Booty Camp

Trixe shucked her blouse at the yoga mat, panties soaked darker already. Laney’s eyes flicked to the wet spot, smirked. “Screw the shorts,” she said and shoved her leggings down to her ankles, bra straps digging red lines across her shoulders. Olive clicked off the studio lights until the room glowed red from the exit sign. They moved in a loose triangle, asses bare and hot under the warm air. Trixe knelt first, palms sliding up Laney’s thighs, thumbs pressing deep. Her tongue swept slow and flat, tasting sweat and salt along the crack, then slid lower until she met slick heat. Laney arched, breath rasping. Olive watched, one hand rubbing circles on her own clit, then dropped to her knees behind Trixe and spread her with both thumbs. Olive’s mouth was greedy—quick swipes followed by long, filthy strokes—and Trixe moaned into Laney’s cunt. The sound felt raw in the quiet room. Laney spun, climbed over Trixe’s face and ground down. Trixe licked like she meant it, nose buried, chin wet. Olive shifted sideways and pushed two fingers into Trixe while her tongue worked Laney’s rim. Sweat rolled off Olive’s tits and dropped onto Trixe’s lower back. Every slap of skin sounded louder now. The women kept going, switching places without words, fucking hard with tongues and hands and grinding hips until their thighs shook and the mats were slick beneath them.