Backstage of 'Strings'

Bambi leans back on the velvet settee, knees open, and Eve settles between them. Their long hair falls forward in two different shades. The blonde is smaller, pale, almost doll-like. Eve’s brown strands drape over Bambi’s belly like silk ropes as she kisses the waistband of the G-string, teeth tugging the thin cord just enough to make it snap back against skin. Both girls wear nothing else. Their fingers slide beneath the strings, pull the fabric aside, trace damp lips that already glisten under backstage lights. The blonde lifts her hips, offering; the brunette takes. They trade slow, practiced strokes, little gasps catching in their throats. Then Eve’s tongue replaces her hand. She licks the lace edge, licks the skin beneath it, until the string is wet and slipping sideways. Bambi’s hands knot in Eve’s hair, guiding her lower. The contrast of their bodies moves in the mirror behind them: one fair, one golden, the lines of their G-strings drawing pale lines over flushed curves. When they finally kiss, their tongues taste the same lace that still clings between their thighs.