Short Story: Scar Alone In Her Room

 

Scar had spent the entire day moving through the rhythms of campus life like a girl already half-undone. Morning classes left her notebooks filled with half-legible notes she barely remembered writing. The library hours that followed were a blur of highlighted pages and the soft, constant awareness of the other bodies around her, long sexy legs crossed under tables, the stretch of a tank top across a cheerleader’s chest two rows over, the way a pair of yoga pants clung to a tight ass when a beautiful dancer squad girl bent to retrieve a dropped pen. By the time she reached the practice field, the heat in her blood had already begun to simmer. Cheer practice only made it worse. The other girls were all sweat and shine and laughter, constant beautiful smiles on beautiful faces, their bodies moving in perfect, powerful unison. Scar felt every brush of a teammate’s hip, every flash of midriff when a crop top rode up, every bounce of full breasts inside sports bras. By the final pre-practice stretch, her own black sports bra was damp, her tight black leggings molded to her like a second skin, and the tiny black lace thong she wore beneath them was soaked through. The fabric clung to her folds, sticky and dark, and every jump, every kick, every deep squat sent a sweet, filthy drag of wet lace across her swollen, now overly sensitive clit. Scar walked from the shuttle van and into the Alpha Omega Sorority House in that same state, leggings, sports bra, thong, all of it carrying the scent of her own arousal mixed with the clean salt of practice sweat. The house was already alive with the low murmur of dinner and the distant thump of music from the common room, but Scar slipped past the open doorways without stopping. She was too tired, too wound-up, too full of the day’s accumulated heat to face the bright chatter of her sorority sisters. Tonight she wanted only her new room, the quiet, and the slow, deliberate undoing of everything she had kept clenched all day. The shower was the first mercy. Hot water poured over her shoulders and ran in shining sheets down the firm, trim lines of her body. She soaped herself slowly, palms sliding over the high, round swell of her breasts, thumbs circling the dark pink nipples that had been hard for hours. She let her hand drift lower, fingers gliding through the soft, trimmed thatch above her pussy, then lower still, parting the slick outer lips. The water made everything feel silkier. She rubbed slow circles over her clit, felt the little bud swell and throb, and slipped one finger inside just far enough to feel how hot and wet she already was. A second finger joined the first. She fucked herself in lazy, shallow strokes, head tipped back against the tile, soft sounds escaping her throat. It would have been so easy to keep going, to chase the orgasm right there under the spray, but she forced herself to stop. She rinsed, stepped out, and dried off with a thick white towel that left her skin pink and glowing. The sleep set waited on the edge of her bed, the uniform every new girl was strongly compelled to compile on her own and give her own spin while still meeting very specific guidelines. First, Scar fastened on the navy-blue satin and lace bra with baby blue embroidered hearts and flowers. Then, she slid on the soft, oversized white t-shirt with a little teddy bear iron-on. The specifications simply said navy blue satin and lace bra, matching thong, and an over-sized white shirt with a teddy bear on it somewhere. Scar’s little bear was small and set a few inches below the neckline. The fabric was thin and slightly clingy where it touched her still-wet hair and shoulders. She left one side deliberately slipped off, baring the smooth curve of her shoulder and the elegant line of her collarbone and navy-blue bra strap. Without really thinking on it, at this point, Scar ran her hands over the pretty little navy-blue bra. The cups were soft, the hearts and flowers raised and noticeable to the touch, the underwire lifting her breasts into a full, tempting shape. Scar then took her hands way from the bra and slid the matching thong up and legs, leaving it sitting low on her hips, the same deep navy lace framing the firm plane of her lower belly and the neat cleft of her ass. When she looked in the mirror the effect was exactly what the sorority intended: casual, almost innocent on the surface, and quietly filthy underneath. Scar’s hair was still damp, falling in loose, wavy curtains around her face and over her shoulders. The ends darkened the white cotton of the t-shirt in small spots. She felt the cool air of the room kiss the exposed skin of her midriff where the shirt had been pushed up and knotted loosely just beneath her breasts. The satin of the bra was cool against her nipples; every small movement made the fabric shift and catch. Scar turned off the overhead light, leaving only the soft glow of the bedside lamp. She climbed onto the fresh sheets, the mattress dipping under her weight, and settled back against the pillows. For a long moment she simply lay there, breathing, letting the quiet of the room settle around her. Then her hands began to move. She started at her own throat, fingertips tracing the delicate line down to the hollow between her collarbones. The white t-shirt was soft under her palms as she smoothed it over her ribs, then pushed it higher so that the navy lace and satin of her bra was fully visible. She cupped her breasts through the satin, feeling their weight, their warmth. Her thumbs found her nipples and stroked them in slow, deliberate circles. The lace was slightly rough against the sensitive peaks; the contrast made her shiver. She pinched lightly, rolled the hardening buds between finger and thumb, and felt the answering pulse deep between her legs. The shirt stayed rucked up beneath her breasts. She liked the way it framed them, the way the teddy-bear embroidery sat just above the deep cleavage the bra created. She slid one hand inside the left cup, palm against bare skin, and lifted the soft flesh free of the lace so that her nipple was exposed to the cool air. She did the same on the right. Now both breasts were bare, the navy cups pushed down beneath them, the straps still clinging to her shoulders. She squeezed and kneaded, watching the way her flesh spilled between her fingers, the way her nipples hardened into hard little points. Scar’s breathing had grown slower, deeper. One hand stayed at her breasts while the other drifted down the flat plane of her stomach, tracing the faint definition of muscle, circling her navel, then lower still until her fingertips met the waistband of the thong. She slipped beneath the lace. Her pussy was already slippery, the folds swollen and hot. She parted them with two fingers and simply held herself open for a moment, feeling the cool air of the room touch places that had been hidden all day. Then she began to stroke. She took her time. Light, teasing passes over her clit that made her hips twitch. Deeper pressure that spread the wetness up and down her slit. She circled the entrance, dipped just the tip of one finger inside, withdrew, and did it again. The second finger joined, then a third, stretching her slowly until she was fucking herself with a steady, rolling rhythm. The wet sounds were soft and filthy in the quiet room. Her other hand kept working her nipples, pinching and tugging in time with the strokes between her legs. Every few minutes she pulled her fingers free and brought them to her mouth. She licked them clean with long, deliberate strokes of her tongue, tasting the sharp, musky sweetness of her own cunt. The first time made her moan softly around her fingers. The second time she sucked them deeper, eyes half-closed, savoring every drop. She returned to her pussy, gathered more of the slick, and tasted again. The cycle became its own slow ritual, finger, fuck, taste, finger, fuck, taste, until her thighs were trembling and the sheets beneath her hips were damp. She shifted, drawing her knees up and spreading them wider. One hand reached between her legs from behind, the other still busy at her clit. Her middle finger found the tight, puckered ring of her asshole and pressed. She was careful, patient, circling the sensitive rim until it softened and accepted the tip of her finger. The dual sensation, two fingers deep in her pussy, one slowly working into her ass, made her gasp. She fucked both holes in the same lazy rhythm, feeling the thin wall of flesh between them, the way every thrust in one place made the other tighten and flutter. When she withdrew the finger from her ass, she brought it to her mouth without hesitation, tasting the darker, earthier flavor, licking until her tongue was clean, then returning for more. Time stretched. The lamp cast warm shadows across her body. The white t-shirt had ridden higher; the navy lace of the thong was pushed aside. Scar’s skin glowed with a fine sheen of sweat. Her lips were parted, soft sounds falling from them with every breath. She alternated between long, luxurious strokes that kept her hovering just below the edge and sudden, harder thrusts that made her back arch off the bed. She tasted herself again and again, pussy, then ass, pussy then ass, then both together, until the flavor of her own body was the only thing she could taste. When the need finally grew too sharp to deny, she reached beneath the pillow. The dildo was exactly as she had left it that morning: thick, black, heavily veined, the silicone still slightly cool from the night air. She brought it to her mouth first, wetting the broad head with her tongue, sucking it deep enough to feel her jaw stretch. Then she guided it down between her legs. The first push was slow. The fat head stretched her open, the ridges of the veins dragging against her inner walls. She watched it disappear inch by inch, her free hand holding her folds open so she could see every wet, glistening centimeter. When it was buried to the hilt she stayed still for a long moment, simply feeling the fullness, the way her pussy fluttered and clenched around the thick shaft. Then she began to move. She fucked herself with rising urgency. Deep, steady strokes that made the bed creak softly. The wet slap of the dildo against her cunt filled the room. Her free hand returned to her clit, rubbing hard, fast circles while the black cock plunged in and out. She could feel the orgasm building like a storm low in her belly, gathering strength with every thrust. Her breasts bounced with the force of her movements; the damp ends of her hair stuck to her cheeks and collarbones. She did not slow down. She drove the dildo harder, deeper, angling it so that every stroke dragged across the sensitive spot inside her. Her fingers blurred over her clit. The pressure coiled tighter and tighter until it finally snapped. The first wave hit hard enough to make her cry out loudly. Her pussy clamped down around the thick black shaft in hard, rhythmic pulses. A second later the squirt came, a sharp, sudden rush of clear fluid that sprayed across the sheets and her own thighs. She kept fucking herself through it, riding the contractions, another jet of wetness following the first, then another, until the bedding beneath her was soaked and shining. Her whole body shook. Her toes curled. Her free hand clutched at the pillow beside her head as the orgasm rolled on and on, leaving her gasping and trembling and utterly spent. When the last tremors finally faded, she left the dildo buried inside her and simply lay there, chest rising and falling, the soft white t-shirt still pushed up above her bare breasts, the navy lace of her bra and thong in disarray. The room smelled of sex and clean sweat and the faint floral scent of the laundry detergent on the sheets. Outside, somewhere in the house, a door closed and laughter drifted faintly down the hall. Scar smiled to herself in the half-dark, already half-asleep, the thick black cock still filling her fully, the evidence of her pleasure cooling on her skin and the bed. It had been a long day. It had been a perfect night alone in her room…

