Stalker - Part 2

Two women with heavy breasts circle each other on silk sheets, nipples brushing like electric wire. Hands slide down, cupping thick curves, palms skimming full flesh as mouths meet—slow at first, then greedy. One pushes the other back, spreads her thighs, and leans in. The tongue finds her first—hot, flat, deliberate—stroking the wet seam with lazy pressure before dipping inside. The second woman reaches between her own legs, slick fingers working circles as the heat builds. She grabs the dildo, lubed and waiting, and presses it against her partner’s opening. One thrust and the toy sinks deep, parting her cunt in a single slick glide. The rhythm starts—short, dirty strokes mixed with long, grinding pushes. The woman on her back arches, breasts swaying, nipples tight, breath catching hard with every plunge. She flips them over, takes the dildo for herself, shoves it into the waiting slit and twists, working it until her fingers shine. They trade off, switching who gets filled, who licks, who moans into the other’s open mouth. The sheets grow damp beneath them. Sweat clings to the rise and dip of every curve. The pace sharpens, desperate now—hips chasing deeper contact, tongues chasing sweat-slick skin, each thick thrust echoed by the soft, obscene sound of bodies giving in completely.