Carnival babes

It's carnival season, and the three of us are locked in a private room wearing nothing but masks. Blonde hair spills from one girl, brunette from the other. They turn toward me and the game begins. Hands move fast, pulling at straps, buttons, fabric that suddenly feels too tight. The masks stay on. So do the smiles. Their bodies press together as the last bits of clothing drop to the floor, and I watch every inch come into view. The blonde's nipples tighten when the cool air hits them. The brunette reaches over, cups her breast, rolls the nipple between her fingers. They kiss, tongues sliding, then both look at me. One kneels, the other follows. Lips and hands explore each other while I stand over them, watching fingers slip between wet folds, listening to the soft sounds they make against each other. They break the kiss only to trade places, the blonde now on her back, legs open, the brunette between them, tongue working slow and deliberate. I step closer, let them pull me down into the middle, mouths and hands taking turns. The masks stay on. Everything else comes off.