Dear Diary 1977

"It’s so pink inside," Jennifer said.

Her voice was hushed with reverence.

"And so wet and delicious." Jennifer said.

The beautiful woman didn't speak. She simply leaned forward and blew a gentle stream of air across the exposed, hyper-sensitive tissues. She than took a quick lick up and down. The sensation was electric, a cool shock that made Kristy's entire body convulse. A ragged weep tore from her throat.

"Perfect," Jennifer declared, her eyes gleaming.

They held her there, in that state of maximum exposure, for several long moments, simply looking. Kristy felt like a pinned butterfly, her wings spread, her vibrant colors examined under a cruel microscope. She could feel their eyes on her, cataloging every ridge, every fold, every variation in color and texture. It was the most intimate and the most humiliating moment of her life.

Then, the feast began again. This time, it was different. They weren't just licking her. They were tasting the inside walls of Kristy’s vagina. Jennifer flattened her tongue and pressed it deep, exploring the textured walls, her nose buried against Kristy's stretched pussy. The beautiful woman used the tip of her tongue to trace the delicate, circular ridge of Kristy's clit, a sensation so deep and foreign it made Kristy's head spin.

"Feel how she clenches around my tongue when I do this?" Jennifer asked.

Jennifer was demonstrating a swirling motion that made Kristy's vision white out with sensation. The beautiful woman added her own tongue, and Kristy felt the impossible sensation of both of them licking inside her at once, their tongues brushing against each other in the tight, wet space. The sounds were wet, sloppy, utterly depraved. Kristy's mind was fracturing, the pain of the stretch and the intense, invasive pleasure merging into a single, overwhelming force.

The air in the locker room was filled with the scent of arousal and exertion. Kristy's body, a landscape of sensation, was tight as a bowstring. Her back remained arched against the unyielding wood of the bench, but her hips had developed a life of their own. They moved in a slow, sinuous rhythm, a desperate, involuntary dance against the emptiness left by the women's retreat. Her pussy, held open by their combined effort, was a revelation. It was a deep, wet, pink cavern, glistening under the dim light with a mixture of her own copious fluids and their thick saliva. The delicate inner walls, usually hidden, were now exposed, pulsing slightly with the frantic beat of Kristy's heart. It was a sight of profound vulnerability, and it was utterly captivating.

Kristy's mouth was agape, a perfect, silent 'O' of overwhelming sensation. Her breath came in ragged, shallow pants, each one a testament to the ordeal her body was enduring. Her eyes, wide and unfocused, stared at the ceiling, seeing nothing but the kaleidoscope of pleasure and pain exploding behind her eyelids. She was no longer a participant in her own defilement; she was its epicenter. A low, guttural sound from Jennifer broke the spell.

"I'm not done tasting," Jennifer said.

Her voice was thick with a primal hunger. She shifted forward, her movements economical and purposeful. Without preamble, she plunged her tongue back into the gaping vagina. It was not a gentle exploration; it was a conquest. Her tongue, thick and muscular, speared deep, reaching for the very back of Kristy's pussy. The sensation was a deep, invasive pressure, a fullness that stole Kristy's breath and replaced it with a choked gasp. Jennifer curled the tip of her tongue, dragging it against the textured walls, scraping against sensitive nerve endings that sent jolts of electricity skittering up Kristy's spine.

Kristy's hips bucked violently, a sharp, upward thrust that met Jennifer's invasive tongue. A guttural moan, raw and animalistic, was torn from her throat. The movement was instinctual, a primal response to the deep, probing stimulation. It was the motion of riding, of taking a cock deep inside, and the realization sent a fresh wave of shame and heat through her. She was riding this woman's tongue, seeking more of the exquisite violation.

