What She Tasted in Boston Ch. 02

All characters are fictional and over the age of 18.

Thank you all for the wonderful feedback on Chapter One. It truly means the world to me. Your suggestions and ideas have been both inspiring and encouraging. They've helped shaping the direction of this story in ways I didn't expect. Continuing a strong opening is always a delicate challenge, but I hope this new chapter lives up to your anticipation. Let yourself sink in, breathe deep, and enjoy the unfolding...

The Morning Fracture

The alarm on Elizabeth's phone shrieked to life and she jolted upright.

Panic flared like a match -- wild and instant -- as her eyes took in the unfamiliar ceiling, the soft peach walls, the subtle scent of lavender and sex hanging thick in the air. The hotel room. Not hers. Taylor's.

"Oh god..."

Sheets pooled around her waist. Her body was bare, her thighs still sticky, her hair wild from sleep and sweat. Her phone lit again -- a cascade of notifications. Five missed calls.

Fuck... Charles!

Her stomach dropped.

She scrambled for the edge of the bed, ignoring the ache between her legs, the soreness that bloomed along her hips and throat like bruised petals. Her dress from the night before was crumpled on the carpet. Panties nowhere to be seen. Her bra -- stretched, damp -- dangled from the edge of the chair.

She pressed her palm to her mouth and the guilt came hard. Hot. Brutal.

What had she done?

She was still fumbling with her dress, trying to pull it over her sticky skin, when Taylor stirred.

"Mmm... Liz?" The voice was thick with sleep, raspy, warm -- the kind of voice that wraps around your name and makes it feel like something owned.

Elizabeth froze completely and Taylor shifted onto her back, bare breasts soft against the pale sheets, her legs lazily sprawled. Her skin glowed with the kind of post-fuck confidence that made Elizabeth ache again -- even now.

Elizabeth didn't meet her eyes.

"I--I need to get back to my room," she whispered, yanking her dress down over her thighs, still trembling. "I have to clean up, fix my face... I--I need clothes. For the presentation."

Taylor blinked slowly, lips curling faintly at the corners.

"You could wear mine," she murmured, teasing.

Elizabeth turned. "Don't."

That came too sharp.

Taylor sat up, propping herself on one elbow, eyes following Elizabeth's movements with that same maddening calm. "You'll see me at breakfast?"

Elizabeth nodded, breath shaky. "I don't know."

She reached for her clutch, stuffed with crumpled tissues and a lipstick cap.

Her panties were still missing.

She didn't ask.

Instead, she opened the door slowly, praying no one was in the hallway. The air outside was cool and sterile -- a slap after the heat and scent of Taylor's room. She stepped out, heels in hand, heart hammering like a fist behind her ribs.

The door clicked shut behind her and for a moment she just stood there barefoot, sore, wrecked -- her thighs still sticky with another woman's wetness and her husband's name vibrating in her phone screen like a ghost she'd never outrun.

She pressed her lips together and walked to her room.

Elizabeth padded barefoot through the carpeted hallway, her heels dangling from one trembling hand, her wrinkled dress clinging damply to her hips. Each step felt like glass. Each quiet glance from a passing stranger -- imagined or real -- struck her like a silent accusation.

They know.

They all know.

That she had spent the night in a younger girl's bed. That her thighs were still sticky with another woman's come. That her nipples still burned where a tongue -- not her husband's -- had sucked them raw beneath the hotel sheets.

God, what had she done?

She should have said no. She should've stopped after that second glass of wine. Or after that first touch. That long, impossible look between them in the elevator -- when Taylor pressed close, breath soft against her neck, and Elizabeth didn't move away.

How had she let it happen?

She walked faster, eyes down, hair hiding her face.

Room 714. Her keycard slipped in with a trembling hand. The lock clicked. She slipped inside like a thief.

The door shut behind her.

And only then did she breathe.

The silence hit like a slap.

Elizabeth leaned back against the door and closed her eyes. The room was still. Impersonal. But she could smell herself -- the faint sourness of dried sweat, perfume, and pussy. Her skin was coated in it. Her thighs tacky with it. Her neck, bitten. Her wrists, still faintly red from being pinned above her head.

She dropped the heels.

And then the dress.

It crumpled around her ankles in a soft puddle of shame.

She avoided the mirror. Couldn't bear it.

She stepped into the bathroom and turned on the shower, hot as she could stand it. Steam unfurled around her in seconds, thick and blinding.

She stepped under the spray.

Water struck her shoulders, her breasts, poured down her belly and thighs -- but it didn't wash the memory away. Taylor's mouth between her legs. Her soft, commanding whisper. "Keep your hands behind your back while I taste you. That's it, just like that. Let me open you."

Elizabeth groaned.

The water beat down, scalding.

She reached for the soap, desperate now. Lathered her skin hard, rough, scrubbing her chest, her nipples -- still tender -- her throat where Taylor had kissed, bitten, claimed.

She dragged the soap between her legs.

Her fingers slipped -- and she gasped.

She was still wet and still swollen.

The ache hadn't left her. Her body had loved it. Worse: part of her wanted more.

She leaned against the tile, forehead to the wall, water streaming down her back. Her hand still between her thighs, shaking.

"Jesus," she whispered. "What the fuck is wrong with me?"

She scrubbed harder.

But there was no washing away the scent of another girl's cunt from her mouth, from her fingers, from the insides of her thighs where it had dried and stained her like perfume. There was no undoing what she'd let happen -- what she'd begged for by the end.

She turned off the water and stood dripping.

And the worst part?

She missed her. God help her, she missed her.

The towel slipped from Elizabeth's shoulders and fell in a damp heap at her feet.

She stood naked in the soft morning light filtering through the hotel curtains, her skin dewy from the shower, her body flushed and pink in places that still pulsed with memory.

She was forty-eight, and it showed -- gloriously.

Her breasts were heavy and full, their natural droop undeniable but proud. The swell of them curved softly into her ribs, her nipples still darkened and swollen from last night's biting mouth. She cupped them briefly, almost absentmindedly, thumbs grazing across each tip. They throbbed. There were faint shadows -- impressions of fingers -- near the underside of one breast, like a lover had clutched her too hard and hadn't cared if it left a mark.

She didn't mind. Not anymore.

Her waist softened into a round, sensual belly -- the kind that came from motherhood, from life, from long years of trying not to notice herself in mirrors. But now... there was a curve to it she liked. A femininity that felt ripe, not wasted.

Her ass was broad and soft, the skin tight in some places, looser in others -- dimples at the base where her thighs met the swell of her cheeks. She turned to the side, caught her reflection in the mirror. The plug of light from the window landed across her hips, making the wet between her thighs shimmer slightly.

She couldn't look away.

Her ass bore faint red smudges. From being spanked. Or bitten. She wasn't sure.

She reached for her underwear, the good set, the black laced one.

The thong rode up high on her hips, the thin straps vanishing into the cleft of her ass, the fabric sheer over her mound, already dampening slightly from the heat still smoldering between her legs.

She clipped the matching bra into place, lifting her breasts into a taut, swollen curve of cleavage. Her nipples pressed visibly through the lace. She adjusted them, gently, her breath hitching when her fingertips brushed too close.

"Enough," she whispered to herself.

She pulled on her thigh-high stockings next -- black, with a faint shimmer, and a thick band of elastic at the top that hugged her legs tightly. They looked indecent against her pale skin.

