Author: admin

I woke up the next morning, feeling refreshed and ready for the day ahead. I started my day early and went for a run along the beach. The sun was just beginning to rise, casting a warm, golden light onto the sand. I ran for miles, feeling the cool breeze on my skin and the sand between my toes.

As I made my way back to the hotel, I couldn’t help but think about Maya. I knew I had to see her again, to continue where we’d left off, but wasn’t quite sure how I could make it happen.

I’d arranged to meet John at the hotel’s beachfront restaurant for breakfast direct from my run. He was already there and had ordered us our coffees and fruit juices. We ordered our food and chatted casually about our plans for the day.

He fancied a visit to the hotel’s golf course and asked if I wanted to come along with him. He wasn’t surprised when I said ‘no’ – he knows I have absolutely no interest in golf. But I told him I was perfectly happy for him to go by himself.

When we had finished eating, I attracted our waitress’s attention to sign the tab. She brought it over, and when I opened it, another piece of paper dropped into my lap. It just had these handwritten words on it – “Room 26 – 11:30 am M xx”. I quickly screwed it up, signed the tab and handed it back to the waitress, who was looking at me with a hint of a smile. I wondered if she knew what Maya’s message meant or whether she just assumed my husband and I were having a kinky anniversary threesome. I didn’t really care.

I felt a wicked grin spread across my face as I stood and walked back to the room alone. Leaving John at the restaurant to enjoy his coffee before heading off to the golf course for the day. I had just over an hour to kill until 11:30, but my head was already filled with images of the two of us together—just the two of us alone. Really filthy thoughts! How had Maya managed to unleash such dirty thoughts in me? No, that wasn’t fair to Maya – I’d had these hidden thoughts for some time now.

I quickly sent a text to John letting him know that I’d decided to have another spa treatment later in the day, so there was no need for him to rush back, and suggested that I would meet him at the hotel restaurant for dinner at 6:30 pm. He replied with a ‘Have fun, dear’ and a winky face emoji. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at his message; if only he knew!

Back in my room, I took my time freshening up and getting myself ready for Maya. I took an age deciding on what set of lingerie would be the most erotic to wear under my beach cover-up.

By the time I’d finished, it was time to make my way to Room 26, my heart beating fast in anticipation. I knocked softly on the door, and after a few seconds, it opened. Maya stood before me, her eyes dark and sultry, a beautiful smile hovering on her lips.

She was wearing a silk robe, similar to the one she had worn yesterday for the massage, but this time it was open enough to give me a glimpse of what lay beneath. I could feel my breath catch in my throat as I took in her perfect body, her smooth skin, and the curve of her breasts beneath the delicate silk.

“I’m so glad you could make it,” she whispered, reaching out to take my hand.

My heart raced as I stepped inside the room, the door closing behind me with a soft click. The room was dimly lit, with candles flickering on the nightstand and half-drawn curtains filtering the sunlight.

Maya looked even more stunning, her long black hair cascading over her shoulders, her skin glowing beneath the candlelight. As I followed her across the room, I could feel my body reacting to her presence, my pussy throbbing with anticipation. I was nervous but excited, too. This was still very much new territory for me.

At last, my fantasies – and boy, I’d had my fair share of fantasies – were hopefully going to become reality! She stopped in front of the bed and turned to face me, her dark eyes smouldering with desire. I could see, on the nightstand by bed, she had on display an array of various goodies that we might be tempted to use during our session – vibes, dildoes, plugs, lube, etc.

“I’ve been waiting for this moment since you left yesterday,” she whispered, her voice husky with longing.

I didn’t need any more encouragement. I closed the distance between us, my hands trembling as I reached out to touch her. She was warm and smooth, her skin soft as silk under my fingers. I couldn’t resist the temptation to trace the contours of her perfect body and caress her saltwater-kissed skin.

Her nipples poked out sharply against her top, and I couldn’t help but notice how her silk robe barely covered her enticing hips. She caught me staring, and a hint of a smirk spread across her lips. I could tell she knew how much I wanted her. We exchanged a knowing glance, and I knew that this room was about to become our private playground for the next few hours.

I could see the hunger in her eyes, she bit her lip as my hands continued to explore every inch of her tanned, toned body, her chest rising with each laboured breath. I gently took Maya’s waist in my hands, pulling her closer, our bodies melting into one another.

Her tongue swirled expertly in my mouth, matching my passion stroke for stroke. I couldn’t help but moan as she slipped her hands under my cover-up, teasing my soaking wet thong and exposing my already wet and aching pussy. I shivered with anticipation. Maya’s touch was like an electric current, igniting a fire in my belly.

“I love how wet you get for me,” she whispered against my lips, a wicked smile spreading across her face.

All I could manage was a smile in response. I was completely at her mercy. I needed to feel her inside me and me inside her, to fulfil the insatiable hunger that had been building up since the moment I first saw her.

She must have sensed my desperation because she quickly obliged, hooking her fingers into my thong and ripping it off in one swift motion. I gasped as her fingers found their way to my sopping wet pussy, parting my lips and teasing my clit with her thumb.

“Emily, you’re not just wet – you’re so fucking sodden,” she groaned, her voice low and husky.

I could feel my orgasm building, my legs shaking as she slid two fingers inside me.

“Oh, fuck,” I breathed, my head thrown back in pleasure. Maya smiled, picking up the pace as she plunged into me again and again. Her other hand found my clit, rubbing small circles into the sensitive nub. It was too much for me to handle; I was spiralling fast towards the edge of oblivion.

Her fingers knew exactly how to touch me, each stroke sending a jolt of pleasure coursing through my body. I gripped her shoulders, digging my nails into her skin as I rode out the waves of my orgasm.

It was overwhelming, powerful, and incredibly intimate. I could feel her release as well, her body bucking and trembling against mine, sending a shockwave of pleasure through my entire being.

We collapsed onto the bed, panting and trembling, our bodies still intertwined. I looked into her eyes, searching for some sign that she was as affected by this encounter as I was.

“Fuck, Maya,” I whispered, brushing a loose curl from her forehead. “I’ve never felt this before.” Maya grinned, a wicked smile spreading across her face. “Me neither,” she whispered, placing a soft, delicate kiss on my lips.

I pulled her close, our bodies pressed together, heartbeats racing. I could feel the warmth of her skin, the curve of her firm breasts against my chest. We rolled over in the bed, our legs tangled together as Maya kissed me harder, her tongue swirling and dancing with mine. Our lips met hungrily – taste, touch and scent mingling as we continued our kisses, savouring each other.

Maya had begun to explore my breasts with her hands. She expertly massaged them, and teasingly licked at a nipple, causing me to whimper and moan in response. It felt so damn good.

Breaking our kiss for just a moment, Maya raised herself above me. She lowered her head and took one hard nipple into her mouth, sucking and biting it like a piece of candy. I gasped and ran my fingers through her long, silky hair.

“Yes. Just like that,” I whispered.

My breathing became more laboured as she continued to kiss and lick her way down my stomach, finally settling at the apex of my thighs. She looked up at me for permission, her dark eyes full of lust.

I nodded, my heart pounding in my ears.

Maya’s fingers continued to work their magic on my pussy, but now her tongue joined in, teasing my clit as she began to eat me out. I grabbed the edges of the bed and thrust my hips up, grinding my pussy against her tongue. My whole body tensed as I felt another orgasm building, my moans growing louder and more urgent as I prepared to come.

“Oh God, yes… oh God yes!” I cried out, arching my back as my body exploded in an earth-shattering orgasm.

Maya didn’t let up, her tongue still swirling around my clit as she milked every last shudder from my body. Finally, I collapsed back onto the bed, panting and trembling with exhaustion. Maya lifted her head, a wicked smile on her lips.

“You taste incredible,” she purred, crawling up to lie beside me.

I could feel my heart rate slowly returning to normal as I caught my breath. My body felt like jelly, but I was still hungry for more. And I knew she was just as hungry as me. I couldn’t wait any longer to touch her in that special place. This would be my first feel of another woman’s pussy. Hallelujah!

I parted her legs and spread them wide, revealing her perfect pussy. I could see she was already soaking wet, her lips glistening with wetness and swollen from arousal.

“Jesus, your pussy is so fucking gorgeous,” I whispered, my fingers tracing gentle circles around her clit. She squirmed beneath my touch, throwing her head back in response to the pleasure.

“Fuck me, Emily,” she breathed, her words barely more than a moan. “Finger fuck my cunt, now.” I was happy to oblige, completely turned on by her unexpected use of the word ‘cunt’.

I slid my hand between her legs and stroked her engorged clit, admiring the smoothness of her perfectly shaved pussy. She moaned and writhed beneath me, her body arching upwards as her orgasm began to build.

Leaning down, I took one of Maya’s perfect nipples into my mouth, teasing it with my teeth and tongue, hoping to drive her wild with pleasure. She cried out and dug her nails into my back, her legs shaking as her body convulsed.

I could feel the tremors radiating through her as her orgasm overcame her, and I couldn’t help but smile as I nibbled at her sensitive nipples.

I continued to tease and lick every inch of her, revelling in the power I held over her body. My fingers were still buried deep inside her, and I found her G-spot. I rubbed it in slow, steady circles, drawing out every last shudder of pleasure from her trembling body.

Her pussy clenched around my fingers as I slowly massaged her towards another intense orgasm. I felt her muscles tighten, and I knew she was on the brink. I quickened my pace, plunging my fingers deeper inside her with each thrust.

“Yes, Emily…just like that,” she moaned, her voice thick with lust.

I could feel her warm release, the trickle of liquid spilling out around my fingers as she cried out my name once more, surrendering herself to the pleasure of the moment.

And as she came down from her second high, I slowed my pace, gently pressing my thumb against her asshole as I eased my fingers from her pulsing core.

“Fuck, Emily,” she panted, her limbs trembling with exhaustion. “I’ve never come like that before.”

My cheeks flushed with pride; the thrill of having brought Maya to orgasm coursed through me, making my blood sing. I crawled up to lie beside her once more, pulling her into my arms as I pressed a soft kiss against her mouth. She was still shaking, her breathing ragged and uneven.

“Maya, are you okay?” I asked, concern filling my voice. She whispered hoarsely in my ear,

“BEST…FUCKING…ORGASM…OF…MY…LIFE.”

I smiled, feeling an overwhelming surge of joy wash over me. I knew in that moment that our chance encounter had opened up a new journey for me, and I never wanted this journey to end.

For now, though, there was one thing left that I needed to do…one of those more extreme fantasies of mine. I leaned down, pressing my lips and tongue against Maya’s inner thigh. I could feel her trembling beneath my touch as my tongue darted out to taste her. She let out a soft moan, her thighs spreading wider as she surrendered herself to me.

Slowly, I traced kisses along her skin, inching closer and closer to her puckered asshole.

I could feel her quiver in anticipation, her lips curling into a knowing smile. I traced my tongue along her ass crack, my fingers tightening around her hips as I licked her ass, tasting the sweet flavours of her body, as well as scented soap. She’d obviously prepared herself for this possibility. As had I, I must confess.

Maya moaned again, bucking her hips up towards my face as I tightened my grip. I moved my fingers to her pussy, sliding them easily between her folds as I felt her sticky juices coat my fingers. Maya dug her fingers into the sheets, arching her back as I inched closer to her puckered ass. I nuzzled my nose against her hole, letting the scent of her sex fill my nostrils.

I could hear her breathing become faster and more ragged, her body ready for the ride I was about to take her on. I flicked my tongue out, teasing her asshole, feeling her tense and then relax as she gave herself over to the sensation. I could feel her hands fisting the sheets, her legs trembling as I continued to lick and tease her.

“God, Emily,” she gasped, “that feels so fucking good. Push your tongue in deeper.”

I smiled to myself, loving the power I had over her. I pushed my tongue in deeper, feeling her tighten around me. I used my fingers to spread her wetness, coating her pussy and ass with her own juices. Then I reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the tube of lube I’d noticed earlier and squirted a generous amount onto my fingers. I rubbed my fingers together, warming the lube before bringing my slick fingers back to her ass. Maya arched her back, her body already trembling with anticipation. I positioned my fingers at her tight little hole and pressed gently. She tensed at first, but I could feel her relax as I slowly pushed my finger inside her. She moaned louder, pushing back against me, eager for more.

“Oh god, fuck, that feels so good,” Maya moaned, her voice hoarse with desire.

I twisted my finger, scissoring it inside her, stretching her gently. I added another finger, going slow and making sure she was comfortable. I could feel her body tensing, her asshole clenching around my fingers as I pushed them in deeper, fucking her harder. I looked up, watching her tits bounce with each thrust, her nipples hard and begging to be sucked.

“Touch yourself, Maya,” I commanded, my voice hoarse with desire. “Make yourself cum for me while I finger fuck your ass.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. Her hand snaked down between her legs, her fingers finding her clit and rubbing furiously. I could see her pussy glistening, her juices coating her fingers as she worked herself into a frenzy. The sight of her pleasuring herself while I finger fucked her ass was almost too much for me to bear.

“Fuck, Maya, you look so fucking hot,” I growled, my pace quickening as I watched her. Her large tits continued to bounce with each thrust, her moans growing louder and more desperate.

I could feel her asshole tightening around my fingers, her body tensing as she neared another orgasm. I knew she was close, and I wanted to push her over the edge, so I leaned in and added a third finger.

“Oh, my god – yes! Give me another!” she screamed. I also didn’t need to be asked twice. I eagerly accepted her invitation and gently eased a fourth finger in. Her response was immediate, her body convulsing as she came undone. Her asshole clamped down on my four fingers, pulsing and squeezing as she rode out her orgasm.

I lapped at her pussy, prolonging her ecstasy with my tongue, tasting her cum and the musky scent of her arousal as she shuddered and moaned.

As her body calmed, I carefully withdrew my fingers from her ass and crawled up her body, my lips trailing a wet path from her pussy to her mouth. She tasted herself on me, and I groaned at the taste of her. She opened her eyes, her gaze meeting mine, and I saw a mixture of lust and satisfaction in her gaze.

“My god, that was fucking incredible,” she whispered as she lay back, looking spent and sated. “That was something else entirely. Never, ever had an orgasm like that before. You dirty, dirty woman.”

Her pussy was still throbbing, her legs spread wide and wet as she grinned up at me, her hair strewn across the pillow.

I crawled up beside her, tracing my fingertips down her slick stomach, feeling the muscles jump under my touch.

“So, you liked that then?” I asked, my voice raspy with pleasure. She nodded, not trusting herself to speak just yet. Her body was still humming with the thrill of what had just happened.

“Good,” I said, wrapping my arms around her neck and pulling her down for a deep kiss.

The thought of her tasting her own cum on my lips sent a jolt of arousal straight to my pussy. I could feel myself growing wet in response and immediately knew what I wanted.

“Fuck me Maya,” I whispered against her mouth, my voice needy and desperate. “Like I’ve just fucked you – in my ass. Can you do that? Fuck me the way I just fucked you?”

Maya smiled wickedly as she registered my words. But then, just as she slid a hand between my legs, my mobile phone rang.

“Bloody hell!” I exclaimed. “Let it ring. It’ll be a nuisance call, I expect.”

At last, the phone stopped ringing, allowing me to focus on the pleasure Maya was about to give me. But, almost immediately, it began to ring again.

I swore in frustration, “Fuck! Who the hell is calling me?”

I ignored the phone again, turned it on to silent mode and focused my attention back on Maya. I caught my breath as I saw her squeezing lube onto her fingers and then felt her cool, wet fingers trace circles around my waiting asshole.

She chuckled and said, “I guess, whoever it is, they’ve no idea what they’re interrupting,” as her fingers began to explore me.

“They can wait,” I moaned, as Maya’s finger eventually breached me, pushing past the initial resistance.

But then the bloody fucking phone started vibrating again.

‘Who the fuck is it?’ I grumbled, trying to push the thought aside, but the rhythm of the phone’s vibrations against the nightstand was driving me crazy.

“Let them wait,” I groaned, grinding my ass against Maya’s finger. “I need you right now.”

But as much as I tried to ignore it, the persistent buzz of my phone was making it impossible to focus on anything else. I sighed in frustration and finally decided to answer it.

“What?” I barked into the phone, not even bothering to check who was calling me.

“You okay, Emily?” John asked. “You didn’t answer the first two times and, I must say, you sound pretty stressed.” John’s voice was filled with concern, and it brought me back to reality. I looked up at Maya who, realising it was John on the phone, gently withdrew her finger from my ass.

“Sorry,” I whispered, bringing the phone to my ear. “I’m fine. What’s up?”

John hesitated before answering. “Nothing important, honey. Just wanted to let you know that we had to finish the golf early. One of the guys fainted in this extreme heat. So, I’m on my way back to the hotel now. Should be back in about 45 minutes. Just wanted to let you know. By the way, how did your spa treatment go?” he said, still sounding concerned by the tone of my initial greeting.

I looked at Maya and knew I had to think up a suitable response quickly.

“Oh yeah, the spa treatment was great, thanks. It finished about an hour ago. I’m out on a long walk on the beach at the moment. Thought I’d take a look at ‘The Crazy Chicken’ – you remember? The restaurant the hotel manager recommended to us. I’m almost there so, all being well, should be back at the room in just over an hour. So don’t feel you have to rush back for me. Okay?” I babbled away into the phone, with a wink to Maya.

“Okay, darling – see you in a bit. Careful on your walk back. Especially in this heat. Don’t want to end up like that poor sod on the golf course, do you?.” John eventually replied.

I smiled to myself, thinking how protective he was of me, even from afar. “I will, honey. Love you,” I said, before hanging up the phone.

Maya looked up at me, her eyes full of questions. “Everything okay?” she asked, her voice low and sultry.

“Yeah, it’s all good,” I replied, a mischievous grin spreading across my face. “But we’ve only got about 45 minutes max for you to finish what you started. I managed to convince John I was out on a long walk. So he shouldn’t be too surprised if I get back all hot and sweaty! So, where were we?”

She looked into my eyes, and with a wicked grin, said, “Oh, I think you remember…”

With that, she seductively licked her finger and found my asshole again. I tensed but remained still, waiting for her to continue. She circled my butt hole, wetting her fingers, and then thrust one firmly back in me. The feeling was indescribable – a mixture of pleasure and pain. I could feel my heart race, my breath catch in my lungs, and my body tremble.

“Do you like me fingering you in there, baby?” Maya whispered in my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

I whimpered a response, nodding my head desperately.

“Yes, Maya. I like it. I love it. Give me more.”

She pushed her finger deeper, one at first and then quickly followed it with a second.

The feeling was intense, foreign, and completely thrilling. With each thrust of her fingers, my breath hitched, my hips bucking wildly in response.

Maya was relentless in her assault, using her fingers to stretch and open me up, preparing me for the next step. A wave of pleasure washed over me and I knew it wouldn’t be long before I reached the peak of orgasmic bliss.

“Yes, Maya! Give me more!” I cried out, my voice hoarse with pleasure. She didn’t let up, her fingers thrusting deeper inside me.

“I need more of those beautiful fingers of yours in me!” I screamed.

She responded, plunging her fingers in and out of me with reckless abandon. My nerves were on fire as she stretched my tight asshole to uncharted limits. I pushed back against her, desperate for more. She added a third finger, filling me up completely, causing a pleasure-pain sensation that was so intense, I couldn’t believe it.

I looked down, watching her fingers sinking into me, and I almost couldn’t believe what I was seeing. I touched myself and started rubbing my clit, the simultaneous pleasure nearly too much for me to handle.

Just as I thought I couldn’t take it anymore, she pulled out her fingers slowly and then fiercely plunged her entire fist back in, burying her hand into my ass. She must have instinctively known what I wanted because that was exactly what I was craving. She moved her fist rhythmically, in and out, spreading my ass wider and wider. I screamed at the top of my lungs. I had never felt such intense pleasure before in my entire life. I was in ecstasy, pure and simple. She pulled out slowly, causing me to moan in frustration, but then quickly rammed her fist back in, filling me completely once again. The sight of her wrist disappearing so deep into my asshole was beautifully erotic.

I looked at her, my eyes pleading for her to continue. She smiled and spanked my ass, the sound echoing throughout the room.

“You like that, don’t you?” she purred.

Oh, how I did. Everything about this moment had my body on fire from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. Time seemed to slow down as she started fucking me with her fist harder and faster. I looked down, once again fascinated by the sight of her hand disappearing into my ass, so deep into my very depths.

My pussy was soaked, a steady stream of clear liquid dripping from between my folds, pooling on the bed sheets beneath us. I felt incredibly slutty and turned on by the realisation of just how kinky and dirty I could be. I had never been more turned on in my life.