Jennifer felt the response and a smile stretched her lips, though Kristy couldn't see it. She began to fuck Kristy with her tongue in an intense rhythm. Each thrust was deep and deliberate, her nose pressing firmly against the top of the vagina. The wet, sucking sounds were excessive. It was filling the locker room with the percussive beat of their act. Saliva, thick and copious, dripped from Jennifer's chin. It mingled with Kristy's own juices that now leaked in a steady, uncontrollable stream, running down the crack of her ass to pool on the bench beneath her.

After long moments of pussy eating, Jennifer pulled back, her face a glistening mask of Kristy's juices. She took a deep, shuddering breath.

"Your turn," she whispered to the beautiful woman.

The beautiful woman moved with grace. There was no raw hunger in her, only a chilling, focused task. She leaned in, her eyes scanning the wet, gaping pussy before her like an aficionado examining a rare jewel. Her approach was delicate, almost reverent. She extended her tongue, which was long and slender, and touched it to the very edge of the opening. It was a feather light contact, a whisper of a sensation that made Kristy's entire body tremble.

Where Jennifer had been a storm, the beautiful woman was a study in pressure points. She slowly, deliberately, slid her tongue inside. It was a relaxed and exploratory journey. She didn't thrust. She strolled. She traced the intricate ridges of the vaginal walls, mapping every contour, every sensitive patch of flesh. Kristy's hips continued their rhythmic bouncing, a desperate counterpoint to the woman's slow, torturous exploration. The moans that escaped Kristy's lips were higher now, thinner, filled with a pleading quality.

The beautiful woman found a particularly sensitive spot on the front wall, a spongy, textured area that made Kristy cry out sharply, her body convulsing. Instead of exploiting it, the woman simply paused, the tip of her tongue resting on that spot, applying a steady, maddening pressure. She held it there, letting the sensation build to an almost unbearable peak. Kristy's hands, cuffed beneath the bench, clenched into fists, her nails digging into her own palms. The pleasure was so intense it was a form of agony.

Then, the woman began to use her lips. She pressed them against the stretched, gaping labia, sucking gently, creating a vacuum that pulled at the sensitive tissues. The combination of the deep, steady pressure of her tongue and the pulling suction of her mouth was a new and exquisite torture. Kristy's head thrashed from side to side, her mouth wide, silent screams of pleasure-pain catching in her throat.

Having explored the depths, the woman turned her attention to the exterior. She withdrew her tongue slowly, eliciting a long, drawn out moan from Kristy. She then lowered her head and began to kiss Kristy's inner thighs. Her lips were soft, impossibly soft, and the kisses were gentle, almost chaste. She started high, near the juncture of Kristy's hip, and worked her way down, leaving a trail of warm, moist impressions on the fevered skin. The contrast was dizzying. After the brutal invasion of her core, this tender worship of her thighs was disorienting, a moment of strange intimacy in the midst of her violation. She nibbled gently with her teeth, not to hurt, but to tease, raising goosebumps on Kristy's flesh.

Jennifer watched this for a moment, her chest heaving. The sight of the other woman's tenderness seemed to ignite a fresh fire in her.

"My turn with the outside," she said.

Jennifer pushed the beautiful woman aside. Jennifer's approach to Kristy's labia was one of pure, insatiable consumption. She took one of the swollen, glistening outer lips into her mouth and sucked hard, pulling it away from Kristy's body before letting it snap back. She bit down, not hard enough to break the skin, but with enough force to send a sharp, stinging jolt of pain through Kristy.

She then used her tongue to sweep the area she had just abused, a confusing mix of pain and soothing wetness. She repeated this with the other lip, her movements sloppy and reckless. She was eating, feasting, and the sounds she made were wet, hungry, and utterly depraved. She covered every inch of the labia, her tongue exploring every crease and fold, her teeth leaving faint, temporary marks on the flushed skin. The taste was divine, and she wanted to absorb it all.