Then came the dress -- the navy wrap one. High-quality jersey knit, cinched just beneath her bust. It clung to the soft slope of her belly, hugged the curve of her hips, and swept low enough to cover her thighs but tight enough to make her ass look full and heavy.

She knew it would move when she walked -- sway just enough to hint.

The fabric skimmed her nipples. No padding. No lining. Just lace and a thin veil of cloth. Anyone who looked close enough at breakfast would see.

She stepped into her heels -- mid-height, not too bold -- and let her eyes meet her reflection one last time.

Hair still damp. Lips bare.

But her body?

Her body looked like sin.

Dressed in shame. Dressed in want.

And under every inch of it... Taylor.

Still there. Still haunting.

Still humming through her blood.

Elizabeth skipped breakfast.

She told herself she didn't have time -- the morning had slipped away between the too-long shower, the careful painting of her face, the trembling hesitation in front of the mirror.

But the truth was simpler.

She couldn't eat.

Her stomach felt tight and sour, twisted with nerves and something else -- something tender and dangerous and unfamiliar.

She missed Taylor.

The realization hit her like a bruise every time she let her thoughts drift.

She missed the scent of her skin -- warm, youthful, just a trace of sweat and coconut shampoo. She missed the way Taylor's mouth moved when she spoke, low and wicked and sure of itself. She missed the way she held her -- not lovingly. Possessively. Like she was entitled to Elizabeth's breath.

That ache between her thighs? That wasn't just from the sex.

It was from absence.

And that frightened her more than anything.

It wasn't supposed to hurt.

She clutched her folder tighter to her chest as she moved down the hallway toward the conference wing. Her heels clicked across polished marble floors, and her dress clung just enough to remind her what was underneath -- lace, damp again from the unrelenting throb of memory.

She saw her own reflection in the glass doors as she approached.

Elegant. Polished. Intact.

But her eyes betrayed her -- rimmed in red, too bright. Her lipstick perfect, but her mouth still remembered the taste of Taylor's skin. Her throat still wore the ghost of her voice: "Good girls don't ask. They just open their legs."

She swallowed hard and pushed open the doors.

The conference area was vast -- high ceilings, filtered light through long, sterile windows. A sea of navy suits and pastel blouses. Lanyards. Coffee breath. The dull murmur of pre-panel chatter.

But it felt like walking into a foreign land.

Her body didn't belong here. Not now.

Not when her thighs still ached from being spread open. Not when her breasts still felt too swollen for a room full of industry talk and graphs.

A man from HR greeted her with a nod.

She smiled politely.

But all she could think about was how Taylor had kissed the corner of her mouth when she came -- like it was her right.

You're mine now, she had whispered, dragging her fingers through Elizabeth's slick folds.

Elizabeth bit the inside of her cheek.

She took a seat near the back. Quiet. Composed. Her legs crossed carefully, hiding the heat gathering between her thighs. The lace of her thong shifted, catching just so.

She didn't adjust it.

She wanted to feel it.

Because the pain -- the stretch, the pulse, the emptiness -- was all she had of Taylor now.

And it was better than breakfast.

Elizabeth stood backstage, clutching the wireless clicker like it was the only thing anchoring her body to the floor.

She was shaking.

Not visibly -- not yet -- but her breath felt wrong in her chest, shallow and uneven, and her lipstick tasted sour. She had gone over her slides twice, then again. She knew this material. Owned it. But her skin didn't feel like hers. Her nerves felt exposed, like wires stripped bare.

She smoothed her dress -- again -- the soft navy jersey clinging to the slope of her hips, the curve of her belly, the rise of her breasts lifted tight in lace beneath. She felt too aware of her body. Too inside it. Every movement felt sensual, and wrong.

A tech waved her forward.

She nodded.

Walked out into the lights.

Applause welcomed her like a lie. She smiled -- bright, practiced, polished. Her heels clicked across the stage with precise confidence. Her dress swayed behind her thighs, her posture upright and poised. She looked immaculate.

But inside?

She was broken glass.

She began the talk.

Voice steady. Clear. The slides advanced smoothly. Her points landed. There was nodding. Laughter in the right places. She found her rhythm, let it carry her -- facts, charisma, polish. She had done this before. She could do this again.

She was doing it.

Then she saw her.

Second row. Left side.

Taylor.

Sitting with two girls -- young, polished, legs crossed in tight skirts, badges swinging between perky breasts. Taylor's lips were painted deep red now, hair pinned in that lazy, effortless way that made her neck look long and biteable.

And she was smiling.

Not at Elizabeth.

At them.

One of the girls whispered something in Taylor's ear.

Taylor laughed.

That easy, low, velvet laugh Elizabeth had felt against her throat just hours ago.

The clicker in Elizabeth's hand slipped for a second.

She caught it.

Her voice stalled -- just a beat. She forced a smile. Swallowed. Switched the slide.

But her body was no longer under her.

Her stomach dropped.

It fell through her, like a floor had collapsed beneath her heels. Like the oxygen had left the room and her lungs were trying to pretend it hadn't.

Taylor didn't look up she didn't even glance at her.

She was leaning into the brunette now -- nodding, grinning. Her fingers brushed the girl's arm like it was nothing and like Elizabeth was nothing to her.

Elizabeth's voice quivered on the next sentence. She caught herself, stumbled into a joke she hadn't planned, felt the laughter land a second too late. The rhythm broke. The confidence unraveled.

Elizabeth finished her final slide with a smile that felt stapled to her face. Polite applause.

No one noticed the crack, except her.

She stepped off the stage with a straight back and perfect posture. Clutching her notes like a lifeline.

But inside? She was screaming.

The hallway outside the stage doors was cool and quiet, lined with poster boards and leftover catering trays. Elizabeth stepped off the platform and into the hush like she was stepping out of a fever dream. Her heart thudded dully in her chest. She kept her chin up. She walked fast.

She needed air.

"Hey, there you are."

Taylor.

The voice slid around her like silk on wet skin. Elizabeth froze mid-step and then she turned around.

And Taylor was there -- all legs and confidence, still wearing that cropped black blazer over her white blouse, collar unbuttoned just enough to hint. Her smile was easy. Her eyes sparkled with wickedness. And before Elizabeth could say a word, Taylor stepped close and kissed her on the mouth. It was soft, open and familiar kiss.

It wasn't deep -- not quite -- but it lingered just a breath too long. Just long enough to press their lips together like something intimate had never stopped. Like last night wasn't a mistake. Like they belonged.

Elizabeth didn't kiss back and she couldn't.

Her body locked up, stiff, unbreathing, but her lips parted instinctively -- like they remembered more than her mind wanted to admit.

Then Taylor pulled away with a low hum of satisfaction, her eyes glinting like a girl who knew exactly what she was doing.

Elizabeth's face burned.

Her breath caught in her throat. She opened her mouth to speak but no sound came.

Taylor didn't wait.

Instead, she turned slightly and gestured to the blonde beside her -- tall, tanned, the kind of body that made men twist in their seats. The girl's dress was tight, sleeveless, hugging her young frame in all the right places. Long legs. Glossy pout. Bright blue eyes that flicked up and down Elizabeth like a slow drag of fingers.

"This is Melissa," Taylor said, casually, like they were discussing wine. "She's twenty-five. University of Arizona. She's in sustainability but has... other interests."

Melissa smiled -- lazy, predatory -- and extended her hand.