“Fuck, yes, Maya!” I screamed. ”Just like that. Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.”

She wrapped her other arm around me, squeezing my tits tightly, and using her dominant position to push my head down into the pillows.

I was helpless beneath her, but the feeling was intoxicating.

I spread my legs wider, completely open to her, and she plunged her fist deeper and deeper inside me.

Each thrust caused the bed to shake, squeaking in time with our movements. Her hand pushed deep into me, completely dominating me in every way, and I couldn’t control the moans of pleasure that escaped my lips. My breath came out in short, sharp gasps as she thrust her hand in and out of me, fucking me harder than I’d ever been fucked before.

I could feel myself being stretched to accommodate her fist, and the sensation of being so filled up was almost too much to bear. I pushed myself up onto my elbows, wanting to watch her, wanting to see her as she owned me.

Her eyes were on fire, her pupils dilated and black as night, her lips parted and wet with desire. I lifted my head to reach her, but she pushed me back again with a devilish grin. Her thumb found my clit and circled with just the right pressure. I was so close to release, my body buzzing from her expert fingers.

Maya looked up at me then, her eyes heavy-lidded and glazed over with lust. She knew exactly what she was doing to me, and she was relishing every moment of it. I felt utterly exposed under her scrutiny, but there was no hesitation in my movements.

I leaned up to her, my mouth open, and kissed her fiercely. Our tongues wrestled for control as her hips continued to grind against mine, our wetness mingling together in a delicious, lewd way.

My clit throbbed with every rock of her hips, and I could feel my orgasm building.

“Fuck, yes, Emily,” she groaned, breaking our kiss and burying her face in my neck. “I’m gonna make you come like this. You want that, don’t you, Emily?” Maya growled, her voice low and sultry. My breath caught in my throat, and I could feel my body trembling in anticipation.

“Ohh yes, Maya, keep fucking me like this until I come. I want to come for you. I want to cover you with my juices.” I moaned back. “Please, Maya. I want to come for you.”

She leaned in close, her long black hair cascading around us like a soft curtain. “That’s right, Emily – come for me, baby,” she whispered in my ear. “Come all over me.”

Her words ignited a fire within me that I knew only she could quench. I was rocking my hips against her, desperate to reach the peak of pleasure that I knew was just moments away.

And then it happened – the most powerful orgasm I’ve ever had surged through my body. I let out a guttural scream as my whole body quivered, the warm liquid gushing powerfully from my pussy.

It was as if a dam had burst, releasing all the pent-up desire that I had kept locked away for so long. It hit her tits with such an incredible force that it sprayed back and covered me as well. But this was just the first wave. I continued to gush out wave after wave of powerful jets. It went on and on, my body pulsing with wave after wave of bliss.

And Maya didn’t stop with her fist either – it was still buried deep inside me as she milked every last ounce of pleasure from my body.

I couldn’t believe what I was doing, saying, or experiencing, but I couldn’t get enough of it.

My orgasm seemed to trigger something in Maya. I could feel her body tensing behind me, her breath against my neck quickening. She pulled out of me slowly, leaving me feeling empty and wanting. I turned my head to watch as she positioned herself behind me, her knees sinking into the mattress.

With both hands, she spread me wider and pushed against my lower back, urging me to arch further. I obeyed, my ass instinctively lifting up towards her.

She then spread my ass cheeks as wide as they would go, bent down and started to fuck my ass with her tongue. And what an amazing, long, firm tongue it was. She was actually fucking me with it.

I could hear her beautiful slurping noises as she filled my ass with her spit. I was moaning with pleasure, feeling her saliva coat my asshole, making it slick for what I knew was coming next. She licked and sucked expertly, her tongue teasing my sensitive hole until my legs were quivering beneath me.

“Oh, fuck,” I breathed, my breathing shallow and quick with arousal. “Do it, Maya. I need you in me one final time.”

She pressed her slicked-up fingers to my ass again, and this time they slid inside with ease. I let out a long, low moan, feeling her fingers fill me up, stretching me wider than I’d ever been before.

She moved slowly at first, allowing me to adjust to the sensation, but soon she was fucking me hard and fast, her fingers curling to hit that sweet spot inside me.

“God, your ass is still so beautifully tight,” she groaned, her voice ragged with desire. “I can’t wait to fuck you with a strap-on from behind.”

The thought of her taking me with her strap-on sent a jolt of excitement through me but I knew we had no time for that now. I had to get back to my room before John started to worry or get suspicious. I also realised that I would need to shower before going back. If I didn’t, John would immediately notice the smell of sex on me. On my pussy, my ass, my tits, my lips, my tongue, my hair – everywhere.

I had to be firm with Maya. She didn’t want me to leave, but eventually accepted that it was the right thing to do.

I stood up, looking down at her beautiful, sweat-drenched body lying on the bed. Her tits were heaving, her pussy glistening, and her eyes were filled with a hunger that I knew I’d have to satisfy again soon.

“Stay here,” I commanded, my voice low and firm. “I need to take a quick shower before I get back to my room.”

She nodded, her eyes never leaving mine as I walked into the bathroom. I turned on the shower, letting the water heat up before stepping inside.

I needed to scrub every inch of my body, to wash away the evidence of our session. I lathered up a washcloth, my hands shaking as I ran it over my skin, remembering the feel of Maya’s fingers inside me, her tongue on my clit, her fist stretching my ass. I could still smell her on me, still taste her on my lips. I took my time, making sure to clean every crevice, every fold, not wanting John to suspect a thing.

As I dried off, I heard a soft knock at the bathroom door.

I wrapped the towel around me and opened it to find Maya standing there, her eyes hungry and her body still naked. She pushed past me, shutting the door behind her.

“I can’t wait another minute, Emily,” she whimpered, pressing her body against mine. I could feel her hard nipples through the towel, her warm breath on my neck. “I need to taste you one last time.”

Before I could respond, she dropped to her knees, pushing the towel aside and burying her face in my pussy. I gasped, my hands flying to her hair as her tongue found my clit, sucking and licking with expert precision.

She pushed my legs further apart, her fingers digging into my thighs as she feasted on me, her moans vibrating against my sensitive flesh.

I could feel another orgasm building already, my body tensing and my breath coming in short pants.

“Fuck, Maya. We can’t do this. I have to get back to John before he becomes suspicious,” I panted. She tried to slip two fingers inside me but I managed to stay strong and stop her. She started to sob, saying that we’d never see each other again and that she couldn’t live without me in her life.

I was taken aback, not expecting such an emotional reaction. I hugged her tightly, telling her that everything would be okay. We sat there for a while, just holding each other, until she finally got herself under control.

Then, she looked up at me with those big, doe eyes and said, “Emily, I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. I can’t… I can’t bear to think I’ll never see you again.”

I was stunned. I never expected to hear those words from someone as beautiful and gorgeous as Maya. My assumption had been that this was just another casual holiday fling for her – one of many.

But as I looked into her eyes, I knew she meant every word. And to my surprise, I realised that I felt the same way. I leaned down and kissed her softly, my heart pounding in my chest.

“I… I can’t bear to think I’ll never see you again too, Maya,” I whispered against her lips. She smiled, her eyes shining with unshed tears.

“Promise me we’ll find a way to be together, Emily,” she said, her voice fierce. “I can’t lose you now that I’ve found you.”

I nodded, my resolve strengthening. “We’ll find a way, I promise. But for now, I have to go,” I said, reluctantly pulling away from her. Maya nodded, her eyes filled with a mix of sadness and understanding. I quickly dressed, my body still tingling from our encounter. As I was about to leave, Maya grabbed my hand.

“Tomorrow is your last day here?” she asked. I nodded yes. “Please come back to my room tomorrow night, after John goes to sleep. We can say our goodbyes properly, exchange contact details and maybe make some plans to meet again. Please.” She paused, her eyes searching mine. “And I want to make love to you one last time before you go.”

“I can’t promise anything – but I’ll try, Maya,” I replied. “It all depends on how quickly John falls asleep. Maybe if I ply him with wine with our evening meal, that should get him sleepy.” I said with a grin. “But now, I really must go.”

I realised I had to be firm with her or else I would never get away. I gave her a long, passionate farewell kiss and made my way to the door.

As I opened it, I glanced back at Maya, her body still sprawled naked on the bed, her eyes filled with a mix of longing and desperation. I blew her a kiss and stepped out, closing the door softly behind me.

The walk back to my villa was a blur. My heart was pounding, my mind racing with thoughts of Maya – her touch, her taste, her smell.

I could still feel her fingers inside me, her tongue on my clit, her fist stretching my ass. I was wet and aching, my body yearning for more.

But I had to get back to my room, to John. I hurried through the hotel gardens, my heart pounding in my chest. As I slipped the key card into the lock, I could feel my hands shaking. I took a deep breath as I pushed open the door, stepping inside quietly.

John was sitting on the bed, engrossed in his book. He looked up as I entered, a smile spreading across his face. “Hey, honey. How was your walk? You look… flushed,” he said.

I forced a smile, walking over to him and leaning down to kiss him.

“It was good, just longer than I thought to get to ‘The Crazy Chicken’. But it does look good. They have half-price drinks from 5 pm. So, I was thinking maybe we could stroll down there this evening and give it a go,” I said, hoping my voice sounded convincing.

“Yes, sounds good to me,” he replied. His eyes lingered on me for a moment longer before he went back to his book. I let out a sigh of relief, my body still humming with adrenaline and desire as I started to think about getting ready for this evening. I just hoped ‘The Crazy Chicken’ turned out to be as good as the manager had described it.

We set off from the hotel about 5 pm and took our time with a leisurely stroll down to the restaurant. We got there about 6 pm, just in time to catch a beautiful sunset while we enjoyed our cocktails. The restaurant certainly didn’t disappoint. It was just as good as the manager had promised – fortunately for me!

We were shown to a lovely table right on the beach for our meal. It was decorated with pristine white tablecloths and candles—very romantic. The meal was fabulous. I had chicken pad thai and John went for his favourite, tamarind prawns.

But all through the meal and then our walk back to the hotel, I just couldn’t rid myself of those thoughts of my time with Maya.

Back in our room, as I changed into my pyjamas, I could still feel her hands on me, her tongue on my clit, her fingers stretching my ass.

I had to bite my lip to stop myself from moaning out loud. I caught my reflection in the mirror and barely recognised the woman staring back at me. My cheeks were flushed, my eyes bright and wide and my lips swollen from Maya’s passionate kisses.

I could still smell her on me, a musky, intoxicating scent that made my pussy ache for more. I quickly brushed my teeth, trying to erase any trace of her, but it was no use. I could still taste her on my tongue, sweet and tangy, like the finest wine.

John was already in bed, his book discarded on the side table. He looked up as I climbed in beside him, his eyes soft in the dim light.

“Come here, love,” he murmured, reaching for me.

I hesitated for a moment, my body still humming with desire for Maya, but I forced a smile and snuggled up against him. His arm wrapped around me, pulling me close, and I could feel his hardening cock pressed against my thigh. I closed my eyes, trying to focus on him, on us, but all I could think about was Maya. John started to kiss my neck, his hand cupping my breast, his thumb brushing against my nipple.

I tried to respond, to kiss him back, but my heart wasn’t in it. I could feel his confusion, his frustration, and I hated myself for it.

“Sorry, John, but those two long walks to ‘The Crazy Chicken’ and back have shattered me, especially in today’s heat. Hope you don’t mind if we give it a miss tonight.” I mumbled, pulling away slightly.

He studied me for a moment, his brow furrowed, before nodding. “Alright, love. If you’re tired, let’s just have a nice cuddle.” He kissed my forehead and turned off the bedside lamp, plunging the room into darkness. I lay there, staring up at the ceiling, my body still thrumming with desire for Maya. I could feel John’s even breaths against my neck, his body relaxing into sleep. And before I knew it, I was asleep as well, shattered from my intense afternoon of passion with Maya.

‘Let’s go for a drink or two with Jay and his new girlfriend,’ he said. ‘It’ll be fun,’ he said.

Famous…last…words. I shit you not.

Against my better judgment, we did go out that night.

And here I am, just a few weeks later, watching my boyfriend of three years pack the last of his things into his car and drive off without a backward glance.

What led to this less-than-friendly breakup, you ask? Well, let me tell you a story.

It all started on a Friday night. As usual, I’d had a tough week, as usual, and all I wanted to do was slob out in my PJs with an indulgent takeaway, a bottle of Chardonnay, and something mindless on Netflix.

That is, until Ben announced that he’d told his best mate Jay that we’d go on a double date. Apparently he’d been seeing yet another new girl and was keen to show her off. Jay was a serial dater and liked to parade his conquests about like a bloody Roman general.

I protested, rather animatedly, in fact. I really wasn’t in the mood for it. All I could think of was chicken jalfrezi, Bombay aloo, and soft, warm naan bread. But eventually, with Ben’s cajoling, the idea that a little bit of atmosphere and too much booze might not be so bad. Hell, I could still get the indulgent takeaway on the way home.

I showered and changed, sliding my petite body into comfy jeans and my old vintage leather jacket, and we were good to go.

We were sitting at a table in the Kings Arms nursing our first drinks when Jay and his new girl arrived. It was her legs that I saw first. I’d know those perfect stems anywhere. Raising my head, I saw the rest of her. Fuck, it really was her. She still looked amazing. Raven black hair, longer now, that hung in loose, seductive waves over her shoulders and down her back. Porcelain skin, sapphire blue eyes, and perfect pouting cupid’s bow lips.

She looked like Snow White had grown up and discovered sex. And I was more than familiar with her. In fact, I was intimately familiar with all five feet five inches of her.

“Kate, Ben,” Jay said excitedly, about to make introductions, “this is Reb….”

“Becca!” I finished for him, rising from my chair to embrace her.

“Oh my god, Kate.” She exclaimed. The shock in her voice was apparent, as was the look on her face, and with good reason.

“And you’ve still got the jacket, Kate,” she said with surprise in her voice.

The jacket had actually been a gift from her a few years ago.

Her name was Rebecca Marie James. Becs, or Becca to her friends. Or, to put it more succinctly, the best, most fun sex I’d ever fucking had in my life.

She was also the girl who’d utterly broken my heart.

The boys looked on dumbfounded as Becs and I hugged in greeting. She’d looked equally surprised to see me, to be honest. We hadn’t seen each other in almost four years. I hurriedly explained to the guys that we were actually old friends and that we went way back. More drinks were procured, and as a foursome, we fell into the easy small talk of twenty-somethings.

Well, let’s be honest here. I made a pretence of falling into catching up and small talk. And I’m pretty sure Becs was doing the same.

It was what wasn’t being talked about around that table that played through my mind, though. I really thought I was over her. But as I felt those unmistakable pangs of desire, that familiar ache between my thighs, I realised I was so wrong.

xoxoxoxoxo

Let me give you some backstory here.

Becs and I had become friends through work. We’d started at the same company in a new intake of office juniors around six years ago. Both of us were twenty-two, and neither of us knew a soul at the firm. So, as newbies, we stuck together and quickly became firm friends. We’d go out for drinks after work, we’d go to movies, and we’d spend our lunch breaks together.

I couldn’t deny it; the more we were together, the more I became attracted to her. In fact, even though I’d always considered myself straight – ok, maybe a little bi – I fancied her like crazy.

She stood a little taller than my five-foot-three, and she was beautiful. Added to which, she was blessed with the most amazing legs I’d ever seen. She also had the most wonderful, plummy, so very ‘English’ accent you can imagine.

Due to our archaic office dress code, we were always expected to wear smart skirts and blouses. And this was always finished off with modest heels and tights. She was a walking wet dream.

Just a side note here. You should know at this point that I’ve always had a bit of a thing for legs and feet. This stems back to my schooldays and my old French teacher, who would always conduct lessons sitting on her desk, not behind it. She always wore tights, and she was a compulsive leg crosser and shoe dangler. I found her utterly captivating. So yes, I admit it, I’m definitely a little bi.

Becs had exactly the same effect on me. Every day, I’d fantasise about kissing her, about pleasuring her. Imagining what she tasted like, was she smooth or natural? I wondered what got her motor running. My favourite daydream was that one day she’d just pin me to the wall and have her wicked way with me. I’d never actually been with a girl before, but I’d jilled off to enough girl-on-girl porn to know the basics, and I was pretty sure I could cope if the opportunity ever arose.

I had no idea that my attraction to Rebecca was a mutual one. But when I found out that it was, I can only say that fantasy had absolutely nothing on reality.

I gave myself away totally unintentionally one day in the little office we shared. Any woman knows that having to spend a day in heels isn’t great, so Becs and I had both developed the habit of kicking our shoes off if we were at our desks. Becs rolled her chair back and lifted her legs up onto her desk. She reached forward to adjust the toe seams of her black tights. The sight of her perfect legs, from her pretty purple toenails to her exquisitely shaped thighs, all set off by sheer black nylon, was too much for me.

“Ohhh-mmm,” I moaned audibly. I swear it just slipped out. But we all know you can’t unring a bell.

“Ohh, Kitten,” she exclaimed in that beautiful Mary Poppins voice, spinning her chair to face me. “Did you just make that delightful little noise for me?”

Normally, I hated being called Kitten. Everyone else calls me Kate, and only my mum insists on calling me Katherine. But when Becs used that pet name, it felt so right. It made me feel saucy, even. And once she’d started, it had stuck like glue.

I blushed furiously, “Becs, I, I’m sorry. I couldn’t help it. I’m so sorry; it… It just came out. It’s those damned legs of yours,” I gibbered like a fool.

She got up and padded to me in her nyloned feet, leaning on the arms of my chair, effectively trapping me in place. There was a mischievous, excited look in her eyes.

She leaned in so close, I could smell her perfume and feel her breath on my skin. I felt goosebumps prick up all over me.

“Well, it’s about bloody time. I’ve been looking at you too y’know. All this time, wondering if you fancied me too. I mean, I thought I’d seen you checking me out, but I just couldn’t be sure. Have you Kitten? Have you been having naughty thoughts about me?”

I tried to speak, but I was lost for words. I opened my mouth to say something, anything. But instead, she brushed her lips across mine.

“Is this what you want, Kitten?” she whispered breathily, “Do you want me? Can I kiss you? Please, can I? I’ve wanted to for aaages.”

Like I was ever going to say no! I nodded my head, chewing my lip, squirming in my chair.

She pressed her lips to mine, exerting just the right amount of pressure. She tasted of strawberry lip gloss and smelled like summer. I moaned again, my lips parted, and she instantly took the invitation to slide her tongue into my mouth.

I leaned up into her, sliding my arms around her neck, and kissed her back passionately, our tongues entwining. It felt like the most natural, most wonderful thing in the world. I’d dreamed of this moment, and it surpassed every expectation I could’ve had.

I glanced over her shoulder, realising that the office door was still open.

“Becs, the door,” I whispered as she pulled back to take a breath.

“Shit!” she jumped back, worried we were about to get caught. “I think you’d better come home with me tonight, don’t you?”

Needless to say, I did go home with her that night. And so began two and a half years of almost non-stop, playful, delightfully kinky, sometimes risky sex.

We house-sat like a couple if my parents were away. We fucked in club toilets. We used her place if her flatmate was out. The back seat of my car in quiet industrial estates after dark like horny teenagers. We even found hidden corners at work for delicious, frantic quickies.

The one thing we promised each other was that it was ‘just sex’; we weren’t going to fall in love with each other. Neither of us was gay after all. We were just two girls having fun, exploring, and discovering ourselves. Weren’t we?

Of course, you already have an inkling that I did just that. I fell hard and deep for Rebecca. And that was a huge, if unavoidable, mistake.

I didn’t even know that she was leaving until she didn’t show up for work one Monday. There was no text, no phone call, just her absence. As Tuesday turned to Wednesday, and all my appeals went unanswered, I went and spoke to our manager. She informed me that Rebecca had left on zero notice due to some undisclosed family emergency.

I was heartbroken. Not only had she just upped and quit, but she’d completely ghosted me. And that was what had really hurt. I’d cry anytime I was alone. I lost weight. And the worst thing was that I had absolutely nobody I could talk to about the situation. Was it me? Had I done something so wrong? Had I done something so unforgivable?

xoxoxoxoxo

Of course, I couldn’t say any of this as we all sat around that pub table. I put on a show; I went through the motions. And I drank like a fish.

I was distracted, distant, and starting to feel decidedly worse for wear. The booze was definitely taking hold, exacerbated by my empty stomach. My stomach churned, and I could feel a cold sweat between my shoulder blades.

