Squirting Backfire

Kate and Avi are tangled up naked, hands all over each other, mouths locked so hard it hurts. The sheets are already warm and sticky and everyone knows what’s coming. Avi pulls back first. “Hold on,” she says, breathing hard, cheeks flushed. “Every time you come, we flood these sheets and then somebody’s got to do laundry at midnight. We tried to curb that with angles, toys, even taking it easy, but it’s no good. My theory is—anal. You squirt less that way, right?” Kate laughs, low and filthy. “You want to see what this ass feels like instead of trying to keep the mattress dry? Fuck it. I’m down.” Two hands reach down fast and greedy—one on each round cheek. Fingers spread, thumbs slide, slick sides swapping spit, teasing pink ringholes no guy’s ever touched before. Their kisses turn messier, teeth clacking. Avi grins, getting cocky. She lays Kate down, sucks a breath, works two slick fingers in that tight star slow. Kate bites the pillow, hissing happy noises. In goes Avi’s slick strap, inch by careful inch, nothing gentle left the second Kate’s voice crackles “more.” Each stroke grows deeper, fuller, pulling just enough that the drips never turn into the usual fountain. Balls—well, harness—slap. Both girls talk filthy, loud, chuckling when the wet patch under Kate stays the size of a quarter instead of an ocean. Closer and closer, both clenching, the plan just might work this round—if nobody gets carried away by how fucking electric that clenched little hole feels around that thick strap.