Pin-up Picnic

Three women lie out in the grass like it was made for them. Darcia's dark hair sticks to her temple, Cherry's mouth open and wet, Zazie already smiling with her thighs parted. One of them reaches for the lube like it's just another thing on the blanket. Someone's tongue finds skin that isn't meant for sunlight. Cherry bends, face between Darcia's cheeks, breath warm, deliberate, wet in a way that sounds filthy even with the birds overhead. Zazie slides a slender toy along Darcia's slick cleft, slow at first, then deeper, wrist tilting to match every lazy push of Cherry's tongue. Darcia's knees dig into the blanket. Her moans roll out low, drawn out, shameless. The other two take turns tasting her—tongues lazy and greedy—licking up every drop, trading soft bites, open-mouthed kisses against flushed, twitching skin. Cherry spits, laughs low, then goes back to work, rimming her with slow, filthy intent. They stretch each other out under the open sky, fingers, tongues, toys slick and relentless, bodies sticky in the sun, legs shaking, the sound of wet mouths and gasping pleasure echoing off nothing but trees.