A lesson from aunt Barbara

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The nagging sensations deep inside her cunt began to register on Betty Sue Swensen's awareness. Part of the excitement, she knew, causing her juices to flow and the slick pouty lips of her cuntal mouth to flex warmly and flush deep red, was because she hadn't seen her sister, Barbara Jean Crocker, in almost two years, not since she'd gone to live with that airline pilot in San Jose. When she and Barbara had been growing up together back in the family home, they had had more than a sisterly understanding, and just seeing her red-haired sister, younger than Betty's forty years by nearly six, seemed to bring those wild passionate nights back in a rush, centering just beneath the surface of her feverish groin.

"Oh, Barbara," she said, "it's so good to see you again!"

"For me, too, Betts," she said, noticing how her sweet sister's forty years had only mellowed her, softened out a few of her wilder, rougher edges. There wasn't a singe gray hair visible on her head, crowned by long flowing shoulder-length brown hair, the color matching her eyes. Both women still weighed about the same, though, one-hundred-and thirty pounds, but Barbara's five-foot-six-inches, shorter than Betty by two whole inches, seemed to make her look much heavier.

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