“Are you okay, Kate?” Ben asked, looking concerned, rubbing my shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m… I’m fine,” I replied, “I just need the loo. I…don’t feel too great.”

I got up and made my way unsteadily to the toilets. Thankfully, they were empty. I ran the cold tap, splashing cold water on my face, as the tears began to flow. I was, however, unaware that Becs had followed me.

I was sobbing at the sink, my head hung low, when I felt her hand softly stroke down my back.

“Kate,” she said softly, her voice like pure honey. “Kate, are you ok?”

I stood straight and turned around, brushing her hand away. Upset turned to anger, and I snapped at her viciously.

“How the fuck…can you ask that, Becs? No, how dare you even ask me that? You, you vanished on me, without so much as a fucking word. And now, you have the gall to ask if I’m ok.”

I felt my stomach lurch and dashed into a cubicle, dry heaving and crying; I slumped to my knees.

She held my hair out of the way, stroking my back.

“Shhh, Kitten, oh Kate, I’m so sorry. I promise, I never meant to hurt you, Kitten. I was trying to avoid that by leaving. Can we please meet for coffee tomorrow, maybe? Let me explain it all. I’ve got so much to tell you.”

I looked up and nodded, “I think you owe me that at the very least. Don’t you?”

She helped me clean myself up and led me back out to where the boys were waiting. Becs and I exchanged phone numbers and agreed to talk the next day. For a proper catch-up.

I could barely look Ben in the eye when we got home. I went straight to bed while he fired up his PlayStation. It was barely ten o’clock, and our Friday night was ruined. I lay there in the dark, feeling pathetic, embarrassed, and sorry for myself. I should’ve been able to take it in stride and be the bigger person. But most of all I realised the reason I was so upset.

I realised that I didn’t care why she’d vanished. I didn’t need to forgive her. I realised that despite being with Ben for three years, sharing a flat for two, my life was a sham. Lying to myself about who I really was. I was still hopelessly in love with her. I just didn’t know if I was brave enough to tell her or to break Ben’s heart. I just knew that I wanted her back.

I awoke alone the next morning, hungover and starving hungry. Ben worked on Saturday mornings and played football with Jay in the afternoons, so I had the whole day to myself.

Becs and I exchanged texts, arranging to meet at our old favourite greasy spoon for a late breakfast.

I showered and made coffee, and feeling minimal guilt for what I was doing to Ben, I got myself ready to win back my girl.

I shoehorned myself into my favourite jeans, paired them with a slinky black top I knew she’d like, and fluffed my blonde hair into that crusted beach look I knew she loved. I opted for dark eye makeup to hide my hangover and popped my sunnies on top of my head. I eschewed heels in favour of sneakers for a breakfast date, grabbed my jacket, and left the flat to walk the half mile or so to the cafe.

I arrived five minutes early, thankful to find that the breakfast rush had died down. I sat in our favourite booth at the back and ordered a large black Americano.

When Rebecca arrived, my jaw hit the floor. She was obviously playing me at my own game, wearing an outfit that she knew would push my buttons.

She always knew that her legs were my weak spot. She’d worn very short cut-off jeans with black tights underneath, a black suede bike jacket, and Vans on her feet. It was the ratty old Aerosmith t-shirt underneath that said it all. It had once belonged to my dad. I’d let Becs sleep in it once, and I’d never seen it again. She still had it after all these years.

She kissed my cheek. “Hiya Kitten,” she whispered before sliding into the seat opposite.

“Hey you,” I responded, my voice catching slightly. “I can’t believe you’ve still got my T-shirt.”

“Are you kidding, Kitten? This is going nowhere. It’s been my one link to you. It’s…it’s precious.”

Her voice hadn’t changed one bit. And I could already feel my body responding.

We ordered our food, and I sipped my coffee. I almost didn’t want to hear what had gotten between us. I just wanted to drown in those azure blue eyes. I just wanted her back in my life.

As we slowly munched our way through the biggest Full English on the menu, she let it all out.

“Kitten,” she said seriously, “we made a promise way back when, didn’t we? Not to fall in love?”

I just stared at her in shock. I took a gulp of coffee. I had definitely not expected her to open like this.

“Well, Kitten, I couldn’t help it,” she continued, “I did fall in love with you. But I tried to convince myself that it wasn’t ‘true love’, and I did something completely and utterly stupid.”

I’ll give you the clip notes version here, Dear Reader. If I gave it to you verbatim, it would be long, sad, and would involve me attempting to describe two old friends ugly crying over a fry-up. Nobody needs to read that. So:

It transpired that, in her efforts to convince herself that she was merely stuck in some soft-focus lesbian porno fantasy, Becs had indulged in a one-night stand. After which, she’d decided that I really was THE ONE. Yay, Kitten, I hear you cry. Well, not quite; there’s more.

Instead of proclaiming her undying love for me, taking me straight to bed and fucking me ragged, she waited. Scared that I wouldn’t feel the same way. (See, never make stupid promises.) And during that time that she waited, she discovered that she was pregnant.

So instead of talking to me, she chickened out of everything we had, completely. Said she couldn’t very well say “I love you, Kitten” while carrying a child. So she fucked off home to her mum and dad’s, thinking I’d want no more of her. She had her baby. A gorgeous little girl called Lily (I’ve seen pictures), who was promptly and very lovingly adopted by her sister Anna.

Becs had always said motherhood wasn’t for her, and Anna had been trying and failing to conceive with her husband for years. Countless rounds of IVF had failed, and they’d all but given up. So Becs is now Aunty Becca; she still gets to be a fun part of Lily’s life, Anna is a wonderful mum, and all is right with the world.

(Now I know that I’ve really made this seem very short and almost trivial. But believe me, you know everything that you need to, and I know you’re all wanting to get to the wet n squishy bit. I know you are, because I am too, so keep reading.)

I asked why she hadn’t at least tried to contact me. It was the usual reason. Fear of being ultimately rejected. I think we’ve all been there for one reason or another. Always scared of what the outcome ‘might’ be. Too scared to take the plunge and find out.

It turned out she’d lived a similar sham of a life to mine. I’d moved in with Ben, and she’d dated a handful of guys but hadn’t fallen into anything serious.

Becs had only moved back to our town a few months ago and found herself a cheap flatshare. She told me that she’d been trying to work up the courage to reach out ever since, but she just didn’t know how to after so much time had passed. Fortunately, the Fates had smiled on her. It was pure serendipity that had led her to that pub with Jay, my own boyfriend’s best mate, on that particular night.

We ordered more coffee, and I reached for her hand across the table.

“Kate, can you forgive me? I never meant to hurt you. I was stupid and selfish. I really should have talked to you.”

I felt tears well up again, my body trembling.

“Becs, it’s always been you,” I said quietly. “I was in love with you then, and I realised last night I’m still in love with you.”

Her bottom lip quivered. “Oh, Kitten, I’m so sor..”

“Shut up, Becs,” I whispered. “Just shut up.”

I leaned over the table, grabbing her jacket lapels to pull her to me, scattering ketchup bottles and cutlery all over the table. I crushed my mouth to hers; I didn’t give a fuck where we were or who the hell saw us.

Our coffees arrived, and we sat back down. We’d healed instantly. From confessions to forgiveness, in the time it took to eat breakfast.

We held hands and gazed at each other as we drank our coffee in silence. Becs had kicked off her Vans and now played the trump card. I felt her foot caress my leg under the table.

“Ben’ll be out till the pubs shut,” I whispered, biting my lip. “If you fancy coming home with me?”

“We’d best get going then,” she smirked. “I got an Uber here. Can you give me a lift home later?”

Becs made a show of putting her shoes back on, stretching her legs, and pointing her toes for me as I paid our bill. I just knew it wouldn’t be long till those pretty toes were in my mouth again.

The half-mile walk back took twice as long as usual. We kept distracting each other and stopping along the way. By the time we got to my apartment building, we were already at a steady sizzle.

I buzzed us into the building, and we stumbled in amid a fit of gasps and giggles. Becca pushed me against the wall of the hallway, kissing me hard and deep. She deftly unsnapped my jeans before I’d even gotten my keys out.

“Fuck, I want you, Kitten,” she purred, slipping her hand into my knickers, teasing my aching, wet little twat right there in the open as we made out.

I cupped her mound over her shorts, gently squeezing, eliciting a gasp from her perfect lips. My hips rocked, desperate for her touch.

“I bet there’s nothing under those tights, is there?” I challenged, “Not a stitch, you naughty girl.”

“You’ll have to undress me and see,” she growled.

We heard a door open, and Mrs Whatsername from across the hall peered out. Obviously, investigating the noise. She gave us a stern, disapproving look before closing her door. I wondered just how much she’d seen. Did I care? Not a jot.

We tumbled through my front door. Kicking off sneakers as we kept kissing. My jeans and knickers were on the hallway floor before I’d even taken my jacket off.

I manoeuvred Becs backwards into the bedroom, playfully shoving her back onto the bed. The bed I shared with Ben. I crawled up her body, wrenched her shorts open, and eagerly shoved my hand in as our tongues entwined once more. I was right, no knickers. She’d obviously come prepared. I fondled her pussy like an old friend.

She slipped two fingers into my aching sex as I wrestled with my jacket, tossing it away.

“Fuuck yes,” I moaned breathlessly, tugging at her shorts, dragging them over her hips. She kicked them the rest of the way off.

God, I’d always loved the sight of her like this. All legs, sheathed in slinky black nylon, her pussy glistening wetly beneath.

I leant back, her fingers sliding out of me. I drank in the view as she raised her legs and licked my juices from her own fingers, her toes brushing my lips. They were warm, soft, and ever so slightly damp. I licked her soles from heel to toe, pressing my face into them, before taking the tip of her right foot in my mouth. My hand slid up her inner thigh to stroke her pussy with my thumb. My breath was ragged, excitement and lust coursing through me as I stroked her in soft, easy circles.

“Ohh fuck, Kitten, my Kitten, Christ, I’ve missed you.”

I moaned around her toes, watching her stroke her own pussy; as her left foot slid behind my neck, she flexed her leg to pull me down lower as I relinquished her right foot.

“Kitten, pleease,” she mewled as she languidly draped her legs over my shoulders.

I breathed her in, that heady mix of Vera Wang and her own sweet, musky scent of arousal. My cunt throbbed; I slipped a hand between my legs to give her some rough comfort while Becs broke her own cardinal rule and ripped her tights open for me.

I took a moment to admire her baby smooth mons, her lust-blushed labia, a dark purple at the edges graduating to a glistening vibrant pink centre. A bead of her juices oozed from her.

I placed a kiss soft enough to wake a Disney princess on her smooth mound before taking a long, luxurious ice cream lick upward through her exquisite folds as she wrapped her legs around me. Her hips bucking and grinding to my loving mouth. Fuck, I’d forgotten just how wet she could get. In no time at all, my face was saturated, glazed from her as I lustily French kissed her gooey snatch.

I brought her to a crashing crescendo, a writhing, gasping, moaning tumult. Two fingers massaging her G-spot, my pinky just teasing the ring of her bum and her clit firmly between my lips.

“Ooh fuuck yess yesss,” she was babbling, her back arching clear of the bed. She supported herself by her shoulders and her legs on mine. It was perfect. She was perfect. She always had been. And she was mine again.

Any vestiges of former heartbreak were gone. They dissipated like smoke on the breeze as I found my own sweet release a few minutes later. As naked as the day I was born, I’d straddled her, my own passion engorged pussy grinding firmly down on hers while Becs slid into her third aftershock. My cunt flooded over hers, our juices mingling as my inaugural orgasm ripped through me, her sexy nyloned toes firmly in my mouth once more as I rode her into the gates of heaven.

She’d kept my old t-shirt on the whole time.

The armistice was official at five thirty pm. The wreckage was strewn everywhere, my sheets were soaked, and the room reeked of sex. Girl sex. Spent and exhausted, we realised we were both ravenous. We showered together, Becs borrowed some fresh clothes from me, and we doused the room liberally with Febreze.

She helped me change the sheets, and we went out in search of dinner. Finally, our first date as a couple. And to cap it all, I finally got my fucking curry!

I dropped Becs at her place and was just climbing out of my twenty-year-old Range Rover as Ben came strolling into the apartment complex. Kit bag in hand, tipsy as a lord. It looked like we’d both had a fantastic Saturday.

xoxoxoxoxo

Now let’s circle back, shall we? How did the breakup occur? I hear you cry. Did Mrs Whatsername tell Ben what she’d seen? Had somebody seen Becs and me snogging in the café?

Oh no, nothing so mundane as that, I can assure you.

I called in ‘sick’ the following Wednesday. The plan was Ben would go off to work, Becs would ring in sick too, escape her shared flat and we’d spend the day shagging like bunnies again.

How was I to know that Ben was going to come home to check on me?

As Courtney Love serenaded us with Malibu, I was sprawled on the bed, stark naked, legs akimbo. An equally naked, sweat-slicked Rebecca was gripping the headboard and riding my face like a prize-winning pony.

I could sense my girl was just on the precipice, grinding down hard, yelling my name, when the music came to an abrupt stop.

Now, had this been an adult film, the guy would’ve just whipped it out and joined in. ‘Twas not the case in this instance.

Ben had been greeted by the view of two sweaty girls, one of whom was his girlfriend, joyously fucking the day away with gay abandon. He was less than impressed.

“Seems like you two are more than just old friends,” was all he said before turning and walking back out again.

I’ll spare you the ensuing arguments, acrimony, and the litany of choice insults that were hurled at me. Because, at the end of the day, this tale has a happy ever after ending.

You see, I’ve just accepted Ben’s keys back, and as he drives away, I’m not actually going back indoors to mope, to dwell on my wickedness. To berate myself. Fuck that!

I’m actually just climbing into my trusty Range Rover, and I’m off to help Becs pack her stuff. She’s moving in with me, and trust me, this time she’s not getting away.

Now, if only I could work out a way to break the news to Mum and Dad.

Sana stepped out of the steamy embrace of the spa, feeling the cool afternoon breeze air kiss her skin. The scent of lavender lingered in her hair and on her fingertips, a gentle reminder of the peace she’d found within the soothing sanctuary. She had come for a massage, a rare treat after a long week of juggling work and her son’s school schedule. The parking lot lights cast a soft glow on the pavement, guiding her to her car.

Her mind was still swimming with the sensations from Clara’s expert touch, the way the tension had melted from her muscles. The experience had been unexpectedly intimate, Clara’s strong but gentle hands moving in rhythmic strokes that had lulled Sana into a state of serenity. Yet, as she slid into the driver’s seat and turned the ignition, she felt a strange mix of exhilaration and guilt. Her heart fluttered at the memory of Clara’s eyes meeting hers on numerous occasions, the shared secret that they had between them.

The short drive home seemed to stretch on forever, her thoughts racing as she wondered if this was the start of something new within her, a door she had never dared to open. She knew she had to tell someone, but who? Her closest friends might judge her, and she couldn’t bear the thought of her conservative family finding out. Her marriage to Mohsin had always been stable, but it lacked the passionate spark she’d read about in books. Would he understand?

When she pulled into the driveway, the sight of her husband’s car parked in its usual spot brought a fresh wave of anxiety. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for the facade she’d have to maintain. As she opened the front door, the smell of her home filled the hallway, and she heard the distant laughter of their son Adam from the family room. She walked in to find Mohsin playing a video game with Adam, their bond clear as they sat side by side, heads bent in concentration.

“Hey, you’re back,” Mohsin called out, not taking his eyes off the screen.

“Hi, mum,” Adam echoed, glancing up from the controller with a grin before returning his attention to the game.

“How was your spa day?” Mohsin asked, his eyes still glued to the TV.

Sana forced a smile. “It was… different,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. She felt her cheeks flush as she set down her purse and kicked off her shoes.

Mohsin looked up, noticing the change in her tone. “Different? What do you mean?”

Sana took a deep breath and sat on the edge of the couch. “It was just… intense. I’ve never had a massage quite like it.”

Mohsin still clicking away at his controller, concentrating on the task of winning the game. “Was it good, though?”

“It was… amazing,” Sana replied, her voice trailing off as she sank deeper into the sofa. The weight of her secret grew heavier with every second that passed.

Mohsin grunted in approval, eyes never leaving the game. “That’s good, dear,” he said, his thumbs dancing over the buttons. “As long as you’re happy.”

Sana felt the guilt coil tighter in her stomach. “I’m just a bit overwhelmed,” she lied, watching her son’s eyes light up every time he scored a point. “I might go take a bath to relax some more.”

Mohsin nodded absently, his focus fully on the game. “Sounds like a plan. Dinner’s in the oven. Just heat it up when you’re ready.”

Sana retreated to the bathroom, the walls seeming to close in around her. She filled the tub with steaming hot water, adding a generous splash of her favorite bath salts. The scent of jasmine filled the room, but it couldn’t wash away the memory of Clara’s touch. As she sank into the water, she closed her eyes and allowed the warmth to seep into her bones. Her thoughts swirled like the water around her, a whirlwind of doubt and excitement. What had she done? What did it mean? Was it a one-time thing, or had she just stepped into a new chapter of her life?

Her phone chimed, the sound piercing through the serene silence like a gunshot. It was a text from Fahima, the friend who had so thoughtfully given her the spa day as a gift. She picked it up, her hand trembling slightly. The message read, “Did you enjoy the ‘Special Ending’?” with a wink emoji. Sana’s heart skipped a beat. Her cheeks flushed as she realized Fahima had known all along. The implications of the message were clear: Clara’s technique wasn’t just a standard part of the service. She had been set up. But why? Was it a prank, a misunderstanding, or had Fahima sensed something within Sana that she hadn’t acknowledged herself?

The water grew lukewarm as she sat there, the bubbles slowly dissipating. She sank further into the tub, her mind racing with the potential consequences of her actions. What if Mohsin found out? Would he leave her? Would Adam hate her? Yet, she couldn’t ignore the thrill that coursed through her veins, the way Clara had made her feel alive for the first time in years. Her thoughts grew hazy, a cocktail of confusion and desire.

With trembling fingers, she composed a text to Fahima. “It was… intense. Thank you for setting it up. Let’s meet for a catch-up soon.” She hit send, watching the message disappear into the digital abyss, feeling both terrified and relieved. The silence in the room grew heavier as she waited for a response. It buzzed back almost immediately, “You’re welcome, can’t wait to hear all about it. How about tomorrow at our usual café?”

Sana nodded to herself, knowing that she needed to talk to someone who understood what she’d been through. She climbed out of the tub and wrapped herself in a towel, the cold marble floor sending a shiver up her spine. As she walked to her bedroom, the echo of their laughter followed her. The weight of her secret grew heavier with every step.

Mohsin called out for her to join them, but she feigned a headache and retreated to her room, the door clicking shut behind her like a lock. She changed into her pajamas, the soft fabric brushing against her sensitive skin, and climbed into bed. Her mind replayed the moments with Clara, the way her heart had raced, the feeling of being truly seen. It was a stark contrast to the predictability of her life, and she found herself craving more of that raw, unexplored territory.

The next day, she found herself sitting across from Fahima at their usual café, a warm cup of tea in her hands. The sun streamed through the windows, casting a golden hue on Fahima’s knowing smile. Sana took a deep breath and recounted her experience, her words tumbling out in a rush of emotion. Fahima listened intently, nodding along, her eyes gleaming with curiosity. “I knew you’d love it,” she said, her voice a gentle purr. “Clara has that effect on people.”

Sana’s grip tightened around her mug. “Why did you set me up? Did you know this would happen?”

Fahima leaned back in her chair, her smile unwavering. “Of course, darling. I could see the spark was missing in your eyes every time you talked about your love life. And the way you’ve been complaining about Mohsin, always too tired, too stressed. It’s been like watching a plant wither away in the shade. I know you love Mohsin, but I could sense something was missing, a spark.”

Sana felt the heat rising in her cheeks. “But how could you know? I didn’t even know myself.”

Fahima leaned in, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Sana, you’ve been my best friend for over a decade. I’ve seen the way you look at certain women, the way you light up when we talk about love and intimacy that goes beyond the norm. You’ve been yearning for this, whether you admitted it to yourself or not.”

Sana’s eyes searched Fahima’s, seeking understanding. “But what do I do now? How do I tell Mohsin?”

Fahima reached across the table, her hand warm and comforting. “You don’t have to tell him anything, Sana. This is your journey to navigate, and to enjoy the ride.”

