Feeling the water splashing around her hand and hearing the sound of her own wetness, she continues to rub her pussy in the bathtub. Her fingers are w...inkled from a mixture of her own juices and the hot water. She stops for a moment, bringing them to her mouth to taste her juices, before closing her eyes again. She recalls another day, looking down between her legs to find him there, feasting on her dripping, aching pussy. His tongue didn't neglect a single part as it darted in and out and. Nothing more was said, but, thanks to the speaker, we could hear, touch by touch, stroke by stroke, our rocket ride to the top, only to crash in screams and cries, into the abyss of orgasmic bliss. It was the strongest masturbatory orgasm I'd ever experienced, and one of two successive orgasms when my fingers refused to stop. "I've been thinking about that all day," she said. "I miss you so much," I told her but then those damned tears started again. "Stop it," she said. "No more tears like. More

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