Backstage of Lez friends

The rumours about Lis and Wendy had been building for months. Two Russian dolls who apparently fuck like they’re the last two women on earth. That sun-drenched afternoon proved every whisper true. Wendy stretched across the sheets first, the thin cotton barely hiding the way her nipples darkened in the open light. Lis hovered above her, tongue tracing the inside of Wendy’s thigh with slow certainty. Each flick of her tongue made Wendy’s belly tighten; another pulse and her knees opened wider, inviting the heat. No shy bit left when Lis sucked the swollen bud between those lips and drew it deep, a wet pull that made Wendy groan like she’d waited her whole life. Hands roamed without apology. Wendy pressed two fingers into Lis, sliding in knuckle-deep to the beat of the blonde’s hungry moan. Then the rhythm changed—fingers circled, pinched, teased the spot that made Lis shake and thrust back. Their mouths met, tasting one another, trading saliva like currency. Sweat gathered at the small of each back, the sheets damp beneath them. Lis rolled to straddle Wendy’s thigh, grinding wet and hot in long strokes. The friction made her clit flare, so full it throbbed. Wendy caught the tip of her tongue against Lis’s neck and bit—nothing brutal, just enough to drag a curse out in Russian that melted straight to English. Another minute and Lis’s hips stuttered, her fingers clawing the blanket as she came in ragged jerks. Wendy didn’t let her go. She slid lower, mouth latching again, tongue pushing inside the slick heat and drinking like thirst would kill her. Lis’s legs shook around her head, the sound of her slick skin meeting Wendy’s lips loud and obscene. They didn’t stop until the afternoon light tilted gold across their bodies, the room thick with sweat, salt, and the soft thrum of bodies satisfied.