Gooner School

Sun warms concrete while Sheena and Sophia shake pom-poms and thrust their hips in the landlord's backyard. Tiny latex skirts ride up, flashing white cotton panties stretched thin over each curve. A half-hidden camera lens catches it all until the landlord steps out, hose in hand. Both girls freeze, then turn on him, eyes narrow, smiles slicing sharp. They drag him inside, strip him of the camera, and tell him exactly what he is: a twitchy gooner caught staring. Sheena slaps his cheek with her panty-clad crotch while Sophia yanks a wedgie high between her cheeks, stringing cotton deep between puffy lips. She bends over the table and gives her hole a wink that opens pink then closes, fast and filthy. Glass toys appear, long and transparent. Sheena works one deep, lets it protrude like a periscope so the lens can stare right up her stretched tunnel. Sophia stuffs the squat garden gnome past her sphincter until the ceramic figurine vanishes entirely, her rim hugging its round belly. When she straightens, the little hat pokes out again, slick and obscene. Sheena mounts the landlord's face, cheeks spread. The rough upholstery scrapes his nose as Sophia laughs and tells him to keep licking. Sheena flexes once, twice; the thick dildo she's wearing inside kicks, then launches across the carpet in a slippery arc. Her hole blooms, raw and trembling, edges twitching like a torn rim of molten glass. They kneel together, hands slick. Four fingers, five. A fist each. Knuckles disappear between winking rings, forearms glistening. The landlord hears the wet clicks, the low grunt every time one of them pushes deeper. A black plug slides free from Sophia; Sheena snatches it, sucks it clean with a greedy moan, then spits it into the landlord's lap. They rig cheerleader pom-poms to butt plugs, jam them home, and snap to attention. "G! O! O! N! E! R! S!" shrill voices filling the room. Jawbreaker candies follow, pushed past slippery sphincters until color shines between splayed cheeks, then popped out and licked. Outside again, naked bodies kneel over the grass. One enema bag, two. Cream floods in, then blasts out in thick spurts that arc and splatter. The two girls laugh, faces flushed, holes still pulsing as the last creamy rivulets slide down their thighs.