excellence

Candy has a soft mouth. Caprice's tongue knows it. She works slowly between the younger girl's folds, tasting every wet inch. Candy tilts her hips, asking for more. Caprice gives it, warm breath sliding over bare skin, lips pulling at the swollen bud. Candy gasps, then returns the favor, sliding her hand between Caprice's thighs until two slick fingers meet equal heat. Their breathing sharpens. Candy rocks against the tongue, thighs trembling, while her own hand keeps steady rhythm. It is mutual, exact, and obscenely pretty. One woman would have been enough. Two is better than reason.