Pop Star - Part 7

Two women tangled across rumpled sheets. The blonde arches, knees wide, while the brunette’s tongue slides up and back again, slow enough to taste every slick fold. She sucks the swollen clit like she wants to mark it, then drives two fingers deep, crooking them in a rhythm the blonde answers with greedy hips. No hesitation. When the blonde claws at the covers, the brunette grins against wet skin and reaches for the small glass wand. She feeds it in—gentle, relentless—until the toy disappears and the blonde’s cunt grips, flushed, glistening, yielding. They trade it back and forth, tongues chasing whatever the silicone leaves exposed. Every thrust draws fresh sound from the blonde’s throat and fresh wet between her thighs. Neither stops until the other shudders.