Backstage with Sandy and Bridgett

Sandy traces a finger down the curve of her girlfriend's thigh and doesn't let go. The dressing room door clicks shut behind them, muffling the music outside. Her tongue finds Bridgett's heat and stays there, slow, thorough, worshipful. Bridgett's fingers grip the vanity as her knees spread wider, hips rolling to meet each lick. She tastes like sweat and perfume, like something Sandy will never tire of. Backstage fades away. All that matters is the wet sound of her mouth working, the soft noises Bridgett makes when the pressure builds just right, the way her whole body tightens before she breaks. Sandy keeps going, patient, hungry, until her girlfriend shudders, comes, and catches her breath.