My name is Felicity Magnolia Pearl. Everyone who knows me calls me the Georgia Peach, but ain’t none of ‘em know how I got that nickname, ‘cept one other person.

Yeah, sure, I’m from Georgia. Valdosta, to be exact, but that sure as hell ain’t got nothin’ to do with it.

I first got the nickname from Miss Annabelle Jenkins in eleventh grade, under the Valdosta High School bleachers durin’ our homecomin’ ball game. She was a sweet little thing; no more than five feet tall with long brunette curls, blue eyes, little B-cup titties, and a petite gymnast’s frame that made me swoon every time I smelled her sweet sweat in gym class.

But what really set me off was Annabelle’s luscious lips. Plump and pink. I am a bona fide sucker for full lips.

It also turned me on that she was the yin to my yang. You see, if Annabelle was a Ferrari, I’m more of a Cadillac, fully loaded with all the bells and whistles. Tall, curvy and delicious, long wavy golden hair and even longer legs. And ain’t nobody ever been able to keep their eyes off my jubblies because they’re like to spill out at any moment on account of they bein’ the most bodacious pair anyone ever seen, or likely gonna see.

But it ain't my girls what got me my nickname. Like I said, that came from Miss Annabelle, after a weeks-long seduction that ended with our faces covered in each other’s lady liquid.

With a big ol’ grin on her face, Miss Annabelle said, “My word, from now on, I’m gonna call you the Georgia Peach because that’s the sweetest thing I ever did taste.”

She wasn’t lyin’. My honeysuckle comes from the plush leather interior what makes the ride so smooth. Ain’t a boy or girl that’s ever been able to resist it, once I set my intentions on ‘em.

Yeah, that’s right, I like boys and girls. You see, I’m an equal opportunity enjoyer, even if I do prefer the soft delicate flesh of a fine feminine flower.

I liked the nickname, and it stuck until I went off to get my formal education at Rhode Island School of Design, which is the finest art school in these United States of America. After graduatin’ Summa Cum LOUD, I went on to get my Master's in Art and Design Education. You see, I ain’t all beauty ‘cause I got the brains to match.

A professor once told me that my “southern affectations” would work against me in the workin’ world, on account of people “not taking me seriously.”

I said, “Bless your heart! That’s awful kind of you. But, you see, Professor, I’m gettin’ an art degree, and this-here southern woman is one of the finest works of art ever crafted by the hands of God. So, if you don’t like my ‘southern affectations,’ well, I guess you should take it up with the master craftsman up in heaven. But until then, you can fuck right off.”

My first real-world job was workin’ as an intern at The Kinsey Institute at Indiana University, which is where this story begins.

After only a few months, my sexy lady-boss gave me a prestigious assignment catalogin’ the museum’s infamous erotic art collection. I say, “infamous,” ‘cause ain’t nobody from the public ever laid their eyes on it.

Down in the deepest dungeons of the University, there is all sorts of explicit art, from ancient Peruvian pottery depictin’ men and women in all manner of decadent and inspired sexual positions to piles upon piles of forbidden underground photography.

Some call it The Hidden Collection.

My job was to take pictures while another intern cataloged the condition of each piece to see if any were in dire need of restoration. Most of the artwork was locked up tight behind climate-controlled glass display cases, but I would be given a key ‘cause ain’t nobody can take good pictures through glass.

The Hidden Collection is the stuff of legend in the art world. Researchers and grad students are sometimes given access to it durin’ daytime museum hours, so the catalogin’ was to happen overnight. I arrived at eleven, afraid I’d be late because the heavens had let loose a deluge not seen since Noah built his ark.

My sexy lady-boss led me down to the lowest floor of the basement and through an electronic door that could only be accessed with a special card key.

She said, “Your partner for the night is already inside waiting. Her name is Mary, and she’s a newer intern, so I’m only giving you a key. You can give it back to me tomorrow.”

Watchin’ my sexy lady-boss talk made me wetter than a submarine with screen doors, and I knew that someday, I would have a lady-boss job of my own.

“Yes, ma’am,” I said with a smile.

“You aren’t going to get this project anywhere near finished tonight, so you should go home no later than four in the morning. Most importantly, Felicity, have fun.”