Short Story: Beverly and Those Three Mexican Girls

 

Beverly’s third day in Oaxaca started like the others, runway lights, camera flashes, the hum of fashion week, but by early afternoon she had a rare stretch of free time. Beverly pulled on the skimpy white string-side-tie bikini she had packed, the tiny triangles and thin ties that barely covered anything, and headed to the beach alone for the first time. Back home she was always surrounded by friends or sorority sisters. Here it was just her, nervous, towel under one arm, the Pacific glistening under a bright blue sky. Beverly found a quiet stretch of pale sand while the beach was still relatively empty. She laid out her towel, settled onto her stomach, then her back. The sun sank into her skin. She pulled out her philosophy text book she forced herself to bring on her trip, read a few pages, closed her eyes, and let her mind drift. The casual-wear show had been easy. Sportswear too. But last night’s lingerie show refused to leave her. All those other models, long legs, perfect breasts, sheer lace and silk that clung and revealed. Every set she slipped into, she had left the gusset damp by the time she took it off. By the third look she was soaked, the fabric darkening between her legs, her nipples so hard, her cunt pulsing with every step down the runway. Thinking about it now, on the sand, made fresh wetness gather in her little white bikini bottoms. Beverly shifted her thighs. Her fingers twitched toward the side ties of her bottoms. Three young women arrived a short distance away and spread their towels. Long dark hair, smooth golden-brown skin, easy laughter. One was in red, one was in turquoise, and third was in patterned paisley. They looked similar enough to be sisters or very close friends. Beverly watched them from behind her sunglasses, loneliness pricking again, until the girl in red stood, walked over with an easy sway of hips, and asked in a low, musical Mexican accent, “You are alone, yes?” Beverly admitted she was. The invitation came immediately. “You would like to join us, no?” Beverly was enthralled immediately with her voice, her sexy little accent, her hot little body in that red tiny bikini. Beverly smiled and nodded, then moved her towel closer as she and cute girl in red returned to where her two friends were settling on to the sand. The sexy little Mexican girls’ English was broken, heavily accented, every word soft and rolling with much thought behind it. “I am Rosa,” the girl in red smiled. She then gestured to the girl in turquoise and said, “This is Clara,” then gestured to the girl in paisley and said, This is Angela.” Beverly could not stop looking. Rosa in red had full, high breasts that filled the triangle top, a narrow waist flaring into round hips, and thick thighs that pressed together when she sat. Clara in turquoise was leaner, long-limbed, small high breasts, a flat stomach that disappeared into the bright blue bottoms. Angela in paisley had the softest curves of the three, heavy breasts, deep cleavage, a plump ass that the patterned fabric struggled to contain. All three had the same glossy black hair cascading down their backs, the same warm brown skin glowing under the sun, the same easy confidence in their bodies. Beverly’s white bottoms were already sticky; now they were soaked. She kept her thighs pressed together and tried not to stare at the way the girls’ nipples showed through the thin fabric, the way their asses shifted when they laughed. Then, without ceremony, all three reached back and untied their tops. Fabric dropped. Bare breasts spilled free, round, soft, brown-tipped nipples already hard and glistening in the breeze. Beverly’s mouth went dry. Rosa noticed the shocked look on Beverly’s face and laughed, low and knowing. “You did not know? This is Playa Zipolite. Only legal nude beach in Mexico.” Cute and sexy little Rosa, now in just her red tiny bottoms shrugged, the motion making her beautiful bare breasts bounce. “We always take off at least tops.” The girls kept talking, sunbathing, oiling one another’s shoulders. Beverly’s pulse hammered between her legs. She watched the way sunlight slid over their bare tits, the way a nipple stiffened when a drop of oil rolled across it, the soft jiggle when one of them shifted. Beverly’s own white top suddenly felt ridiculous, too modest, out of place. After long minutes of internal thoughts, Beverly reached up, pulled the strings, and let the white triangles of fabric fall away. Her pale breasts spilled out, nipples already hard. The three girls whooped and clapped, bright laughter ringing across the sand. Beverly blushed hard but felt a sharp, secret thrill. The girls sat and chatted topless for an hour or so, sun on skin, salt air, the occasional brush of an arm or thigh that made Beverly’s cunt clench. When the girls announced they were heading back to their apartment right on the beach to change and go shopping, they invited her. Beverly hesitated only a second, then gathered her things. The girls walked together, still half-naked under the open sky, tops dangling from fingers, beautiful breasts swaying. Beverly’s eyes kept stealing glances, bare breasts, the flex of asses in thin bottoms, the dark triangles of hair just visible at the edges of the fabric. Finally, as they reached the end of the sand, the three sexy Mexican girls put their tops back on, and Beverly followed suit. Their apartment was literally on the edge of the sand. It was small and airy with windows open to the sea. As soon as the door closed behind them, much to Beverly’s surprise, the three Mexican girls did not bother with clothes or conversation. They turned and folded into each other immediately. Rosa pulled Carla into a deep, open-mouthed kiss, tongues sliding wetly, hands already cupping and squeezing bare breasts. Fingers pinched brown nipples until Carla moaned into the kiss. Angela pressed in from behind, grinding her covered pussy against Rosa’s ass, hands reaching around to fondle both sets of tits at once. Tops were already gone; bottoms followed in a flurry of strings and fabric. Three naked bodies tangled on the low bed, smooth brown skin, long black hair, wet sexy mouths. They knew each other’s bodies well. Rosa dropped to her knees and buried her face between Carla’s thighs, spreading her slick pink folds with her thumbs and licking long, slow strokes from the dripping entrance up to the swollen clit. Rosa sucked Carla’s clit into her mouth, flicked it with her tongue, then pushed two fingers deep into Carla’s tight, wet cunt and curled them. Carla cried out, hips bucking, one hand fisting the Rosa’s hair while the other reached back to spread her own ass cheeks for Angela. Angela licked a slow, filthy stripe from Carla’s dripping pussy up to her tight little asshole, then speared her tongue inside, fucking the ring with wet thrusts while her fingers joined Rosa’s inside Carla’s soaking wet cunt. Rosa and Angela stretched Carla open, three and then four fingers pumping, juices running down thighs and dripping onto the sheets. They rotated without words. Angela lay back, legs spread wide, and then Rosa straddled her face, lowering her dripping cunt onto Angela’s waiting mouth. Angela’s tongue delved deep, lapping at the folds, sucking Rosa’s  clit, then sliding lower to rim the puckered asshole while Rosa ground down, smearing herself across Angela’s eager face. Carla knelt between Angela’s thighs and ate her out with the same practiced hunger, long flat licks, pointed tongue fucking the hole, fingers spreading the outer lips so she could suck the inner ones, then two fingers sliding into the wet heat while her tongue circled the clit. The room filled with wet sounds: slurping, moaning, the soft slap of skin. Beverly stood frozen, white bottoms soaked through, nipples aching against her white little top, watching every detail, the way a tongue disappeared into a glistening cunt, the way an asshole winked and opened under a probing tongue, the way fingers stretched pink flesh and came away shiny. Heat flooded her. Beverly quickly stripped off her little white bikini and stepped forward, announcing without words, her desire to join the fray. The three girls, glistening with sweat, nipples so hard, slits all so wet, welcomed Beverly instantly. Soft hands pulled her milky white body down into the tangle of tan bodies. Rosa kissed Beverly hard with passion. Beverly immediately noticed Rosa tasted so strongly of pussy juices. Beverly did not want to pull away from the arousing taste, but Rosa then guided Beverly’s mouth Carla’s glistening pussy. “Lick, chica blanca” Rosa murmured against Beverly’s ear. “Slow, babygirl. Taste her well. Enjoy her sweet juices.” Beverly’s already dripping cunt quivered at Rosa’s words, shuddered inside at her sexy accent. Beverly’s first tentative lick pulled a thick, salty-sweet flood across her tongue. Beverly moaned and licked harder, spreading Carla’s folds, sucking Carla’s swollen clit the way she had watched the three sexy girls do it. Carla arched and pushed against Beverly’s face. “Fuck, gringa, you eat pussy good,” Carla breathed out heavy as behind her, Angela moved in and spread Beverly’s ass cheeks, dragging her wet tongue from Beverly’s dripping cunt up over her tight hole, circling, pressing inside. Beverly cried out into Carla’s dripping pussy. Beverly’s fingers, two, then three, slid into her soaked channel, curling, stretching, while Angela’s tongue fucked her ass. The three sexy little Mexican girls taught her with hands and mouths. Rosa showed her how to eat ass properly, long, firm licks, the tip of the tongue working the rim open, then deeper, while fingers kept the cunt full. Beverly learned the taste of every one of them: Carla’s sharper tanginess, Angela’s richer musk, and Rosa’s thick, creamy sweet wetness. Each of the three girls took turns riding Beverly’s face, grinding down until her nose pressed into soft folds and her tongue was buried as deep as it could go. The girls bent Beverly over and licked her from clit to asshole in endless strokes, two tongues at once sometimes, one in her cunt and one in her ass while Beverly moaned and pushed back. Fingers everywhere. Rosa worked three fingers into Beverly’s tight pussy while Angela slowly pressed a slick finger into her ass, pumping in opposite rhythm until, double penetrating her until Beverly came hard, shaking, juices flooding their hands. They did not stop. Carla straddled Beverly’s face again and sat down, smothering her in wet heat while Rosa and Angela licked and fingered both of Beverly’s holes. Beverly’s tongue worked frantically; she sucked clit, fucked with her tongue, swallowed everything they gave her. When Carla finally came again, she ground down hard, flooding Beverly’s mouth and chin. The girls kept going, sixty-nining in a chain so every mouth had a cunt or an ass, fingers pumping, tongues swirling, the wet sounds and soft Spanish curses filling the room. Beverly came again with a tongue buried in her ass and two mouths alternating on her clit and nipples. Beverly came a third time with Rosa’s fingers deep in her cunt and Angela’s tongue fucking her ass while she licked Carla’s dripping hole. By the time they finally slowed, the sheets were wrecked, skin slick with sweat and cum, hair tangled. The three Mexican girls kissed Beverly slowly, sharing the taste of all of them, murmuring soft praise in accented English and Spanish. Outside, the ocean kept rolling in, waves crashing, the sound echoing in the musty, sex-scented little apartment. Beverly lay weak and thoroughly used, already wondering how long she could stay in that tiny little apartment with those three Mexican girls…

