And it was the sounds Gerlinde submerged into.  As much as her flesh reveled to be sheathed in Lisle kitty's mouth, her glans' corona snugly trapped and the whole spade awash with the wet tension crushing around it, she most delicately, most dearly registered the sounds.<br/><br/>"Eyes on mine, Lisle kitty."  Her fingertips brushed fine as tear tracks, and firm, from Lisle's cheek to her earlobe.  In this way, she pet as she gazed down and gently moved the mass of her cock in the strain of Lisle kitty's mouth.  That was a dazzling feeling - the electrical current of tension traveling the underside of her penis, goading the head to bulge bigger and bigger; the head's tip riding the grainy buck at the back of Lisle's tongue, and the thrilling tempest of that subject licking.  That was substance - that was the bath; the sounds were the bubbles.<br/><br/>"Yes."  And Gerlinde soaked in those fine sounds: The fluid tapping of Lisle kitty soiling the sand.  The gleeful jingle of the bell sounding modestly from the tip of Lisle's protruding clitoris.  The miniature puffs of breath from Lisle kitty's nose.  The moist skimming noises that leaked from Lisle's stuffed mouth.  That high, tight harp-string sound as she cried a bit.<br/><br/>The soft suckle as she licked all the same.<br/><br/>"Good kitty."<br/><br/>Gerlinde reveled in this.  She felt fine in the way the spiderwebs with wet on them are fine.  Her flesh felt so tremulously sensitized, it might pop; her mind felt timeless.  She felt fine in this way, and flushed with excitement, and distinctly dignified.<br/><br/>She stroked Lisle kitty, and stared in with bright, delighted approval, and she let Lisle kitty empty herself and lick the savory penis that stuffed her.  And she listened.  Gerlinde listened to the sounds as delicate as the flashes in wide green eyes.