No matter how many times he gazed into her open cunt, no matter how many times he saw the silky black fur sopping with juice, clinging to her puckering, inflamed labia, no matter how many times he peered between those ragged petals, at the creamy, hot moist pink flesh of her inner sex, at the very mouth of her cunt, he never failed to be awed by it. There was something about the startling contrast between the satiny, alabaster whiteness of the surrounding skin, of thigh and buttocks, and the angry red of her hairy cunt: it was feral, salacious, unspeakably obscene.

Paul thrust his head forward, his mouth open, tongue extended, slobber spilling from his lips.

"Ooooooh!" she said, holding her palm flat against his forehead, holding him away from her yawning cunt.

He groaned. Stretching his tongue as far as he could, so far that the underside of it was cut by the edge of his bottom front teeth, he could just barely manage to make contact with her labia.

"Love it, Paul," she cooed, lifting her right leg, sliding her foot, her calve over his shoulder, tipping her whole fork up to him, showing him not only the gaping maw of her pussy, but the deep cleft of her ass as well. Nestled in the silky bun valley, tiny and red, was the wrinkly ring of her anus.

Paul blubbered, pushing against her hand, trying to get at her. Everything between her legs, her mound, her ass, her thighs, was slick with her viscous juice. He waggled his tongue madly from side to side, grazing the ragged edges of her glistening petals.

"No, Paul," she said huskily. "Love it. Love it."

The poor guy still didn't know what she was talking about, but he got the picture when she relaxed the stiff arm she had on his head. She let him lower his head, all right, but as she did, she pushed down with all her might, so that instead of his tongue dropping right into her open cunt, his hungry mouth covering her entrance, it fell an inch or so lower in her crotch.