Short Story: Miyani and Kiyani's Fashion Week Heat

 

Miyani and Kiyani had been inseparable since pledging the same sorority house three years ago, their rooms across the hall from each other, late-night study sessions turning into whispered confessions under shared blankets. Now, both rising fashion runway models, they were in Los Angeles for Fashion Week, sharing a whirlwind that left them exhausted, exhilarated, and aching in ways that had nothing to do with sore feet. The past three days had been a blur of lights, cameras, and barely-there fabric. On Monday, Miyani, tall, statuesque, with rich dark skin that glowed under the spotlights, her tight black curls cascading down her back, had opened a winter collection. She strutted in a structured white wool coat that flared dramatically over a sheer black bodysuit, the coat’s high collar framing her sharp cheekbones and full lips. The audience gasped as she paused, one hand on her hip, the fabric parting just enough to reveal the curve of her breasts and the long lines of her legs. Kiyani followed, her lighter caramel skin and long wavy dark hair catching every flash. She wore a matching ensemble in deep crimson, the coat cinched at her narrow waist before falling open over a lace-trimmed camisole that clung to her full breasts and the soft plane of her stomach. Backstage Miyani and Kiyani laughed together as they peeled off the heavy layers, their bodies brushing in the cramped space, the residual heat of the runway still magnetic between them. Tuesday brought the swimwear shows. Miyani modeled a series of micro-bikinis, tiny triangles of metallic gold that barely contained her heavy, round breasts, barely covered her dark sexy nipples, the bottoms a thin strip that disappeared between the firm cheeks of her ass. The stage lights made her skin gleam like polished mahogany. Kiyani took the same runway in a pale lavender set, the tops so minimal they were little more than strings and small cups that let the dark buds of her nipples press clearly against the fabric when she moved. The bottoms sat high on her hips, the front panel a teasing V that framed the smooth mound of her pussy. Between changes Miyani and Kiyani shared a dressing room, helping each other adjust straps, fingers lingering a few seconds too long on warm skin. Wednesday was pure lingerie, delicate, scandalous pieces that left almost nothing to the imagination. Miyani walked in a black lace teddy so sheer her dark areolas and the soft folds of her sex were visible through the openwork. A garter belt held sheer stockings to her long thighs. Kiyani wore white, almost bridal in its innocence, yet the cups of the bra stopped just beneath her nipples and the thong was a single strand of pearls that nestled against her clit with every step, rubbing her wet right there on the runway. The applause had been thunderous. That night in their hotel they laid side by side, still in the residual scent of perfume and stage makeup, talking about the shows until the conversation trailed off into heavy silence and restless shifting of sheets. By Thursday afternoon, the heat of the city and the accumulated tension had driven them to the beach. The stretch of white sand near their hotel was crowded with other models still riding the high of Fashion Week, lean bodies in scraps of fabric, laughing, posing for Instagram selfies, glistening with sunscreen and ocean spray. Miyani wore a white bikini patterned with bold red hibiscus flowers. The triangle top was barely large enough to contain her full, heavy breasts; the thin straps dug slightly into her shoulders and the ties at her back and neck left the sides of her soft mounds exposed. The matching bottoms were high-cut, the front panel dipping low enough to show the upper curve of her mound, the sides tied in bows that begged to be pulled. A silver heart pendant rested in the deep valley between her breasts. Heart-shaped sunglasses perched on her nose, and a green festival wristband circled one wrist. Kiyani’s bikini was a riot of soft rainbow stripes: peach, coral, yellow, pale green, and pink that clung to every curve. The triangle cups lifted and separated her full breasts, the thin fabric stretching tight across her nipples. A silver heart charm dangled from her navel piercing, catching the light each time she moved. The bottoms were equally minimal, the side ties resting against the smooth hollows of her hips, the back disappearing between the firm, rounded cheeks of her ass. A pink wristband matched Miyani’s green one. Both women were barefoot, sand clinging to their polished toes, their bodies still carrying the residual heat of three days of being watched, desired, and dressed in next to nothing. Miyani and Kiyani stood close on the shoreline, the turquoise water lapping at their ankles, other models nearby in equally tiny suits, string thongs, micro-tops, bodies oiled and laughing. The sight of so much bare skin, the memory of every runway, the way the ocean breeze tightened their nipples against the thin fabric, had both of them throbbing, literally soaking wet. Miyani’s dark eyes met Kiyani’s over the rims of her heart-shaped glasses. She licked her full lower lip. “I can’t take it anymore,” Miyani said, voice low and rough. “Come back to my room with me, Kiyani.” Kiyani’s smile was slow and hungry. She had been waiting to hear those words since Monday. Kiyani didn’t answer with words. She simply bit her bottom lip a little and nodded yes while smiling. Miyani took Kiyani’s hand, their fingers linking. The two bikini-clad unbelievably sexy girls walked off the sand, past the other models, past the umbrellas and the low murmur of conversation. The hotel lobby was cool and modern, all glass and pale stone. Miyani and Kiyani moved through it, hand-in-hand, their bikinis wet with sweat and their own juices, sand dusting their calves, bodies on full display. Miyani’s floral print hugged the heavy sway of her breasts and the tight curves of her hips; the side ties of her bottoms brushed her thighs