She said that last part with a smile that almost made me blush.

When I entered The Hidden Collection entryway, my partner in crime was sittin’ on a carved wooden bench with a clipboard in her lap. Dressed in a thick flannel shirt and long brown baggy pants, Mary looked like she was shuttered up tighter than a strip mall in a hurricane. With her brown hair up in a bun and tortoiseshell eyeglasses, she was the spittin’ image of a librarian straight outta my grandmamma’s high school yearbook.

When I walked in, she looked up at me with big brown doe-eyes and the plumpest, most succulent lips that have ever graced the female form.

Lord, have mercy!

She stood up and offered me her hand, “I’m Mary. You must be Felicity. So nice to meet you!”

“The pleasure is ALL mine, darlin’.”

I took Mary’s hand in mine. It was a delicate thing like the rest of her. She couldn’t have been more than 100 pounds soakin’ wet, which made her luscious lips stand out even more.

“Oh, wow,” she said, “I love your accent.”

“Do I have an accent? Ain’t nobody ever told me that before.”

Mary blushed, and it made my pussy tingle.

“I’m just playin’ with you, darlin’. Where you from?”

“A small mountain town in Colorado. I’m sure you’ve never heard of it.”

“So, you're just a down-home girl from a one-stoplight town. You sound like my kinda woman, Colorado.”

And god-DAMN, I sure as hell meant it!

The first exhibit we cataloged was an assortment of erotic Japanese scrolls. In between the process of catalogin’ various illustrations of girls and boys engaged in all sorts of lewd and lascivious behaviors, Mary and I got to know each other a bit more.

“You got your Ph.D. in Art Conservation at the University of Delaware?” I said with one eyebrow raised. “My, my. Brains and beauty. A girl after my own heart. You better be careful, Colorado, ‘cause you’re givin’ me the vapors.”

Mary blushed again and nervously started scribblin’ on her clipboard. I was already undressin’ her in my mind, imaginin’ firm, toned legs from all that mountain hikin’ she likely did growin’ up.

Those legs wrapped around my neck would be better than a cold slice of watermelon in the July shade.

Just then the lights flickered.

“Looks like that storm is still goin’ pretty strong,” I said.

The next scroll we cataloged depicted a man clappin’ cheeks with three women. While the cowboy was busy buryin’ his longhorn in one young lady’s rosebud, the other two honeys were shovin’ tongues into each other’s gapin’ dragons.

“Lord have mercy!” I said, dramatically fannin’ my face with my hand. “Now that looks like a party I wouldn’t want to miss.”

As I said it, I leaned forward until my boobies ever-so-slightly brushed against Mary’s back. Yeah, I’m a flirt, but I guess I just can’t help myself.

I added, “Reminds me of my first year in college.”

Goosebumps flared on Mary’s neck as she scribbled furiously.

She said, “Some of the nikawa on the binding is loose, and the sumi ink is flaking, right there by the…”

Seein’ what Mary was referrin’ to, I said, “Clitoris?”

I said it with as much southern drawl as I could muster.

“Such a clinical word. Maybe you should write, ‘lovebud’ instead.”

Mary’s neck was turnin’ red. She said, “The artist likely used cinnabar to craft those pink and red skin tones.”

“The man was probably the one what did it.”

Mary turned and looked into my eyes with those big brown peepers, confused by what I meant.

“Well, I mean, he probably couldn’t find that poor girl’s nubbin, so he tried to erase it from existence, like useless boys tend to do. I reckon that’s why she ended up shovin’ her tongue into that other geisha’s coin purse.”

Mary’s entire face flushed red, and she nervously averted her eyes.

“What’s the matter, Colorado? Your face looks like the Eshi done painted it with cinnabar.”

Just then, the lights flickered yet again. Obviously flustered by my naughty quips, Mary stepped away while I snapped a few photos.

We made our way through a room full of erotic art from the Pacific Northwest. Somethin’ in one of the glass cases caught my eye.

“My, my, Colorado, would you have a look at this?”

“What is it?”

“That’s a walrus oosik from the 19th century that’s been carved into a dildo, polished smooth, and scrimshawed with all sorts of heavenly delights.”

“What is an oosik?”

