Backstage with Jasmine Rouge

Jasmine came back from Turkey looking sun-kissed and glowing, while I stayed here looking like watered-down milk. No point sulking though. Today I'm supposed to play the good little passive girl who just sits still and soaks it up. Easy, right? Except it isn't. Every inch of me wants to move, grab, climb, do something, anything. My thighs twitch on the bedsheets as she peels off that bikini top like she knows I'm watching. Her breasts bounce free, tan lines sharp as knife cuts, nipples already hard. She catches me staring and laughs, soft and dirty, then leans in so her tits brush my face. Warm skin. A faint smell of coconut sunscreen. I bite my lip hard enough to taste blood while she drags one nipple across my mouth, daring me to open up. Every flick of contact makes my cunt throb and beg, but I keep my hands balled at my sides. I only need to take it. That's the game. And fuck, it's killing me in the best, funniest way possible.