with every step. Kiyani’s striped suit rode high, the soft fabric of the top shifting with each breath so that the upper curves of her breasts were constantly revealed and then covered again. Heads turned. Soft conversations paused. Their intertwined fingers only tightened their grip with each step, thighs brushing, the air between them electric. In the elevator, the doors had barely closed before Miyani backed Kiyani against the mirrored wall. Their mouths met hard, tongues sliding, tasting salt and sunscreen. Miyani’s hand slipped between Kiyani’s legs, cupping the warm, damp fabric of her bikini bottoms, pressing her palm against the swollen mound beneath. Kiyani moaned into the kiss and reached for Miyani’s breast, squeezing the soft weight through the floral triangles, thumb circling the stiff peak of her dark nipple. The elevator climbed. They ground against each other, the thin fabric of their suits the only barrier, the possibility of the doors opening on another floor making every touch sharper, wetter. The hallway was empty when they spilled out. They didn’t wait. Miyani pushed Kiyani against the wall beside her door, dropped to her knees on the carpet, and pulled the side ties of Kiyani’s bottoms free. The striped fabric fell away. Miyani’s tongue found her immediately, hot, open-mouthed kisses along the smooth outer lips, then a long, slow licks through the slick folds, gathering the taste of her. Kiyani’s head fell back against the wall, one hand in Miyani’s curls, the other covering her own mouth to stifle the moans she couldn’t hold in. Miyani sucked Kiyani’s clit between soft lips, flicked it with the tip of her tongue, then pushed two fingers into the tight, clenching wetness of Kiyani’s pussy, curling them until Kiyani’s thighs trembled. A distant door opened somewhere down the corridor. They both froze for a heartbeat, then Miyani stood, yanked Kiyani’s bottoms back into place with shaking hands, and fumbled the key card. The second the door of the suite closed behind them they were on each other again. Miyani’s floral top came off first. Her heavy breasts spilled free, dark nipples already so hard. Kiyani’s mouth closed over one, sucking hard while her hands shoved the matching bottoms down Miyani’s long legs. Then they were on the wide bed, naked except for the heart pendants and the wristbands, bodies sliding together in the cool air-conditioned room. Miyani settled between Kiyani’s spread thighs and licked her open, slow and thorough. She dragged her tongue from the tight pucker of Kiyani’s ass up through the wet slit, circling the swollen clit, then pushing inside as deep as she could. Kiyani’s hips rolled, her hands fisting the sheets, soft cries spilling out. When Miyani sealed her lips around the little pearl of her clit and sucked in rhythm with two fingers thrusting deep, Kiyani came hard, thighs clamping around Miyani’s head, pussy pulsing and flooding Miyani’s mouth. They switched. Kiyani climbed over Miyani’s face and lowered herself, grinding her still-sensitive folds against Miyani’s tongue while she bent forward to return the favor. The 69 was messy and desperate, wet sounds, soft moans, the taste of each other thick on their tongues. Miyani’s hips bucked as Kiyani’s fingers stretched her open and her mouth worked her clit; she came with a low, shuddering moan, flooding Kiyani’s chin. They didn’t stop. Miyani reached into the drawer of the nightstand and pulled out the thick black strap-on she had packed “just in case”. The harness settled around her hips, the heavy shaft jutting from her pelvis. Kiyani watched with dark, hungry eyes, then turned onto her hands and knees, presenting the firm, rounded curve of her ass and the glistening pink of her pussy. Miyani knelt behind her, guided the thick head to Kiyani’s entrance, and pushed in slowly, stretching her open inch by inch until she was buried to the base. Kiyani’s moans were long and shaky. Miyani gripped her hips and began to fuck her, deep, steady strokes that made the bed creak and Kiyani’s breasts sway beneath her. The wet slap of skin on skin filled the room. Miyani leaned over her, one hand reaching around to rub Kiyani’s clit while she thrust harder, the dildo filling her completely with every drive of her hips. “I love you,” Miyani whispered against the back of Kiyani’s neck, the words hot on Kiyani’s skin. “I’ve loved you for so long,” Kiyani whispered back, turning her head, eyes wet, smile trembling. “God, I love you,” Miyani said as her pounding of Kiyani’s beautiful wet pussy didn’t skip a beat. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” Miyani said between sighs of passion. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” Kiyani replied. The admission cracked something open between them. Miyani fucked Kiyani harder, deeper, the thick black cock disappearing into Kiyani’s tight beautiful wet pussy over and over. Kiyani pushed back to meet every thrust, crying out as another orgasm tore through her, pussy clenching hard around the big black shaft. Miyani followed her over the edge a moment later, grinding deep, her own clit grinding against the base of the harness until pleasure white-hot and sharp ripped through her. The girls collapsed together afterward, the strap-on still buried inside Kiyani, bodies slick and trembling. Miyani carefully withdrew and unbuckled the harness, then pulled Kiyani into her arms. They kissed slowly now, tasting salt and each other, hands stroking soft skin, the frantic hunger easing into something deeper and warmer. Outside, the late-afternoon sun still shone on the crowded beach, but inside the quiet hotel room the two models, sorority sisters, lovers, something new and permanent, held each other close. The Fashion Week shows would continue. The tiny bikinis and lacy lingerie would still be worn. But for the first time in three days, neither of them felt the restless ache of wanting. They had found exactly what they needed in each other’s arms…

Short Story: Laura and Maggie's Hour on the Ground

 