“Why, honey, an oosik is a walrus cock. It’s made out of real bone, so you know there are very few disappointed lady walruses.”

Mary tried to ignore my joke, but I saw the crack of a smile form on those juicy lips, so I knew that there just might be some pleasure under all that business.

We entered the next room, which was chock full of explicit European folklore artworks. Many of them had been banned for centuries.

The first piece of art depicted a so-called “wild woman,” an ink drawin’ of a nude young lady in the throes of ecstasy near a riverbank, surrounded by all manner of forest critters.

“I’ve heard of this drawing,” Mary said, pen held tight against her chin. “She is a primal archetype representing the untamed nature of women. Pure, ancient instinct. The primeval boundary between human civilization and the deep forest.”

“Lord have mercy, you say that like you’re speakin’ from experience. I wouldn’t have had you pegged for a wild woman, but my Gran always said, ‘Still water runs deep.’”

Just then, there was a loud boomin’ sound in the distance. The lights flickered on and off a few times before goin’ out entirely. For a moment, it was pitch black, but after a few seconds, a single emergency light turned on in the far corner of the room. It was just enough light to see by, but barely.

“Sounds like a transformer blew,” I said. “I reckon it’ll be a while before that gets fixed up.”

Neither of us had a cell phone signal, likely ‘cause we were in the basement of the museum, so we made our way back to the entryway.

I said, “You keep tryin’ to get a signal, and I’ll see if my card works on the electronic door.”

Neither of us had any luck.

Mary said, “Isn’t there another way to open the door?”

“If there is, I sure as hell don’t know nothin’ ‘bout it.”

Mary plopped down on the hard wooden bench.

“Well,” I said. “I reckon we’re gonna be here a while, Colorado.”

Mary looked nervous. She said, “It’s too dark in the museum for me to work. Should we just wait in here?”

My wheels were a-turnin’.

“This wooden bench ain’t gonna cut it for me. I got a better idea. Follow me, darlin’.”

I led Mary back to the large Pacific Northwest room, to the south corner where I had seen a collection of items from a brothel in Alaska durin’ the gold rush. They were set up to recreate an entire bedroom, with a very uncomfortable lookin’ twin bed, a maroon crushed velvet divan, and a bearskin rug spread out on the floor.

After disconnectin’ the rope barrier from one of the stanchions, I plopped my fine ass down on the divan and patted the space next to me with my hand.

“Come sit by me, Colorado. This divan is divine.”

Obviously shocked by my brash behavior, Mary said, “I don’t think that’s a good idea. We could get in trouble for…”

I cut her off. “Darlin’, the power is out, and we’re likely gonna be here ‘til mornin’, so we have to get comfortable. Now, there ain’t nothin’ wrong with sittin’ on a couch that’s seen more action than a jackrabbit in heat durin’ springtime.”

Mary acquiesced, but she looked nervous as all get-out, hands clenched in her lap, starin’ down at her clipboard.

“For heaven’s sake, Colorado, you’re buttoned up tighter than Fort Knox.” Reachin’ for the clipboard, I said, “Here, girl. Give me this thing before your eyes bore a hole through it.”

Mary willingly let it go, and I set it on the floor. I scooched over a bit until our bodies were touchin’.

“Tell me somethin’, Colorado, are you spoken for?”

She lifted her eyes to meet mine, and said, “Well, no. I mean, I had a boyfriend in college, and we tried to make it work for a while after I moved here, but he broke up with me about a month ago.”

Shakin’ my head, I said, “Damn fool.”

Mary perked up a bit from my comment and said, “You keep calling me Colorado. Nobody has ever called me that. I kind of like it. Do you have a nickname?”

Leanin’ in closer so I could say my words in a hushed tone, I said, “Darlin’, they call me the Georgia Peach.”

“How did you get your nickname?”

“On account of my juicy peach bein’ the sweetest thing you ever tasted.”

Mary was tremblin’. I put my hand on hers, gently strokin’ up and down along the length of each tiny finger.

“Felicity, I’m flattered, but I’m straight.”

Lordy, lordy… ripe for the pluckin’!

“Yet, you ain’t pulled away your hand, Darlin’. Do you like my touch?”

She stammered, “Yes. Are you tryin’ to seduce me?”