The beautiful woman, displaced once more, simply watched for a moment, her analytical gaze taking in every detail. Then, she rejoined the feast. Her focus was the inner labia, the delicate, petal-soft folds that were now so engorged and sensitive. She didn't bite. Instead, she used the very tip of her tongue to trace their intricate edges, a delicate, precise motion that made Kristy's hips jerk spasmodically. She took one of the small folds between her thumb and forefinger, holding it taut, and then licked it relentlessly with the flat of her tongue, over and over, until Kristy was whimpering, a constant, high-pitched sound of distress.

They fell into a new rhythm. Jennifer would devour the outer lips with her hungry mouth, while the beautiful woman would torture the inner ones with her precise, maddening tongue. Then, they would switch. Kristy's pussy was a battleground of sensations, a canvas for their opposing techniques. It was soaked, absolutely drenched, leaking a continuous river of fluids that mixed with the thick layers of their saliva. The entire area was a mess of wet, glistening flesh, and the bouncing of Kristy's hips became more frantic, more desperate, as she tried to process the conflicting signals.

Suddenly, Jennifer pulled back, a wicked gleam in her eye. Without warning, she drew back her hand and brought it down in a sharp, stinging slap directly onto Kristy's gaping, exposed pussy. The sound was a wet, meaty thwack that echoed in the locker room.

A scream, raw and piercing, was ripped from Kristy's lungs. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated pain. The impact was a shock, a violent, hot explosion that obliterated everything else. Her body jackknifed as much as the restraints would allow, her back arching off the bench. A fresh gush of fluid erupted from her.

The beautiful woman's eyes widened, not with shock, but with fascination. She watched the red handprint bloom on the flushed, wet skin. A moment later, she mimicked the action. Her slap was just as hard, just as sudden. Thwack! Kristy screamed again, the sound tearing from her throat, her body convulsing with the shock.

There was a rain of pain. Jennifer's hand would crash hard into the pussy. Kristy's scream would be a high and loud, filled with agony. Then, a pause, a heartbeat of stunned silence, before the beautiful woman's hand would land, her strike just as precise, just as brutal, eliciting another gut-wrenching cry. The sounds were a sickening percussion. The wet slap of flesh on flesh, followed immediately by the sharp, musical crack of Kristy's scream. The red handprints bloomed on her skin like dark, terrible flowers, overlapping, creating a tapestry of abuse on her most sensitive flesh.

With each slap, Kristy's entire body would seize. Her hips, which had been bouncing in a rhythm of pleasure, now jumped with each impact, a reflexive, violent spasm. The gaping opening of her pussy seemed to clench and quiver with each blow, as if trying to protect itself, but it was useless. It was just an open, wet target. Her mind went blank, a white wall of pain. There was no room for thought, no room for processing the humiliation. There was only the searing, sharp agony of the impact, followed by the deep, throbbing ache that radiated through her pelvis. The bouncing of her hips was no longer a dance of lust; it was the frantic, convulsive jerking of a body in torment.

After a dozen or more blows, they stopped. The sudden cessation of pain was almost as shocking as its onset. Kristy lay panting, her body trembling uncontrollably. A low, continuous whimper escaped her gaping mouth. Her pussy throbbed, a deep, pulsing ache that seemed to encompass her entire being. It was on fire, inflamed and hypersensitive. The skin was a mottled, angry red, and the gaping entrance seemed to pulse with a life of its own, a dark, wet eye weeping fluid.

Jennifer leaned in, her face close to the abused flesh. She didn't touch it with her hands or mouth. Instead, she inhaled deeply, her nostrils flaring.

"She smells even better when she's in pain," she murmured, her voice a low, satisfied rumble.

The beautiful woman watched, her eyes unreadable. She reached out, not to slap, but with a single, outstretched finger. She touched the very center of the reddest, most inflamed area. The touch was feather-light, but it was like touching a live wire. Kristy shrieked, her body bowing off the bench. The gentle pressure on the brutally slapped skin was an agony all its own.

The woman traced the outline of one of the handprints, her finger a slow, torturous instrument of sensation.

"The tissue is so hot," she observed clinically, as if discussing a lab specimen.