They parted ways after their meeting, Sana’s thoughts swirling like the leaves caught in an autumn wind. She drove home with a heavy heart, the sun setting in a blaze of oranges and pinks that did nothing to lift her mood. Her mind was a battlefield of doubt and yearning as she pulled into the driveway and walked into the house filled with the comforting aroma of Mohsin’s cooking.

Mohsin looked up from the stove, his eyes questioning. “You okay, Sana?”

“I’m fine,” she managed, setting the table with trembling hands. The lie tasted bitter on her tongue.

Mohsin chuckled from the kitchen. “You might need another massage after the week you’ve had,” he said, tossing a knowing look over his shoulder.

Sana forced a laugh, feeling the tension coil tighter in her chest. She knew she couldn’t keep her secret for long. Her thoughts drifted to Clara, her eyes, her touch. What would happen if she allowed herself to explore these newfound desires? Would it ruin her life, or would it finally give her the fulfillment she’d been craving?

Weeks turned into a month, and the memory of Clara’s massage remained as vivid as the day it happened. Sana tried to focus on her work, her son’s school plays, and the mundane routines of marriage, but the whispers of that fateful afternoon grew louder with each passing day. She found herself touching her skin, tracing the ghosts of Clara’s hands, and her mind often wandered to the spa’s dimly lit room during moments she should have been present in her life.

Then one evening, as the aroma of freshly cooked  biryani wafted through the house, he looked up from his phone with a hopeful smile. “How about we all go to Glasgow this weekend? It’s been ages since we saw my parents.”

Sana’s stomach dropped. The thought of facing her in-laws with her secret felt like an impossible challenge. “I don’t know, I’ve got a lot of work to catch up on,” she said, her voice unconvincing.

Adam’s eyes lit up with excitement. “Please, mum! I miss Dadi Dada!” he begged, jumping up and down. His little hands clutched at her arm, pulling her into his world of innocence and pure joy.

Sana’s heart tugged at the sight of her son’s enthusiasm, but her own mind was torn. A weekend away with her in-laws was the last thing she needed while her thoughts were in such turmoil. She searched for a way out, and it hit her. “Why don’t you and Adam go?” she suggested, trying to keep the tremble out of her voice. “I’ve got a big deadline at work. It’d be great if I could have some quiet time to catch up.”

Mohsin’s smile faltered, but he nodded. “Alright, if that’s what you need.” He turned back to Adam. “Looks like it’s just us boys this weekend.”

The next day, as she watched them pack their bags and get ready to leave, Sana felt a strange sense of relief mixed with a pang of loss. As soon as the door closed behind them, she felt a sudden urge to visit the spa again. She had no intention of seeing Clara, but she couldn’t resist the allure of the place that had stirred such tumultuous emotions within her. She told herself it was just to unwind, to recapture that sense of peace she’d felt before her world had been upended.

Her heart raced as she dialed the spa’s number, her thumb hovering over the call button. The phone rang once, twice, and a pleasant voice picked up. “Good evening, this is the Serenity Spa. How may I assist you today?”

Sana’s voice wavered. “I was wondering if Clara is available for a massage this weekend?”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. “I’m sorry, Clara no longer works with us. Can I help you with another therapist?” the voice on the phone replied, her tone tinged with an unspoken question.

Sana’s heart sank. “Oh, no, it’s okay. I’ll… I’ll manage,” she said, ending the call abruptly. She sank into the couch, the cushions enveloping her in their soft embrace. The silence of the empty house seemed to amplify the sound of her racing heart. Without realising it, she had been clutching her phone so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. She placed it on the coffee table, feeling a strange sense of loss.

Just then, her phone rang, the vibration sending a jolt through her body. She glanced at the screen and saw Fahima’s name. She took a deep breath and answered, “Hey.”

“How are you holding up?” Fahima’s voice was warm and soothing, like a cup of tea on a rainy afternoon.

“I… I don’t know,” Sana replied, her voice cracking. “I just called the spa. Clara’s not there anymore.”

Fahima’s giggle turned into a knowing chuckle. “Your fairy godmother has everything under control,” she assured her friend. “I had a feeling you’d want to see her again. That’s why I kept her number handy.”

Sana’s eyes widened. “What? You have Clara’s number?”

Fahima’s laughter filled the line. “Of course I do, darling. I know how much you enjoyed the ‘Special Ending’. Clara’s quite the popular lady around here, you know.”

Sana felt a mix of embarrassment and excitement. “Can you… can you give it to me?”

Fahima’s chuckle grew playful. “Now, now, don’t be hasty. What’s the rush?”

Sana couldn’t help but laugh despite her nerves. “Fahima, don’t be a bitch,” she said, the giggle escaping her lips. It felt liberating to speak so openly with someone who seemed to understand her so well.

“Alright, alright,” Fahima conceded, her voice still full of mirth. “But promise me you’ll tell me everything. Every. Last. Detail.”

Sana rolled her eyes, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. It was comforting to have someone in her corner, someone who knew her secret and didn’t judge. “Fine, I promise,” she said, her voice lighter.

“Good girl,” Fahima said, with a teasing tone.

Sana took the number with trembling hands and ended the call. She sat for a moment, the quiet of the house suddenly suffocating. With a deep breath, she composed a text message to Clara. “Hi, it’s Sana. We met at the spa last month. I was wondering if you’re available for another appointment?”

Her phone buzzed almost immediately with Clara’s reply, “Hi Sana, it’s great to hear from you! I actually do house visits now. More private, more intimate. Would you be interested?”

Sana’s heart raced as she read the message. House visits? It was more than she had bargained for, but the thrill was undeniable. She took a deep breath and typed back, “That sounds perfect. Can you come tomorrow?”

“I’d love to,” Clara replied, her enthusiasm palpable. “What time would suit you best?”

Sana’s stomach somersaulted. This was really happening. She took a moment to consider her reply, the words feeling like they were being drawn from a deep, secret well within her. “How about 2 pm?”

“Perfect,” Clara responded, her message followed by a smiley face emoji. “Looking forward to it. Any special requests?”

Sana paused, her thumb hovering over the screen. Special requests? Her mind was a whirlwind of emotions. Should she tell Clara she wanted more than just a massage? That she wanted to explore the uncharted territory of her desires? The thought of saying it out loud was terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. She took a deep breath and sent a simple message. “Just your usual magic.”

The next day, the minutes ticked by like hours. She cleaned the house, straightening every pillow and dusting every shelf, trying to ignore the anticipation that grew with every passing second. Finally, at 2 pm, the doorbell rang. Sana’s heart skipped a beat as she went to answer it. Clara stood there, her smile as warm as ever, her eyes gleaming with something that sent a shiver down Sana’s spine. She looked different outside of the spa’s serene environment, more… real.

“Hi Sana,” Clara said, her voice a gentle caress. “Ready for some relaxation?”

Sana nodded, her throat dry. “Come in,” she managed, stepping aside to let Clara enter. The scent of jasmine followed her, a sweet reminder of their last encounter.

Clara looked around the living room, taking in the family photos and the clutter of a life lived with love. “Where would you like me to set up?” she asked, her eyes finally meeting Sana’s.

Sana’s gaze darted to the stairs that led to her bedroom, and she felt a blush spread across her cheeks. “How about the… the spare room?” she suggested, her voice barely above a whisper.

Clara’s smile grew knowing. “Lead the way,” she said, her eyes sparkling with understanding.

Sana led Clara to the spare room, her heart racing like a wild horse. She hadn’t prepared for this, hadn’t even admitted to herself what she truly wanted. But here she was, opening the door to a possibility that could either destroy her world or set her free. The room was dimly lit, the curtains drawn to keep out the prying eyes of the neighborhood. Clara began setting up the massage table with a professional ease, laying out the towels and oils. Sana couldn’t help but watch her every move, the way her hands moved with such confidence and grace.

“Is there anything specific you’d like me to focus on?” Clara asked, her voice a gentle melody in the quiet space.

Sana took a deep breath, trying to still her racing thoughts. “No, just… do what you think is best,” she said, her voice quivering slightly. She felt a strange mix of excitement and fear, as if she was standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to jump into an ocean of uncertainty.

Clara nodded, her gaze never leaving Sana’s. “Alright, then. Get comfortable,” she instructed, gesturing to the massage table. “I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Sana slipped out of her clothes, her heart thumping in her chest like a drum. She lay face down on the table, the coolness of the linen sending a shiver through her body. She heard Clara’s footsteps, the rustle of her clothes as she approached. The door clicked shut, sealing them into this cocoon of intimacy. Sana felt a warm hand on her back, gently spreading the oil in slow, deliberate circles. Her breath hitched, the memory of their last encounter flooding her senses.

“Did you miss me?” Clara whispered, her breath hot against the back of Sana’s neck. The question sent a thrill down Sana’s spine, and she couldn’t help but nod. The room was filled with the sweet scent of jasmine, the same scent that had surrounded her in that fateful spa room. Clara’s fingers began to move with more purpose, digging into the tension that had built up over the weeks. The massage was more than just physical; it was a dance of sensuality that seemed to awaken something deep within her.

Sana felt a strange sense of release with every stroke, every knead. It was as if Clara was peeling back the layers of her inhibitions, one by one, revealing the woman she’d kept hidden for so long. She couldn’t help but let out a soft moan as Clara’s hands moved lower, teasing the base of her spine. It was a sound she hadn’t made in months, maybe even years, and it felt foreign yet incredibly natural.

Clara’s touch grew more deliberate, her thumbs pressing into the knots of tension that had formed around Sana’s hips. Sana could feel the heat between her legs growing, a warmth that spread like wildfire with every breath she took. The room was silent except for the sound of their breathing, the occasional crackle of the massage oil, and the rhythmic sound of Clara’s movements. It was a symphony of desire, each note playing in time with the racing beat of her heart.

As Clara’s hands glided down her legs, Sana’s thoughts grew hazier, her body becoming a canvas for the artist that was Clara. Her calves were tight from years of carrying the weight of responsibilities and expectations, but Clara’s skilled fingers worked them with the patience of a sculptor chipping away at a block of marble. Each touch sent a jolt of pleasure through Sana, making her toes curl and her body arch. It was as if Clara could read the story of her life through the tension in her muscles, releasing the chapters one by one.

Her dainty feet, often neglected and hidden in sensible shoes, were treated to a tender, almost worshipful massage. Clara’s thumbs traced the delicate arches, her fingers digging into the balls of her feet with just the right amount of pressure. Sana felt a sigh escape her lips as she sank further into the table, her body melting under Clara’s ministrations. It was a sensation she had never experienced before, a feeling of being seen, of being touched in a way that went beyond the superficial.

As Clara worked her way up her legs, Sana couldn’t help but turn her head to the side, her cheek pressed against the coolness of the towel. She watched Clara’s strong, capable hands move over her body with a kind of awe, feeling a strange sense of vulnerability that was both thrilling and terrifying. Clara’s eyes met hers in the mirror on the opposite wall, and she gave Sana a knowing smile. It was a silent communication that spoke of secrets shared and desires understood.

Sana felt Clara’s fingers brush against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, the touch feather-light yet electric. Her body responded instinctively, her legs spreading apart slightly. Clara paused, her hands hovering, waiting for permission. Sana swallowed hard, her mouth dry. She nodded, her eyes never leaving Clara’s in the mirror. The masseuse leaned in closer, her breasts pressing against Sana’s back as she placed a gentle kiss on her neck.

The sensation of Clara’s lips on her skin sent a bolt of pleasure through her, and Sana couldn’t hold back the gasp that escaped. Clara’s hands resumed their journey, now bolder, now exploring the soft mounds of Sana’s ass with a gentle squeeze. Sana’s body was on fire, the tension in the room thick and palpable. She felt Clara’s breath hot against her ear as she whispered, “Tell me what you want, Sana.”

Sana’s voice was barely above a murmur. “I want… I want you to take me, I’m yours for today.”

Clara’s smile grew wider in the mirror, and she leaned in closer, her breath hot against Sana’s skin. “Your wish is my command,” she said, her voice a seductive whisper.

Her lips traveled up the back of Sana’s neck, planting soft kisses that sent shivers down her spine. Sana’s eyes fluttered closed, and she felt Clara’s teeth nip at her earlobe. It was a sensation she’d never experienced, and it sent a jolt of pleasure straight to her core. Clara’s hands grew more daring, caressing the sides of her breasts and making Sana’s nipples harden in anticipation. She let out a whimper, her body aching for more.

With a sudden, surprising strength, Clara gently lifted Sana from the table, her arms wrapping around her waist. Sana gasped as Clara’s breasts pressed against her back, feeling the firmness of the other woman’s body against her own. It was a new kind of intimacy, one that she hadn’t allowed herself to crave until now. Clara’s kiss grew more insistent, her tongue tracing the shell of Sana’s ear before her mouth found hers.

Sana melted into the kiss, the taste of Clara’s minty breath mingling with her own. It was as if Clara had unlocked a door to a part of herself she didn’t know existed. Her hands found Clara’s, their fingers lacing together as Clara turned her around to face her. The look in Clara’s eyes was a mix of hunger and tenderness that made Sana’s knees wobble.

“Take me to your bedroom,” Clara whispered, her voice a siren’s call that Sana couldn’t resist. She nodded, leading the way with trembling steps. The house felt eerily quiet, the echo of their footsteps the only sound in the corridor. The door to her bedroom creaked open, revealing the sanctuary she shared with Mohsin. The sight of her marital bed sent a shiver through her, the reality of what she was about to do weighing heavily on her.

Clara closed the door behind them with a gentle click, her eyes never leaving Sana’s. “You’re so beautiful,” she murmured, her gaze sweeping over Sana’s naked body with a hunger that made Sana feel both exposed and powerful. She took a deep breath and stepped closer to the bed, her heart racing like a wild animal.

With a gentle but firm touch, Clara pushed her onto the soft mattress, the coolness of the fabric a stark contrast to the heat of Clara’s skin. Sana felt the weight of her own body, the heaviness of her breasts and the dampness between her legs, as Clara hovered above her, her eyes filled with a fiery passion that made Sana’s breath catch in her throat.

Her legs hanging off the bed, Clara took one of her feet in her hand, her thumb tracing the arch with the same skill she had used to massage away her tension. Sana couldn’t tear her gaze away as Clara brought her foot to her mouth, her lips parting to reveal perfect teeth. The anticipation was agonising, but when Clara’s mouth finally closed around her big toe, Sana felt a jolt of pleasure that traveled up her leg and pooled in her belly. Clara’s tongue flicked over her skin, sending waves of sensation through her body. It was an intimacy she had never before experienced, and she found herself craving more.

Clara moved up her body, her kisses leaving a trail of fire across Sana’s legs, her stomach, her breasts. When she reached her mouth, Sana couldn’t help but arch into the kiss, her hands reaching up to tangle in Clara’s hair. The taste of Clara was intoxicating, a heady mix of jasmine and desire that made her toes curl. Clara’s hands roamed over her body, exploring every inch with a reverence that made Sana feel like a goddess.

And then, Clara pulled away, standing up to discard her own clothes. Sana watched, her eyes wide, as Clara’s shirt fell to the floor, revealing toned abs and full, round breasts. The sight of Clara’s bare skin made her heart race, and she felt a sudden surge of want that was almost overwhelming. Clara’s pants followed, pooling around her ankles, and she stepped out of them, leaving her in nothing but a lacy thong. Sana couldn’t help but admire the muscular lines of Clara’s legs, the way her body moved with an easy grace that seemed almost predatory.

Clara crawled back onto the bed, straddling Sana’s hips, her thong the only barrier between them. She leaned down, her breasts brushing against Sana’s, and whispered, “Ready for the next chapter?” Sana could only nod, her eyes never leaving Clara’s. With a gentle push, Clara settled herself between Sana’s legs, her hands roaming over her thighs, her hips, her stomach. Each touch was a promise of more, and Sana felt herself growing wetter by the second.

Clara’s thumbs traced the crease where Sana’s thighs met her hips, and she shivered. The anticipation was unbearable, but Clara took her time, her eyes never leaving Sana’s. Finally, Clara’s hand slid down, her fingers slipping beneath the fabric of Sana’s underwear. Sana’s hips bucked upwards, and Clara chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent another shiver through her. “Easy, sweetheart,” she murmured. “We have all the time in the world.”

Her touch grew more deliberate, her fingers finding Sana’s swollen clit with a confidence that spoke of experience. Sana’s eyes rolled back in her head as Clara began to stroke her, her touch featherlight at first, then growing in intensity. The sensation was unlike anything she had ever felt before, and she knew she was falling into a world she might never escape from. Clara leaned down, capturing Sana’s mouth in another searing kiss as she continued her ministrations, her other hand cupping Sana’s breast, her thumb teasing the sensitive peak.

Sana’s moans grew louder, filling the quiet room, echoing off the walls that had once held only whispers of love and the occasional argument with Mohsin. But this was different, this was raw and unbridled passion that she hadn’t known existed within her. Clara’s hand slid down further, slipping inside her underwear to find her wetness, and Sana’s body responded with a jolt of pleasure. Clara’s fingers danced over her folds, teasing and taunting, until she found her entrance and pushed inside.

Sana’s hips rolled against Clara’s hand, desperate for more. It was as if she had been starved for this, for the feeling of a woman’s touch that knew her body better than she did herself. Clara’s thumb circled her clit, and Sana’s breath hitched. The sensation was so intense, it was almost painful, but she didn’t want it to stop. Clara’s eyes never left hers, reading her every reaction, her every gasp. It was a dance of give and take, Clara pushing Sana closer and closer to the edge, then pulling back just enough to keep her there, panting and begging.

With a slow, deliberate movement, Clara slid Sana’s panties down her legs, taking her time to kiss and nibble her inner thighs along the way. The cool air hit her exposed skin, making her shiver. Clara tossed the fabric aside, leaving Sana fully bare to her gaze. The look on Clara’s face was one of pure hunger, and it made Sana feel more wanted than she had in a very long time. Clara’s fingers slid back up her legs, tracing the curves and lines of her body with a kind of reverence that was almost sacred.

When Clara’s mouth finally reached her core, Sana’s body arched off the bed with a silent scream. The feeling of Clara’s tongue on her was indescribable, a symphony of sensation that she had never known could exist. Clara’s kisses grew more insistent, her tongue exploring Sana’s folds with a hunger that was matched only by Sana’s own. Sana’s hands found Clara’s head, her fingers tangling in the masseuse’s hair as she held on for dear life. She felt the world spinning around her, the room narrowing to nothing but the feeling of Clara’s mouth on her, the sound of their muffled moans filling her ears.

Clara’s touch grew bolder, her tongue delving deeper, swirling around Sana’s clit in a way that had her seeing stars. Sana’s hips began to move of their own accord, grinding against Clara’s face in a rhythm that was as old as time itself. She felt the orgasm building, a tightness coiling in her stomach that threatened to break free at any moment. Clara’s hands held her in place, keeping her pinned to the bed as she brought her closer and closer to the edge.

When the release finally came, it was like nothing Sana had ever experienced before. Her body shuddered, her muscles tightening around Clara’s fingers as she cried out, the sound echoing through the room. Wave after wave of pleasure washed over her, leaving her trembling and breathless. Clara didn’t stop, her tongue still flicking over her sensitive flesh as Sana rode out the orgasm.

As the intensity subsided, Clara kissed her way back up Sana’s body, her mouth leaving a trail of heat in its wake. She hovered above her, their eyes locking in a moment of shared passion. Sana reached up to cup Clara’s face, her thumb brushing against her cheek. “Thank you,” she murmured, her voice hoarse with desire.

Clara’s smile was gentle. “It was my pleasure,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She leaned down to kiss her again, her hand sliding around Sana’s neck to pull her closer. Their kisses grew deeper, more urgent, as if they were trying to devour each other. Sana’s hands slid down Clara’s back, her nails digging into the firm flesh as she pulled the other woman closer, desperate to feel every inch of her.

Clara’s legs straddled Sana’s hips, her own need evident in the way she rocked against her. Sana could feel Clara’s arousal, the dampness of her thong pressing against her stomach, and she reached up to tug at it, desperate to feel more. Clara moaned into the kiss, her hips bucking slightly at the contact. She pulled away just long enough to slip the last of her clothing off, leaving her as bare and vulnerable as Sana.

The sight of Clara’s body was a revelation, a sculpture of desire that made Sana’s own pulse race. She reached up to touch her, her hands skimming over the firm muscles of Clara’s abs, the soft swells of her hips, the plump mounds of her ass. Clara’s skin was hot to the touch, her breathing ragged.