"Hi," she purred. "You were so good up there. Like... seriously impressive."

Elizabeth's hand met hers. Warm. Soft. The girl's fingers lingered.

"Melissa thinks you're very cute," Taylor said, her voice now dipped in something lower. Something electric.

The words hit Elizabeth like a slap.

Her body didn't move. Couldn't.

But between her legs, something twitched.

Taylor leaned in again, whispering, her lips brushing against Elizabeth's ear.

"She watched the whole presentation with her hand on my thigh. And now she wants to taste the woman who made me moan."

Elizabeth's knees almost gave.

And in that moment -- surrounded by lanyards and posters and the remnants of professionalism -- she didn't know what hurt more:

The humiliation or the want.

Elizabeth's hand fell back to her side, her palm tingling from Melissa's grip. She didn't speak.

She couldn't and her mouth felt dry, her chest tight -- and her thoughts loud. This isn't me. This isn't who I am. Taylor was the exception the accident and the only time.

She'd told herself that a dozen times since waking up in that hotel bed, since slipping out in bare feet and guilt-stained thighs.

She had a husband. A career. A life full of structure and well-ironed boundaries. What had happened with Taylor was... wild. Stupid. Beautiful. And done.

But then she looked again.

Really looked at the girl was standing just off to the side, relaxed and open, one hip cocked with unconscious confidence. The soft pink of her lips shone under the overhead lights. Her blonde hair curled at the ends, still damp from her morning shower. Her dress was snug -- sleeveless, high hemmed -- and the fabric clung to her like a second skin. Her tits were small, perfect, firm beneath the stretch cotton, nipples faintly outlined in the cool hallway air.

Elizabeth's eyes moved lower.

Her waist was taut, belly flat, hips narrow but full in that ripe, youthful way -- and her thighs...

The bare skin at the edge of her dress made Elizabeth's breath catch. Smooth. Glowing. Tanned from someplace warm, kissed by Arizona sun. And between those thighs -- behind that tight, teasing smile -- was a pussy Elizabeth suddenly, achingly, wanted to taste.

She imagined spreading her open. Parting her like fruit.

She imagined being pulled down by a soft, wicked hand, Melissa's legs lifting, her voice gasping "Yes, right there..."

Elizabeth's thighs clenched and her pulse throbbed in her neck.

She had told herself Taylor was a mistake. A one-time surrender. But now, staring at this girl -- this beautiful, young, curious girl -- Elizabeth could feel her resolve melting between her legs.

She didn't want to walk away and she wanted to be tasted.

And worse part... She wanted to taste back and Taylor saw it.

She didn't need Elizabeth to say a word. She saw it in the way her breath caught, the way her lips parted slightly, the way her eyes lingered on Melissa's thighs like she was already imagining them spread across her face.

Taylor smiled And stepped behind Melissa with quiet, feline confidence.

"Turn around, baby," she murmured it was not a request it was a command wrapped in velvet.

Melissa obeyed instantly.

She pivoted on her heels, her back now facing Elizabeth, her toned arms relaxed at her sides. The curve of her ass was high and tight beneath the pale mauve dress -- a perfect, round silhouette just begging for hands. The fabric hugged her like a second skin, dipping into the cleft where her cheeks met, so sheer and clinging it could have been painted on.

Taylor didn't rush.

She stepped in close, almost flush against Melissa's back, and brought both hands to her hips. Then slowly, deliberately, she cupped the girl's ass in her palms -- full and firm, her thumbs spreading slightly to expose the luscious curve beneath.

She looked directly at Elizabeth now.

"You like this?" she asked softly, her fingers giving Melissa's cheeks a slow, sensual squeeze. "She works out every morning. Five a. m. Like clockwork."

Elizabeth didn't answer.

Couldn't.

Taylor smiled wider. Her thumbs slid under the hem of the dress, lifting just enough to expose bare, golden flesh -- no panties. No resistance. Just warm, young skin, smooth as polished stone.

Taylor leaned in, dragged her lips along Melissa's ear.

"Tell her what you said to me this morning," she whispered.

Melissa giggled, her voice breathy and hot. "I said... I've always wanted a woman's tongue in my ass."

Elizabeth felt her knees weaken.

Taylor's thumbs spread Melissa's cheeks a little wider now, exposing more skin, more heat -- and the faint, dark crease between those perfect orbs.

She tilted her head, her voice low and dangerous.

"Would you like to taste this ass?"

The words slithered into Elizabeth's belly and caught fire.

Her lips parted. Her breath hitched.

Her panties -- soaked.

And all she could do was stare, mute and burning, as the girl in front of her was held open like a gift she was being dared to unwrap with her mouth.

Elizabeth's throat tightened.

The air in the corridor felt too thin, too charged. People moved past in the distance -- conference badges, murmured conversations, the clink of coffee cups -- but none of that reached her. All she could see was Taylor's hands, parting Melissa's ass with slow reverence, revealing the warm shadow of her body like an invitation no woman had ever dared offer her before.

Elizabeth's breath shook.

The wetness between her thighs thickened, sticky and hot against the lace that no longer felt like enough to contain her.

Her voice came out barely above a whisper.

"... yes."

Taylor didn't move. Didn't blink.

She just cocked her head.

"I can't hear you."

Melissa let out a soft giggle, her hips shifting subtly beneath Taylor's palms, like she was arching just a little more -- pushing herself open, deeper, toward Elizabeth's hungry gaze.

Elizabeth swallowed.

Her cheeks flamed. Her chest rose in a tremble.

And then, with her heart pounding, her voice broke past the fear.

"I really want to taste her ass."

It was low, urgent and undeniable.

The words hung between them like smoke, and the girls both giggled -- delighted, wicked, triumphant. Melissa's thighs pressed together briefly, like she was holding back a moan. Taylor leaned in, her mouth against the shell of Elizabeth's ear.

"Good girl," she purred, her fingers still sunk into the flesh of Melissa's parted cheeks. "You're learning."

Elizabeth shuddered because She was no longer in control.

And her body didn't want her to be. Elizabeth's pulse throbbed behind her ears.

Taylor was still holding Melissa's ass with both hands, spreading her open like an exhibit -- raw, teasing, obscene -- but her eyes were locked on Elizabeth now, unwavering.

"Kiss her babe."

The words landed with quiet force.

Elizabeth stiffened. Her eyes darted left, right. A pair of women were chatting near the water station. A man with a lanyard and an open laptop had just turned down the hall. Voices filtered in from the nearby conference doors.

Her heart raced.

"We're not alone..." she whispered, breath catching. "Someone could see us."

Taylor didn't blink.

Her tone didn't rise.

But it hardened and sharpened with that cool, cutting steel Elizabeth had tasted in her voice the night before. The voice that left no room for compromise.

"Do it now," she said. "Or I fucking walk away forever."

Silence and then a heartbeat.

Elizabeth stepped forward and Melissa turned her face toward her, lips parted, breath already warm and sweet with anticipation. Her eyes sparkled like she knew she was about to be devoured.

Elizabeth really didn't know who moved first and their mouths met -- soft, wet, hungry.

Melissa moaned immediately, low and eager, and tilted her head just enough to open herself wider. Her tongue came out, slick and bold, and swirled into Elizabeth's mouth with practiced heat. She tasted like fruit and heat and something younger, wilder, shameless.

Elizabeth whimpered and her lips parted further.