Their focus shifted back to the gaping hole itself. The slaps had seemed to make it gape even wider, the muscles too shocked and abused to contract. Jennifer, her hunger reawakened by the scent of pain and arousal, went first. Her tongue, when it re-entered Kristy, was met with a furnace. The inner walls were hot, inflamed from the percussive trauma. The taste was different now, sharper, with a strong flavor that spoke of her suffering.

Jennifer didn't fuck the pussy with her tongue this time. She explored. She pressed the flat of her tongue against the front wall, right over the sensitive bundle of nerves she had found before. The pressure applied to the already hyper-stimulated tissue, was excruciating. Kristy's moan was a broken, sobbing sound. Jennifer began to move her tongue in slow, deliberate circles, grinding against that spot, milking the sensation. It was a deep, aching pleasure that was so intense it bordered on torture. Kristy's hips, still jerking spasmodically, began to move again, a slow, pained grind against Jennifer's face, seeking an end to the unbearable stimulation, or perhaps seeking its climax. She couldn't tell anymore.

When Jennifer finally withdrew, her mouth glistening, the beautiful woman took her place. Her approach was different. She seemed fascinated by the mixture of fluids. She pressed her lips to the gaping opening and sucked. Hard. She drew the mixture of Kristy's juices, her own saliva, and the lingering evidence of their shared feast into her mouth. The suction was intense, pulling at the sensitive inner walls, creating a feeling of being hollowed out. Kristy felt a deep, pulling pressure in her core.

The woman pulled back, swallowing, a look of intense concentration on her face. Then she did it again, and again. Each time, she would hold the suction for a long moment before releasing it with a wet pop. It was a strange, violating act, and Kristy felt utterly used, like a vessel from which these two women were drinking. The bouncing of her hips became weaker, more erratic, her strength failing her under the relentless assault.

They returned to the labia, which were now swollen to twice their normal size, dark red and glistening. Jennifer took one of the outer lips between her teeth and chewed on it. There wasn’t a lot of pressure, but a continuous, scraping pressure that was maddening. At the same time, she used her tongue to lash the sensitive skin beneath, creating a confusing storm of sensation. The beautiful woman, meanwhile, focused on the clitoris. It was fully engorged, a hard, pearl-like nodule peeking out from its hood.

She didn't touch it directly at first. She used her tongue to circle it, again and again, tracing the shape of the hood, getting closer with each pass but never making contact. The teasing was a form of torture in itself. Kristy's whimper grew more desperate, her hips straining upwards, trying to force contact. Finally, the woman took pity, or perhaps she simply wanted to see the reaction. She flattened her tongue and pressed it firmly against Kristy's clit, grinding down in a slow, hard circle.

The effect was instantaneous. A scream, different from the others, tore from Kristy's throat. It was a scream of pure, unadulterated, overwhelming release. Her entire body went rigid, every muscle locking in a paroxysm of sensation. Her back bowed into a perfect, agonized curve, pulling so hard against the cuffs that the metal groaned. A tidal wave of fluid gushed from her, a powerful ejaculation that soaked both women's faces and chests. Her gaping pussy clenched and pulsed in a frantic, visible rhythm, a deep, internal orgasm that seemed to go on forever.

For long moments, the only sound in the room was Kristy's harsh, ragged breathing and the frantic pounding of her own heart in her ears. She collapsed back onto the bench, limp, spent, a puppet with its strings cut. Her body continued to twitch with aftershocks, small, uncontrollable tremors that ran through her limbs.

Jennifer and the beautiful woman leaned back, their faces slick and shining. They looked at each other, a silent communication passing between them. They had broken her, taken her apart piece by piece, and put her back together in a new shape, one defined by their will and their desire. Kristy's pussy, still gaping, still throbbing, was a testament to their work. It was red, raw, and utterly ravished, a beautiful, ruined thing. And they knew, with a certainty that chilled them to the bone, that they were not finished with her yet. Not by a long shot.