Backstage of Perfect boobs

Eve and Dorothy wait beside each other, bare and confident. Eve’s chest rises in slow breaths; Dorothy’s breasts hang heavy, pink tips already stiff. Their skin glistens with light sweat. Eve glances at Dorothy’s mouth, then away. Dorothy runs her knuckles under Eve’s left breast, fingertips lifting its weight before letting it fall. Eve’s nipple draws tighter. Lips part, brush, close. Thighs shift. A pulse gathers low and sharp between them. Eve slips two fingers along Dorothy’s slit, feels warmth spreading over her knuckles. Dorothy exhales a small, broken sound, hips tilting forward to press harder against the touch. She turns and takes Eve’s wrist, guiding those wet fingers upward until Eve’s own lips close around them. They taste each other’s slick, eyes half-lidded. Heavy breaths brush skin. Lips meet once more, this time deeper. Tongues slide, slow and deliberate. A thin strand of spit catches between them when they part. Eve kneels. Dorothy’s hands hold her hair back, guiding her forward. Eve licks the seam of Dorothy’s cunt in a long, careful stroke, savoring the musk and salt. Heat spills across her tongue. She sucks the swollen clit gently, once, twice, then drops lower to lap inside her. Dorothy’s thighs tremble around Eve’s cheeks. Her grip tightens in Eve’s hair, knuckles whitening. Eve moans against wet flesh, nose pressed deep into trimmed curls. She slides two fingers in beside her tongue. Curling, stroking the ridged front wall, she feels the muscle tighten and flutter. Dorothy’s hips jerk. She curses under her breath. The sound becomes a gasp as Eve adds a third finger, fucking her steadily, mouth sealed around the bud of her clit. A gush coats Eve’s wrist. Dorothy comes with a shudder that knocks her thighs tighter, cunt pulsing around the fingers. Her belly jumps once, twice. Eve keeps licking through it until Dorothy pulls her up, panting. They kiss again, open-mouthed, sharing the sharp taste. Eve stands. Dorothy drops to the floor, taking her nipple in her mouth. Teeth graze. Eve sighs. Dorothy’s hand cups the other breast, kneading, thumb flicking the stiff peak. She works two fingers inside Eve, then three. Eve rocks against the pressure, one palm braced on Dorothy’s shoulder. She rides the rhythm until her own thighs shake. A flush creeps across her chest. Dorothy looks up, eyes black and hungry, and curls her knuckles hard. Eve’s climax hits sharp and sudden. Her whole body clenches, head thrown back, a thin cry escaping. Dorothy keeps her fingers deep, letting the contractions squeeze and ease around them. Sweat trickles between their breasts. Eve pants, lost. Slowly, Dorothy eases her hand free, wet to the wrist. Eve sinks to her knees. They kiss once more, taste turning milder, breathing softer. Skin brushes skin. An aftershock twitches low in Eve’s belly. Their mouths stay close, sharing air until the pulse fades and the room is quiet again.