Hidden from prying eyes

She recalls the pit of a camp they'd slipped away from once. Its stink still clung to the girls, but they crawled together again beneath the silent wire and makeshift cots, two throats pressing, knees spread wide on the crude planks. Breasts bounce and brush. Fingers dip, slick. The wet sound is so loud in the dark, each girl muffling her gasp against the other's shoulder. They grind slow then quicker, rubbing each fold and hood, pressing harder until thighs tremble. They trade tongue and teeth, sucking, licking whatever they can reach. Sweat beads at the small of each back. One girl comes first, hips jerking in tight circles, gripping her partner's wrist to hold those fingers deep, riding the clench. The second bites her lip bloody as the first surges back, crooking her knuckles, feeling every pulse inside. They shiver together, slickness coating wrists and inner thighs. Neither makes a sound above a broken breath. They know the Director is always near, keys jangling on a hip, eyes that promise fresh torment if any girl is caught misbehaving. They cling to the seconds they steal, rutting against each other's knuckles again, chasing the next quick, filthy finish before any door opens.