Melissa's tongue curled around hers -- slow, teasing, dirty -- as if claiming her, guiding her, showing her how girls kissed when they wanted to be tasted in return.

Taylor watched.

Smiling.

One hand still on Melissa's ass, the other now grazing the inside of her thigh.

The kiss went on.

Elizabeth's body swayed forward, her nipples stiff under lace, her cunt aching and hot and exposed beneath her thin dress. She was kissing her. In public. Tongue to tongue. No hesitation anymore. Just need.

When they finally pulled apart -- lips wet, breath mingled -- Elizabeth's knees felt weak.

Taylor leaned in, her voice like silk soaked in threat.

"You'll do anything I tell you now, won't you?"

Elizabeth didn't answer.

She didn't need to.

It was already written all over her mouth.

Elizabeth hadn't yet caught her breath from Melissa's kiss -- the heat of that young tongue still clung to her lips like syrup -- when Taylor stepped in close.

Too close.

Her body pressed into Elizabeth's, soft but unrelenting, her mouth just inches from hers. Without asking, without a glance around, Taylor slipped one hand up and under the side of Elizabeth's wrap dress -- fingers sliding past the cling of fabric and lace.

Then she cupped her.

Elizabeth gasped.

Taylor's palm molded to the swell of her left breast, warm and confident, thumb brushing over the stiff peak of her nipple through the thin lace. It sent a jolt straight through her core. Her knees gave the smallest buckle.

Taylor leaned in and kissed her. Not tender, not kind but hungry.

She claimed Elizabeth's mouth like she'd paid for it. Lips soft but controlling, her tongue pushing in without request, curling just enough to let Elizabeth feel the weight of surrender again. Her breast was still cupped, thumb now slowly circling -- lazy, taunting -- the movement small but devastating.

When she pulled back, Elizabeth's lips were parted, her eyes glassy.

"Follow us," Taylor murmured, her hand slipping away at last, leaving the tingling weight of absence behind.

Elizabeth couldn't speak.

She just nodded.

Melissa giggled softly and took Taylor's hand, fingers laced like girls on their way to mischief. Taylor looked back once, her expression knowing, smug, beautiful -- and began to walk.

Elizabeth followed.

Down the side corridor, past the vending machines, past the coat check, heels silent on the thick carpet. Her breath came shallow, thighs brushing, every nerve ending now lit and aching.

They stopped in front of the women's restroom and it was not a private one. It was a shared one, public with multiple stalls.

Melissa pushed the door open and taylor turned. "Come in." Elizabeth stepped inside.

And the door swung closed behind them. The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly above, casting a cold, pale glow over the tiled floor. The women's restroom smelled of lavender soap and faint bleach -- sterile, normal, quiet.

But Elizabeth's heart was pounding like she was walking into a confessional made of filth.

There were six stalls. Five identical: narrow, closed, clean.

But the last one was wider, and it had the handicap symbol stamped in silver on the door, a heavy latch instead of a plastic lock.

Taylor didn't slow down, she pushed the stall door open with one hand, her blazer riding high on her hips, and stepped inside with Melissa, who giggled and looked back over her shoulder -- that same breathless, delighted hunger in her eyes.

Elizabeth followed and stepped in, her heels echoing dully on the tile. The space was tight but large enough to feel deliberate. The steel grab bar stretched across one wall like something meant for restraint. Then the door clicked shut behind her.

Taylor slid the bolt into place with a heavy clack and then she turned slowly to face her, with calm expression, composed, mercilessly in control. Melissa leaned back against the tiled wall, one leg already bent at the knee, dress hitched up just a little, just enough to expose the creamy skin of her thigh.

Elizabeth stood there between them, surrounded by soft perfume, cold porcelain, and heat pulsing through her own lace-soaked cunt.

She had stepped into the stall.

And left herself behind.

The air in the stall was thick now. Too hot for its size. Elizabeth could hear her own breathing -- shallow, unsteady -- mingling with the subtle hiss of air vents and the quiet shuffle of bodies shifting into place.

Taylor stepped closer to Melissa and spoke with a velvet firmness.

"Face the wall. Hands up."

Melissa obeyed immediately, no hesitation.

She turned, pressed her palms flat against the tiled wall, her blonde hair cascading down her back like sunlight poured over flesh. Her shoulder blades flexed. Her body arched ever so slightly. The hem of her dress clung to the soft curve of her ass.

Taylor stepped in behind her -- close enough to press, but didn't.

Not yet.

With deliberate sensuality, she let her palms slide over Melissa's waist. She didn't grip. She glided -- fingertips grazing the tightness of her belly, the subtle dip of her hips. Her touch was reverent, teasing, electric.

Then, in one fluid motion, she reached for the side of Melissa's dress.

A slow, practiced tug.

The fabric gave way with a whisper and slipped down her hips -- peeled from her skin like a second thought -- until it puddled around her ankles. Melissa stepped out of it without being asked.

She stood now in heels and a simple black crop top.

And nothing else.

Her ass was bare -- round, high, golden -- a perfect, perky globe of young flesh that caught the light from above in the cruelest, most inviting way.

The cleft between her cheeks was soft and dark and smooth.

Elizabeth stared.

She couldn't help it.

Her breath caught. Her thighs pressed together. Her own panties felt soaked, heavy, useless.

Then Taylor gave the next command -- slow and low.

"Stick your ass out for her."

Melissa shifted.

Her back arched. Her knees bent just slightly. And her hips pushed back toward Elizabeth -- offering herself fully, wantonly, like a girl who knew she was about to be tasted, and loved every filthy second of it.

The stall was silent.

Except for the sound of Elizabeth's pulse, thudding like a drum inside her cunt.

Melissa's palms were still pressed flat to the tile, her legs slightly parted, heels arched just enough to raise her ass into the perfect curve -- a ripe, exposed offering. Her breath came in short, fluttering gasps, her back rising and falling as her bare flesh flushed with anticipation.

Taylor stepped behind her.

Without a word, she placed both hands on Melissa's hips. Then she dragged them slowly, sensually, around the swell of her ass -- fingers spreading until her thumbs met at the cleft.

And then she pulled her open.

Elizabeth exhaled sharply.

Melissa's ass parted, revealing a soft, dark pink star between perfectly smooth cheeks, tight and twitching, glistening faintly in the harsh bathroom light. Taylor held her open with quiet reverence, thumbs spreading her wider -- not for her own amusement, but for display. For Elizabeth.

Melissa whimpered. Not from pain. From being seen.

From being used.

Taylor leaned in closer -- her breath now warm against the parted flesh -- and her right hand slid downward, two fingers gently tracing the seam of Melissa's ass before circling her tight little hole with a slow, obscene rhythm.

"Mmhh--fuck..." Melissa moaned, her voice muffled against the wall.

Taylor's touch didn't rush. Her fingertip teased the edges of that tiny, fluttering ring, rubbing in lazy circles, coaxing it to loosen, to bloom. She didn't push in. Not yet. She just played -- stroking, tracing, letting Melissa squirm and gasp under her control.

Then Taylor glanced over her shoulder.

Her voice dropped -- low, firm, electric.

"Do you like what you're seeing?"

Elizabeth was frozen.

Her eyes locked between Melissa's cheeks, watching that tender little hole twitch and clench under Taylor's teasing, watching it get wetter, more exposed, more needy.

Her lips parted. Her voice refused to come.

