The Flame Never Dies

Fifteen years later they meet by accident at a bar, legs brushing under the counter like old mistakes never died. Cherie leans in close and whispers something filthy, and Kendra's panties soak right through. They don't make it to a bed. Cherie's pressed against the bathroom door first, skirt hiked up, knees spread wide, while Kendra drops down and devours her pussy like she's starving. Later they find a cheap motel. No talking. Just mouths and fingers and sweat-soaked sheets. Kendra tongues every inch of Cherie's asshole before flipping her over and riding her face, grinding her soaked cunt back and forth until her thighs shake. Cherie answers with three fingers buried knuckle-deep, curling, pumping, her tongue flicking Kendra's swollen clit. The bed creaks and neither of them cares. They fuck like they've got a lot of lost time to punish, coming hard and loud, bodies slapping, skin flushed, the air thick with that wet, heavy smell of two women finally getting what their college beds never saw.