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She could not suppress the deep soulful moan that escaped her dry lips, her hands reaching down between her thighs in a futile effort to hold back his head. Instead, her hands only seemed to infuse the inevitable. His lips smothered the tender moistness of her vulnerable pussy, parting the soft silky pubic hair, his thick tongue salaciously slicing into the feverish crevice of her vagina. His palms pushing gently against the inside of her quivering thighs, preventing any efforts to evade the oral onslaught, his tongue set to task its slow and tortuous teasing of her secret vaginal flesh. She groaned over and over, her hands now pulling at his hair, her back arching as much as possible, and the depravity continued. His dexterous tongue worked diligently at her defenceless vagina, slithering in and out, slipping back and forth over the head of her throbbing clitoris. His head moving in an unpredictable motion, up and down, back and forth unimpeded between her spread legs. She could. The new bar with its name stamped on the bar would provide just the nubby rub for her popped clit. Until the name was rubbed off the bar, her clit would dance a lover's dance. Then she could use her slippery hands to reach under herself and imagine it was Ronnie's tongue running down her butt split, thoroughly reaming and cleaning her recently used little hole. Then she could tease her way back up to her full lips to capture them between her fingers, as her other hand spanked her clit until it stung and she could rub soapy fingers over it to soothe it. That would bring her orgasm to the brink. She needed that orgasm to function properly in the world outside the shower today. As she thought of Ronnie and the slippery fingers that represented her, more and more details of her dream came to her. In the dream Ronnie came knocking to her San Francisco door."Ronnie, my God, what are you doing here. You know our arrangement. God, I love you so much, but you can't be here. I'm married!".
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