But Carrie loved most to be licked. She taught me just how, just where. She taught me, also, to ask for what I wanted, to direct with a moan and a shift of my hips, to not be afraid to whisper, "Yes, there! Keep doing that, just like that!"

We spent hours-literally hours-licking each other at night in the dark, making each other come so hard our ears rang, our pussies and mouths smeared with juices. It wasn't every night, of course. We were usually drinking, and it almost always began with Carrie telling me a story about some dating escapade. I remember the first time, we just masturbated together.

"Are you as hot as I am?" she whispered.

"Yeah."

"Are you touching yourself?"

"Are you?"

"Yeah."

"Me, too."

"Feel good?"

"God, yeah."

"Do you want to come?"

"Yessss…"

"Come with me… come on… oh… god…"

We did that for a while. Then one night she decided to slip into my bed. We'd been drinking a lot. Even now, the details are fuzzy to me. We were kissing and touching each other in the dark, my heavy breasts rubbing against her little ones, her thigh sliding up between mine. We tumbled and rolled on the little bed, and before I knew it, she was on top of me, turning herself around and burying her face between my legs.

There was no way to say no to that sweet, lapping tongue, no way to ignore the heat of her pussy against my cheek, the way her hips rocked as she begged me, "Lick it, please. Lick it, lick it, lick it!" I licked. And licked, and licked. I licked her until my tongue ached and my face was smeared with her come. I licked her until my own hips rocked with my climax and she sucked on my clit like a tiny little cock as if milking it for all she was worth.