Patricia watched—eyes wide, breath shallow, pupils blown so dark they swallowed the hazel—then joined her.
Two MILFs on their knees before me.
Margaret kissed the left side of my torso—slow, reverent drags of lips over ribs, tongue flicking the sensitive skin just beneath my pectoral until the muscle jumped and a low hiss escaped my teeth.
Patricia mirrored her on the right—tentative at first, then bolder, open-mouthed kisses along the curve of muscle, tasting salt and heat and the faint trace of my pulse that hammered faster under her tongue with every wet pull.
They moved in tandem, a silent choreography: Margaret's teeth grazing hard enough to leave faint red crescents, Patricia's tongue following to soothe the sting with slow, circling laps, Margaret's hands sliding up my sides to cup my pecs and squeeze fingers digging in until the muscle flexed and bulged under her palms.
