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When her vibration had subsided, I started licking up the copious amount of pussy juice wetting her labia and running down the inside of her muscular thighs. I spread her lips and ran my tongue back and forth the length of her slit, eliciting some soft moans of appreciation. I put my tongue on her taint and let the motion of her hips run my tongue from the edge of her pussy almost to her asshole. Looking back I really can’t believe I did this my first time out, but all thought, such as it was, was coming from my dick. On the next stroke, I spread her ass and ran my tongue across her asshole and the length of her crack. Mrs. B. froze but didn’t say anything. I ran my tongue slowly down her crack stopping to gently rim her butt hole. I remember being surprised that I liked the taste, and there began my lifetime of eating ass.

One day she definitely knew the effect she had on me, even if she hadn’t before. I was writing an essay on The Grapes of Wrath and asked Mrs. B when she came by if a word was spelled correctly. She leaned over, her silky red hair brushing against my cheek and her breast lay against my left shoulder. My cock stiffened instantly—and uncomfortably. Without thinking, I reflexively reached down and maneuvered my throbbing dick into a more comfortable position. It did create a sizable tent pole in my pants that I tried to push down and hide, which only drew attention to my crotch. Mrs. B blushed noticeably, stood up while stifling a laugh and muttered an apology.

As like all the other times she spent a minute at least inhaling the scent of his crotch, but holding off on the usual tongue bath, she instead continued her climb. Her slim stomach and breasts slid along her father’s muscular and hairy chest until she was lying almost directly over him. He puffed away noisily under the tubes of his CPAP machine none the wiser, a frustrating device that prevented her from exploring his mouth as well.