She wanted to touch. She wanted to taste. She wanted to kneel.

But all she could do was nod -- once -- her breath caught, her panties soaked, her body trembling with want.

Taylor smirked.

And spread Melissa wider.

"Say it."

"Yes--"

It spilled from Elizabeth's mouth in a soft, shattered moan.

Breathy. Embarrassed. Almost like a climax caught mid-thrust.

She didn't mean to say it that way. But the sight before her -- Melissa bent, open, her tight little asshole twitching under Taylor's fingers -- struck something deep and aching in her. A place she hadn't known she could burn.

Taylor's voice came sharp, immediately.

"Take off your skirt and top. Now."

No softness. No time.

Elizabeth blinked, her mouth still parted, her thighs trembling. Her hands moved on instinct -- first to the wrap of her navy skirt, fingers fumbling at the knot at her hip. The fabric slid down her legs, pooling at her heels, revealing the garter straps stretched tight against the tops of her thighs.

She reached for the clasp of her top next -- a modest blouse, business-sensible. She hesitated for half a breath.

Taylor didn't say it again.

She didn't have to.

Elizabeth slipped it off, one shoulder at a time, her breath tight in her throat as the cotton peeled down her arms and dropped beside the skirt. The fluorescent light above bathed her now -- fully exposed, half-naked between the tiled walls, just a woman in her mid-forties in her best black lingerie, shaking with arousal and shame.

Her bra was lace. Black. The cups hugged the heavy swell of her breasts, lifting them into a soft, rounded shelf. Her nipples pressed visibly through the delicate fabric -- dark and stiff, still tender from Taylor's earlier grip. The straps dug slightly into her shoulders.

Her panties matched -- low-slung lace clinging to her hips, already darkened with arousal. A visible wet patch glistened where the fabric met the curve of her sex, soaked through. The garter belt cinched her waist, subtle but tight, with straps clipping down to thigh-high stockings that shimmered faintly under the flickering light.

Elizabeth stood there.

Bare-legged, trembling, her soft, mature belly rising and falling, her full tits breathing with her. Her ass -- wide, round, generous -- was barely contained by the lace, the fabric riding high into the cleft.

She didn't look at Taylor.

She didn't need to.

She was on display now.

Just like Melissa.

Offered.

Waiting.

Taylor's voice was silk-wrapped steel.

"Get on your knees."

Elizabeth's breath hitched. Her body obeyed before her mind could catch up.

She lowered herself slowly to the cold tile, the chill of it kissing her knees through the thin garter straps. Her thighs spread just slightly for balance, her heels tucked behind her, her palms pressed to the floor as she knelt -- not elegantly, not like a woman in control, but like a woman offered.

Her black lace bra strained with each breath, her full breasts heaving slightly beneath it, nipples flushed and aching. Her panties were soaked through now -- clinging like a second skin, the gusset pulled tight into her folds, darker than ink at the center.

Taylor stepped behind her, close enough that Elizabeth could feel the heat radiating from her body.

"Now," she murmured, her hand ghosting over the back of Elizabeth's head, fingers threading softly into her hair, "get your nose all the way to her ass."

Elizabeth swallowed an she looked up.

Melissa was still braced against the wall, her arms stretched above her, the muscles in her back trembling slightly. Her bare ass hovered right at Elizabeth's eye level now -- parted just enough to expose the soft, glistening cleft, her little pink hole twitching with every breath.

Elizabeth moved forward to her Inch by inch.

The scent hit her first -- warm, faintly sweet, raw. Not dirty, just human and hot.

She brought her face closer, so her lips parted on instinct. Her breath ghosted across Melissa's skin, then her nose touched her right between her cheeks. Right against the tight little center of her.

Melissa gasped. "Oh god..."

Elizabeth froze for just a heartbeat -- the heat of the girl's body flooding her senses -- and then Taylor's hand pressed gently on the back of her skull.

"Fuck yes... Hold it there," she said, voice like honey poured slow. "Breathe her in."

Her nose pressed fully now against Melissa's asshole, soft and flushed and twitching against her face. Her own pussy clenched hard. Her tongue flicked unconsciously along the inside of her cheek and it made her wetter than she'd ever imagined she could be.

Taylor's thumbs dug in deeper, spreading Melissa's cheeks wider until the soft star of her asshole twitched in the cool air, wet with arousal and flushed dark pink. Without a word, Taylor leaned forward.

And then she spat. A thick line of saliva landed squarely between Melissa's cheeks. It glistened as it trailed downward, catching on the tight pucker before slowly sliding lower, gluing the cleft together in glistening strands.

Melissa moaned -- sharp, high, exposed -- her hips pushing back slightly, shameless, wanting more.

Taylor didn't flinch. Her voice cut through the air, low and absolute.

"Lick it."

Elizabeth froze and her breath caught like a hook in her throat. She stared -- at the mess between Melissa's cheeks, the way her asshole clenched and fluttered beneath the thick sheen of spit, the soft tremble in her thighs.

"I said lick," Taylor repeated, softer now, but sharper. "Clean her. Worship her. I want to see your tongue in her ass now!."

Elizabeth's knees nearly buckled and she dropped lower.

Her palms pressed to the cold tile, the garter straps at her thighs pulled taut. Her mouth was level now -- breath ghosting over Melissa's parted cheeks, her nose filled with the raw, heady scent of pussy and spit and something deeper.

She opened.

Her tongue extended -- slow, trembling -- and met Melissa's hole.

Taylor watched.

Elizabeth's first lick was tentative, but wet -- a flat stroke up the cleft, gathering spit and sweat and heat in a single pass. Melissa gasped. Her knees shook. Her arms flexed against the wall.

"Deeper," Taylor murmured.

Elizabeth obeyed.

She leaned in, her nose pressing into the crease, her tongue circling the tight ring with more urgency. She licked again -- slower this time -- dragging her tongue around the rim, then flicking it, then pushing.

Melissa's whole body writhed.

Her moans climbed -- high and open, her voice cracking with pleasure and disbelief. Her ass tilted back, opening more, her legs spread wider as if to say yes, yes, yes.

Elizabeth didn't stop.

She licked like a woman possessed -- like this was her purpose, her privilege. Her tongue lapped into the ring, soft and wet and eager, tasting the spit, the heat, the hum of Melissa's trembling body.

Taylor stood over them, smiling.

"Good girl," she whispered, one hand resting now on the back of Elizabeth's head, holding her there gently. "Don't stop until I say so."

Elizabeth whimpered -- a soft, submissive sound muffled by Melissa's ass.

And she kept licking.

Tongue working.

Mouth buried.

Melissa sobbed -- her orgasm building just from that wet worship alone, her thighs shaking, her cunt dripping. Her hands clenched against the wall like she was being held open by some invisible, divine force.

Taylor leaned down again -- her voice a hush against Elizabeth's ear.

"You're not her equal anymore. You're her tongue. That's all. Keep licking. Make her come just like that."

Elizabeth moaned -- and obeyed.

And Melissa began to tremble.

Elizabeth didn't stop.

Her tongue worked in slow, patient spirals, lapping around Melissa's twitching hole, sliding in shallow, then retreating to tease the slick rim again. Her nose was pressed flush into the split of Melissa's cheeks, inhaling the heady perfume of sweat, spit, and arousal. Every breath she took was hers now -- Melissa's -- thick and humiliating and holy.

