No Boys, No Problem!

Four cute girls roll back to Ophelia’s house in stiff prom dresses and bruised heels. They kick the heels off, slam the door, and start bitching. Rissa dumps her purse and laughs bitter. “Can you fucking believe that bullshit? They ditched us for drinking in a parking lot?” Hazel slides her updo down, dark curls bouncing against bare shoulders. “My guy didn’t even touch my leg the whole ride.” Isabella squints at a hickey that shouldn’t be on her neck but isn’t from her so-called date. They sit pissed on beanbags, hungry and horny, two bottles of peach vodka already loose in their system. Hazel laughs first: “Screw waiting. Why don’t we do each other?” The sentence hangs like electric. Eyebrows pop up. Ophelia flicks her tongue ring against her teeth, liking the thought. Rissa spreads her legs on the carpet, sequined hem sliding up tanned thighs. “Hell yes, all of us? Right now?” Agreement is instant—whole room gets heavy-hot fast. Isabella yanks Ophelia’s red dress low, exposing heavy tits pushed into borrowed red lace. Rissa tackles Hazel to the sofa, unzipping the smaller girl’s corset while both giggle and gasp at open skin. Mouths chase nipples, fingers rake, wetness smears across spread thighs before tongues dive in. Isabella straddles Hazel’s face first, rocking slow, watching Hazel’s eyes roll when she cums the first time. Rissa sixty-nines her, perfect round ass up, mouth smothering a yelp from Halo’s slick cunt, then forces it even wider with a few greedy fingers. Ophelia slams on a clear three-inch dildo from her stash, greases it quick, and bends Isabella for her. She pushes the toy inside with zero tease; wet sounds crack in the air while Isabella claws forward, begging deeper. Sweat beads across everyone’s skin. Moans turn shameless. Four bodies twist tight—tits smashed, open mouths trading spit or sucking cunt or swallowing stiff pearly fingers before they thrash together again. Later on the floor, Rissa rides face-down ass-up, crying sharp into carpet when the trio takes turns spitting on her tight anus and pushing slow inside with thumb plus three slick fingers. Come sprays across lips, thighs, and fingers; hair sticks to cheeks, hearts hammering with every strangled orgasm. Any embarrassment flushes out by the fourth shared climax. Three slipped virginities later they collapse in a wet piled-in heap on rugs and couch pillows, panting. Still tiny sparkles glued to sweaty skin, dresses bunched useless at ankles. Boys not required.