Spring picnic

Spring sun touched bare skin like warm honey. Two girls spread a blanket under open sky, a wicker basket between them, spring breeze tugging at loose hair—blonde and brunette, both already smiling like the world belonged to them. They skipped the sandwiches. Fingers dipped into strawberry jam, trailed across collarbones, then tongues followed the sweet path lower. Juice ran down a small breast; a mouth caught the drip before it reached the navel. Shorts slid down smooth hips. Laughter turned into soft gasps when a slick tongue slipped between parted thighs. The picnic blanket wrinkled beneath them as the blonde pressed two fingers inside her friend, slow and deep, while the brunette’s hips rolled to meet each thrust. Fingers slick with both fruit and need, they moved together until the only thing left on the grass was the sound of two bodies taking what the season had already given them. When the smaller girl shifted to her knees, her friend eased a strawberry-slick finger into her ass, gentle at first, then firmer, the slow stretch followed by the wet slide of tongue over flushed skin. They stayed tangled in the sunlight until every bit of sweetness was tasted and every last shiver had run its course.