They kissed again, Clara’s body pressing against Sana’s, the friction sending sparks through her veins. Sana’s hands slid down to Clara’s breasts, her thumbs brushing over the hardened nipples. Clara’s moan was music to her ears, a sweet symphony that urged her on. With trembling fingers, she explored Clara’s body, her touch tentative but growing bolder with every gasp she elicited.

Sana slid down the bed, her eyes never leaving Clara’s, until she found herself nestled between her legs. She took a moment to appreciate the beauty before her, the softness of Clara’s skin, the sweet scent of her arousal. Then she leaned in, her tongue tracing the inside of Clara’s thigh, tasting the faint saltiness of her skin. Clara’s thighs quivered, and she knew she had found a sensitive spot.

With a gentle smile, Sana kissed her way up Clara’s leg, her lips brushing against the soft, downy hair that led to the promised land. Clara’s breath grew heavier, her chest rising and falling with each touch. Sana felt a thrill of power, knowing she was the cause of this exquisite pleasure. She paused at Clara’s hip, her eyes meeting Clara’s, and saw the hunger reflected in them.

In an unexpected move, Clara’s hand shot out and gripped a fistful of Sana’s hair, guiding her face closer to her sex. The sudden jolt of dominance sent a shiver down Sana’s spine, and she found herself eager to submit to the other woman’s will. Clara’s grip tightened as she pushed Sana’s face into her wet folds, the softness of her skin a stark contrast to the firmness of her grip. Sana’s eyes rolled back in her head, the thrill of the moment making her heart race.

Her tongue found Clara’s clit, and she began to lick and suck with an enthusiasm that surprised even herself. Clara’s thighs tightened around her head, her body moving in time with Sana’s mouth. The sounds of their lovemaking grew louder, the room filling with the sweet music of their moans and gasps. Sana’s own desire was building, the taste of Clara driving her wild, making her want to push further, to explore every inch of her.

Clara’s moans grew more incoherent, her body writhing and arching off the bed. Sana felt the muscles in Clara’s thighs tense around her head, her hand reaching down to grip Sana’s shoulder. The power in Clara’s grasp was exhilarating, and Sana redoubled her efforts, her tongue flicking and swirling with a hunger that seemed never-ending.

Suddenly, Clara’s body went rigid, and she let out a cry that seemed torn from her very soul. Sana felt the muscles in Clara’s thighs contract around her head, her hips bucking as she climaxed. Clara’s hand tightened in Sana’s hair, holding her in place as she rode the wave of pleasure. Sana lapped up the sweetness of Clara’s release, her own arousal growing with every pulse of the other woman’s body.

When Clara finally released her, she collapsed back onto the bed, her chest heaving. Sana moved up to lie beside her, their bodies sticky with sweat and desire. Clara rolled onto her side, her hand reaching out to trace Sana’s jawline. “You’re beautiful,” she murmured, her voice still thick with passion.

Sana felt a blush rise to her cheeks at the compliment. She’d never felt this way before, this raw and exposed. But with Clara, it was as if she’d found a piece of herself she’d lost. She leaned in to kiss Clara, their tongues tangling in a dance of passion. The taste of Clara lingered on her lips, a sweet reminder of the intimate dance they’d shared.

Clara’s hand trailed down Sana’s body, her fingertips gliding over her stomach, and lower still. Sana’s breath hitched as Clara’s fingers found her clit again, gently stroking the sensitive bud. It was as if Clara had unlocked a secret part of her, a place she’d never dared to explore. The sensation was overwhelming, and Sana’s legs fell open, welcoming her touch.

Just then, the shrill ring of her phone pierced the quiet of the bedroom. Sana’s eyes snapped open, and she sat up with a jolt. Clara paused, her hand still on Sana’s body, her eyes questioning. “It’s okay,” Sana assured her, her voice still trembling from the intensity of her orgasm. She slid off the bed, her legs unsteady, and padded into the hallway to retrieve the device.

Her heart raced as she glanced at the screen, seeing Mohsin’s name. She took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. “Hi, honey,” she said, her voice a tad too bright. “How’s your weekend going?”

Mohsin’s cheerful voice filled her ear. “It’s great! Adam’s loving his time with his grandparents. How about you? How was your day?”

Sana swallowed hard, the echo of Clara’s moans still ringing in her ears. “It was fine, just had a quiet day around the house,” she lied, her voice shaky with the effort to keep her secret hidden. She could hear Clara moving in the bedroom, the sound of fabric rustling as she gathered her clothes.

After a few more moments of forced small talk, she managed to end the call with a promise to call back shortly. As she hung up, she leaned against the wall, her heart hammering in her chest. The reality of what she’d done hit her like a cold shower, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of euphoria that still lingered.

Turning back to the bedroom, she found Clara dressed and packing her bag. The sight of her fully clothed brought a twinge of sadness, as if she was saying goodbye to a part of herself. “Clara,” she began, her voice barely a whisper. “Would you… stay the night?”

Clara’s eyes searched hers, and she nodded. “Of course, if that’s what you want.”

Sienna and her cheer squad had just claimed victory in round one of the national cheerleading competition in Washington, the arena buzzing with excitement as confetti showered down like a festive storm. Karen, Sienna’s teammate and friend, stood out in the crowd of celebrants. Karen, a twenty-year-old brunette, captivated the crowd with her long, wavy hair cascading down her back, framing her flushed face and attracting attention. Her hot body was pure temptation— athletic and curved in all the right places, with C-cup breasts straining against her damp cheer uniform, nipples hardening visibly from the thrill. Her pleated skirt hugged her hips, showcasing toned, sweat-glistened thighs that flexed with every movement, and her defined abs peeked out from under the crop top, glistening under the lights. Karen’s blue eyes sparkled with victory and a hint of mischief, her full lips curved in a seductive smile that made Sienna’s stomach flip. She was effortlessly sexy, her confidence radiating as she high-fived the team, her body still humming with the energy of the performance.

“We fucking crushed it, Sienna! We’ve already achieved success—we’re just beginning!” Karen exclaimed, pulling Sienna into a tight embrace. Their bodies pressed together, Karen’s warm, damp skin sliding against Sienna’s, the scent of sweat and arousal making Sienna’s head spin. “You were wonderful out there. God, I could devour you right now.” Karen’s voice was a sultry whisper, her breath hot against Sienna’s ear, stirring desires that had been building since practice.

Sienna smirked, her own brown eyes locking onto Karen’s. “You’re the one who’s making me crazy, Karen.” “I want to touch every inch of that sweaty, perfect body of yours.” The squad celebrated briefly before heading to the stadium showers, where Sienna and Karen shared a quick, stolen kiss in the steam, leaving them both aching for more.

At The Ritz, the opulent hotel with its plush suites, the team gathered for a victory hangout in the lobby. But Sienna and Karen excused themselves early, the tension between them electric. They quickly stripped naked in Sienna’s room, engaging in a frenzy of touching and moaning. “I need a bath so bad,” Karen panted, her fingers sliding into her own dripping pussy as she watched Sienna do the same. The fingering was filthier than ever—Sienna’s fingers plunged deep into her cunt, juices squirting with each thrust, while Karen rubbed her swollen clit with abandon. “Finger that tight hole harder, Sienna— make it sloppy and wet for me,” Karen groaned, her voice thick with lust.

But the heat was too much; they couldn’t hold back. As they fingered themselves, Karen reached for her phone. “Fuck it, let’s make this day even hotter. I’m calling Chloe—she’s always down for fun.” Chloe, Sienna’s best friend on the cheer team, was a fiery ginger with short, vibrant red hair and striking green eyes that lit up with mischief. At twenty, Chloe’s lean, athletic build was a sight—perky B-cup breasts, a flat stomach, and long legs that ended in a shaved pussy already glistening with excitement Chloe, being Sienna’s closest confidante, was adept at manipulating her, which added to the excitement of the invitation.

Chloe answered on the first ring, her voice eager. “Hey, Sienna, Karen— what’s the plan? Are you two leaving the party already??”

Karen put her on speaker, her fingers still working her pussy as she spoke. “Chloe, get your ass over here. We’re in Sienna’s room at The Ritz, naked and fingering ourselves senseless. We want you for a threesome— right now. Think you can handle it?”

Sienna chimed in, her breath hitching from her own self-pleasure. “Come on, bestie— you know we’ve talked about this. Your ginger ass better hurry; we’re dripping and ready to make this filthy.” Chloe laughed, her green eyes practically visible through the phone in Sienna’s mind. “Hell yes, I’m coming. Be there in five— save some for me.”

When Chloe arrived, she stripped instantly, her red hair falling in messy waves as she revealed her toned body. “You two look like pure sin,” Chloe purred, joining them on the bed. The threesome exploded into action—Sienna pulled Chloe into a deep kiss, their tongues tangling as Karen’s hands roamed Chloe’s curves, pinching her nipples and sliding fingers between her legs.

The sex was hot, filthy, and endless, filling the room with obscene sounds and scents. Karen started by fingering Chloe’s pussy roughly, three fingers stretching her open. “Take it, Chloe—feel how deep I’m going into your tight cunt,” Karen demanded, her other hand rubbing Sienna’s clit as Sienna kissed and licked Chloe’s neck. Chloe moaned loudly, “Oh God, yes—finger me harder, Karen. Sienna, as my best friend, you know exactly how I like it— suck my tits while she fucks me.” Sienna obliged, her mouth latching onto Chloe’s nipple, biting and sucking as Karen’s fingers pumped faster, juices dripping everywhere.

They shifted into a chain of ecstasy—Chloe fingered Karen’s soaked cunt while Karen returned the favour to Sienna. “Your pussy’s so wet, Karen—I’m going to make you squirt all over this bed,” Chloe taunted, her fingers curling inside Karen’s tight hole. Karen bucked her hips, her own fingers slamming into Sienna. “Fuck, yes— pound me, Chloe. Sienna, grind on my face— let me taste that sweet cunt, bestie.” Sienna straddled Karen’s mouth, riding her tongue as Karen licked and sucked with greedy fervour; the familiarity of their friendship made the act even more intense.

The filth escalated— they scissored in a tangle, pussies grinding together in a slick mess, clits rubbing raw. “Rub your cunts on mine, both of you— make me cum so hard,” Karen cried, her body sandwiched between Sienna and Chloe. Hands slapped asses, fingers probed deeper, and tongues explored every inch, the sex dragging on for what felt like hours. “You’re such dirty sluts, all of us— licking and fingering like whores,” Sienna groaned, her fingers slipping into Chloe’s ass while Karen licked Sienna’s juices clean. Chloe, as Sienna’s best friend, added a layer of playful taunting: “You’ve always wanted this, Sienna— my fingers in your pussy while Karen watches us.”

They moved to the hotel room shower, the hot water turning their play even steamier. Under the spray, Karen bent Chloe over, fingering her pussy and ass simultaneously. “Take it deep, Chloe— feel me in both holes, you ginger vixen,” Karen commanded, water cascading over them. Sienna joined in, kissing Chloe deeply as she rubbed her clit, their friendship making the moment electric.

“Oh fuck, that’s it—don’t stop,” Chloe screamed, her body shaking as she squirted. The shower echoed with their cries, the trio fucking relentlessly— tongues on clits, fingers in holes, bodies slippery and insatiable.

Finally, exhausted and spent, they stumbled back to the bed, collapsing in a heap of sweaty, cum-soaked limbs. “That was insane,” Karen whispered, pulling the other two close as they panted, the room a wreck of passion.

The next day, Sienna returned home and spotted the new neighbour—Riley, a gorgeous 25-year-old yoga instructor with raven hair, piercing blue eyes, and a body made for sin: toned legs, D-cup breasts, and an ass that hugged her yoga pants perfectly.

Who is she? We will find out.

What is it about a teenaged girl?

No, not the ones who go around in vast painted sweeping herds. The hive mind where not a single one of them has an individual thought. The Clone Army, who all look the same, dress the same, talk the same, and listen to the same music. No, not those teenage girls.

And not The Bad Girls either. The ones that travel in smaller packs, hunting the weak, humiliating the insecure, and generally making people feel worthless.

No, I’m talking about ‘THAT’ teenage girl.

We’ve all seen her. Well, anybody with an appreciation for women and girls has seen her. She’s the one that’s never alone but only lets a select few be drawn into her orbit, and even then, she’s kind of removed.

You might see her sitting on a bench, quietly observing the world or waiting for a train. Or maybe even standing in the queue at Burger King wearing that uniquely teenaged ‘whatever’ expression as she scrolls through her phone.

The look that says I may not be as pretty as you, but I probably am. I don’t need the herd. I’m not so callous as to run with the Meanies. And yeah, I might be young, but I’m definitely too old for your shit!

Or that little upturned smirk with a lifted eyebrow. The expression that just shouts – who are you, and who the fuck said you could turn your gaze upon me, mortal?

Jesus H. Christ, that look drives me insane, not with anger or frustration, but with utter desire. Honestly, the more disinterested a girl looks, the more fascinating she actually is to me.

She may be an icy young blonde who could freeze you with a single glance. Maybe she’s a smouldering brunette with a ‘caution, may be hot’ kind of vibe. Or even a vivacious, fiery redhead, who just makes you think of autumn leaves and hot chocolate and makes you want to go outside and play in the wild.

Shit! Where was I? Oh yeah, that girl. Well, I met her just about six months ago. My name’s Lynne, I’m thirty years old now, and this, dear reader, is my story of ‘That Girl’.

If you live in any town in England, you’ll have seen us; hell, you might even have seen me. I’m one of the gazillion or so women who drives a little white van for minimum wage, delivering car parts to every fucking garage multiple times a day, anywhere within a twelve-mile radius of our home base.

All year round, snow or sleet, rain or shine. In the winter, you’ll see us bundled up in jeans, heavy fleeces, slouchy beanies, and ugly work boots. In spring and autumn, it’s a sweatshirt and jeans.

But in the summer, we get way more interesting. The cute li’l shorts come out to play. We ditch work boots for sneakers, fleeces for polos that are a size too small and make ‘the girls’ pop, and woolly beanies get swapped for logo-emblazoned ball caps and cool shades.

We aren’t exactly cheerleaders, but we know you like to look just the same.

If you’re really lucky on a quiet business day, usually a Thursday around 10.30am, you’ll see four or five of us together. All from different firms, but all kind of the same. Leaning on the counter of Jazzy’s Tea Wagon. Cute li’l bums will be swaying, and we’ll be sharing the local garage gossip, swilling coffee, and having our one ‘treat’, a bacon and egg sandwich, of the week.

I actually like the job. I get left alone, and I can listen to whatever I like. Usually it’s Planet Rock on the radio. Definitely not the beeps and squeaks of modern pop music that sounds like R2-D2 having a stroke. Or even worse, Ed bloody Sheeran.

Anyway, enough of my waffle. I was forced to get a transfer back to the company branch in my hometown in North Kent, about a year ago, after a bad, and I mean baaaad, break-up.

No way was I moving back in with Mum and Dad, so I’m bunking with my old mate from school, a delightfully pretentious old queen called Ralph. Although he insists you pronounce it Raif. Darling, it’s Raif. I love him to bits, though. My share of the rent is cheap, we have great internet, and he gladly pays for all the streaming platforms. Oh, and he’s a cracking hairdresser to boot.

I can remember so clearly the day and the time I saw her for the first time. That Girl. It was around 3.15pm on a dull as ditchwater Tuesday afternoon in March. She was waiting for the bus, scrolling through her phone and looking bored. Yep, she was wearing ‘that’ look, and wow, did she make me ping! Luckily, I was in slow-moving traffic, or I would have been collared for kerb crawling just to look at her.

She was just the most beautiful little creature I’d ever seen. Petite, maybe just five feet tall. Straight, glossy, brunette hair, cut into a stylish bob, with a fringe just down under her eyebrows. She even cut a dash in her school uniform. Not the clichéd plaid skirt and knee socks, though. You know the one – every pervert’s dream outfit. Hers was a charcoal grey skirt and blazer, pristine white shirt and black tights (my own personal kryptonite), showing off her shapely young pins.

If it wasn’t for the clunky, sensible shoes and Saint Agnes’s School tie, I’d have taken her for a classy young office girl.

I was smitten, big time. And by a girl so much younger than me. I put her at sixteen, maybe seventeen tops, definitely in the senior years. I couldn’t help it; I just stared at her. It was like I’d just had some kind of biblical epiphany. Sure, I’ve looked at girls younger than me before, but I’d never had one affect me quite the way she did. It was visceral, straight to the heart, and mind-altering even.

As my little van slowly rolled by, I couldn’t help but give her a sideways glance out of the side window, and totally unplanned, I felt myself smile…just as she looked up. Fuck, she saw me gawping at her. But she actually smiled back. Talk about making my day. I gave her a little wave just as I went by, before losing her from view as the knot of traffic unravelled.

After that, it was like I couldn’t avoid seeing her. Either end of the school day, waiting for or hopping off the bus. Or crossing the street to the convenience store before school. Sometimes I’d see her around midday buying lunch if she’d skipped off campus. This gorgeous girl was everywhere, and my silly crush on the mystery teenager grew every time I laid eyes on her.

One morning, I took a chance. I parked my van as she walked into the shop with a friend. I had to buy a new vape anyway and figured I could finally get a discreet closer look at her. God, she was stunning close up. Tasteful little bit of smoky eye makeup, and her hair had deep red lights in it. She had a lovely bit of swell and curve to her young figure and those amazing legs that so many young girls seem to have. A beautiful side effect that’s a result of walking everywhere. (Not like those of us that drive everywhere and spend forty quid a month in the gym to keep everything tight.).

I was just about to pay the guy behind the counter when I heard a young female voice behind me.

“Excuse me, err, Pinky van lady, I’m sorry to bother you, but I just loooove your hair.”

(My blonde hair at this point was cut into a cute Sarah Harding – God rest her beautiful soul – pixie cut with pink flashes running through it.)

I turned around and, fuck me sideways, it was her, the girl of my dreams, and she was actually talking to me. To me, of all people. All of a sudden, I was that awkward, tongue-tied kid again. Bashful, embarrassed, scared, and utterly at a loss. Like a rabbit in the headlights.

“Err, th…thanks. I err …really like yours too. You’re gor…no…sorry…it’s gorgeous. I…fuck, shit…I’d better dash, work, stuff…bye.” I ran out and plonked myself back in the driver’s seat, berating myself.

What in the ever-loving fuck was that, Lynne? Your best Forrest Gump impression?! Haa, I’m Lynne Gump. People call me Lynne Gump. I like your hair. Grrr, idiot. I just hoped her name wasn’t Jenny.

‘Twas not my finest hour for sure, but every time I saw her after that, she’d make my day just that little bit better with a smile and a wave. Even Ralph had commented that I looked like a lovestruck kid, but I didn’t tell him who I was crushing on. I just soldiered on, admiring from afar, like some tragic Shakespearian heroine.

I have to work every other Saturday morning, and just my luck, Easter weekend was on my rota this year. It was quiet to the point of being boring, and I was sitting in my van with a coffee, flicking through my phone, when my branch manager, Duncan, came out to see me.

“Lynne, Gorgeous.” Here we go, I mused. “I know you’re due off in thirty, but could you do an urgent out to Frank’s on Five Mile Lane? Pwetty Pwease, tell you what: give me an extra half hour today, and I’ll let you go at 3.30 on Friday.”

“Sold,” I told him, “Load me up then, Dunc, and I’ll get going.”

It was an unseasonably nice day, so a drive in the country sounded quite nice, to be honest.

“I’ll drop the van keys in the drop box when I get back. Don’t worry about waiting for me.”

Frank’s doesn’t usually open on Saturday, so I figured it must have been important, and he’s a nice guy. Even if he does always try to get a look at my tits down my top. But this day it wasn’t Frank. There was a cute little purple Ford Fiesta in the service bay with the bonnet up and an even cuter little backside in blue overalls, knotted at the waist, leaning over the engine, swaying to the radio. Planet Rock, even better.

 

I gave my hair a fluff and climbed out with my clipboard.

“Hi, I’ve got a delivery for Frank,” I called out, “Is he around?”

She turned around, stripping her latex gloves, mid-chorus of Panama by Van Halen. The stars aligned, the heavenly choir burst into song, and my Easter weekend all of a sudden was perfect.

“No, that’s for me.”

It was her. My teenage crush, right there working on that little Ford.

“Ohhh, hey, it’s Pinky, the cute van lady.” She walked over to help me. “I’m Jill; it’s so nice to finally meet you properly after all that waving.”

“Let’s try this again, shall we?” I said with a grin, “I’m Lynne, and it’s lovely to meet you too, Jill. So is this yours?” I pointed to the car.

