Cheer Squad Slumber Parties #27

The door slams shut behind them, the one he paid good money to follow him here. She's barely taller than shoulder height, but her dress rides up when she sits on the edge of the rumpled bed. One ankle stays crossed over the other like she still has manners left. He moves before either of them think about why. Hands on the thin knees. Presses them apart until the fabric skims higher, stops just under the crease where thigh becomes cunt. Skin already warm, she lets him open her. Fingers find the damp cotton between her legs. Rub slow, then firm, until the fabric clings and her hips tilt. No talk now, just breath and the rustle of silk pulled sideways. When he touches bare flesh, her mouth parts like she forgot how to close it. His knuckles brush against slick heat. She jerks once, then leans into the grind instead. The second time his thumb grazes her clit, she whimpers short and sharp, the sound landing low between them like smoke. Clothes still on, the mattress creaking once under her weight when he leans down. Lips hover at her ear. One finger slides, then curls, drawing wet from the inside out. Her legs tremble around his wrist. The rest is feel and pressure—tight, then yielding, then rhythm. Nothing polite remains in the room.