Backstage of Perfect boobs

Eve and Dorothy lay across silk sheets. One blonde, one brunette, both young. Lace clings to their bodies—tiny bras and panties that barely hold the fullness of their breasts. Eve’s are round and pale. Dorothy’s, a little softer, pressed together by black satin. They move close. Lips brush. A hand slips under lace. Breasts touch. Fingers trace nipples until they stiffen. The blonde lifts the fabric aside, mouth closing around warm skin. They taste each other slowly, wet tongues circling, sucking. Hands roam lower, then back up, greedy for the weight they hold. Every breath pushes those perfect curves against skin and lace.