To The Desert And Back

After the desert dust, Risi stepped into the studio wanting hands to reach every knot the trail left behind. Tiffany passed her a towel, bare breasted already beneath the cotton, and Risi slipped out of her shirt and shorts. The first sweep of oil down her calves melted her. Tiffany worked quiet, thumbs circling the thigh before sliding higher, circling hip then ribs. When she asked how the hike had gone, Risi said, “I like girls who understand I want it right then, not later.” Tiffany answered by palming both breasts at once, rolling the stiff nipples between slick fingers, flicking until Risi gasped and reached up, cupped Tiffany’s tits through her tank. Clothes hit the floor. Tiffany bent first. Her tongue split Risi open—long, wet strokes, top to bottom—then she pushed two fingers inside, curling on the forward drag. The pace thickened; Risi arched, ground against that steady hand. When she came her whole cunt fluttered, squeezing hard around Tiffany’s knuckles, coating her skin in slick heat. They traded places. Risi shoved Tiffany onto her back, opened her thighs, and licked straight over her clit until Tiffany bucked. They shifted to sixty-nine, bodies meshed. Risi felt warm tongue and warm fingers at the same time, while her own mouth and hands worked Tiffany’s clit and nipples. The rhythm stopped mattering. They rode each other until both of them broke—hips jumping, thighs shaking, moans muffled against skin that tasted of oil and sweat. The hike’s ache was long gone.