Taylor stood over her, still gently gripping the back of her head, guiding, pressing.

"Good little bitch," she whispered. "You love this, don't you? On your knees. Tongue deep in another woman's filthy little ass. No questions. Just service."

Elizabeth whimpered -- the sound soft, eager, broken. Her thighs clenched. Her mouth moved with more devotion now, her tongue plunging a little deeper, flattening wide, then curling, then teasing that glistening ring like a lover.

Melissa's moans were rising -- breathy, raw, guttural now. She was panting, her palms flat against the tile, her hips jerking back in little involuntary thrusts. Her asshole twitched under Elizabeth's tongue, tightening, then loosening, her cunt dripping freely down her thighs, slick and shameless.

Taylor crouched down, her voice cold and wicked in Elizabeth's ear.

"She's going to come on your tongue," she said. "From her ass. You're making her do that. Look at you -- all grown up, mouth buried in her hole like a good submissive. I should make you lick the floor after. Would you like that?"

Elizabeth moaned, desperate.

Taylor laughed -- a low, delighted sound -- and gave her head a little push, forcing her face deeper into Melissa's cleft. "That's it. Make her shake. Make her forget her own name."

And Melissa did begin to shake.

Her whole body was trembling now -- her ass clenching around Elizabeth's tongue, thighs buckling, the muscles in her belly tightening like a drawn string about to snap. Her mouth opened in a voiceless gasp. Her head dropped forward.

"Taylor--fuck--I'm--oh God--" she sobbed.

Taylor grinned. "Come for her, baby. Come with your hole wide open and her tongue buried deep. Let the little bitch earn it."

That was it.

Melissa's orgasm ripped through her like lightning -- sudden, wet, brutal. Her thighs spasmed. Her knees almost gave out. She let out a cry that wasn't a word, just a raw, fractured moan as her body shook and bucked against Elizabeth's mouth.

A fresh gush of slick sprayed from her cunt -- hot, messy, dripping down her inner thighs, spattering the tile, soaking Elizabeth's chest.

And still Elizabeth licked.

She moaned into Melissa's asshole, tongue moving in slow, reverent circles, her cheeks slick with spit and sweat, her lips wet and parted, trembling with need.

Taylor stood behind her, hand resting lightly on her head like a queen blessing a subject.

"Stay there," she murmured. "Right there. Keep your tongue in her ass until I tell you she's had enough."

Melissa sobbed again -- high and broken, legs quivering, her body fucked by nothing but worship.

And Elizabeth?

Elizabeth kept licking. Eyes closed. Cunt soaked. Owned.

Melissa was still trembling, bent against the wall, her asshole glistening from Elizabeth's tongue, her thighs glossy with the wet aftermath of her orgasm. Her breath came in slow, ragged waves -- skin flushed, muscles loose, spent.

Taylor ran her fingers once through Melissa's cleft, gathering slick from her twitching cunt and smearing it up lazily over her asshole -- a final, possessive stroke.

Then she stood tall.

"Good," she said simply. Then her eyes cut to Elizabeth.

"But now I want symmetry."

Elizabeth blinked, breathless, lips swollen and wet from worship. She stayed kneeling, still trembling slightly, her thighs sticky with need.

"Stand up."

Taylor's voice was cool. Controlled. Absolute.

Elizabeth obeyed instantly, her body aching as she rose to her feet. Her legs were unsteady. Her face was flushed. Her hair clung to her damp cheekbones in frayed, sweat-dark strands.

"Panties off," Taylor said, already circling her.

Elizabeth hesitated -- just for half a heartbeat.

Then she reached for the waistband of her simple black lace panties and began sliding them down.

Slowly.

The elastic peeled over the softness of her hips, then dragged down her thighs. She stepped out of them carefully, humiliated by the sound of wet fabric peeling off her soaked cunt. Her arousal had made the gusset glossy and obscene -- her juices darkening the lace like ink.

Taylor caught the scent of her.

"Jesus," she murmured, walking a slow circle around her. "You're soaked."

Elizabeth swallowed. Her hands trembled.

Taylor stopped behind her.

"Bend forward," she said. "Hands on your knees. I want that ass open. I want to see you."

Elizabeth bent.

She felt the cool air kiss her now-bare pussy lips, felt them spread slightly with the angle of her stance. Her ass was wide and soft -- full, with the gentle sag of age, but flushed and warm and desperately open. Her folds were swollen, gleaming. Her clit throbbed under the weight of exposure.

Taylor stepped behind her, crouched low.

She reached forward and spread Elizabeth's cheeks, just like she had done to Melissa -- thumbs firm, unyielding. Her asshole winked into view, a soft, darker rose beneath the trembling arch of her body.

"Perfect," Taylor whispered. "The circle's complete."

Then she turned toward Melissa, who was now half-kneeling, dazed, her face shining with sweat and satisfaction.

"You remember what we talked about, don't you?" Taylor said, voice low, intimate. "Your little fantasy?"

Melissa nodded, slowly. Her lips parted, her breath hitching.

Taylor smiled.

"About how you used to imagine kneeling behind some older, proper woman... one of those tightly dressed, uptight types... and pulling her panties down to see what was underneath?"

Melissa moaned faintly, biting her lip.

Taylor leaned in closer, her hand still spreading Elizabeth's cheeks apart, her face close to that exposed, twitching hole.

"Melissa always wanted to taste an older slut's ass. Not just anyone. A woman who looks composed. Who acts like she's above it all. But behind closed doors..." Her fingers slid down, smearing Elizabeth's slick across her inner thigh. "Dripping. Humiliated. Ready to be licked open like a dessert."

Elizabeth whimpered. Her cunt clenched helplessly.

Taylor gave her cheek a light smack.

"She's wanted this for so long, Liz," she murmured, dragging a finger along the seam of her swollen lips. "Not just to be worshipped. But to do the worshipping. And you -- god, look at you -- you're exactly the kind of woman she dreamed about."

Melissa was crawling forward now, drawn by gravity, by lust, by the perfect curve of the older woman's spread ass.

Taylor smiled.

"Ask her for it," she whispered to Melissa. "Ask to taste the old bitch's hole. Make her hear how badly you want it."

Elizabeth's knees buckled slightly.

Her breath came in tiny, panicked gasps.

And Melissa opened her mouth--

Melissa leaned in slowly, eyes fixed on Elizabeth's exposed, trembling hole. Her breath was hot as it ghosted across the soft skin, and she moaned softly before letting her tongue drag one long, slow lick from the bottom of Elizabeth's slit all the way up between her cheeks.

Elizabeth gasped -- a high, broken sound that cracked open from somewhere deep in her chest.

Her knees trembled.

Her arms nearly gave out.

But she stayed bent -- thighs spread, cheeks parted, cunt dripping.

Melissa licked again -- this time slower, wetter, pressing the flat of her tongue against Elizabeth's asshole and swirling. She moaned like she'd been starving for it. Her hands reached up, gripping the older woman's hips, fingers sinking into soft flesh, nails grazing the skin.

"Oh my god," Elizabeth whimpered. "Oh--fuck--"

Taylor stood behind them, watching, lips curled in satisfaction.

"Sloppy, Melissa," she said calmly. "Give her what you always dreamed of."

Melissa groaned against the flesh, burying her face deeper, her nose slipping between Elizabeth's cheeks as her tongue plunged and circled, kissed and licked. Wet, filthy, worshipful.

