An afternoon to remember

Ashley and Questa know what they are to each other. Sweet, silky, already wet. They coil together, hands greedy. Fingers skate over breasts that still hold the faint warmth of the afternoon, glide along hips, trace the curve of an ass left bare. Tongues follow. A slow lap up the inside of a thigh, a quick flick across a tightening nipple, another wet stripe along ribs that rise and fall too fast. Between open legs the air smells sharp and sweet. One girl spreads the other with two fingers, studies the glossy pink, then buries her mouth and sucks until the taste floods her tongue. The second girl answers with her own mouth, lapping long and steady, nose pressed into trimmed curls, breath coming in hot pulses that make the first girl jerk and moan. Lips and tongues trade places; a cunt is kissed like it might bruise. Short, hungry sounds fill the room—wet clicks, swallowed whimpers, the soft slap of thighs against cheeks. They keep on until both are shining and trembling, every inch of skin claimed, every slick fold tasted.