and love juice hit me next—heady, intoxicating—a mix of her arousal and that raw, sweet tang of her need. It wasn't just a smell. It was a pull, a hook sinking deep into me.
