School Girls Give New Meaning To "No-Man's Land"

Three girls run from the school gates in short plaid skirts that barely brush their thighs. Two peel away and duck into the bushes behind the tool shed. Their mouths meet first, greedy. Skirts hitch up quick. One leans against the fence, thighs parting without pause. The other drops to her knees. Fingers slide under cotton, then inside—two, then three, working fast, the wet sound loud in the dirt. The girl against the fence bites her knuckles to stay quiet while a tongue replaces the hand and circles her clit in tight, practiced loops. She bucks once, grabs a fistful of hair, and grinds down hard. Every breath sounds stolen. Juice streaks the kneeling girl’s chin, glossy under the sun. Neither stops. Not until the second girl’s legs shake and her nails leave little half-moons in the wooden fence.