Elizabeth shook.

Her thighs glistened. Slick dripped in thick strings from her swollen lips to the floor, a slow, obscene trail of arousal that smeared down her inner legs. Her pussy clenched helplessly with every stroke of Melissa's tongue on her ass.

"I can't--I'm--" she moaned.

"You can," Taylor murmured, stepping close again. Her hand stroked down Elizabeth's spine, soothing and firm. "But now it's time to give her what she really wants."

Taylor leaned in.

"Turn around."

Elizabeth obeyed.

Unsteady, she turned on shaking legs and dropped to her knees, facing Melissa -- cheeks flushed, mouth wet, eyes glassy with need. Her hands came to her thighs. Her legs opened instinctively, her cunt glistening between them, wide and bare and absolutely soaked.

"Tell her," Taylor said, standing behind her now, voice thick with delight. "Tell Melissa what a desperate old slut you are. Beg her to lick your dripping pussy."

Elizabeth whimpered.

She looked down at Melissa -- who was still kneeling, face slick with her spit, lips wet, flushed, ravenous.

"Please," Elizabeth whispered.

Taylor smacked her ass. "Louder."

"Please, Melissa," she moaned. "Please lick my pussy. I'm-- I'm so wet. I need it. I need you."

Melissa's mouth parted in a filthy grin.

"God," she breathed. "You are soaked. You're a fucking mess, Liz."

She leaned in -- her hands spreading Elizabeth's thighs wider, thumbs dragging over the slick outer lips before parting them gently. Her tongue pressed to Elizabeth's clit in one firm, slow swirl.

Elizabeth sobbed.

Her head dropped back. Her hips jerked forward.

Melissa licked again, then lower -- tongue plunging through the slick folds, moaning as she tasted everything. It was thick, messy, salty-sweet, dripping down her chin as she buried her face fully between Elizabeth's thighs.

"Jesus, you taste like you've been waiting for this for years," she murmured, voice thick, tongue already working in fast, obscene circles. "Your pussy's like a leaking fucking faucet."

Elizabeth was shaking violently now -- her moans loud, wet, uncontrollable.

Melissa got dirtier -- hungrier.

She sucked her clit hard, then let her tongue slap it -- fast, playful, cruel.

"You like that?" she growled between licks. "You like me licking this fat, swollen cunt? You want me to drink you?"

"Yes--yes, don't stop--oh fuck--"

Melissa smirked, then buried her face again, harder this time, her mouth working sloppily -- spit and slick everywhere, dripping down her own chin, smearing down Elizabeth's thighs. She shook her head side to side, tongue flicking wildly, noises loud and shameless.

Taylor crouched beside them, watching like it was art.

"Look at you both," she murmured. "One filthy little fountain. One eager little tongue."

Melissa moaned into Elizabeth's cunt. "God, she's dripping," she laughed. "She's like a faucet on full blast. You could fucking bathe in her."

Elizabeth cried out again -- louder, broken.

Her hands clutched at Melissa's hair now, hips bucking, her entire body drawn to that mouth, that tongue, that humiliation.

"I'm going to--oh god--"

"Not yet," Taylor warned, fingers digging into Elizabeth's inner thigh. "Hold it. Let her drink you a little more."

Melissa licked harder.

Sucked.

Flicked.

And Elizabeth trembled on the edge, every muscle in her body pulled taut, her pussy messier by the second, glistening and pulsing, begging to be taken--

And Melissa never stopped.

Not once.

Elizabeth's body was vibrating.

Her thighs shook violently around Melissa's head, the soft flesh quivering with every ragged breath she sucked in. Her cunt was raw, drenched, clit swollen and throbbing -- every nerve a live wire. Melissa's tongue didn't slow -- not for a second. She licked like she wanted to possess her. Like she meant to leave no trace of Elizabeth untouched, untasted.

Taylor crouched beside them, her fingers tracing lazy circles over Elizabeth's inner thigh, watching like a curator admiring a sculpture mid-collapse.

"Now," she whispered. "Let it go. Show her what her tongue's earned."

And Elizabeth broke.

It started in her belly -- a clenched, desperate heat that snapped loose and surged through her like a scream. Her back arched violently, shoulders jerking off the floor as her thighs clamped hard around Melissa's ears. Her pussy clenched, once--twice--and then it began.

She came.

Hard.

Wet.

Messy.

A sharp cry burst from her throat as her cunt convulsed, juices spilling in hot, pulsing waves across Melissa's open mouth. It was a flood -- raw and uncontrolled -- splashing down her thighs, soaking Melissa's face, dripping to the floor beneath her.

Melissa moaned into it, never backing off. Her tongue kept moving -- flicking, swirling, then flattening wide over Elizabeth's clit, slurping with filthy pleasure as more slick gushed against her lips.

"Oh--god--fuck--" Elizabeth sobbed, voice cracking. Her face was contorted, her jaw slack, her eyes fluttering behind soaked lashes. Her hands clawed weakly at the floor. Her cunt spasmed again, leaking, pulsing, drooling down Melissa's chin.

Taylor leaned in and whispered, right into her ear.

"You're coming all over her face, Liz. Look at her -- drinking it like it's her first fucking meal. You're feeding her like the old slut you are."

Elizabeth moaned louder, shuddering as another ripple tore through her. Her legs were giving out. Her ass jerked, her hips twitching in raw, involuntary spasms as Melissa stayed buried in her pussy, her tongue working through every last wave.

"Fuck," Melissa gasped between sucks, lips smeared, face slick and glistening. "She tastes so fucking filthy--so sweet--oh my god--she's still coming..."

Taylor just smiled, fingers idly stroking Elizabeth's wet belly now. "Of course she is. She needed this. All those years pretending she didn't want to kneel. Pretending she wasn't soaked like a bitch in heat."

Elizabeth cried out again -- a shorter, broken sob -- as her orgasm finally began to fade, leaving her limp, twitching, her pussy still open, red, leaking.

Melissa pulled back at last, face dripping with cunt juice, lips swollen and wet.

She licked her lips, slow and shameless, and whispered:

"I want more."

And Elizabeth, still gasping, still glazed in pleasure and shame, could only moan her name.

The air inside the stall was thick with sex. It clung to their skin, to the walls, to the floor beneath them where Elizabeth's slick still glistened in slow rivulets between the tiles. Melissa knelt back on her heels, face shiny with cunt, lips swollen and open, licking the last traces of Elizabeth's orgasm from the corner of her mouth like it was dessert she hadn't finished yet.

Elizabeth was slumped against the cold divider, legs spread, knees weak, hair clinging to her damp cheeks in curling strands. Her chest still rose and fell in short, shivery breaths, her nipples peeking taut and red through the wrinkled lace of her bra. Her pussy was flushed, open, wet -- folds still twitching with aftershocks.

Taylor stood over them, composed, untouched, immaculate in her pale blouse and wicked calm.

She didn't smile.

She only said, "Get dressed."

Elizabeth blinked. Her head lolled forward, dazed. "Wha--?"

Taylor stepped closer, crouching down between them, her eyes sharp and low.

"I said get dressed. We're not finished. Not even close."

She reached down and dragged two fingers through the slick mess still trailing from Elizabeth's cunt. Brought them to her lips. Tasted.

Then turned to Melissa.

"You," she said. "Wipe your face. Put your little panties back on. You're going to be eating her again before midnight."

