How's The View?

Little Puck clocks in early, eager to help Octavia Red hang the retirement banner. Octavia climbs the stepladder, and Little Puck’s gaze drifts upward. Under the skirt: the thin strip of a black thong splitting the full curves of Octavia’s ass. The sight hits like a warm pulse between her legs. She keeps stealing looks while they work—each time Octavia reaches, fabric rides higher, skin shifts, the thong stretches. Her nipples tighten inside her blouse. She doesn’t even notice when Octavia glances down and catches her mid-stare. Octavia pauses, then smiles, slow and knowing. She parts her knees a fraction on the rung, giving Little Puck a clearer view of the thong disappearing between smooth, plump lips. “See something you like?” she asks, voice low. Little Puck’s face burns, but Octavia’s already easing the skirt up another inch, proud of the effect she’s having. Little Puck steps closer, hands sliding up Octavia’s calves, tracing the backs of her thighs. Octavia stays on the ladder, breathing deeper, hips tilting forward. The thong is soaked at the center. Little Puck’s fingers follow the wet line, press, circle. Octavia lets out a soft, throaty sound—part sigh, part dare. They don’t finish the banner.