Backstage of Icecream baby part II.

The curtain lifts on a warmer stage. Two blonde teens lean over the ice-cream counter, their bare asses flexing, round and ripe under the lights. One girl licks her fingers clean of vanilla, then slips the same fingers between the other’s cheeks, spreading her open. Her tongue follows—slow, wet strokes from clit to tight little hole, tasting every inch. The second girl moans, pushes back, eager for more. The third beauty steps in, kneels between them, spreads both pairs of thighs. Two tongues now work in rhythm: one circles a swollen clit, the other probes deeper, deeper still. Fingers slide inside—first one, then two—stretching slick folds while thumbs press on sensitive spots. Bodies tremble. Moans mix. The scent of sugar and sex hangs thick in the air. Every lick brings them closer, every thrust of fingers louder, until the first girl cries out, thighs quaking around the mouth buried in her pussy. The second follows seconds later, spine arching, ass clenching, riding the tongue still fucking her.