Backstage of 'You'd better watch out...'

The backstage room is dim and warm, the kind of quiet that follows the cameras shutting off. A blonde teen sits on the edge of a couch in sheer black lingerie, her legs parted just enough to show the lace stretched thin over her skin. The brunette stands close, already half undressed, her bra hanging loose from one shoulder. The blonde reaches up, hooks two fingers under the strap and pulls it down. The brunette steps in, knees brushing the couch. Their mouths meet without hurry. The blonde’s hand slides up the brunette’s thigh, finds the heat between her legs and presses. A soft sound leaves the brunette’s throat. She rocks forward, wanting more. The blonde answers with her tongue, slow and wet, sliding against her. Stockings whisper against skin. The brunette climbs into her lap, hips rolling in small, deliberate circles. Fingers hook the lace aside. The blonde’s mouth finds a nipple, sucks it hard. The brunette’s hand drops between them, finds the blonde’s clit and rubs it in tight, steady strokes. They move together, breath catching, the room small and close and full of the wet sound of them.