Is The Magic Gone?

Penny and Zariah Aura, also girlfriends, sweat through their latest mirror trick in the apartment. Zariah's yank at the cloth pulls the rabbit cage crooked. Cards skitter across the floor like startled pigeons. She huffs, "You keep barking orders like it's a solo act. We were doing this for laughs, remember?" Penny almost snaps back, but the words stick. She knows she's been treating Zariah like stage dressing. A slow, half-smile cracks through. "Yeah, you're right. Forgot the point." They sit on the edge of the card table, sort the grievances, shoulders touching. The click back to normal sends heat rolling under their ribs. Minutes later Zariah's on her back against the folded tablecloth. Penny's slick tongue parts her lips, licks up through her soft, soaked folds until Zariah yelps. Sweat pearls on Penny's brow while she rubs fast, tight circles over Zariah's swollen clit; Zariah's fingers wind in her hair and tug her closer. Tongues slide, kisses turn bruising, the kind that leave blush instead of lipstick marks. "Fuck, harder," Zariah pants, and Penny answers by curling two fingers inside her, thrusting deep until the heel of her palm smacks against heat and wetness. A little later Zariah flips the script—pushes Penny onto the mismatched rug, strips her leggings off in one impatient swipe, then buries her face between Penny's thighs. Penny gasps, knees spread, hips rocking shamelessly into the wet press of tongue and teeth. Zariah slides two fingers deep, sucks hard on her clit until Penny's thighs shake and her cry breaks, low and needy. Sweat pools at the small of her back. When Penny comes, it's loud, thigh-quaking, her fingers fisting Zariah's curls. After, they catch breath together, chest to chest, giggles edging out under the mess of magic props and tangled legs, loving every filthy second.