Dovefucking 101

Reagan sprawls across her sofa, skin slick, laptop glowing. Videos flash. Suddenly she spots Lena outside, sobbing on the patio. Reagan snaps the screen shut, waves her girl inside. Lena slumps down, face wet. Through hiccuped words she confesses the lunchtime disaster: talk of dovefucking and the cruel chants of big virgin. Reagan’s voice drops low, velvet and smoke. She drags the explanation slow, careful, until Lena blurts the question straight. Dovefucking—what the fuck is it? For a heartbeat Reagan’s tongue stalls, then she says it plain: something dirty, two wet cunts sliding against each other. Lena stares, hungry and lost. Reagan clicks on a clip that shows everything. Lena’s eyes go wide. That can feel good? Reagan’s answer lands like a dare: it feels incredible. She shuts the laptop, promises it won’t matter if Lena’s never done it—until Lena whispers the real fear. Then the offer spills out, shaky but sure. Reagan’s jaw tightens, breath shallow, but she nods. Clothes fall away fast. Reagan straddles the cushions, massive tits spilling free; Lena’s fingers sink deep into warm flesh. Her own top peels off. Reagan groans, palms Lena’s heavy breasts, tongue tracing stiff nipples. Neither girl stops until jeans are flung aside, thighs spread. Reagan’s mouth finds Lena’s slick slit, tongue flicking fast. Then she lifts up, drags her own dripping cunt over Lena’s open, swollen lips, tit-to-cunt, cunt-to-tit, the filthy rhythm that finally gives Lena her first lesson in dovefucking—wet and grinding, both of them moaning in the hot afternoon light.