Free Time With Frida

Frida flipped the glossy pages with Sally pressed against her shoulder. They scanned beaches, cities, mountains. But when Sally's hand slid between Frida's thighs, the destinations lost meaning. Sally's fingers worked through cotton first, then skin. Frida widened her knees. Both still stared at the open magazine, pretending to study hotels and flight deals while Sally circled her clit with slow, steady strokes. Frida's breathing hitched. She reached back and tugged Sally's hair. A soft, wet sound rose between them when two fingers pushed inside. They kept the game alive a minute longer. Then Sally's hand moved faster, firmer. Frida's hips jerked forward, spine arching against the chair. The forgotten magazine slid to the floor. Neither of them reached for it.