The year was 1963. The Boeing 707 sat quiet on the tarmac at Los Angeles International, engines still humming at idle under the ground crew’s orders. The rest of the Pan Am cabin staff and the pilots had already deplaned. Only Laura and Maggie remained in the first-class cabin when the ground crewman poked his head through the forward cabin door. “Hi, ladies. So sorry to keep you, but we need to keep her powered while our mechanics check a few systems. It’ll be about an hour. You mind staying aboard in case we need anything from inside?” Laura and Maggie exchanged a look, then shrugged. An extra hour on the clock, and the chance to raid the leftover champagne and canapés appetizers, was no hardship. The cabin door sealed again. The usually bright cabin lights stayed low and soft. Outside, the California night waited. Both women immediately kicked off their white high heels. Laura’s bare feet settled on the soft carpet; Maggie’s did the same. Laura had fair skin, a slender, tall athletic build, and a refined facial structure with high cheekbones, a straight nose, full lips, and defined eyebrows. Her blonde hair was styled in a neat updo with her soft blonde waves pulled back and secured. Maggie shared Laura’s fair skin, but that is about where their similarities ended. Maggie was about a foot shorter than Laura and had short brunette hair that hung loosely, dusting the top of her shoulders. Maggie’s face was rounder, fuller, with prominent eyes, arched brows, a defined nose, and full lips. Both were considered beautiful, even among the high standards of beauty expected of Pan Am stewardesses at the time. Their uniforms were classic early-sixties Pan Am: crisp white short-sleeved blouses with pointed collars and neat name badges, tailored blue skirts that ended just below the knee, blue pilot-style caps still perched on their heads. The skirts hugged their hips and showed the faint, deliberate outline of the regulation white satin-and-lace full-back panties every Pan Am stewardess secretly wore beneath her uniform, smooth satin with delicate lace edging, the fabric stretching snug over the curves of their asses so the panty line was visible whenever they moved. Laura and Maggie sat for about ten minutes or so, simply talking, Laura seated properly on the edge of the bench-style seat in the first-class galley area, Maggie sitting on a pillow on the floor in the aisle, facing Laura, her back leaning against the bench seat on the other side of the aisle, her bare feet resting just behind Laura’s sexy figure on the bench seat on which she sat. The two girls talked about how smooth the New York-to-LA flight had been, which passengers had been polite, which had been handsy. Then Maggie began naming other girls on the line. A certain redhead who always “accidentally” brushed against the first officer. A brunette from the Miami base who had a reputation for late-night hotel-room parties. Each name made Laura’s cheeks flush a little deeper. Her breathing changed. Maggie watched the subtle shift in the Laura’s posture, the way her thighs pressed together under the blue skirt as she purposely talked in more vulgar terms, purposely describing their fellow stewardesses more lewdly with each story. Then, once the conversation lagged a bit, Maggie stretched and rolled her neck, saying very nonchalantly, “I know they have the air running still, but it’s definitely getting warmer in here.” Maggie then reached up and began undoing the buttons of her own white blouse, one by one, all of the way down so that only one button above the waistline of her skirt was still fastened, causing the fabric to part enough to reveal the pure white satin-and-lace bra beneath. The cups were soft, structured just enough to lift and shape, the lace along the upper edge framing the gentle swell of Maggie’s very sizeable breasts. Laura’s eyes locked on them and stayed there. Maggie continued her stories for about another five minutes or so, smiling as she noticed Laura’s eyes were continually darting from her face, down to her beautiful and sexy cleavage and back. Then, as the conversation lulled a second time, Maggie smirked a lustful, playful smile, catching Laura a little off guard as she said, “Laura, you keep staring at my chest. Do you want to see it properly?” Laura’s answer was barely a whisper. “Yes,” she nodded. Maggie kept smirking and opened the blouse the rest of the way and slipped it off her shoulders. Maggie’s bra stayed on for a moment longer, white satin gleaming under the cabin lights, lace delicate against her skin. Laura reached down to Maggie without being asked. Her hands cupped Maggie’s breasts through the satin, thumbs brushing the lace edges, feeling the weight and the warmth. Maggie leaned in and upward, coming up off the floor as far as she needed to and kissed Laura. The kiss started soft, then deepened. Tongues met. Laura’s fingers found the front clasp of the bra and released it. The cups fell away and Maggie’s bountiful breasts literally bounced free of her bra. Maggie’s nipples were hard and pink. Laura lowered her head and took Maggie’s right nipple into her mouth, sucking gently at first, then with slow, deliberate pulls. Laura’s tongue circled the peak, flicked, pressed flat against it. Maggie’s hand tangled in Laura’s blonde hair, holding her there while her soft moans filled the first-class galley. Maggie finished getting the rest of the way up off the floor and shifted onto the long bench seat beside Laura. Maggie’s hands worked Laura’s blouse open the same way, revealing the identical white satin-and-lace bra. She freed Laura’s breasts and returned the attention, lips sealing around one nipple, sucking firmly, then the other, while her fingers rolled and pinched. Laura arched, the blue skirt riding higher on her thighs. Maggie’s voice was low against Laura’s skin. “Do you want to see my panties?” Maggie asked. Laura repeated the same nod and “Yes” she had uttered earlier. Maggie stood, unzipped the side of her blue skirt, and let it fall. The white satin full-back panties came into view, smooth across her mound, lace trim along the legs, the fabric stretched taut over the curves of her ass so the panty line was clear and deliberate. Maggie turned slowly so Laura could see every angle. Laura’s hands slid up the backs of Maggie’s thighs, cupped the satin-covered cheeks, then hooked her fingers into the waistband and drew the panties down. Maggie stepped out of them. Her pussy was already glistening, neatly trimmed, the scent of her arousal rising in the quiet galley. Laura slid to her knees on the carpet. She pressed her face between Maggie’s thighs and licked a long, slow stripe up the length of her slit. Maggie’s hand settled on the top of Laura’s head. Laura opened her mouth wider, sucking the swollen clit between her lips, then sliding her tongue lower to push inside. Laura ate Maggie’s sweet wet pussy with focused hunger, long strokes, firm suction, the occasional soft moan vibrating against wet flesh. Maggie’s hips rocked. Her free hand braced on the seat back behind the bench seat. When Laura finally pulled back, lips shining, Maggie guided her back onto the bench seat and returned the favor. Laura’s blue skirt was pushed up around her waist, the matching white satin-and-lace panties were peeled down her legs. Maggie’s mouth found her immediately, tongue parting the folds, circling the clit, then thrusting inside while two fingers curled upward. She sucked hard on the sensitive peak, alternating between deep, slow licks and rapid flicks until Laura’s thighs trembled. They grew bolder. Maggie turned, presenting the smooth curve of her ass. Laura spread the cheeks with both hands and dragged her tongue from the wet pussy up to the tight pink hole. She licked in slow circles, then pressed the tip inside, fucking Maggie’s ass with her tongue while her fingers worked Maggie’s clit. Maggie gasped and pushed back into Laura’s face. When they switched, Maggie did the same to Laura, tongue delving between the firm cheeks, licking, probing, tasting while Laura moaned into the seat cushion. At last, they arranged themselves into a 69 on the wide first-class galley seat, Laura on her back, Maggie straddling her face. Maggie’s mouth sealed over Laura’s pussy again, sucking the clit, tongue plunging deep. Laura’s hands gripped Maggie’s hips and pulled her down so she could bury her face between Maggie’s thighs, licking and sucking with equal hunger. The wet sounds of mouths and tongues filled the entire cabin now. The girls moved in rhythm, hips rolling, tongues working, the occasional muffled cry when one of them found a particularly sensitive spot. Maggie came first, thighs clamping around Laura’s head, pussy pulsing against her mouth as she ground down and rode the wave. Laura followed moments later, back arching, thighs shaking while Maggie kept sucking and licking through every tremor. They stayed locked together, slower now, tongues gentling, tasting the last of each other’s release, until the tremors faded into soft, satisfied sighs. Outside, the ground crew continued their checks. Inside, the two stewardesses lay tangled in the low cabin light, blouses open, bras discarded, blue skirts hiked or discarded entirely, white satin-and-lace panties somewhere on the carpet. An hour had never felt so long, or so perfectly spent…

Short Story: Thispa's Fingers on the Beach...

 