“Yeah, Frank’s my uncle. And he said, If I can get it roadworthy and through an MOT by the time I hit seventeen, it’s mine. At least then I won’t have to buy a car this time next year. But I can at least learn to drive it and look after it in the meantime.”

So, I guessed right; she was sixteen.

“I can barely put petrol in mine; that’s really impressive. I’m useless with cars.”

I couldn’t stop looking at her; she was just so beautiful, even with that grease smear on her cheek and wearing grubby overalls.

“Fancy a coffee? I’ve just put the kettle on.”

“I really should get going; I don’t want to get in your way, and you seem busy.” Every fibre of me so wanted to stay.

“No, please stay. I’m kind of car’d out for today, and Frank won’t be back to pick me up for a couple of hours yet. Please stay and keep me company; it’ll be nice to actually talk to you. We’ve smiled and waved at each other enough for that, surely?”

To be honest, my heart somersaulted for joy. I had nowhere else to be. Ralph was at the salon, and the chance to spend a couple of hours with Jill was just too good to pass up.

We sat at the table in Frank’s grimy little tearoom, and Jill put two mugs down. She eyed my wrists.

“I love your tattoos; they’re so pretty.”

I have a double daisy chain bracelet tattooed on each wrist.

“Oh, thanks. I’ve got more. There’s a twist of rosemary and lavender on the back of my neck, too, for protection. I like all that witchy stuff.” I turned to show her, lifting my hair clear.

“That’s gorgeous. Witchy stuff is actually how I got into cars. My aunt and I binge-watched Supernatural. She’s got the hots for Dean. But for me, it was that ’67 Chevy Impala. I’ve been a car nut ever since.”

“Oh, I fucking love that show,” I replied, “They should never have killed off Bella in season three.” (Lauren Cohan, aka Maggie in The Walking Dead, for the uninitiated among you.) “I’ve got that tattoo as well, Sam and Dean’s anti-possession pentagram.”

She grinned, “Oohh, give us a look; I bet that looks dead sexy.”

I didn’t actually flash her my boobs, but close enough, as I leant over and pulled the neck of my polo away, revealing the little black tattoo just below my left collarbone.

Being sensible, I sat back before it went too far.

We sat and talked for a couple of hours. It turned out that she’d had trouble back at home in London. She’d lived with her single mum, who’d had a collection of iffy boyfriends. I’m sure you know the type, and she’d moved here to live with her aunt and uncle a couple of years ago.

She likes rock music too, which is a bonus. And she turned sixteen two months ago. Be still, my beating heart.

I couldn’t believe that I and this gorgeous girl who made my heart ache and my soul sing were actually becoming friends. I thought she’d be aloof or a bit… bitchy maybe, certainly not interested in me. But I have to say she was honestly one of the loveliest, friendliest girls I’ve ever met.

Frank rolled into the yard around 3.00pm. “Hiya, Frank, hope you don’t mind, but I was just keeping this lovely young lady safe till you got back. I’ll get out of your way now.”

“No problem, Lynne, my darlin’,” he chuckled, and he definitely tried to look at my tits. “I’ll be ordering on Monday, sweetheart, so I’ll see you then.”

Jill followed me to the van. “Lynne, can I add you on Snap or Instagram, or… maybe have your phone number? I really enjoyed hanging out with you today.”

I gave her all three. “You take care, ok? I’ll be seeing you around, no doubt.”

She gave me a beamer of a smile as I climbed into my van. She looked so cute as she shyly tucked her hair behind her ear.

“See you, Jill.”

She waved me off as I drove away, and I waved back out of the window. Wow, what a perfect afternoon.

I was dropping the van back at the yard and starting up my own car when my phone pinged:

Thanks for keeping me company. Pinky xxx 

I don’t think I’d ever smiled so much. Anytime, Sweetie, anytime xxx was my response.

And so it continued, every day. Most days, twice a day. We’d smile and wave at each other. We followed each other’s socials, liked each other’s posts, and settled into a comfortable, very sweet, if age-inappropriate, friendship.

I was trawling through the tubs of cheap ‘five pairs for five quid’ pretty undies in my local department store, the following Saturday (it’s a great place to girl watch), when I heard a familiar voice.

“Whooooa, Pinky. Where have you been hiding those legs, sexy lady?”

I turned round, and yes, it was Jill, smiling for me as always. Made me glad I’d actually worn a skirt for once, too. She was with a friend and made introductions.

“Lynne, this is Charlotte; Charlotte, this is Lynne.”

“Lovely to meet you. So this is Lynne? THE Lynne? The Lynne she won’t shut up about, like, ever?”

I was floored. No, no way could this be a mutual crush.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Charlotte,” I stammered, eager to beat my retreat. “You two have a great day. I’ll see you soon, Jill.”

That little exchange stayed with me, nagging away in my little brain. What should I do? What does she want me to do? Am I overthinking shit as usual? I’d get a little closer to an answer the following Monday.

I was driving home from work around 5.15, and I saw her walking home. April in England, being what it is, it was pissing down with rain, and my dream girl was soaked and sad-looking. I broke the cardinal rule and pulled up to the kerb. I rolled down the window and called out to her.

“Jill, why are you out in this godawful weather, Sweets? Do you need a ride home?”

Bless her, my heart melted; she looks so pleased to see me and grateful for the lift.

“Thanks, Pinky, you’re a gem for this,” she said, folding her gorgeous legs into the van. “I had an after-school thing and missed the sodding bus; I thought I was going to have to walk home.”

Giving her a lift in a company van was a massive no-no, but I had to rescue my bedraggled damsel. We nattered about nothing in particular all the way home, and it turned out she only lives a few streets from me with her Aunty Pam and Frank. I pulled up to the kerbside to drop her off.

“Go on, Gorgeous, get inside and get warmed up; you’re drenched through.”

She gave my knee an affectionate squeeze and leant over to give me a kiss on the cheek.

“I’m not drenched yet, Pinky, but keep this up and who knows?” She blushed an adorable shade of pink and rushed to her front door, waving before she disappeared inside.

Fuck me! Is this real? Is she actually flirting with me?

*****

And so it continued. We developed this little habit of ‘accidentally on purpose’ letting each other know where we’d be and when, and we started continually bumping into each other. Usually on a Saturday or Sunday. With or without other company, we’d always end up alone together somehow. Breakfast at the local greasy spoon. Shopping for clothes. Surprise lunch meetings. You name the place; we found each other there.

We were almost dating. What scared me was the age gap. I’ve been the younger partner. My last girlfriend was almost twenty years my senior, which as an adult seemed like nothing. Yet, sixteen to almost thirty? I’ve looked at younger girls; who hasn’t? But I’d never actually had a lover so much younger than me. Those almost fourteen years seemed like a huge chasm.

Dare I try to cross it?

We took those first tentative steps over the ravine in June. I’d ‘accidentally’ told her I’d be at the movies at 2.00pm on a Saturday, to see some crappy rom-com. As if by magic, there she was. She looked cute as ever in tight jeans and an equally tight tee shirt that really drew your eye to her perky little boobs. We shared a friendly hug before I bought our tickets and popcorn.

“Looks like you girls have the place to yourselves; that theatre’s empty.” The usherette gave us a knowing, somewhat disapproving look as she inspected our tickets. “Theatre 11, enjoy the…movie.”

I could feel her judgemental stare drilling into my back as we walked down the hallway.

She was right; it was completely empty. But we still somehow found ourselves tucked in a corner on the back row. We chatted about our respective weeks as the ads and trailers played. I can’t tell you how young Jill made me feel. She was like the holy grail dipped in the fountain of youth. I had her all to myself, and I wanted to drink deeply.

As the house lights dimmed, I felt her reach for me and instinctively took her hand in mine in the darkness. She laced her fingers with mine and laid her head on my shoulder. and linked her other arm through. 

That would have been enough to keep me smiling for a year, but about halfway into the film, while the leading man was professing his undying love for his heroine, I felt Jill move. Her hand slipped from mine. She flipped up the armrest and turned toward me. She nestled closer and sighed. I was aching for her.

She then brushed my hair over my ear, and I felt her breath on my skin. Warm on my neck and earlobe.

“Pinky”, she murmured, “you do know I really fancy you, right?”

Those whispered words were like a lottery win and a sledgehammer. Only better. They were the words I’d been dying to hear.

“To think you were so awkward that day we first spoke in the shop; it was so sweet. If I’m being honest, I’ve fancied you ever since.”

“I fancy you too, like crazy; you’re all I can think about. But what about friends your own age? Your family? Surely people will disapprove of us, Jill, and I don’t want to see you get hurt in the process. Believe me, babe, I’m… I’m nuts about you. I really am, but I’m so much older than you.”

“I’m a big girl, Lynne; I’ll be fine, trust me.” She stroked my face, “I’ve wanted to do this ever since that day you rolled into the garage. I want you to kiss me.”

She gently turned my chin to face her, and then, in that dark, empty movie theatre, she kissed me for the first time.

The world ceased to turn. I wanted to hold this moment forever.

I moaned softly, our popcorn bucket falling to the floor and spilling the contents. I embraced her. Her lips gently nuzzled mine with those wonderful, first, nibbly ‘get to know you’ kisses.

As our lips got better acquainted, we each applied more pressure. I traced her cupid’s bow with my tongue, and Jill readily parted her lips, our tongues effortlessly entwining.

She slid over onto my seat and into my lap, my hand running up and down her thigh in her sexy, tight jeans. Fuck, I wanted to touch her further up. Her hair smelt of citrus and herbs, and she tasted of sweet popcorn and Dr Pepper. If it hadn’t been for my own heartbeat, I’d have sworn I’d died and gone to heaven. Her low, girlish moans were just the icing on the cake.

We spent the rest of the movie just making out, like teens do. Tongues wrestled, hands wandered, and bodies seemingly fused together. We had the theatre to ourselves, the low light, the crappy movie and not a single disturbance. It was perfect. I can honestly say, if you combined my top ten best of all time kisses up to this point, they wouldn’t come close to kissing Jill that afternoon.

I dropped her home afterwards, elated, the happiest I’d felt in years. I stopped a few doors down, out of sight of Frank, with a promise to call her later that evening.

You hear about having that one perfect summer; well, this was certainly shaping up to be mine. June to July, July into August. We kept our trysts, which by now were by no means accidental. I even introduced her to Ralph. The two got along instantly. They bickered playfully like old friends, always giggling together. And he just loved styling her hair.

It was late August; I was delivering to Frank’s one morning, and he ominously pulled me aside, asking to have a quiet word. My blood ran cold.

“Lynne, darlin’, now, how do I put this?” He took a breath. “You and Jill, I know you two chat online and stuff, and I know,” he paused. “I know that you’ve been seeing each other. I should tell you to stop, being as you’re so much older. But I know she’ll only go behind my back if I do that. I know that’s what girls do. Just look, Lynne, I know she’s only sixteen, but she’s got a grown-up head on her shoulders. We’re trusting her to be sensible, and, well, we’re kind of trusting you too. If you get my drift.

“Frank, I…” He raises his hand to stop me.

“Lynne, what are you? Twenty-eight, twenty-nine? Just…don’t hurt her; she’s been through enough. But if you want to ask her out, I’m, well, me, and Pam, we’re cool with it. I like you, Sweetheart, and we know she’s got a crush on you. You’re all she talks about; you make her happy. Just be good to our little girl, eh? Oh, and just don’t go drawing attention to yourselves…the age gap and whatnot.”

I could’ve cried, and I tightly hugged him. “Oh, Frank, are you telling me I can ask her out, properly? Thank you, thank you. I promise, I promise I’ll be good to her.” I stopped and kissed his cheek. “Wait. Does she know we’re having this chat?”

“No sweets, but she knows we’re ok with it if you two are a thing. We spoke to her about it all. Just look after her, love, please.”

The August Bank Holiday was rapidly approaching, so I decided that as soon as I saw Jill, I was going to ask her on a date. A little day out I knew she’d love. I got my chance on the Wednesday morning. She was just coming out of the shop as I parked outside. She left her friend for a moment and walked over to my little van, smiling at me. I glanced over her shoulder; her friend didn’t look the least bit bothered that Jill was chatting to me.

“Hiya, Pinky, how are you today? You look even happier to see me than usual.”

I guessed ‘Pinky’ was now somehow going to stick, whatever my hair colour.

“Hey, cutie, well, I’m very happy, because I’ve got something to ask you. What are you doing…on Sunday? It’s the annual classic car show down at Saint Mary’s On Sea, and I wondered if you might like to go…with me?”

Her face lit up. “Pinky, are you actually…asking me out? Like…on a date? You do remember I’m only sixteen, right? She was smirking, teasing me. “Yes, yes, I’d love to, Lynne… Wait… did Frank speak to you?”

I wasn’t about to begin things with a lie. “Yeah, he did, but only to tell me to be good to you and that it was okay to ask you out. Shall I pick you up around 10.30? It’s about an hour’s drive.”

“He and Aunt Pam gave me a similar talk; I’ll be ready and waiting.” She leant into the van and kissed my cheek, then whispered, “God! I wish I could kiss you properly.”

Talk about going to work smiling.

oxoxoxoxox

Sunday at last, and as I pulled up outside Jill’s, she came bounding out of the front door. Her glossy hair glinting in the August Sunday sun. She looked so young, so fresh, so beautiful. She only wore a tiny bit of makeup and lip gloss, her youth shining through. She was wearing the cutest, tightest little shorts, one of Frank’s old vintage tour shirts, battered Nikes, and a flannel shirt casually slung over her shoulder. She looked naturally and effortlessly lovely.

She jumped into the passenger seat and kissed my cheek, “Hiya, Pinky babe, can I choose the playlist?”

“You know the Winchester Rule,” I chuckled, “Driver picks the music…”

“…Shotgun shuts her cakehole.” She replied with a grin.

How could I refuse? So I passed her my phone. As she started scrolling through Spotify, she kicked off her sneakers, raising her sexy, smooth legs and sliding her feet up onto the dashboard. It was all I could do to keep my eyes on the road and my hands on the wheel.

We chatted, we sang, we laughed, and the miles slipped by, and before I knew it, I was parking the car in the farthest corner of the only available car park.

“You know, Pinky, nobody’s ever looked at me like you were all the way here.”

“And how was I looking at you, Sweets?” I knew I was rumbled, so I just tried to style it out.

“Like you’re a lioness who wants to eat me up, and I liked it. You make me feel tingly and excited.”

She wasn’t wrong. I was aching to feel her in my arms and her lips on mine, and I didn’t have to wait too long. She pulled her shoes on and came round to my side of the car, which luckily was fairly obscured from view. She opened my door and leant in, sliding her little hand into my hair. She brought our faces together and softly, oh my god, so softly, pressed her velvety soft lips to mine.

My head swam; she smelt like oranges and tasted of watermelon. “Ohhh, Jill, Jill,”I whispered as she broke the kiss.

She giggled, “C’mon, let’s go and see some cars, shall we? You can eat me up later.”

I’d worried about how people might view us, walking hand in hand under the sun, but nobody paid us a second glance. Maybe it’s different for two girls. I began to relax and let myself enjoy the day, basking in her company.

Honestly, to see this pretty girl so happy made my day. Lamborghinis in lurid colours. Old Ferraris in classic red, vintage Fords, and Aston Martins – they all graced the streets of the quaint little seaside town. We snapped photos by the dozen, posing alongside these lovely old cars.

 It was the mirror-black, late sixties Chevrolet Impala that made her squeal in delight. I bribed the owner to let my ‘niece’ have her picture taken behind the wheel. (It cost me a pic of my legs, sitting on the hood, if you were curious.) I think we both wondered what the back seat would feel like, too.

We were just finishing two enormous hot dogs when the British summer resumed usual service. An ominous dark cloud rolled in from the sea, and we felt the first spots of rain.

“Wanna make a run for it back to the car, gorgeous?”

“Yeah, I think so.” She replied. She dumped her wrapper in a nearby bin and took my hand.

It was a half mile or so back to the car, and by the time we got there, it was a deluge. I held my denim jacket above us, but to no avail. The classy little burnt orange tea dress I’d chosen so carefully was clinging wetly to me, and my little white plimsolls were soaked. Jill was soaked to the skin but evidently enjoying the rain nonetheless.

She pushed me against the car, grinning. She slipped her arms around my neck and pressed her teen body tightly to me. It was a romantic, movie-worthy kiss in the pouring rain, but the rocking of her hips and her smooth, wet leg stroking mine promised so much more to come.

We jumped in, the windows quickly fogging up. This time it was my turn. I pulled the wet girl to me, whispering, “Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?” Before pressing my lips to hers in a deep, wet kiss, she responded in kind, thrusting her tongue into my mouth.

She whimpered and boldly took our relationship to the next level. She boldly slid a hand into my wet dress to fondle and squeeze my naked breast, my nipple stiffening to her cold hand as she massaged it with her palm. I ran my hand up her inner thigh, cupping her mound, exerting some gentle pressure on her covered pussy. To this point, we’d been good girls, only touching over the clothes, but I sensed we were both ready for more. She bucked her hips, pushing urgently into my hand.

She pulled away, biting her lip. “I think we’d better go to your place. Pinky, I want you; fuck knows I want you. I’m ready, and that dress, as pretty as it is, really needs to come off. I’m tired of seeing you with your clothes on.”

This time, as I drove us home, I didn’t hold back from touching her silky smooth legs when she lifted her wet feet onto the dash. I slid my left hand down the back of Jill’s right thigh, cupping her delectable little bum, my fingers teasing underneath, making her squirm in the passenger seat.

Fuck, I’d never been so aroused as she pushed the hem of my wet dress up, stroking my thigh dangerously close to my white knickers. She licked her lips, a mischievous look of promise glinting in her deep hazel eyes, and pressed her fingertips against my slit, stroking me in slow circles.

The rain had stopped when we arrived home, still damp, still excited. Luckily, Ralph was in London with friends, so we had the place to ourselves; it was only 4.30, and I didn’t have to have Jill back home until 11.00.

We discarded our shoes in the hall, and I led her up to my bedroom. I felt her fingers slide deliciously up the back of my thigh as we climbed the stairs. We stopped and kissed at the top, Jill taking control and pushing me against the wall. This was it, the moment I’d fantasised about a million times. Jill and I alone at last, and hot as hell for each other.

“Can I use the loo quickly, please, Pinky?” She asked.

“Sure, you can use the en-suite in my room.” I showed her in and sat on the end of my bed to catch my breath.

If I’d known this was going to happen, I’d have tidied up and changed the sheets. There were clothes strewn everywhere from my earlier struggle to choose an outfit. Dirty knickers on the floor. I threw everything back in the wardrobe and laundry basket and hastily straightened the duvet out.

Thank god I was more fastidious about my body.

When she emerged, she took my breath away. She’d stripped to her undies, a pretty matching cotton set in a denimy blue, adorned with red flowers. No underwire needed for her perfect pert young boobs. Her hips flared enticingly, the little knickers sitting neatly on them. Her thighs were so deliciously curvy. She was a vision. From her damp hair to her pretty painted toes.

She stood in the doorway, one foot on top of the other, head slightly bowed, looking almost unsure, until I held my arms out to her.

I was wet; I could feel it, and I wanted her to see the state she’d got me in.

My thighs parted, clearly showing my damp white knickers clinging to my pussy. She stood between my parted legs, looking down at me. She held me to her breasts, running her fingers through my hair, before I lifted my face. She dipped her head, claiming my mouth in a heated kiss, her tongue seeking mine, as I ran my hands up and down her legs. I squeezed her bottom as she wiggled into my grip.

“Oohhh fuck, Pinky… oohhh god, I want you, pleeeeease.”

I kissed her breasts, pushing her bra cups up to expose her gorgeous tits, topped with candy floss-coloured nipples. I took one between my lips, running my tongue around it, feeling it stiffen as she unzipped the back of my dress. She slid it off of my shoulders before pulling me tightly to her. I lifted my feet, hooking my legs around her calves.

“Pinky, please take it off; I want to see all of you.”

She pulled the damp dress down my body and off over my feet as I scooted up the bed. She crawled up, playfully straddling my torso as she slipped her bra off, tossing it aside. I held her hips, marvelling at her silky smooth skin, the sexy swell of her belly, and the way her thighs gripped me. She leant forward, grabbing the headboard rail, her breathing ragged as I kissed her belly. Hearing her sharp intake of breath, watching her tummy suck in reflexively when my tongue dipped into her navel.

“Fuuuck me, Pinky, yesss,” she hissed as my thumbs ran downward, stroking her pussy in slow circles over her pretty knickers.