“Not yet, Darlin’, but I’m fixin’ to.”

I leaned in even closer. Close enough to feel the heat pourin’ outta Colorado’s face. With my mouth almost touchin’ her ear, I whispered, “Here we are, surrounded by all this salacious erotic art from all over the world, and ain’t none of it turned me on as much as you.”

Mary shivered as though she caught a chill. She glanced at me out of the corner of her eyes, afraid yet curious. Usin’ my index finger, I turned her head toward mine. Then, I leaned in and gently planted my lips on hers, stickin’ my tongue ever-so-slightly in between each plump piece of perfection.

Good God Almighty, I thought I’d died and gone to heaven. Mary’s lips were more decadent than a pan of homemade biscuits, fresh out the oven and smothered in sawmill gravy. The thought of those succulent lips suckin’ on the buttermilk biscuit in between my legs made my head go all cattywampus.

Mary grabbed my hand and said, “But what if we get caught?”

“Darlin’, the power’s out and ain’t nobody down here in the basement ‘cept you and me.”

“But, Felicity… I don’t know what to do… with a woman, I mean.”

Leanin’ in for another kiss, I said, “Don’t worry, darlin’. The Georgia Peach will teach you everything you need to know.”

This time, Mary kissed me back, and I felt a sudden rush of girl juice in my squeeze box. We made out for a few minutes. I put one of her hands on my left love pillow. She gently caressed it as best she could, but her hands were small, and there was a lot of ground to cover.

“They’re so big,” she said.

“You wanna see?”

Mary nodded.

I stood up in front of her, stared into her eyes, and ever-so-slowly undid the buttons on my blouse before lettin’ it fall to the floor. Then I unhooked my 32K bra and teased Mary for a hot second before showin’ her the goods.

Her eyes went wider than the Grand Canyon.

“Now it’s your turn,” I said, eager to see what Mary’s body looked like under all them baggy lumberjack clothes.

We switched places. Mary was nervous and obviously shy, but underneath that flannel shirt were two little A-cup mosquito bites with the biggest nipples I ever laid eyes on pokin’ out from a thin grey cotton t-shirt.

“My goodness,” I said, and Mary smiled before pullin’ the shirt over her head, her hard nipples snappin’ free.

I wasted no time. Grabbin’ her firmly behind the small of her back, I pulled her forward until her nipple was in my mouth and I was suckin’ on it like a lemon-flavored lollipop. Mary moaned, and I felt her fingers runnin’ through my hair.

After some savorin’, I focused on her other nipple as my hands moved down to her pants, undoin’ the button, and then the zipper before pullin’ them off of her hips entirely along with her panties. Then, I swung her around and sat her skinny ass down on the divan and pulled off her shoes so I could get her pants the rest of the way off.

Leanin’ back, I shook my head from side to side, and said, “Mmm, mmm. God-DAMN, girl, look at you. You are finer than cold ice tea on a hot summer day. I got plans for you.”

I took Mary’s tiny hand and led her to the bearskin run before layin’ her down right on her back. Then, I commenced to kissin’ every inch of her succulent frame.

Startin’ on her neck and chest, I worked my way around each arm, pausin’ on her hands to pull each finger into my lips while Mary watched. My mouth moved on to her hips, legs, and feet, givin’ her toes the same treatment I gave her fingers, which made her bite her lower lip and giggle.

Rollin’ her over, I worked my way back up Mary’s legs and over her ass. Then, I used my tongue to lick her spine from the small of her back to her neck, then down her shoulders, makin’ sure to pause anywhere that made her twitch or purr.

Flippin’ her over yet again, I sucked her lower lip into my mouth, then I used my tongue like Picasso used a paintbrush while Miss Mary groaned with delight.

Leanin’ back, I used my baby blues to look her in the eyes and said, “Now, I’m fixin’ to do the same thing to your sweet little cunny.”

I took a pillow off the divan and put it behind Mary's head so she could watch a master perform her art live and in person.

Spreadin’ her knees apart slowly, it made me smile to discover her legs were just as shapely and toned as I suspected.

I got down on my belly to prepare for the feast.

Lord, have mercy!