The late afternoon sun hung heavy over the Los Angeles coastline, casting long golden shadows across the nearly empty stretch of sand. It was Wednesday, and after four relentless days of Fashion Week, Thispa finally had a few stolen hours to herself. She lay stretched out on her oversized blue-and-white towel, the one patterned with sweeping waves in every shade of turquoise, cobalt, and seafoam. The white string bikini she wore clung to her like a second skin, tiny triangular cups edged with delicate beading, the bottoms tied in neat bows at her hips, the fabric so thin it barely contained her. Thispa closed her eyes for a moment and let the past four days replay in her mind. Monday had begun with a winter collection. She had strutted down a runway literally made to look like she was walking on ice, all under harsh white lights, wrapped in a sweeping camel-hair coat that parted just enough to reveal a sheer black turtleneck and leather pants that hugged every curve. The coat had slipped from one shoulder mid-turn, exposing the sharp line of her collarbone and the soft swell of her breast beneath the thin knit. Her nipple that shown was already hard, a combination of the excitement of being the center of attention, the excitement of finally walking at Los Angeles Fashion Week, and the excitement of just how sexy the tight little black thin knit top felt as it gentle massaged her bare nipples. And if that was not enough, Thispa was enthralled with so many of the other models, tall, sharp-cheeked, their bodies oiled and gleaming, brushing past her continually while they were backstage, the scent of perfume and warm skin thick in the air. One of them, a Brazilian beauty with a wicked smile, had whispered something filthy to Thispa about how the coat and that sexy little black top she was wearing would look better on the floor of a hotel room. Thispa had hoped, but that was it – just the comment – nothing more. Tuesday brought a swimwear show. Thispa had worn a series of microscopic bikinis: a metallic gold triangle set that barely covered her nipples, which of course were very hard on the catwalk again, a crimson one-piece cut so high it disappeared between her cheeks and was literally massaging her clit as she walked, and finally a sheer white mesh number that left nothing to the imagination when the lights hit it. Backstage the girls had been half-naked, oiling each other’s thighs, adjusting straps, laughing in that low, throaty way that made Thispa’s stomach tighten and her pussy ache. She remembered the way one model’s fingers had lingered few seconds too long while helping her tie a side-string, knuckles brushing the sensitive skin just above her hipbone. Wednesday morning was a lingerie show, tiny scraps of black lace, pale pink silk, and one particularly wicked set of emerald green that left her breasts almost completely exposed, the cups nothing more than decorative frames. The final show of the day had been a leather collection: tight corsets, harnesses, and a glossy black dominatrix ensemble complete with a high collar and straps that framed her breasts like an offering. The leather had been hot against her skin under the lights. Every time she moved, the material had dragged across her nipples, and she had felt herself growing wetter with every step. The other models in the same show had looked dangerous and hungry, their bodies gleaming under the stage lights, thighs flexing in thigh-high boots. One of them had caught Thispa’s eye in the mirror while adjusting a garter and had slowly, deliberately, licked her lower lip. But again, it was just flirty stares and licked lips through mirrors, no real actual action to speak of, so, by the time she arrived at the beach late Wednesday afternoon, Thispa was aching. She shifted on the towel now, the soft terry cloth warm beneath her bare back. The white bikini top sat high on her chest, the thin strings digging lightly into her shoulders. Her dark hair fanned out across the blue waves of the towel. She could feel the sun on her stomach, on the insides of her thighs where the bikini bottoms rode high. Almost no one was around, just the distant cry of a gull and the rhythmic hush of the ocean. The privacy felt intoxicating. Thispa lifted her head slightly and looked down the length of her own body. The white triangles of the top cupped her breasts perfectly, the fabric pulled taut over the soft mounds. Her nipples had already begun to stiffen again, pressing visibly against the thin material. Lower, the bikini bottoms sat low on her hips, the front panel smooth over her mound, the side ties resting against the soft curve of her waist. A small silver heart-shaped charm on her belly ring rested just below her navel, warm from the sun. Thispa’s fingers drifted across her stomach, tracing the edge of the charm, then lower, following the line of the bikini. She was already so wet. She could feel the dampness gathering between her legs, the fabric of the little white bikini bottoms beginning to cling. She thought of the Brazilian model from Monday, the way her full breasts had strained against a sheer black top backstage, the way she had laughed when Thispa’s eyes lingered. She thought of the girl in the emerald lingerie, the way the green lace had framed dark nipples, the way her fingers had brushed Thispa’s arm while they waited for their cue. She thought of the leather-clad model who had looked at her like she wanted to devour her. A soft sound escaped Thispa’s throat. Her hand slid higher, cupping one breast through the white triangle. She squeezed gently, then harder, feeling the soft flesh yield beneath her palm. Her thumb found the stiffened nipple and circled it slowly through the fabric. The sensation shot straight between her legs. She did it again, pinching lightly, rolling the peak between her fingers until the fabric was damp with the heat of her skin. Thispa’s other hand drifted lower, resting over the front of her bikini bottoms. She pressed her palm against her mound and felt the wet heat waiting there. Slowly, deliberately, she began to rub in small circles, the thin white fabric sliding against her swollen lips. The friction was maddening, enough to make her hips lift slightly off the towel. Thispa glanced around once more. Still alone. The beach stretched empty in both directions. With a soft, shaky breath, she slipped two fingers beneath the edge of her bikini top and tugged the triangle aside. Her breast spilled free, the nipple tight and dark against her sun-warmed skin. She pinched it between thumb and forefinger, rolling it, tugging gently, then harder. The sharp spark of sensation made her thighs press together. She switched to the other side, pulling the second cup away so both breasts were bare to the sun and the salt air, the white fabric bunched beneath them. She cupped them, squeezed them, lifted them, watching the way they moved in her hands. Her nipples ached for more. Her lower hand was already busy. She hooked her fingers into the front of the bikini bottoms and dragged the fabric to the side, exposing the smooth, glistening folds of her pussy. The air felt cool against her wetness. She was so slick that her fingers slid easily between her wet pussy lips, parting them, revealing the swollen pink flesh beneath. She stroked herself slowly at first, long, deliberate drags of her middle finger from the lower entrance of her cunt up to her clit and back again. Each pass made her breath catch. She closed her eyes and pictured the models again. The way the Brazilian girl’s ass had looked in those leather pants. The way the lingerie model’s thighs had flexed when she walked. The way the dominatrix model had smirked at her in the mirror, one hand trailing slowly down her own leather-covered thigh. Thispa’s fingers moved faster. She circled her clit with tight, precise strokes, then dipped lower, pushing one finger inside herself. The wet heat clenched around the intrusion. She added a second finger, stretching herself open, fucking herself in slow, deep thrusts while her thumb worked her clit in relentless circles. Her hips rolled against her hand. The towel shifted beneath her. Sand clung to the backs of her thighs. She kept the bikini bottoms pulled tightly to the side, the white fabric stretched taut across her hip, the little side ties digging into her skin. The top remained shoved aside, her breasts fully exposed, nipples tight and flushed from her own pinching and rolling. Thispa knew she was getting louder now, soft, broken moans slipping past her parted lips. The public nature of it made everything sharper. Anyone could walk by. Anyone could see her with her white bikini shoved aside, fingers buried in her dripping cunt, breasts bare to the afternoon sun. The thought sent a fresh rush of wetness coating her fingers. She fucked herself harder, the wet sounds of her own arousal unmistakable in the quiet. She thought of the way the other models had looked at her, hungry, assessing, sometimes lingering. She imagined one of them finding her like this, kneeling between her spread thighs on the towel, replacing Thispa’s fingers with a clever tongue. The fantasy made her clit throb under her thumb. She rubbed faster, two fingers plunging deep, her hand grinding against her mound. Her free hand abandoned her breasts only long enough to slide down and hold the bikini bottoms firmly out of the way, keeping herself completely open. Then it returned to her nipples, pinching and twisting in time with the thrusts of her fingers. The dual sensations. tight pressure on her clit, the stretch of her fingers inside, the sharp tugs on her nipples, built in relentless waves. Thispa knew she was close. Her thighs trembled. Her stomach tightened. The sun felt hotter. The ocean sounded louder. She bit her lower lip hard and fucked herself with short, desperate strokes, chasing the peak. When it hit, it crashed through her in a long, shuddering wave. Her cunt clenched hard around her fingers, pulsing, flooding them with fresh slickness. A loud cry tore from her throat before she could stop it. Her hips jerked off the towel. Her fingers kept moving, drawing the orgasm out until her legs shook and her breath came in ragged gasps. Even after the peak began to fade, she didn’t stop. She slowed, but she kept stroking, lazy, wet circles around her still-sensitive clit, occasional deep pushes of her fingers to feel the aftershocks flutter through her. Her bikini remained exactly as it was: top shoved beneath her breasts, bottoms yanked to the side, the white fabric damp and wrinkled from her hands. She looked down at herself, flushed skin, glistening folds, hard nipples, the little silver heart charm rising and falling with her breathing. and felt a fresh pulse of heat. Thispa was still alone. Still aching. Still so fucking turned on by the simple fact that she was fucking herself here, in the open, in the same tiny white bikini she had worn for the cameras only days earlier. Thispa smiled to herself, slow and wicked, and slid her fingers deeper once more…

Short Story: Audrey's Cousin Vicki...