I pulled the front down, exposing her. Her pubic hair was trimmed into a very neat triangle above her tight teen slit. The rest was shaved baby smooth. And she was wet, very wet. Her pussy glistened, and I could smell her arousal.

I began to have my doubts that this was her first time; inexperienced maybe, but not a complete novice.

I rolled her over onto her back and kissed her lips again. Our tongues instantly wrapping together, my hands wandering all over her exquisite young body. She tugged urgently at the waistband of my knickers, dragging them down, rolling them over my hips, as my fingers dipped into her to stroke and caress her sex.

My other hand reciprocated, easing her own knickers down. With one hand gently holding her tummy down, I pulled her undies off, kicking my own the rest of the way off, my middle finger teasing at her slick, honey-coated slit.

“Pinkyyyy, don’t tease.” She pleaded, her voice shaking.

I kissed her again and slid down between her beautiful thighs, taking a moment to admire her pussy. It was an artistic study in pink. Her inner labia pouting invitingly. Her body quivering in anticipation. I dipped my head, kissing her mound, before taking a long bottom-to-top swipe with my flattened tongue. I was rewarded with a gasp, her hips pushing against me.

She bent her left leg under my raised hips. Her toes slipped between my thighs to touch and tease at my aching cunt. Wow, this is new, I thought to myself. I spread my knees to give her better access. Definitely not a novice. I responded. My mouth covering her, my top lip massaging her clit as I French kissed her beautiful pussy. I wantonly rode the top of her foot, her big toe occasionally slipping between my lust-puffed lips.

Fuck, she was wet. So so fucking wet. Her right leg draped over my back, holding me exquisitely in place as she fucked my mouth. Her hips urgently pushed upward, her back arching, forcing herself to my loving mouth.

Her toes busily diddled my at soaking, silk smooth cooch. Fuck, it felt amazing. So new and different and just a little bit kinky.

We moaned, we writhed. We soaked my duvet. We were just two girls, joyfully, unashamedly, fucking.

Almost six months of wanting. Several months of making out and then going home to nothing but my own fingers and a lewd, vivid imagination. All of it leading to this moment.

I thrashed at her clit with my tongue, driving two fingers into her teen cunt, hooking them back to tease at her G-spot.

I sank down on her foot and slipped my hand under her bum, pulling her tight to my mouth as she obligingly arched up. I felt the first telltale ripple in her thigh, her rapid breathing. The quiver in her beautiful, sexy tummy – she was close. I wanted to keep her on the brink, but I desperately wanted to make her come.

“P…Pin…Pinkyyyyyy,” she grabbed a fistful of my hair as her young body crested the wave. Her orgasm crashing over her, she was shaking violently. Her back levitated from the rumpled sheets as she desperately pushed her pussy to my more than willing mouth. Her juices copiously glazing my face.

“Jill, baby, that’s it. That’s it, Love; come for me, fuck, Gorgeous Girl, come for me.”

Amazingly and totally unexpectedly, she triggered me at the same time. I was already coming nicely to the boil, but what happened next was right out of the blue. Her foot twisted, and her big toe slid right into me, the other toes stroking my lust-swollen lips. The shock of this wonderful invasion lit the blue touch paper as I trembled and spasmed. I pushed down hard, my body wracked in rapturous convulsions as my pussy clenched, throbbed and dribbled down her silky soft foot.

“Gnnnnhhhhnn fuckk fuuck fuuckkkkkk,” I was babbling incoherently. She kept tugging my hair as we climaxed as one, and it was the most beautiful pain you can imagine.

I leant back, lifting her cum-glazed foot to my lips, savouring my own musky flavour.

“Ohh Jill, baby, are you ok?” She was panting for air but coaxed me upward, and we collapsed into a warm, naked embrace, our bodies intertwining like puzzle pieces.

“Oh my god, Pinky, so much better than I even imagined, so much better.” I kissed her, sharing her taste on my lips, as I caressed her beautiful face.

“Jesus, Jill, you are so beautiful.”

I let her rest peacefully in my arms, cherishing the feeling of just being with her.

Before you ask, Dear Reader,. Yes, we did it again and again long into the evening, but us girls have to leave something to your imagination. Don’t we?

xoxoxoxoxi

10.30pm, on the button. I left Jill at her front door safe and sound and thirty minutes early. We’d said our romantic goodbyes earlier so as not to be seen and made a plan to meet for lunch the next day, Bank Holiday Monday.

I watched her, bathed in red from my taillights, as I rolled off Frank’s driveway. I gave her a little wave out of my side window, rolled it up, and pulled out slowly. I couldn’t take my eyes off her in the rearview.

I woke up in a hospital bed the following lunchtime.

I’d neither heard nor seen the black BMW that hit my front end. Some young lout out for a Sunday night joyride and going way too fast.

Jill had called 999 and rode with me in the ambulance, lying that she was my niece. Apparently she’d barely left my side since. Frank dealt with the police at his place.

Thankfully, nothing was broken or seriously damaged. But I did take a pretty bad clunk to the head from hitting my window, which had knocked me out. And I got minor powder burns from two airbags deploying. The hospital wanted to keep me in for 24 hours just in case.

Jill had called Ralph, who hightailed it back from London. He, in turn, had called my parents, who arrived at my bedside later that afternoon, having cut short their weekend in Cornwall.

It was only then that Jill got up to leave. She squeezed my hand.

“See you soon, Pinky.” She kissed my cheek. “We still have a lunch date, and don’t you dare stand me up,” she’d whispered. “I’d better go; Frank’s downstairs waiting.”

“Bye, Gorgeous Girl, I’ll be there, I promise.”

Our fingers touched briefly, and I watched her leave. My mother stared after her, a kind of shocked expression on her face.

“Lynette?” Eeugggh, my full name – “Who was ‘that girl’?

xoxoxoxoxo

That was ten days ago. Work was great; they gave me two weeks off with full pay to recover. So I’m lying here on the couch, on this pleasant September afternoon. Not quite how I’d envisaged spending my thirtieth birthday, but hey, I’m alive, right?

Schools are back now, so Jill is visiting after. It’s 5.30 now, and I can hear her and Ralph bickering playfully in the kitchen as they dish out our takeaway. Whatever it is, it smells great. Pretty sure it’s a massive Indian, my favourite.

I also discovered Lush Stories the other day too. I may be bruised and battered, but a girl still has those needs. Looooving your stories, everyone. They’ve really kept me going, if you know what I mean.

So, in the spirit of sharing, I thought maybe a few of you might like to read my story. Well, mine and Jill’s. It gave me something to do to pass the time and brought back some lovely memories, too. I just hope you enjoyed it.

The really good news is that she’s not just ‘That Girl’ anymore. Sure, it’s unconventional, and we’ve got to be careful, but make no mistake, she’s ‘My Girl’ now, and she tells me every chance she gets.

Ohhh, before I leave you, my new friends, let’s see if ‘Pinky’ sticks as my nickname, shall we? Ralph dyed my hair electric blue earlier today to cheer me up, and my Jillybean hasn’t seen it yet.

I’ll let you know what she says. Byeeee for now, and keep it Lushxxx.

There’s nothing quite like the fear of dying to sharpen the senses. 

I cling to shreds of inner resolve like my toes clamp precipitously over the rock edge facing the ocean. Staring down into the surf at a truly heart-stopping angle, the only thing preventing my fall is Madeleine’s grip bunched around my ponytail. A delicate English rose suspended by a strong French vine.

I’m captured until she decides I’m ready. Until I deserve crushing release from the fingers of her other hand tucked inside my bikini bottoms, curled up into my sticky folds, lemon fabric stained with juices. Her palm collects the constant drip drip drip of arousal. Of need.

I’d been here a thousand times in my dreams; my fantasies. Her breath in my ear, like the sea breeze that flits strands of my strawberry blonde mane. Her delicate scent mingling with the tang of sea salt, coastal gorse and hawthorn. And my whimpers mimicking the beat and swell of the waves several hundred feet below the cliff edge. Balanced. Hanging at her mercy. Desperate to cum, wherever we are, whenever she tells me I can.

My predicament is symbolic of her hold over me. Her power; my submission. The thrill at giving myself to her never fades. Every orgasm she allows me to take is like flight. A weightless gift I savour. Under her spell, I let myself go every time; as much a sign of respect as the fact I’m unable to do anything else amid the quaking, clenching totality of freefall.

Madeleine gets me. Understands my desires. She knows the façade I present to my employees is just that; an act. A different hat. A bigger hat to the one I wear in the bedroom when I’m transformed into a kitten.

Her kitten.

Whether we’re in her bed or mine, whether we’re against a tree in a secluded wood with her fingers buried inside me, or at a restaurant where she has my panties next to her napkin on the table, I surrender completely. Trust her to break me apart and rebuild me. And when she makes me cum—allows me to cum—I’m transported here like a broken time machine. My favourite part of the English countryside. My sanctuary.

Time and again, she’s brought me to this place in my rapture, to the brink of insanity. Perched on a ledge in my own mind, a single breathy word away from crashing into the waves of ecstasy and being tossed around like a lifeboat in a storm.

The shivers that she awakens in me reflect the desolate, raw beauty overlooking the Atlantic from this most southerly tip of the UK. Lizard, Cornwall. My safe space. My nirvana.

She’s an expert at keeping me on edge, thrashing and twisting and gasping until I’m a mere shell of who I was moments before. Yet somehow more whole because of it.

But this time? This time I can’t move for fear of dying. It’s not memories mixed with the crushing heat of her immediacy, nor is it limbic echoes of the windswept coastline that carries her drifting scent. No. This time it’s real. And I’m halfway between elated and petrified.

It’s a handful of minutes till sunset, the fireball’s blush staining the waves pink across the ocean. Our private canvas is uninterrupted and endless, save for the occasional dog walker on the headland behind us. They pay us no attention. We’re tucked away on this jutting rock we had to swim to reach. The one I used to scale in my teens. To reflect. To escape. Because nobody likes being reminded they’re different when life’s all about fitting in.

The vista is as beautiful now as it ever was. Worth every scuff on bare feet, knees and hands from weathered barnacles and craggy peaks during the climb. If anything, it’s even better to be able to share it. To be free.

The occasional turbulent wave smashes into the rock and sprays upward as nature closes the day’s chapter and settles in for dusk. Even on a relatively calm day like today, the sea’s power is breathtaking. But my lack of breath and the tightness in my chest isn’t solely through awe.

It’s through necessity.

One buckle of my knees and she’ll lose grip. One misplaced twist of my hips and I’ll tumble in freefall to goodness knows what beneath the waves. Rocks? There are some, deep. I used to snorkel then dive to stroke their slippery surfaces. But are they deep enough? I can’t recall. Earth’s ever shifting geology might have altered the subterranean landscape.

I shiver. Focus hard as her fingers dig deeper. I drip further. My cry is whipped away by a gust, hair tangling in my lips before I can shake my head to free it. Close behind me, she offers encouragement.

“Good girl. Hold on. Not long now.”

“Ohhh God. How long?”

“Soon.”

I tense, from shins to shoulders. Double down in concentration. Bite my lip. “Please.”

Her cadence is sing-song. Amused. “Please? Is that all you have to offer?”

Of course she’s playing this game. It’s her favourite.

“Please can I cum? Prett—” I gasp as her fingers reach new depths, “pretty please?”

“Mmm. Better.” Her pause stretches, timeless like the sea. “No. You’re not ready.”

“Fffu—”

“Uh-uh,” she scolds. “No naughty words.”

“Fff…” I keep my tongue in check.

She chuckles. “What did you say you wanted? Back at the house, what did you say? You wanted to…”

“Fly.”

“Fly. Yes. So how can you fly if you’re not already soaring? Hmm?”

The deeper squelches from my sodden snatch precede my gasp. She crooks her fingers in a steady beat that matches the waves lapping and sloshing below us. My bikini bottoms are drenched. Might as well not be wearing any.

“God, Maddy. Plee-heeese.”

“Arms up.”

“W… what?”

“Like you’re flying.”

She tugs on my ponytail as if giddying up a horse. Trust stretches, heart hammering as I gingerly arc my arms out, then up over my head, Superman style.

My centre of gravity shifts and my toes tighten against the sharp rock edge. I squeeze my eyes shut, mostly to block out the terror at being so high, but they fly open again when she resumes fingering. Heat creeps up my tummy, swirls my breasts, nipples straining against the flimsy material, and spreads upward to my outstretched fingertips. I ache to transfer the energy. To touch myself. To squeeze my tits. Pinch the caps. Glide down over my hips and inwards to scuff my electrified clit. I’m desperate for release. A moan escapes. Long. Sustained. Throaty.

The delight in her voice rings out. “Oh, kitten wants to cum.”

I sob, “Yes. Pleeassse.”

She slips her fingers free and scissors them forward, either side of my nub. Doesn’t close them like I crave. “Pity.”

I shudder at her denial. “Noooo. God. Pleeease. I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

Her pause is even more maddening than the first, and I wish I’d kept quiet. Physics is the only thing in my favour. Eventually, she speaks. “Okay. Next time we’re out for dinner, you wear that little black dress. The strappy one that shows off your tits. Nothing else. No bra. No panties. Just the dress, and your remote vibrator.”

I groan. “Fffu… Okay.”

She chuckles again. “So needy. You don’t even know how much I’m going to ruin you at the table. How much of a show we’ll put on for the staff. How hard I’ll fuck you in the bathroom. Yet you agree?”

“Yes! Yes. I agree.” My voice almost isn’t my own. Hollow. “Touch me.”

With measured slowness and a resolve I clearly don’t possess, Madeleine closes her knuckles, capturing my clit and gradually increases the pressure. I gasp. Teeter. Clamp everything to prevent my orgasm ripping me in two for the duration of her pinch. I can’t fail her. Not now. Not here.

She eases and my groan follows. Involuntary. The echo of her touch zips through me, connecting every nerve ending, every pore, every hair follicle that amplifies the breeze brushing my skin. I’m one breath away from release and she knows it. Waits. Lets me stew in my need. My desperation.

Then, like I’m the violin and she’s the bow, she withdraws fingertips and glides them back inside me.

My cries—part joy, part frustration—join the caw of gulls and trill of kittiwakes. A disharmonious symphony lost to the power of the forces below me.

I bite my lip. Tremor. Exhale. “Ohhh, Maddy. God. So close. Sooo close.”

“I know. Good girl. You can hold it.”

The gentle sawing of her fingers produces fresh wetness that the breeze and dying rays of sunlight fail to dry. She toys with my resolve like it’s the last commodity on Earth. Like she’s mining for a rare mineral buried in my pussy. She repeats I’m her good girl for holding back, even though every atom is shredded and taut and screaming to spin free.

A wave thumps into our rock, the bass rumbling up through my toes and I swear the spray dapples my sizzling skin. I know it’s a trick, the force of the air maybe, because it’s too far below to reach me. But it’s no less frightening.

The sun dips a degree lower, its remaining crescent bleeding red sparkly tendrils across the waves towards us. She’s probably waiting until it disappears fully before she lets me cum. Or maybe she’ll make me wait.

Oh god. What if it’s tomorrow? Surely I’ll combust before then.

Dread flashes through me at the prospect of having to fight this any longer. Balanced at this angle—what, thirty degrees from vertical? Forty-five? The constant tension of my hair wrapped around her fist is my only lifeline. What if I buckle when she says I can cum? I’ll send us both tumbling off this cliff to our deaths. She’s clearly crazy—that’s what I love about her—but has she thought this through?

We’ve done mad things before. Stupid things. She fingered me in my airline seat on our way to Thailand, under a blanket, with a businessman gently snoring alongside me. At my friend’s wedding, we sat on the back pew and she slithered off the bench to kneel between my thighs, licking my slit as they took their vows. My panties were in her bag all day.

And at Alton Towers, she fingered me in the Wicker Man queue until I was a jittery, desperate mess, then finished me off on the rollercoaster itself. It was liberating to be able to groan and scream alongside all the other thrill-seekers and have them oblivious to the fact it wasn’t solely the G-forces at play.

This stunt, though, is probably the riskiest one ever. I’m terrified what will happen when—if—Madeleine lets me cum. My toes are white curled over the rock edge. Her hand’s tucked under me, fingers at their deepest extent inside my slippery pussy.

She pauses. Adjusts my weight between my hair and slit, and worms her thumb between my butt cheeks. Her digit is already wet and she massages my dark knot, then presses in a fraction as she resumes fingering me.

My gasp rings out. “Oh god, Maddy. Please please,” the last one is a whisper that dies in my throat, “pleease.”

“Please what?” She digs and twists and rocks her hand with unyielding determination, penetrating both orifices. My cry is louder, absorbed by the steady whump of the waves below. With my arms still outstretched it’s like I’m perched on the edge of the universe, ready to metaphorically dive and soar like the birds that swoop overhead, regarding our invasion of their habitat like the imposters we are.

I find my voice. “Make me cum.”

“Like you’ve never cum before?”

I sob, “Yes! Yes oh God, yes.”

“Like you’re flying?”

“Yess, ohhh.”

She drives her fingers and thumb inside me. Faster. Relentless. My insides twist and I fight to not transfer the action to my teetering frame.

“Do you trust me?”

“Of cour… course.”

“Good. Touch yourself. Touch your clit.”

In a flash, I’m no longer Supergirl, I’m Gaspergirl. A few needy revolutions of my fingertips against my slick and aching button through the fabric is all it takes to propel me right to the brink. My world starts to close in, jaw dropping open, eyes lidding. Every brush of the sea breeze against my skin amplifies the heat radiating from my core.

“I didn’t say you could cum.”

“Ffaaahh!” I tear my hand free. Force my eyes open to stare at the sun disappearing behind the horizon as I tremble in Madeleine’s grip.

The moment stretches, her fingers keeping me maddeningly on the edge, figuratively and physically. The glow behind the infinity of sea intensifies. Spreads. Everything except my heart rate slows. The world takes a breath with me and her voice cuts through the pregnant, salty silence.

“Cum now. Fly.”

I don’t need a second invitation. My fingers mash into my clit. Once, twice, three times, and I cave.

My breathy thank you is lost to the elements as she lets go of my hair, her fingers slither free of my clutching holes, and I begin to freefall, arms flailing.

Her fingertips crook and catch in the bikini waistband, holding me at an even steeper angle for a moment that feels a lifetime.

Then she lets go.

Panic grips me as my insides clench. A scream tries to form but can’t penetrate the adrenaline spike that fuels the spaceless seconds; the calm before the orgasm will rip through me. My last la petite mort just ahead of la grande mort, dashed to pieces in the swirling, rocky maelstrom.

Falling is nothing like the movies where there’s buffeting wind and endless noise as the waves rapidly approach. There’s complete silence due to the all-encompassing totality of climax. Three, maybe four, seconds of utter tranquility and sheer terror thrown into the same cocktail, and shaken vigorously.

At home I’d be arching off the bed, weightless from the edging, breath held as my heart thumps, just before the pulsing spasms kick in, pussy winking hard when my core goes supernova.

Out here, I’m plummeting, tumbling, gravity my silent partner, heart racing, breath held, insides taut as spray begins to pepper my face. Instinctively, I thrust my hands out to break the surface and plunge into the turbulent surf.

The moment I’m submerged, my orgasm grips, pounds, grips again, the weight of water slowing my descent, enveloping me, cocooning me. I want to gasp but can’t. My body pulses in a fat pocket of bubbles, tickling my skin, stimulating every erogenous zone at once as they rush by, and my pussy throbs. Oh how it throbs.

Slowing enough to be suspended in the swell of the ocean, at terminal depth, I jam my fingers into my bikini and crush my clit, plunging inside myself where Madeleine used to be. I lose myself in the sensory vacuum. Cum hard. Harder than I’ve ever known. Sparks fly and are immediately extinguished by the sea. I jerk and spasm in the endless dark blue envelope, massaging my jewel with unpolished, desperate abandon, bubbles forced from my nose and mouth with each snort as the orgasm racks me. Consumes me. Floods me with dopamine. Makes me glow, despite the shock of the freezing water.

As the pulses lengthen, peak and diminish, I gradually rise, exhausted, a haphazard grin forming. With each metre, the surface looms, shimmering. Bubbles are tossed away from me, the tranquility of depth replaced with the swell of the waves. My body’s contractions fade as I’m buffeted to and fro, fingers still buried in my snatch, riding the tail of bliss as I break the surface and haul in oxygen, kicking off a second wave of orgasmic clenching.

I bob in the ocean. Just a head, spray rebounding off the rock as I bask in the euphoria. Cumming and cumming around my buried digits, groans pinging off the crag.