Mary’s honey bun was just as plump and ripe as the lips on her face. Now, I’ve done the Devil’s dance with every sort of beautiful woman, but I ain’t never seen someone so petite with such a luxurious lady garden. Her labia were deliciously long and spread out to reveal the glistenin’ pink prize within.

“Damn, girl,” I said with a smirk. “This beautiful water lily is sheer opulence. I swear, you might give the Georgia Peach a run for her money!”

After some time teasin’ Mary’s thighs with my lips while my fingertips gently stroked her legs, I slowly circled my way closer to her pleasure palace until my lips were hoverin’ just above her twinkle cavern.

Then I stared up into Mary’s eyes and softly blew on her precious jewel. When she shuddered, I lowered my face, barely touchin’ it with the tip of my tongue.

Then, I got to work. Eatin’ Mary’s sweet little muffin was transcendental. Like pie on Christmas and cake for your birthday all rolled into one. Suckin’ mouthfuls of her rumpled slit skin into my lips put me on tilt, and I knew I was losin’ all control.

You see, I tend to get a bit crazy when I go heels-to-Jesus. I don’t know what it is, but it’s like becomin’ one of those wild women from the medieval times. Like I just can’t get enough.

I knew from the way Mary’s hips began buckin’ like a rodeo bull that she was about to burst into flames, so I helped her along by usin’ one hand to squeeze her nipple and the other hand to shove a finger inside her wishin’ well and press on her g-spot.

For a split-second, Mary’s body stopped movin’ entirely, and I was afraid I’d broken the poor girl. Then she screamed like a banshee as about a gallon of ginny juice squirted directly into my face.

Mary put her hand over her mouth, eyes wide, and said, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I don’t know what just happened.”

Sittin’ up, so she could see her juices drippin’ off my chin, I said, “What just happened is you paid me the best compliment an artist can get.”

Then I gave her a sloppy kiss on the mouth.

“I think it’s time for some tit for twat,” I said. “And I have plenty of tit, darlin’, so how ‘bout you focus on my twat for a spell.”

We switched places and Mary took off the rest of my clothes. The bearskin run felt good on my naked skin, but Mary’s lips felt even better as she nibbled my neck and sucked on my nipples.

After workin’ her way down to my hips, I spread my legs apart so she could have a peek.

“I’m not really sure what to do,” she said. “Can you tell me?”

“You ever eaten a peach, Colorado?”

She nodded.

“Make believe it’s a peach and slurp up all the nectar. And most important, don't be shy.”

Mary licked her lips and took off her glasses, before divin’ in the deep end. She wasn’t the best at eatin’ pussy I’d ever been with, but she went after it like a fat kid in a donut shop, and for a first-timer, she showed nothin’ but promise. She even used her tongue to lap up the hymen honey from my swollen choocha like it was whipped cream on some strawberry shortcake.

And those magical lips made up for any and all technical shortcomings. The good lord in heaven designed those lips for suckin’ on snatch, and damn it all if the little lumberjack didn’t have me close to orgasm.

Grabbin’ the back of Mary’s head, I pulled apart her bun, and let her curly brown hair fall all about her face.

I said, “Suck my clit in between your sweet lips, darlin’, and I’ll give you somethin’ you ain’t never gonna forget.”

When she was in the right spot, I wrapped my legs around Mary's head and locked her into place, thrustin’ my hips up and down as she sucked on my pleasure pearl.

I came hard, totally lost in the moment and shoutin’ a litany of obscenities into the void. By the time I regained my composure, Mary was smilin’ up at me from between my curvy thighs, creamy fiddle fillin’ all over her mouth, cheeks, and chin.

“I think I understand why they call you the Georgia Peach. It’s sweet! Just like sugar!”

Mary said it with the enthusiasm of a somebody that just won a scratch-off ticket at the corner gas station.

I gave her a smile and a wink before turnin’ her body all around until I was back on top, lickin’ my sweet juices right up off her pretty face.

I said, “You did good, Colorado, but I can tell you’re an overachiever, so you ain’t done yet.”

Then, I straddled her head and sat smack down on her face.

Now, I’ve seen some of those movies where cowboys ride those buckin’ broncos, but I bet nary a one of ‘em ever rode anythin’ near as dangerous as Colorado’s hungry mouth.

But it wasn’t all her doin’.

