How's The View?

Little Puck shows up before sunrise to help set up. Octavia’s already there. The banner says Happy Retirement in glitter letters, but that’s not what has Little Puck’s blood rushing south. Octavia climbs the stepladder to hang it, skirt sliding up with every rung. The thong underneath is black, tiny, barely a whisper of fabric between two cheeks that flex when she reaches high. Little Puck keeps finding reasons to stand exactly underneath. Eyes glued. Thighs tight. She watches Octavia stretch, the string disappearing between plump lips for half a second, then reappearing when her hips shift. By the fourth balloon, Octavia glances down, catches her staring. A slow smile cuts across her face. She doesn’t close her legs. Instead she spreads them wider on the rung, giving Little Puck a full view. Wet spot blooming right at the crotch. Octavia’s voice drops low, teasing. “See something you like?” Little Puck’s pulse slams. Caught. Heat floods her face, then floods lower. Octavia starts down the ladder, slow, deliberate, thong riding higher with each step. When her feet hit the floor she’s already pressing close, breath warm. “Your turn to get on the ladder,” she says, fingers brushing the inside of Little Puck’s wrist. “I want a better look.”