Heather Vahn and Kelly Surfer

Heather Vahn grins, a water gun in her fist. She aims for Kelly Surfer, but the cheap plastic shooter only spits little arcs. Kelly moves in. She slides Heather onto the grass, spreads her thighs, and pushes two fingers deep. Heather sighs, head tilting back. Every stroke of Kelly's hand pulls another gush, and Heather's own wetness soaks the lawn. Kelly works her gently and ruthlessly, thumb rubbing circles on her swollen clit until the girl breaks, hips bucking, flooding Kelly's palm and wrist. When Heather finally stops shaking, sunlight still drenches them both. Out here, the afternoon stretches wide, warm, and unhurried.