 

Audrey stretched in the back seat of the family’s monstrously large bright green wood-paneled station wagon as they pulled up the long gravel driveway in the Kansas summer heat of 1983. The old tiny white and green farmhouse sat weathered under a big oak, paint peeling in places, a rusted weather vane spinning lazily on the roof. Chickens scratched near a leaning fence, and the air smelled of cut grass, dust, and distant manure. Audrey’s father, Clark, killed the engine. Her mother, Ellen, was already waving at the porch where her cousin Eddie stood, his wife Catherine beside him pregnant yet again, and their daughter, oldest of what was soon to be six kids, Vicki who was waiting with one hip cocked. Eddie was broad and sun-browned, Catherine soft-spoken with flour on her hands. Vicki stepped forward first, long blond wavy hair tumbling past her shoulders, pretty blue eyes bright with mischief. Vicki’s turquoise crop top clung tight across her small, high breasts, a strip of smooth stomach showing above high-waisted blue denim jeans that hugged her hips and ass like a second skin. Audrey pushed her brother Rusty playfully as she climbed out of the backseat of the big wagon, her long wavy brunette hair bouncing, beautifully bright brown eyes curious. Audrey’s purple crop top was cut low and short, the thin fabric stretching over full, soft tits, a flash of midriff above her own tight blue jeans. Vicki and Audrey sized each other up while the adults traded hugs and small talk about the drive from Chicago. After introductions that were necessary because while they were second cousins, Audrey and Vicki were much too young to remember the last time they saw each other, Vicki tilted her head and smiled at Audrey. “Wanna play on my teeter-totter?” Vicki asked. Audrey hesitated. She felt too old, too sophisticated for playground toys, but the boredom of the long road trip made her nod yes. “Okay…sure,” Audrey agreed. The two girls ran off around the side of the house to the wooden teeter-totter. The boards were worn smooth from years of use. Audrey sat on one end, legs spread wide in her jeans, feet dangling. Vicki took the other side. They pushed off, rising and falling, the old hinge in the middle creaking. Vicki grinned across the gap. “I go around with boys a lot,” Vicki bragged. “And I French kiss,” Vicki added. Audrey bounced lightly, shaking her head. “Lots of girls our age French kiss,” she said. Vicki smiled with satisfaction, then said matter-of-factly, “My daddy says I’m the best at it.” Audrey felt her eyes widen a little, obviously finding that a little odd, but the thought slipped away as the teeter-totter’s motion worked on her. Sitting with her legs spread wide, the hard edge of the board pressed the crotch of her jeans straight up into her purple satin panties. Every up-and-down stroke rubbed the smooth fabric against her pussy lips, slow and steady. Heat built. Wetness built. Audrey felt herself starting to breathe a little heavier, the satin growing slick against her clit. Vicki watched Audrey’s face change. “That’s why I still ride this thing,” Vicki said softly. “Feel it?” Audrey bit her lip and nodded. Vicki and Audrey kept riding, five more minutes of rising and falling, sexy glances trading back and forth between them. Vicki’s blue eyes stayed locked on Audrey’s. Vicki’s voice dropped lower. “My pink satin panties are soaked. My pussy’s dripping. Can you tell?” Audrey looked at Vicki’s spread legs and crotch and she definitely could tell. The tight denim between Vicki’s spread thighs looked darker at the center, and her nipples had gone hard, poking clearly through the turquoise crop top. “Have you ever gone around with girls?” Vicki asked. Audrey’s cheeks blushed as she said softly, “No.” Vicki smiled and licked her pretty pink lips a little. “Want to try?” Vicki asked. Audrey’s pussy pulsed against the wet satin that was now pressed between her lips. She really took in the sight of Vicki on that teeter-totter with her hard nipples and soaked through crotch. Audrey discovered that she felt Vicki was beautiful with her long blond wavy hair, her pretty smile, her sexy pink lips, and her deep blue eyes. Passion flooded her thoughts. Even though she barely knew Vicki, Audrey had reached the conclusion that she wanted her. Vicki leaned forward as the board rose. “I bet you want me to eat that wet pussy for you, don’t you?” she smiled. Audrey bit her bottom lip hard and gave in, nodding yes. Vicki hopped off the teeter-totter fast on her upswing, sending Audrey crashing down. The teeter-totter slammed into the ground, and Audrey’s jean-covered ass slammed into the teeter-totter, feeling just like a hard spanking. Audrey was somehow even more aroused after that. “Come on” Vicki said as she grabbed Audrey’s hand and pulled her toward the farmhouse. The house had wood floors that creaked, wallpaper yellowed with age, a kitchen that still smelled of morning coffee and bacon. The two girls slipped past the living room where the adults talked and climbed the narrow stairs to Vicki’s bedroom at the end of the hall. Vicki’s room was messy in the best way. Clothes everywhere, jeans draped over a chair, crop tops on the floor. Dirty panties were strewn across the unmade bed and the carpet: pink satin ones, white cotton ones, black lace ones, many of them stiff and crusted with dried cum, the crotches translucent from old loads. The air was thick and musky, the unmistakable smell of wet pussy after sex, sweet and sharp and filthy. Vicki shut the door behind them and locked it. She turned to Audrey, eyes shining. “Take my clothes off,” she demanded. Audrey’s hands trembled as she reached for the turquoise crop top. She peeled it up over Vicki’s head, freeing perfect milky white, perky tits with her beautiful hard pale pink nipples. Then the high-waisted jeans. Audrey popped the button, dragged the zipper down, and shoved them down over Vicki’s hips. Pink satin panties came into view, the crotch dark and shiny with wetness. Audrey hooked her thumbs in the waistband and slid them down. Vicki’s blond landing strip pointed perfectly to her swollen pussy, lips glossy, a thin string of juice connecting the fabric to her clit as the panties left her body. Vicki immediately returned the favor. She tugged Audrey’s purple crop top off, freeing full, soft tits with dark nipples. Then the jeans, peeling them down Audrey’s long legs. The purple satin panties underneath were soaked through, clinging to every fold. Vicki dropped to her knees, pressed her face against the wet satin, and inhaled hard before peeling them down. Audrey’s brunette little patch was perfectly formed over her pussy, which was flushed and dripping. Vicki and Audrey tumbled onto the messy bed among the cum-stained panties. Vicki pushed Audrey’s thighs wide and dove in. Her tongue dragged long and slow up Audrey’s slit, tasting the fresh wetness, then circled her swollen clit. Audrey gasped, hips bucking. Vicki licked deeper, sucking Audrey’s pussy lips into her mouth, tongue fucking into her hole, the wet sounds loud in the small room. Audrey’s fingers tangled in Vicki’s blonde wavy hair, holding her there while she came the first time, thighs shaking around Vicki’s head. Then, they switched. Audrey spread Vicki open and buried her face between those smooth milky white thighs. The pink satin smell was stronger here, mixed with fresh juices. Audrey licked the way Vicki had, slow at first, then greedy, sucking the clit, sliding two fingers inside while her tongue worked. Vicki moaned loud, fucking Audrey’s mouth, juice running down her chin until she came hard, pussy pulsing. Vicki and Audrey kissed after, tasting each other, tits and hard nipples pressed together, hands roaming. Vicki reached into the nightstand and pulled out a big black strap-on like it was completely routine for her, the dildo thick and veined, harness already attached. Vicki stepped into it, tightening the straps around her hips so the heavy cock jutted out hard. “On your hands and knees,” Vicki demanded. Audrey’s eyes were wide, still marveling at how large the dildo was. She immediately obeyed, ass up among the dirty panties on the bed. Vicki knelt behind Audrey, rubbed the thick head up and down Audrey’s dripping slit, coating it, then pushed in. The stretch burned sweet. Inch by inch the black cock filled Audrey’s beautiful young pussy until Vicki’s hips were flush against her ass. Then, Vicki started fucking, long, hard strokes, the harness slapping wetly, the bed creaking. Audrey’s tits swung with every thrust as she moaned wildly. Vicki reached around and rubbed her clit in tight circles while she pounded deeper. “Fuck, your pussy’s so tight…taking this big cock so good…” Vicki smirked. Audrey moaned into the sheets, pushing back to meet every thrust. The wet slap of skin, the smell of sex thicker than ever, the sight of Vicki’s blond wavy hair and beautiful milky white tits bouncing in the corner of her eye. Vicki fucked Audrey harder, faster, the thick shaft dragging over every sensitive spot until Audrey’s whole body locked up. Audrey came hard, cunt clenching around the black cock, juice squirting out around the base as waves crashed through her. Vicki kept going through it, riding the orgasm out, then slowed, still buried deep, breathing hard, one hand stroking Audrey’s sweaty back. Downstairs, the adults kept talking, completely unaware. Inside the messy little room that smelled of wet pussy and cum-soaked panties, the two cousins stayed tangled on the bed, the big black strap-on still glistening between them…

Short Story: "Girlfriends?"...

