Fake Hostel Lesbian threesome with hot busty young brunette babes
The Sapphic Sins of the Split-Level Summer House
It was just another sweltering summer night at the Split-Level – the nickname given to the decrepit summer house rented by college-aged girls during their breaks to get away from it all and let loose. The hot, humid air hung heavy with the stench of cheap beer, stale cigarette smoke, and the pungent aroma of aroused, hedonistic hormones. In the cramped, dimly lit living room, a trio of unrestrained young women were in various stages of undress, sprawled on the worn-out furniture, their chests heaving with giggled breaths and sweat-slickened skin glistening in the flickering candlelight.
At the center of it all was Lily, the olive-skinned, raven-haired ringleader of this bacchanalian escapade. Her ample bosom straining against a too-tight tank top, she lounged on the threadbare couch, one longue leg draped over the armrest, displaying miles of toned thigh. With mischief dancing in her emerald eyes, she took a deep pull from a joint, held the lungful of smoke, and then exhaled languidly. Puffs of marijuana-scented smoke dissipated around her heart-shaped face.
“Fuck, it’s hot as balls in here. Who turned up the thermostat?” Lily drawled in her melodic Southern accent, her sensual lips curving into a devious smirk. She eyed her friends curiously, assessing their arousal levels like a poker player reading her opponents’ cards. “Y’all right? Not about to pass out on us now, are ya?”
Samantha, the petite brunette perched on the edge of the couch cushions beside Lily, shook her burning cherry-blond head. Her golden hair swayed like a field of wheat in the breeze, contrasting sharply against Lily’s obsidian locks. Samantha giggled, then snorted. “Please, Lil. This ain’t nothin’. We got another shot and a half to go before I even start to feel it.”
Lily’s smile broadened. She leaned over and whispered something in Samantha’s ear, her tongue darting out to lick Samantha’s earlobe. The petite brunette shuddered, an audible gasp escaping her ruby-red lips. “Oh, hell yes. I love your idea, Lil. It sounds like a good time. Just one request…”
Winking, Lily nodded. “Anything for you, Sammy girl.”
As they high-fived, their fingers lingered, intertwining, and squeezed. There was an unspoken agreement between the two young women, a secret code only shared between the closest of friends. It was settled then. They knew precisely what the other was seeking, a profound, carnal need only they could satisfy.
Draining the last of her beer, Lily stood and stretched languidly, her arms reaching for the ceiling. The leggings she wore clung to her curves, leaving very little to the imagination. She glanced over at her third partner in crime, Mia, and crooked a finger in beckoning. “You coming?”
Mia’s eyes widened at the proposition, but she quickly regained her composure, masking her surprise with a nonchalant shrug. “Sure, why not? Can’t stay cooped up in this house all night with the dearly departed.” She nodded to the dusty old picture frames lining the shelves, their faces faded and foxed with age.
“Here lie Johnny’s Brass Knuckles… He believed his fists were chosen by God to punish non-believers in the goodness and greatness of Detroit rock ‘n’ roll.”
Chuckling, Mia stood and followed Lily and Samantha out the door, into the blustery evening air. Following a winding path through the previously-owned property’s overgrown landscaping, they made their way to the weathered wood shed near the back of the yard. “Hate this area,” Mia chimed in after picking their way across the yard, swatting at mosquitos. “Lights out. Music off. Passes after eleven.” Sounds exactly like the kind of place where preachers are fond of extemporaneous outbursts regarding sordid dancing, unquenchable thirst, and darnation.
As the girls approached the shed, a silhouette shifted in the darkness. Lily squinted, trying to make out the figure. It was all too clear now: a broomstick, needle, and spoon – drugs, exactly as they wanted. “C Rangy’s back there,” Mia informed them. Mia shrugged and continued. “Figured he’d be here, since… he’s got the goods.”
Samantha nodded, her eyes fixed on the man, Rangy, standing near the shed. He was a vision in black: black hoodie, black jeans, sneakers, and gloves. Even his ski mask was black. The only light was from a string of barebulbs above the sixth saloon-style door, illuminating his profile as he adjusted the baggie of white powder in his jeans pocket.
The girls watched Rangy as he eyed them back, a devious smirk playing across his face beneath the mask. He took out a razor blade and a dark, ornate lighter. Lily glided up to Rangy, her hips swaying hypnotically. She brushed his mop of tangled, greasy hair, leaning in close to whisper in his ear. He shuddered at her touch, his nerves tingling. When she pulled away, he was still captivated by the deep, sultry quality of her voice.
Glancing around to check that no one else was within earshot, Lily whispered, “I think we need to renegotiate our arrangement.” Rangy’s eyes widened as he realized what she was suggesting. He looked at her with a mix of surprise and elation. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but he knew there was no way he could refuse. Pressing his hands against the rough wood of the skeeter shelter, he stared down at this deviant woman, taking in her unflinching gaze. What was he getting into? Could he handle this wildcat?
