Eating Aisha (2)*

No panties. Not a surprise in the heat of Troy, but it made the sight even more striking. The way she sat, exposed, her fair skin contrasting with the dark, weathered wood beneath her, was nothing short of breathtaking.

My eyes trailed over the delicate slit between her legs, her lips tightly closed as though untouched, not even the hint of stubble marring the soft, pale flesh. Barely any hair—clean, untouched, virginal.

My eyes locked on the sight before me—Aisha's pussy, glistening with her wetness, her arousal pooling and dripping down her thighs, even staining the inner fabric of her discarded pants. The evidence of her need was undeniable, soaking through, a testament to how much that kiss had wrecked her composure. She was drenched, her body betraying her with every drop.