Trophy Hunter: Part One

Aidra Fox kneels on the floor with the cardboard box cracked open between her thighs. A pair of silky lavender panties still smells like Ivy Jones’ cunt, sweet, heady, unmistakable. She mashes the crotch against her nose and breathes deep; the scent hits her between the legs like a switch flipping on. She pulls out her phone, thumb already shaky. Ivy answers sounding half-asleep, highlighter squeaking on the page. “I’m buried in chem equations.” Aidra drops her voice low, wet: “Drop the book, I’ll help you make the real kind of chemistry.” Ivy’s breath hitches; she whispers she’ll be there in ten. The door clicks. They don’t say hello. Aidra slams Ivy back against the wall and they kiss like they’re fighting, tongues pushing, teeth clacking. Ivy’s fingers dig into Aidra’s ass, squeezing hard enough to leave prints while her other hand slides under Aidra’s shirt to pinch a stiff nipple. Aidra moans right into Ivy’s mouth, then yanks Ivy’s hand up and palms both of Ivy’s tits, thumbs working the firm, warm flesh before she strips the shirt off. She drops to her knees, sucking one tight pink nipple between her lips, then the other, licking circles, biting just enough to make Ivy gasp and buck against her. Clothes peel away in quick, clumsy tugs. Aidra drags Ivy down onto the rug, spreads her, buries her face between those smooth thighs and sucks Ivy’s clit until Ivy’s hips jerk and she comes with a broken cry. Then Ivy rolls Aidra over, pulls her legs up, tongue sliding down across her asshole and back up to fuck into her pussy, licking fast and filthy while Aidra curses and shakes. They flip again, each girl tonguing the other’s ass deep, slick fingers rubbing swollen clits, the air thick with the wet slap of skin and strangled moans. They keep going, orgasms ripping through them—sharp, fast, then deep and rolling—until they’re soaked and shaking. Somewhere near the curtains, blinds shift. The weight of unseen eyes presses against their bare skin, but neither girl cares enough to stop.