Backstage with Peaches

Adam wanted cream. Peaches walked in instead. Strawberry waited on the dressing table, the real kind, thick and sweet. Peaches slipped off her robe and the black lace stayed, straps cutting across pale skin, stockings already damp at the tops. She dipped two fingers into the cream, licked them clean, then turned to Strawberry and kissed her hard, passing the taste between their tongues. Strawberry dropped to her knees, peeled the stockings down one inch at a time, and ran her tongue along the line of cream Peaches had smeared across her own thigh. The lace stayed on. Blonde hair brushed brunette as they switched places, Strawberry now on the edge of the vanity, legs open, Peaches spreading more cream over her cunt and licking it off in slow, deliberate strokes. They stayed close, bodies sliding, cream turning warm between them, lingerie twisted but never removed. Every lick sounded wet. Every breath sounded hungry.