Backstage of Party pussies

Champagne popped backstage after the party, and we poured the rest over Electra’s bare breasts. She lay back on the velvet sofa, twenty-one for the next twenty minutes, laughing while the bubbles ran down her ribs. A tall blonde bent over her, licked the fizz from her nipples and kept going—slow, hungry. The brunette already had two fingers buried in Electra’s cunt, thumb circling her clit like she owned it. Electra’s mother leaned against the dressing table, watching, skirt hiked, fingers sliding over her own slick folds. Every time Electra moaned, the older woman’s hips rolled in time. We watched them trade places, watched the blonde straddle Electra’s face while the brunette spread her mother’s legs wider. Tongues flicked, fingers plunged, champagne-soaked skin glistened under the dressing-room bulbs. Birthdays like this don’t end quietly.