Young flesh

Amanda pins Marianne to the sheets and spreads her open with both hands. Tongue finds wet heat. A slow, greedy lick. Marianne bucks, reaches down, grabs a fistful of her friend’s hair and grinds closer. The toy is already slick—glass, thick, warmed in the drawer. Amanda works it in inch by inch while her mouth stays busy, sucking and stroking until Marianne’s thighs shake. They trade places, rolling like they’ve done it a hundred times. Marianne buries her face, moans right against the skin, and the sound vibrates through both of them. Strap-on next—buckles snap, leather bites skin—and Marianne pushes in deep, hips rolling steady, never rushing. Amanda cusses, comes hard, clenches around the silicone. They switch again, laughing under their breath when the toy slips free, then curse when it pushes back in. Sweat soaks the linen. Neither girl cares. The only rule they keep is no one leaves the bed until they both go hoarse.