D. Turner - Turning up the heat

Her voice grew even thicker, sexier, as she read more of the sensuous lines. Her eyes hooded, looking into mine, searching mine, her lush lips glistening with the moisture of sensual spoken word. My face flushed crimson under my tan, my body heating up way past the point where any air-conditioning could cool it down. The girl gave great oration. She knew it, giving me the amazing oral, giving herself a hand — up her top and onto her bare breasts beneath.

“Mmm!” she murmured, the book fluttering in her right hand as her left moved around under her top, over her tits. “Doesn’t she just do something to you?”

By ‘she’, I think Annabelle meant the author. But ‘they’ were both doing something to me, the written words and the visual cues. I swallowed, hard, watching Annabelle’s hidden hand explore her large breasts, cupping, squeezing, caressing, fingers bulging silky material outward as they scaled a nipple and pinched and rolled. “Tit, er, it sure does,” I gulped.

Annabelle’s breathing got more ragged, the impassioned words more breathless. I licked my cracked lips with a wooden tongue and felt sweat bead my forehead and palms, moisture my pussy. My right leg was crossed over my left, and I kind of rubbed the pair together, generating some friction where it’s felt most.

I always knew reading could be exciting (from my own private bathroom and bedroom x-rated browsing), but I’d never known how much better it could be with two people. Until now. The intellectual stimulation was intense.

Annabelle reached the end of the chapter, then opened a new chapter — for me. “Here, Kathy, read this,” she husked, handing me the book. “Please, read to me!” She opened her legs up wide and plunged her right hand down into her shorts, onto her pussy.

Annabelle arched up off the chair, rubbing her pussy undercover, feeling up her breasts. I just about fell out of my chair, astonished at the girl’s audacity. Astonished, and awesomely aroused. I was only a chair-length away from the babe blatantly groping her tits and stroking her cunt.

The book shook in my hands in front of me, my eyes refusing to focus on the words, staring over the top at Annabelle. I struggled to continue the remarkable story.

“Page 127!” Annabelle gasped. Her hand bulged up and down in her shorts, fingers flying on her pussy. Then they curled, a pair plugging right into her slit from what I could see and hear. She pulled on a nipple so hard I thought it would pop off in her other fingers.

I leafed through the book, went past the right page, flipped back too far the other way. My fingers were trembling as wildly as my legs. I swear I could hear my pussy squish between my legs, the buzz of my achingly hard nipples, above the panting my dirty-digited bookmate was doing.

I hit the correct page and splayed the book open, squeaked out a passage of younger/older lesbian lust in a gold-plated bathtub. The heat and dampness of the literary and figurative scene permeated me and Annabelle to our sexual cores.

The sultry brunette pulled her top right up over her breasts, exposing the ripened pair. They stood out huge and heavy and round and olive-toned in front of us, immense, darker areolas sporting jutting, pointing nipples. Annabelle arched back in her chair, pushing the pair of smooth-skinned melons out even further. Then she gripped one with her left hand and hefted the luscious mass, bent the rigid nipple up to meet her long pink tongue surging down.

The brazen beauty licked her own nipple, tonguing around and around the rubbery spigot, her pebbly areola. I gawked, the book fanned up against my gaping mouth. Annabelle’s hand in her shorts pumped faster, fingers plugging her pussy harder, as she sucked her own nipple into her mouth and tugged on it with her lips.

She dropped the one tit, lifted the other breast, sucked on that nipple, other hand almost breaking her zipper apart. “Oh, God, Kathy!” she cried. “I’m going to come! You’re making me come!”

She was giving me too much credit, the author and herself too little. But I didn’t argue the point, staring at her saliva-shined breasts, her pistoning hand in her shorts. The girl was pumping herself and me past the point of no return.

When a nun suddenly walked around the corner.

We both froze, shocked. The woman had come from nowhere, in total stealth. A small, black woman dressed in a grey habit. She didn’t even look at us, though, walked right by. But Annabelle’s top slammed down and her legs snapped shut, her hands moving fast as any female weightlifter jerking the snatch.

“Jesus, that was close!” she breathed, as we watched the nun disappear.

The college was founded by a religious order way back when, part of the campus still affiliated with the cause.

We stared at one another. Then Annabelle giggled. I giggled. Annabelle jumped forward in her chair and kissed me. I kissed her back. She grabbed my hand and we raced down from our not-so-private hideaway and out of the library, hot to find a sanctuary to give full voice to our lust.

The best we could come up with was a darkened classroom on the second floor of the neighboring Arts building. The door was unlocked, the hallway empty, the classroom deserted. Annabelle pushed me inside and shut the door. Then she pushed me up against the wall and pressed her body into mine, her lips against my lips.

She kissed me hotly, wetly, hungrily. Her fingers dug into my hair, her tits pressing soft and warm into my breasts. My back was up against the light switch, and I yelped, “Ow!”

We moved over a foot without breaking contact. I wrapped my arms around Annabelle’s curvy, throbbing body. Her tongue burst into my mouth and flailed at my tongue, as I sailed my hands down her back and onto the outrageous humps of her butt cheeks.

“Mmm!” we gasped in each other’s mouths, our tongues entwining openly. Annabelle gripped my shoulders and shuddered her tits against mine, her buttocks in my hands. I sunk my fingernails into the overstuffed flesh and kneaded.

She pulled her head back, her tongue out of my mouth, and swiped the loose straps of my dress off my shoulders. The top of my dress tumbled down, exposing my tits. Annabelle grasped my breasts and popped a full-blown pink nipple into her mouth, sucked on it.

“Yeesss!” I groaned, vibrating against the wall of the classroom.

The girl’s mouth was so wet, so hot, so insistent, her sealing lips stretching out my blossomed bud to an incredible length, then releasing it with a snap. Then doing the same to my other buzzing nipple. She eagerly bobbed her head back and forth between my breasts, licking, sucking, biting, her hands squeezing my shimmering flesh.

I tore my own hands off her butt and grabbed onto her own boobs from the sides, anxious to do to them what she was so eloquently doing to mine. She released my tits and jumped back, peeled her top up, displaying her mams for my pleasure again. I grabbed onto them, worked the hanging masses like I’d worked her butt cheeks.

She flung her head and body back and her mouth open, her hands shooting into her hair. I held her up by her boobs, gripping the velvety-skinned pair. Then I bent my head down and stuck out my tongue and circled one of her wide areolas with my slippery sticker. She cried out with delight.

I absolutely fed on the girl’s breasts, my passion inflamed to infernoic levels. I swallowed as much of her one tit as I could and wet-vacced the flesh, boob and nipple both. Then I popped the sopping wet sack out and mouthed her other breast, suctioned it for all I was worth. Her tits shivered in my hands and mouth, her nipples clogging the back of my throat.

“Yes, Kathy! Suck on my tits!” she shrieked.

Just as the doorknob suddenly rattled and the classroom door creaked open.