Warm rain pelted Parveen's scalp as she dug two firm tits from Joliette's bra, sucking eagerly at those hard pink nipples. Sucking so hard she couldn't keep herself from biting the tender buds. Biting so hard Joliette cried out in pain.
Thunder rumbled the ground as Parveen sank to her knees, escaping the rain under cover of Joliette's floral skirt. Tearing her lace thong like a predator, Parveen threw the ruined garment into the grass and opened wide Joliette's legs. Like a tiger, her attack on those juicy folds was fierce. Relentlessly, she lapped the nectar from Jol's swollen cunt, piercing the flesh of her ass with jealous claws.
When Joliette cried out in the rain, Parveen planted her face against that screaming wet pussy, wrapping her mouth around those moist lips. She penetrated Joliette, thrashing furiously in that familiar fluid until her tongue muscles cramped from exertion. The flavour was tangy with an aftertaste of sweet, like sourdough bread chased by blueberry honey.
Parveen replaced her tongue with three fingers plunging frantically into Joliette's cunt, a pinky beating against her asshole, pitiless as the storm from above. As driving rain soaking her back, she swathed her lover's clit in the supple warmth of her pursed lips. Sucking noisily, her fingers raced into and out of that moist lair like an indecisive housecat on adrenaline.
Shrieking against the sheet lightening, Joliette's cunt was a vice on Parveen's fingers as the sparrow of a girl gripped the park bench like it was trying to escape. Parveen was never so wet as when her fleeting lover pronounced her name at the moment of climax, harmonic as Swan Lake. Licking long and slow, slit to clit, she begged telepathically for Jol to stay until the orgasmic convulsions subsided.
Wiping the pussy juices from her chin against Joliette's smooth white thigh, Parveen asked, "Where are going this time?"
The sparrow gazed into the heavens, droplets of rainwater falling from her narrow nose and chin.
"Do you know what I love about you?" Joliette asked rhetorically, tucking those perky tits back into her rain-soaked bra. "You respect me, respect my privacy. Know what I mean?"
Joliette rose to depart, long hair dripping as she bent to pick her torn thong from the green grass. She never left anything behind. Over the hillock, she disappeared into the blue-grey fog. Barely audible in the storm, the monogamous mourning doves cooed in consolation.
Like a war widow, Parveen carved their initials into the horizontal slat of the brown park bench, dry where Joliette had been sitting. The two were permanently attached now, living in a wooden heart on the public greens. Parveen might not know where in the world Joliette had gotten to, but she could always find this bench; its legs were cemented into the ground.