My hips got a mind of their own sometimes, and I got so caught up in how good she was makin’ me feel, I just kept pressin’ and grindin’ into her lavish lips until I started to worry that I might be smotherin’ the poor girl with my pussy cushion.

Yet, every time I looked down to check on her, she looked finer than a frog’s hair, so I just kept on ridin’ that pony with my twin peaks bouncin’ up and down until the tension in my body was so tight, I thought I might just explode.

Which is exactly what I did.

I practically screamed, “God-DAMN-it, Colorado, shove your fuckin’ tongue inside my sweet little muff!”

When she did, it felt like a fire hydrant got turned on inside my lady parts while hot white fire shot out of my fingers and toes. Mary moaned, and I knew I was thoroughly corruptin’ the girl in the finest way possible.

After gettin’ my fill, I sat her up straight and wiped some of my liquid sunshine off her face. Her cheeks were bright red from blood and friction, her hair thoroughly disheveled, and her perfect little body looked like it had been put through the wringer.

Cuppin’ her face in my hands, I gave Mary a long succulent kiss. Her eyes were filled with lust and desire.

I said, “You are just about the most beautiful thing I ever laid eyes on, and I find it hard to believe that was the first time you ever set fire to a woman’s hot box because I can’t recall ever cummin’ quite so recklessly.”

Suddenly, I had an idea.

“Colorado, I owe you one, and I have an idea. You lay back on that bear rug while I go fetch me somethin’. And keep your legs spread, and your eyes closed.”

It didn’t take but a minute to grab the keys from my pants pocket and run my errand. When I returned, I set myself between Mary’s firm legs. Pressin’ my tongue down on her swollen clit, I slowly filled her delectable cunt with the scrimshawed oosik dildo.

I’d already warmed and lubed it inside my own wishin’ well, so it slid right in. Within just a couple minutes, I was full on fuckin’ Mary with a long walrus cock while my tongue furiously flicked her devil’s doorbell.

Workin’ that priceless antique in and out of Mary’s lithe young body on top of that gold rush bear rug is, to this day, one of the dirtiest and most irresponsible things I have ever done.

Every second was glorious.

She came for me like a good girl gone bad, and it made me laugh louder than the Devil himself when he steals a soul, but I still wasn’t done.

Settin’ the oosik aside, I squished my pleasure pouch against Mary’s, grabbin’ her shapely leg and holdin’ it against my chest for leverage. Then, I started gyratin’ and grindin’, slippin’ and slidin’, and losin’ all sense of decency. Even Mary started shoutin’ some filthy words into the air, and it sent me over the top yet again.

After more orgasms than I can count, we fell into a pile of flesh on the bearskin rug. Covered in cum, sweat, and saliva, I was happier than a tornado in a trailer park.

Mary rested her face on my shoulder and ran her fingertips over my right titty with a big, shit-eatin’ grin on her face.

“I’ve never experienced anything like that.”

She said it with the conviction of a convert.

“Well, that’s a damn shame, Colorado. A girl like you shouldn’t ever have any trouble gettin’ your corn ground. I tell you what, if you ever need your sheets shook, you just let me know, and the Georgia Peach will take you for a good, old-fashioned roll in the hay.”

It took a while to clean up, and the bearskin rug was a little matted, but we were able to put ourselves back together fairly well. When I placed the oosik dildo back in the case, I left Mary’s crystallized cum all over it. You know, just doin’ my part to carry on the proud erotic art history tradition.

Then we fell asleep for a couple hours.

The museum janitor showed up just after six in the mornin’. I’m sure we looked like we’d been rode hard and put away wet, but he was kind enough not to say so.

Just before Mary and I walked out, he said, “I’m so sorry, ladies. There’s a button right here on the door that will open it when the power goes out, but there’s no way you could have known because the sign that hangs on the door is missing. I’ll get a new one made right away.”

Tiltin’ my head to the side, I said, “Bless your heart. That ain’t your fault, honey. It probably fell off and got thrown away by accident.”

In the elevator, Mary and I exchanged numbers. When the door opened on the main level, I said, “After you, darlin’.”

When I followed her out, I made sure to nonchalantly toss the door sign into the garbage can.

Lord, have mercy!