Melissa moaned softly, lips curling in a dazed grin. "Yes, ma'am."

Taylor stood and turned to Elizabeth, who was now fumbling with her crumpled panties, trembling fingers trying to gather the damp lace from the floor.

Taylor's voice dropped to a near-whisper.

"And you..."

Elizabeth looked up, eyes wide and glassy.

Taylor reached out and hooked a finger under her chin, tilting her face up. Her thumb pressed to Elizabeth's bottom lip -- soft, wet, parted -- and dragged it down slowly.

"You're going to keep your mouth open when I tell you. You're going to keep your legs open unless I close them. And you're going to remember what it means to be chosen."

Elizabeth's breath caught. Her cunt clenched.

Taylor leaned closer, her breath warm against her cheek.

"It's going to be a long night, Elizabeth. And I want you soaked through every moment of it."

Elizabeth whimpered.

Taylor pulled back and snapped her fingers.

"Now. Up. Both of you."

They moved -- slow, shaky, obedient.

Melissa smoothed her skirt back over her thighs, no longer bothering to wipe her chin. Elizabeth dragged her panties up her slick thighs with a tremble, the wet fabric clinging against her still-pulsing folds. Her bra was twisted, the lace dark with sweat and saliva. She didn't fix it.

She didn't dare.

Taylor watched them.

Composed.

Triumphant.

And then she turned, her hand resting lightly on the stall door.

The stall door creaked open with a soft, weighted groan.

Taylor stepped out first -- calm, collected, every inch of her polished blouse and tucked skirt untouched by the filth she'd orchestrated. Melissa followed behind her, flushed but almost proud, lips slick and pink, her skirt still askew from where it had bunched around her waist.

Elizabeth stepped out last.

Her knees still weak. Her panties sticky and soaked, clinging between her thighs like a secret that refused to stay hidden. Her blouse was wrinkled, damp beneath the arms. The lace of her bra was slightly twisted beneath the fabric, one strap crooked and slipping down her shoulder. Her makeup was smeared -- not enough to be obvious at a distance, but up close? Anyone would see the sheen on her lips, the pink puffiness around her mouth. The flush in her cheeks that hadn't faded.

She tried to breathe.

Tried to reset her face into something neutral. Something like composure.

And then she saw her.

Nora.

Standing at the sink.

Frozen.

Her back was straight. Her hands were resting lightly on the counter, not moving. Not washing. Just still.

Elizabeth's heart stopped.

Literally. For a beat -- then two.

Then it started again with a panicked thud that echoed in her ears louder than the overhead lights. Her whole body went cold, then hot -- a flush of fire blooming up her neck.

Nora.

Forty-four. Married. Local.

They lived in the same town.

Their kids went to the same school. Soccer practice. Field trips. Choir.

They had worked together. Eight years ago. Elizabeth had trained her. She remembered the coffee breaks, the shared eye rolls during meetings. Nora had been sweet. Quiet. She had a soft voice, a tidy desk, that floral perfume Elizabeth always found comforting.

And now -- now she was staring into the mirror.

Expression unreadable.

She hadn't looked back yet.

But she didn't have to.

She had been there.

Elizabeth could see it in the angle of her shoulder. In the tension in her jaw. In the slight tremble at her wrist, where her fingers gripped the sink like she might break it.

She had heard everything.

The moans. The slaps. The wet sounds. Melissa's dirty talk. Taylor's voice like silk and command. Elizabeth begging. Coming. Begging again.

She had heard it all.

Elizabeth swallowed. Her mouth was dry.

She tried to speak. Failed. Then--

"Nora..." she said, barely above a whisper.

Nora didn't turn.

But her eyes flicked up -- into the mirror.

Met hers.

For just a second.

And in that second, Elizabeth felt her stomach drop out completely.

Because Nora didn't flinch.

She didn't look surprised.

She didn't look shocked.

She just looked at her -- blank and quiet -- and then looked away.

Washing her hands now.

Like nothing had happened.

Like she hadn't heard Elizabeth sob her orgasm into another woman's mouth five feet away.

Like she hadn't stood there, perfectly still, while a 48-year-old woman licked a 23-year-old's asshole like it was sacrament.

Like she hadn't listened to Taylor telling Elizabeth to open her mouth and beg for her pussy to be licked.

But she had.

Everyone in that bathroom now knew.

And Nora?

Nora was the kind of woman who wouldn't tell.

Because she didn't need to.

Because her silence would scream louder than anything she could say.

Elizabeth's legs almost gave out again.

She mumbled something -- a broken, "Good to see you..." -- and immediately hated herself for it.

Taylor, beside her, said nothing.

She simply looked at Elizabeth.

Smirked.

And walked toward the exit.

Melissa followed.

Elizabeth stood frozen, her heart hammering, her cunt still leaking into her panties, face flushed and burning.

Nora never said a word.

And Elizabeth knew -- somehow, deep in her bones -- that she would never live this moment down.

Elizabeth hesitated before following.

Her legs still shook with the ghost of orgasm. Her soaked panties clung like shame between her thighs, a slick reminder of everything she'd done -- everything Nora had heard. She hurried out into the corridor, the hallway outside the bathroom suddenly feeling far too bright, far too open.

She spotted her instantly.

Nora's back was to her, walking toward the wide glass exit of the conference center's east wing, her heels clicking against the marble floor with calm precision. Her shoulders were straight. Hair pulled into a tight, controlled twist -- not a strand out of place. She wore a pale mauve blouse tucked into high-waisted slacks that flattered her mature curves: subtle, elegant, authority in quiet silhouette. Her hips swayed with a cool detachment, each step measured, restrained, deliberate.

Elizabeth rushed to catch up.

"Nora--" she called, her voice cracking.

Nora stopped.

Slowly.

And turned.

Her face was unreadable.

But her eyes -- god, those eyes -- looked at Elizabeth like she was nothing. No raised brows. No scowl. Just a cold, steady gaze that seemed to take in everything at once: the flush in Elizabeth's cheeks, the sweat still clinging to her hairline, the faint smear of mascara, the slightly parted lips still tinged with arousal.

Nora didn't speak.

She waited.

Elizabeth's voice trembled. "I--look, I just want to say--what you heard, it's not--"

Nora's lips pressed into a line.

Her tone was razor-flat.

"I don't need an explanation."

Elizabeth blinked, mouth still open.

Nora tilted her head slightly, eyes moving -- slowly -- from Elizabeth's face down to her chest, then her hips. A glance. Not vulgar. But enough to make Elizabeth feel naked again.

Then back to her eyes.

"You're going to call me."

Elizabeth's breath caught.

Nora stepped closer -- just half a step -- and lowered her voice.

"After the conference. When we're both home. You'll take some time. Get yourself cleaned up. And you'll call."

Elizabeth's heart was pounding.

"I--yes," she said, her voice barely more than a gasp. "I will."

Nora looked at her a moment longer. There was something unreadable behind her calm -- not anger, not disgust. Something slower. Something heavier.

"Good."

And then she turned.

Walked away with that same smooth, measured gait.

Elizabeth stood frozen.

Her panties were soaked. Her thighs sticky. Her mouth dry.

But her nipples...

Her nipples were hard beneath her blouse. Throbbing.

And between her legs, that humiliating pulse hadn't stopped.

She swallowed hard.

And whispered to herself:

"... fuck."

To be continued...