 

The late afternoon sun hung warm and golden over the park, filtering through the trees and painting everything in soft light. The rest of the squad had already drifted off after picture day, leaving only Mia and Lexi still lingering near the open grass and trees. They stood close, still holding the pose that they had done for the photographer, matching long-sleeve crop-top cheer uniforms of crisp white with bold green and navy accents, sheer navy mesh panels along the shoulders and sides, silver rhinestones catching every spark of light along the sleeves and waistband. The stylized “ENVY” stretched across both their chests in green and white. Short white skirts with green and navy trim, side slits, and more glittering rhinestones sat low on their hips, leaving their midriffs bare and glowing. There really was nothing that made a girl feel sexier than wearing a cheer uniform. Mia’s long wavy light-brown hair that ended in blonde highlights spilled over her shoulders. Her bright smile showed white teeth against red lipstick. Lexi wore her brown hair pulled back, a large green bow with white polka dots perched on top, and wore the same exact lipstick. It was the same red every girl on the squad wore. Lexi’s arm was still wrapped affectionately around Mia’s waist, the same pose they had held for the camera, both of them facing forward with confident, cheerful expressions. The photographer had packed up minutes ago, yet the two girls still stood in their picture pose. The park was quiet now except for distant birds and the soft rustle of leaves. Mia turned her head slightly. Their faces were only inches apart. She could smell Lexi’s familiar vanilla body spray mixed with the faint sweetness of her very familiar red lipstick. Lexi’s fingers flexed against Mia’s bare waist, the touch lingering longer than it ever had before. Their eyes met. They had just spent over an hour with all the girls in the squad, taking picture after picture, and this was the first time that entire time their eyes had met. They were best friends, yet somehow this afternoon, had said very little to each other. It was partly that words were just not necessary at this point, but also the fact that they both knew something was shifting over the past few days, something that had been building for years of shared practices, sleepovers, matching outfits, and the easy intimacy of growing up side by side on the same squad since they were little. The playful affection they had always shared suddenly felt heavier, charged, undeniable. It was if they were afraid to have been next to each other that afternoon with all the girls there. It wasn’t until the very end, the very last picture of the day that Mia and Lexi felt comfortable enough to stand next to each other and take a picture together. Mia’s breath was fast. Lexi’s smile softened into something hungrier. “You feel it too,” Lexi whispered. Mia nodded once, unable to speak. Her pulse hammered against the thin white fabric of her crop top. That was all that was said at the park. Lexi simply grabbed Mia’s hand and led her toward her older sister’s car she had borrowed for the day. The drive away from the park and down a quiet access road that ended at a remote grassy field beside a slow-moving river still contained no word, just hands held, smiles exchanged, glances that lingered longer than normal. Trees framed the clearing on three sides. No houses, no paths, just the soft rush of water and the late-day light turning everything golden. Lexi parked, killed the engine, and turned in the driver’s seat. The short white skirts had ridden up during the drive. Matching white satin and lace bras and thong panties, bought together a month earlier on a giggling shopping trip that now felt prophetic, hid beneath the uniforms, the delicate fabric already growing damp between both their legs. Mia reached across the console first. Her hand slid up Lexi’s thigh, under the skirt, fingertips brushing the edge of the white satin thong. Lexi made a soft, sexy sound and pulled Mia into a deep, open-mouthed kiss. Red lipstick smeared. Tongues met, slow and wet and desperate. The rhinestones on their sleeves scraped lightly against each other as they shifted closer. The girls scrambled into the back seat, the space tight but private. Skirts were shoved up. Crop tops were peeled off and tossed aside, leaving them in the matching white satin and lace bras that cupped their soft, full breasts perfectly. The sheer lace allowed pink nipples to press visibly against the fabric. Thongs stayed on for now, thin white satin already dark with arousal at the crotch. Mia pushed Lexi back against the seat and climbed between her open thighs. She kissed down Lexi’s throat, over the swell of her breasts, then lower. She hooked two fingers under the waistband of the white thong and pulled it aside, exposing Lexi’s smooth, glistening, wet pussy. Pink and swollen, the lips parted slightly, a thin string of wetness already connecting them. Mia didn’t tease. She lowered her mouth and licked a long, slow stripe from Lexi’s opening up to her clit. Lexi arched hard, a sharp cry filling the car. Mia sealed her lips around the swollen nub and sucked, tongue flickering rapidly while two fingers slid into Lexi’s tight, slick pussy. Mia curled her fingers, rubbing the soft front wall in steady rhythm while her mouth worked. Wet sounds filled the small space, soft wet sucking, the quiet squelch of fingers pumping in and out. Lexi’s hands fisted in Mia’s long wavy hair. “Fuck…Mia…don’t stop…” Lexi breathed out heavily. Mia ate her hungrily, burying her face deeper, nose pressed to Lexi’s clit as her tongue pushed inside, fucking her with it before returning to suck and lick in relentless circles. Mia added a third finger, stretching Lexi open, and felt the walls flutter and clamp. Lexi came hard, thighs shaking around Mia’s head, a rush of slick juices coating Mia’s chin and tongue. The girls switched without words. Lexi pushed Mia onto her back across the seat, yanked the white thong down her legs and off, then spread Mia’s thighs wide. She dove in, tongue flat and broad, dragging through the soaked folds. Mia’s taste was sweet and clean. Lexi moaned into her, the vibration making Mia gasp. Lexi licked deeper, then focused on the clit, sucking it between soft lips while two fingers slid easily inside. Lexi scissored them gently, then pumped, curling, searching for the spot that made Mia’s hips jerk. When Mia was trembling and dripping, Lexi pulled her fingers free, slick and shiny, and used both hands to spread Mia’s ass cheeks. She leaned lower and dragged her tongue over the tight, puckered hole. Mia cried out, startled and aching. Lexi licked again, slower, wetting the entrance thoroughly before pressing the tip of her tongue inside, swirling, fucking the tight ring while two fingers returned to Mia’s pussy and rubbed her clit with her thumb. The dual stimulation shattered Mia. She came with a sob, pussy clenching hard around Lexi’s fingers, ass fluttering around the probing tongue. The girls shifted again, this time face to face, bras still on but straps slipped down so their bare breasts pressed together, soft skin, hard nipples pressing. Lexi guided one of Mia’s hands between her own legs and pushed two of Mia’s fingers inside herself while she did the same to Mia. They fingered each other in matching rhythm, thumbs circling clits, free hands squeezing breasts and pinching nipples through the lace. Then, Lexi turned around, straddling Mia’s face in a messy sixty-nine in the cramped back seat. Mia’s tongue immediately found Lexi’s pussy again, licking deep, while Lexi lowered her mouth to Mia’s and began to eat her just as greedily. At the same time Lexi’s fingers slid lower, two of them pressing into Mia’s ass, wet from her own juices, stretching and pumping while her tongue worked Mia’s clit. Mia mirrored the act, tongue buried in Lexi’s pussy, fingers sliding into Lexi’s tight ass, curling and thrusting. The girls came together like that, mouths sealed to each other’s cunts, fingers buried deep in both holes, bodies shaking, wetness coating faces and hands and the leather seats beneath them. Afterward, they stayed tangled, breathing hard, lipstick completely gone, hair wild, the white satin bras half-off and damp with sweat. Outside the car, the river kept flowing quietly past the grassy field. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of sex and the soft aftershocks still fluttering through both of them. Mia kissed the inside of Lexi’s thigh, slow and open-mouthed. Lexi’s fingers stroked through Mia’s long wavy hair. Neither of them spoke for a long time until finally Mia asked, “Girlfriends?” to which Lexi replied, “Girlfriends.”…