Sandy and Alexa

Two women in fishnets. Sandy has small, perky breasts. Alexa, fuller, rounder. They kneel on the bed facing each other, knees touching. Sandy moves first. She cups Alexa’s breast, thumb tracing the hard nipple through the mesh. Alexa sighs, tilts her head, offers her mouth. Their kiss is open, wet, tongues already teasing. Sandy pushes her backward until Alexa lies against the pillows, legs spread wide. Fishnet tears at the crotch with a small rip when Sandy rips it wider. She lowers her face, breathes warm air over slick folds, then licks. Slow at first. One long, firm stroke from entrance to clit. Alexa’s hips jerk. Sandy circles the swollen nub, then dips inside, tongue fucking her slowly, deeply. Fingers follow. Two slide in without resistance, wet sounds filling the quiet room. Alexa moans, fists the sheets. She reaches down, finds Sandy’s cunt, still trapped in tight mesh. She rubs hard, three quick circles. Sandy gasps against her. Their rhythm matches, one licking while the other grinds. They switch places without speaking. Now Alexa is on top, straddling Sandy’s face, lowering until she can feel that eager tongue. She bends forward, pulls the torn stocking aside, buries her own mouth between Sandy’s thighs. Sixty-nine. Faces buried, hips rocking, tongues working. Every hole, every crease. Nothing stays dry for long. Their breathing turns ragged. Alexa comes first, thighs trembling around Sandy’s head, slickness spilling across her chin. Sandy follows, sudden and sharp, bucking once, twice. When they finally pull apart, the fishnets cling wet to skin. They kiss again, tasting themselves on each other’s lips. The sheets beneath them are soaked.