Squirtbath

Paige shows up at Whitney's house with her notebook, expecting a standard interview. Thirty seconds in the pornstar turns the heat up and gets every question real personal. Paige leans forward when she admits she doesn't know a thing about squirting. Whitney grins like she just got dealt the best hand. “I could just show you,” she says. Paige's answer is an instant yes. The clothes come off fast. Whitney works Paige's clit in tight circles, gets three fingers working inside, and pushes right. Paige yelps when the first jet sprays Whitney across the tits. Once the flood starts there's no stopping it. Paige gushes every time she comes, and Whitney keeps milking her until the couch cushions are soaked. White damp skin, slick curls, the room smelling pure like sex. Whitney turns off and leans down, lips at Paige's ear. “Come here,” she says, standing. They pad barefoot down the hall, into the second bedroom where an empty inflatable kiddie pool takes up half the floor. Whitney taps a remote. A slow oily drizzle starts, dripping off the crown of their heads, running glossy tracks down the bridge of a nose, beading on nipples. They meet in the middle. Tongues slide, warm and wet. One slow drizzle turns heavier. They slip and laugh and keep kissing, oil-slick bodies bumping, tit to tit, hands mapping the other out like they haven't already had their fill.