How Was Your Day

Naomi Woods drags herself through the door after work, dead on her feet, shoulders slumped so hard she can't even smile when Serena walks in. Serena clocks it right away and asks what's eating her. Naomi spills. Pervert coworker won't quit staring, the meetings ran her ragged, the office clowns pushed her right to the limit. Serena drops right into her lap, wraps her up tight, says it’ll be okay. They start kissing, and that’s when Serena smirks and drops her own bomb—she got so fucking worked up today she finger-fucked herself right at her desk. That nasty little secret lights a fuse. Naomi dives in hungry, teeth out, hands tearing clothes wherever they land. She latches onto Serena’s nipple, tongues it sloppy, the harder the better. Fingers twist in each other’s hair as their mouths fight and melt together. Once Naomi gets a taste of skin she forgets the whole fucking day, licks down Serena’s stomach, nips at her bellybutton, slides lower until her tongue drags through wet folds. They roll onto the bed, rip off the last scraps of fabric, each girl climbing over the other’s mouth so they can trade pussy and spit in gluttonous rotations. Juices stick to their chins as they fight for who gets who messier, then flip back for another round with tongues teasing tight assholes, grabbing hips like handles. Faces get smothered, asses gripped, until Naomi can’t help but brag: no matter how crappy the job treats her, she’ll always come home and bury herself between those thighs where things are always sloppy and soaked.