Shaken, not stirred

I always want it shaken, not stirred. The blonde feels it when the martini glass hits the bar. A redhead slips behind her, lips brushing the rim of her ear. Two blondes watch from the doorway, thighs brushing, eyes on the redhead’s hand sliding up the first girl’s skirt. The redhead lifts the hem slowly, then pushes two fingers inside without warning. The blonde shudders, wet already. The redhead curls her fingers hard, and the girl spreads wider, hips pushing back for more. One of the watching blondes drops to her knees, tongue finding the exposed clit, licking in quick, greedy strokes. The redhead pulls her fingers free, spreads the cheeks, and works the first thick inch of her strap-on past the tight ring. The blonde gasps, grips the bar, then pushes back until the toy sinks deeper. The redhead fucks her in steady, hard thrusts, one hand fisted in her hair, the other holding her open. When the blonde’s moans turn frantic, the redhead pulls out and finishes across her flushed face, hot streaks landing on lips and lashes. The girl licks what she can reach, hungry for every drop.