Look At My Carpet Bitch !

Stevie and Dana Vespoli both had carpets—just different varieties. Stevie had one stretched across her floor, thick and neutral underfoot. Dana Vespoli kept hers neatly trimmed between her thighs, dark and full. Stevie slid her palm across it first, fingers threading through soft heat while Dana lay back on the bedroom rug. Every stroke sent a tiny tremor up Dana’s belly. Stevie settled between parted legs, pressing her own thighs to the floor’s weave, then used tongue and fingertips to part that other carpet, tasting slick skin beneath. The two textures—one beneath her knees, one against her lips—blended into a single rhythm. Bodies rocked, breath shortened, and somewhere between floor and flesh everything aligned.