Internet's Down, Time To Pound

Jill and Selena sagged on the couch, knees knocking like they’d sprung with the same twitch. Connection down. No porn, no toys humming in the drawer, just hollow screens and worse news: tech said days. Days of wired nerves with nothing to scratch them. They eyed each other, both thinking the same dirty quick. Porn’s pixels gone, but skin’s right here. Selena’s fingers brushed up Jill’s thigh, slow then certain, heat on skin, promise under cotton. One yank of clothing and Jill shoved her back, thighs straddling, hips grinding against her. Tongues clashed, wet and open-mouthed. Selena bit Jill’s neck, clawed down her spine, dragged her lower until both of them slick. Fingers shoved in, knuckles knuckle-deep, hips bucking against the couch that creaked with every hard thrust. Moans clawed out—raw, vulgar—filling the room like static. Sweat slid between tits pressed tight, ragged breaths, mouths sloppy. Nothing digital now, just skin slapping, cunt clenching, bodies chasing the fix the old-fashioned way: rough and unfiltered, both of them coming hard.