I’m barely aware of the more controlled splash several metres away of Madeleine diving in to join me. Only when she swims to cradle me, strokes my cheek to sweep plastered hair away and kisses my lips do I appreciate the heat of her pressed to me.

My hands grope her body. Clutch at her curves. Hold her in a silent prayer. She slithers a hand into my panties and coats her fingers in my juices. I feel her grin against my mouth, and pull my lips away, slapping her shoulder.

“You scared the fuck out of me.”

A harsh wave breaks overhead, dousing us in saltwater. She swipes raven hair strands from her cheek. “But was it worth it?”

My mind’s still swimming. Tangled. Elated. “Out of this world. Truly.”

She beams and kisses me. “Perfect. Race you to the shore. Loser has to eat the winner out on the beach.”

With feline grace, she kicks away and dives into a reflected wave, surfacing the other side of it and swimming towards the deserted patch of sand beyond our rock. My limbs are still trembling from the aftermath of climax. The chemical flotsam flooding my senses clouds my ability to do anything but watch her recede.

But it doesn’t matter. I float. Rise and fall with the tide. Savour the long tail of climax as she front crawls into the distance.

This is one race I definitely don’t mind losing.

The boardroom of Astrea Aviónica never truly sleeps. Forty-third floor, Barcelona’s shoreline glittering below, the room is a long glass prism cantilevered over night air. One wall is nothing but city-scape and Mediterranean moon-ripple; the opposite is a museum of scale models—supersonic prototypes, black-carbon wings, hypersonic nosecones arrayed like lethal petals.

Spotlights hidden in the ceiling strobe in slow pulses, simulating runway obstruction lights. Between those pulses the room seems suspended in space, an orbital module holding its breath.

At the far end: an obsidian conference table long enough to seat a dozen investors. Tonight it seats only two wineglasses, a decanter of Garnacha so dark it swallows the light, and Lucia—late, deliberately, leaning against the sill as though she owns the view. Her dress is charcoal jersey, demure above the knee, but beneath it she’s all soft angles and coiled challenge. No stockings; heels silver as spent shell casings. Her hair—castaña with caramel threads—falls over one shoulder, partly masking a half-smirk she doesn’t try to hide.

She watches reflections instead of runway models, arms folded. The belly of a cargo plane glints across the bay, strobes ticking like a distant metronome. Lucia counts them, letting the seconds stretch, enjoying the flutter of nerves that accompany willful tardiness.

A door sighs open. The air changes temperature.

Lucrezia Ferrer walks in as if she designed the floor’s load-bearing equations—which, in fact, she did. Black tuxedo waistcoat, white silk shirt open at the clavicle, sleeves rolled to reveal the compass-rose tattoo and freshly oiled watch strap. No jacket; she carries authority like a strapped-on jetpack. A single strip of crimson silk peeks from a waistcoat pocket—the only softness permitted.

Their eyes meet across the table’s obsidian sheen. Lucia lifts the wineglass in silent toast; drags a finger around the rim so it hums faint. “Thought engineers ran on punctuality.”

Lu doesn’t smile. She sets a leather folio beside the other glass, pours Garnacha for herself. “Punctuality matters when launch windows close. Tonight’s window is… flexible.” She seats herself without haste, legs crossing under the table, but her gaze never leaves the brat by the window.

Lucia flicks hair back, pats dress smooth, stays leaning against glass. Moonlight polishes her calves, leaves a silver ring just below the hem. “Window to what, exactly?” Her tone holds flirt and dare in equal measure.

Lu tilts her glass; wine rivals the night sea. “Curiosity review. I want to know how a reader of my classified fantasies…”

“Your Lush pages aren’t that classified.” Lucia’s laugh is low, sweet as Catalan liqueur. She pushes off the window and strolls along the model display, fingertips grazing a carbon-composite wing like a lazy tigress stroking cage bars.

Lu’s nostrils flare at that casual trespass. “—knows the room where those fantasies were drafted,” she finishes, voice level.

Lucia twirls. “Easy. I asked. Your intern adores spoiler culture.” She steps to the table’s opposite end, wrists braced on its edge. “Said you write in glass and engine noise. I had to see.”

The ambient light dims one degree—automated night cycle. Outside, an Airbus on approach drags a string of lights across the dark water. Silence inside grows thick.

Lucia circles the table, heels clicking Morse code. She stops at Lu’s chair-back, leans over, catches perfume notes: cedar, jet fuel, the faintest trace of lemongrass oil. Her lips hover near Lu’s ear. “Your stories make nice bed-companions,” she purrs. “But I wonder if you draft fiction or autobiography.”

Lu turns only her eyes. “I write trajectories. Fiction is where planets have two moons.” A beat. “Tonight’s sky shows only one.”

Lucia’s grin widens; she slips into the seat two chairs away, leaving one chair between as if it might spark arcs of current. She crosses legs deliberately, the jersey hem sliding. Lu notes the flash of thigh, the absence of underwear seam under soft fabric—detail logged like tailwind speed.

Lucia sips wine, tongue tracing lip. “So Captain—what trajectory tonight? Will you pitch, yaw, or roll me?”

Lu rotates her glass one quarter turn, reflective black table doubling the motion. “I will observe your pre-flight systems. See if you combust on the pad.”

Lucia laughs, tips the remainder of wine down her throat, throat working. She sets empty glass down harder than needed; the ring of crystal carries challenge. “I burn at my own ignition, Captain.”

She stands again, tugging the hem just an inch, walks back to the glass wall. The Mediterranean now is star-punctured black satin. She sets palms against the cool pane, arches one heel so calf tightens—a posture half casual, half invitation to approach. But she doesn’t look back. She waits.

Lu rises. Chair legs whisper sin across polished floor. She lifts the crimson silk from waistcoat; it uncoils like a tongue of flame. Steps deliberate, echo measured, she moves to stand two meters behind Lucia—close enough to feel heat between bodies, far enough to keep the brat guessing.

“Hands behind you,” Lu says, soft but command precisely weighted. Not louder than the distant engine whine scaling the glass; not softer than the hum of climate ducts overhead.

Lucia’s shoulders roll. She turns her head just enough for profile reflection: pout, raised brow. “Why?” The single word laced with mischief.

“So I can take what your stories offered.” Lu’s answer unfurls slow; a promise, not a request.

Lucia lets five seconds accrue, counting them by pulse ticks in her wrists. Then she threads her fingers at the base of her spine, pushing chest forward against glass. The cool pane kisses nipples through thin jersey; she swallows a startled gasp. The room lights dim another degree—sensors fooled by stillness or complicit in mood.

Lu steps closer. She drapes silk across Lucia’s joined wrists, shows her the softness before tightening. “Colour system,” she murmurs. “Green is go, yellow slow, red stop. Speak any and I untie instantly.”

Lucia’s breath fogs glass. “Green,” she answers, voice nearly sincere.

Lu knots silk—no tension yet, just a decorative coil. Her fingertips brush Lucia’s inner forearms, raising goosebumps. She leans forward until lips hover near Lucia’s ear. “Brat,” she whispers in Catalan, “show me undercarriage.”

She lifts the back of Lucia’s dress with two fingers—slow. Bare skin glows moon-silver; the curve of buttock bare, cheeks dusted by chill. Lu strokes thumb along hip; Lucia shudders, knees micro-bend. The glass trembling under her palms might be city wind—or arousal migration.

Lu steps back, leaving cloth lifted. “Stay.”

Lucia fights the urge to rub thighs. The first carve of submission slices through brat facade, leaving exposed nerve—fear and heat braided. She glances at reflection: her own eyes wide, hair wild, wrists tied with a ribbon that could be undone in a tug but feels iron-sure.

Lucia’s breath ghosts the pane; vapor blooms, fades, blooms again. Below, Barcelona’s grid flickers—taxis threading Las Ramblas, harbor cranes blinking like slow Morse. Her wrists feel the silk’s permission: she could slither out with a shrug, but Lu’s voice earlier—stay—weights the coil heavier than chain.

A fingernail, blunt but certain, traces the back of her thigh, climbs. Static jolts. Lu’s hand cups one bare cheek, squeezes experimentally, as if testing fuselage rivets. “Minimal resistance,” she notes aloud, engineer-deadpan.

Lucia’s retort rides a shaky laugh. “Flawless aerodynamics.” She tilts hips just enough to mock-twerk against the hand—brat signal rocket-flared.

Lu lets the contact vanish. Silence yawns; city wind moans. Seconds stretch long enough that doubt begins nibbling at Lucia’s injected courage.

Then fabric rustles; Lu draws a folded chamois cleaning cloth from waistcoat—soft, suede, aircraft-grade. She polishes a circle of glass at Lucia’s eye-level until pane gleams. “You will watch every diagnostic,” she says. “Hands stay bound.”

Lucia eyes her reflection inside that cleaned halo—cheeks flushed rose-gold, pupils swallowing hazel. Her heart knocks ribs.

Lu steps in close again, this time kneeling. Cool fingertips part Lucia’s cheeks, exposing slick center to the chilled air. Lucia sucks in a hiss, forehead tipping glass.

“Already wet,” Lu murmurs, breath fanning heated skin. She licks two fingers, then slides them—slow—along slit, gathering evidence. The glide is obscene in its quietness. Lucia’s knees hitch; silk bites wrists.

Lu withdraws, stands, holds slick fingers to light. Viscosity threads between digits. She meets Lucia’s gaze in the glass halo. “Combustion threshold confirmed.” She brings fingers to Lucia’s mouth over shoulder; Lucia cranes, tongue flicking, tasting her own arousal and faint resin from cockpit wipes. The hum she makes vibrates against Lu’s knuckles.

“Say danke,” Lu orders.

“Danke,” Lucia obeys—voice husked—then bites tip of Lu’s finger as tease. Teeth graze, not pierce.

Lu smiles—not kind. She extracts hand, sucks same finger, savoring echo flavor. “Brat index rising.”

Swiftly Lu grabs Lucia’s silk-wrapped wrists, raising them two inches. With other hand she lifts the hem fully, tucks fabric into neckline—dress now a ruched band, baring butt and lower back to room’s whispering AC.

Lucia’s reflection: half-naked, hair turning feral, chest heaving. The power lash of exposure whips heat through womb.

Lu unbuttons her own cuffs, rolls sleeves to elbow, exposing forearm sinew and compass tattoo—north arrow aiming at Lucia’s nape. “Spread.” One word, sub-bass timbre.

Lucia drags feet wider. Cool glass flattens nipples; they stiffen, printing twin marks on flawless pane.

Lu’s fingers return—one inside, then two, twisting, hooking. Her thumb plies clit with pilot’s precision—press-circle-release rhythm matching distant aircraft strobe. Lucia’s lips part; fog breath paints bloom over halo.

A moan tries to escape; she clamps teeth, unwilling to give sound yet. Brat to the bone.

Lu senses restraint, speeds strokes, knuckles slapping slick. “Say it,” she orders. Lucia swallows, jaw tight. Instead she rotates hips, grinding for friction but refusing voice.

Lu withdraws completely. Sticky absence sears.

Lucia opens mouth to protest; Lu claps one palm over dressed cheek (not face) and squeezes—hard incentive. “Voice print required,” she says. “System will not arm without authorization.”

Lucia’s laugh cracks; desire floods with adrenaline. “Authorization code?” she taunts, words fogging glass.

Lu leans in, lips at ear. “Say: ‘Don’t leave.’”

Memory of her own story line detonates inside Lucia—Jaz’s dominance fused with Lu’s. Pride wrestles craving. She remains silent.

Lu’s free hand trails up spine, settles at nape, pinching nerve cluster where tension wires converge. The pinch sends bolt to pelvis. Lucia whimpers—the smallest sound yet, betraying.

Lu releases cheek, pinches silk cord. “Last call.” Fingers slide again—not entering, just skimming outer slick, the ghost of bliss withheld.

Lucia’s forehead thuds glass softly. She watches her pupils quiver and, breathless, whispers: “Don’t leave.”

Permission unlocked. Lu’s hand thrusts back—two fingers deep, curling, tempo fierce. Thumb rolls clit, index knuckle pressing internal spot. Wet sounds join city murmur. Lucia’s moan escapes, full-throated this time, echoing off glass and model wings.

Lu’s other hand grips hair, forcing head to keep eyes on reflection. “Louder.”
Lucia obeys; the moan climbs, richer, cracks once. Lights in office tower across harbour could witness; the thought spins heat to white.

Knees shake; orgasm surges, but Lu slows—edge denial again—until Lucia sobs wordless plea. Lu resumes, faster, punishing; silk at wrists creaks. Release detonation: Lucia freezes, then convulses, a wet impact against palm and glass. Her cry is music over turbine baseline.

Lu keeps fingers inside until tremors ebb, then withdraws, slick coating knuckles. She releases hair, untucks dress hem, letting fabric fall over flushed skin. Lucia sags forward to glass, cheek pressed to cool surface, chest heaving.

Silk unwraps wrists; circulation prickles. Arms float down, heavy. Lucia turns, back to pane. Lu stands close, lifting stained fingers to her own lips, sucking slowly. Lucia watches, wide-eyed awe painted over brat remnants.

“Report,” Lu says, voice low. Lucia swallows, cheeks flaming. “Systems… nominal.” A grin bleeds. “Ready for secondary burn.”

Lu’s answering smirk slices soft. “Secondary burn involves seatbelt harness and louder decibels. But hourly factory crew arrive at zero hundred.”

Lucia bites lip. “Then I’ll stow away in your cockpit, Captain.”

Lu slips the crimson silk into Lucia’s pocket, a promise-tongue. “You’ll stow in my apartment. Two blocks west, 0100 hours. Bring no panties this time.”

Lucia salutes—mock sharp. “Aye, Captain.”

Outside, the city horizon shows first pewter hint of dawn. Inside the boardroom, model wings cast raptor shadows while Lucia gathers pulse and damp thighs. The glass retains her fogged imprint, a testimony above the shimmering sea.

The private lift opens into Lu’s duplex penthouse like an airlock breaching pressurization. Floor-to-ceiling panes reveal Barcelona’s rooftops swimming in sodium haze; a single LED strip runs the length of polished cement, cool as a runway centerline. Along one wall: a brushed-steel workbench scattered with carbon-fiber scraps and micro-torque wrenches. Opposite: a mirror wall, flawless, eight metres wide.

Lucia steps out, pulse hammering hi-hat tempo. No panties as ordered; her charcoal dress clings damply between thighs from the taxi ride’s anticipation. She carries nothing but a phone and a coil of the crimson silk knotted round her wrist like contraband.

Lu emerges from the shadow of a spiral staircase—sleeveless black utility jumpsuit, half-unzipped to sternum, exposing taut lines of clavicle and that north-point tattoo. She holds a rolled aircraft-grade seatbelt harness—black webbing, chrome cam-buckles glinting. Moonlight slices across her cheekbone, turning profile into a raptor silhouette.

“Close the lift, Lucia.”
Button pressed, doors seal. City noise evaporates; the only sound is turbine whisper from hidden air vents.

Lu circles, eyes raking from Lucia’s wind-tousled hair to bare calves. She cups Lucia’s chin, thumb tracing lower lip. No kiss—just measure.

“Colour?”
Voice husky: “Green, Captain.”

Lu spins her gently toward the mirror wall. “Dress off.”

Lucia’s fingers tremble as she gathers hem over hips, lifts jersey up, exposing flushed breasts, sweat-dewed abdomen, bare folds already slick. The dress drops to the concrete with a hush. Her nipples harden in cool air; reflection shows pale anticipation.

Lu lowers a hand, sliding two fingers through Lucia’s heat. She lifts the slick to Lucia’s lips. “Taste what the ride here did.” Lucia sucks digits, moaning softly.

Lu nods approval. “Harness.”

The seatbelt harness wraps like an X-wing: one strap over each shoulder, crossing between breasts, down the sides, clipping to a pelvic belt with a central D-ring over mons. Cam-buckles ratchet with metallic clicks. Webbing edges bite deliciously into soft skin. Lucia’s breathing accelerates as straps pull her posture upright—flight-ready.

Lu tests tension at shoulder straps, tugging until Lucia’s breasts lift, nipples grazing air. She threads the crimson silk through pelvic D-ring, ties a bow that dangles like a landing ribbon.

Mirror shows: Lucia bound, slick thighs parted, eyes glossed. “Perfect aerodynamic profile,” Lu murmurs.

Lu kneels behind, palms sliding along hamstrings to spread legs wider. She licks one long stripe from knee crease to tailbone; Lucia’s gasp ricochets off glass. Lu’s tongue circles bud, then dips—one sharp plunge that steels Lucia’s knees. Hands clutch harness straps for balance.

Lu’s mouth seals over clit, suction strong; two fingers spear inside without warning. Rhythm aggressive, relentless, each stroke angling up to sweet spot. Lucia’s reflection shows her own mouth slack, breasts jolting with every thrust, knees trembling as webbing holds her upright.

She moans, volume rising; Lu breaks suction only to command: “Louder. Let the city echo.”

Lucia obeys; cry spills, window panes vibrating faintly. Fingers drive faster; orgasm mounts like a skyrocket. Harness creaks.

Just as climax crests, Lu withdraws, stands, wipes saliva-slick chin with thumb, smears it across Lucia’s nipple. Denial slices electric. Lucia lets out a broken whine, hips searching empty air.

Lu grips harness back with one fist, drags Lucia half-step forward. “Look.” In mirror Lucia sees translucent slick running down inner thighs, sheen on swollen folds. Lu crouches, taps it with index. “Dripping. For what?”

Lucia swallows. “For you… Captain.”

“Say: I’m your runway.”

“I’m your runway.” Voice cracks, cheeks flame.

Lu smiles predator-soft. “Good. Next approach.”

She guides Lucia against the mirror—belly to cool glass. Nipples flatten; fog blooms with each breath. Lu’s left hand gathers both wrists overhead, pressing them to glass. Right hand penetrates again, this time three fingers, palm slapping slick folds. Lucia’s moan muffles against reflection.

Lu bends, teeth grazing shoulder. “I’ll land gear only when you beg. Understand?”
Lucia nods frantic. Fingers pound, thumb bruising clit, wet slaps echo.

She lasts maybe thirty seconds before voice fractures: “Please—please land—Captain, I beg!”

Lu maintains thrusts two more beats, then hammers deeper, curling just right. Orgasm ignites—Lucia trembles, scream echoing glass, thighs glossy with release. Lu devours sound, pumping through pulses until contractions fade.

Harness remains tight. Lu unlatches only the pelvic D-ring, letting web straps hang but wrists still pinned. Lucia slumps, breath ragged. Lu licks juice off fingers, then paints leftover slick across Lucia’s lips in mirror, smearing a literal badge of heat.

Colour check. Lucia whispers, “Bright green…”

Lu’s grin vicious. “Refuel, then.” She turns Lucia, eases her to knees on padded mat placed earlier. Webbing glints like bondage armor. Lu unzips jumpsuit further, revealing black lace boyshorts drenched from own arousal. She slides them aside, thighs glistening.

“Show how grateful a runway is.” She tangles fingers in Lucia’s hair, guides mouth forward.

Lucia’s tongue laps, collecting musk; she moans at first taste, heat surging again despite spent nerves. Lu exhales shaky, rocking hips—control yielding momentarily to pleasure.

Mouth suction grows; Lucia’s arms still overhead, vulnerable. Lu’s thighs tremble. She tightens grip, rides mouth until peak crashes—soft growl swallowed by city hush. Release slicks Lucia’s chin, mixing with her own flavor.

Lu steadies, breath stormy, then lifts Lucia by harness straps to stand. “Mirror,” she orders. They face reflection: Lucia’s mouth glossy, cheeks flushed; Lu disheveled, tattoo pulsing with heartbeat.

Lu wipes Lucia’s chin, then kisses her, sharing taste. “You pass inspection,” she murmurs.

Harness buckles pop, freeing arms. Lucia collapses against Lu, wet heat seeping down still-spread thighs—true dripping mess. Lu carries her to a leather bench, cradles head, strokes hair.

“No panties next time either,” Lu whispers.
Lucia laughs, voice hoarse. “I will arrive fueled and runway-slick.”

Outside the horizon blooms pewter, heralding dawn. Inside, two silhouettes rest—sated but hungry for the next module’s darker ascent: the cockpit bench, vibration probes, and rope-compression that makes glass moans seem tame.

She should have been shocked.

Watching her husband bent over the arm of the sofa, flushed and whimpering while Marcus, massive, hulking Marcus, fucked him with slow, powerful thrusts that made the furniture creak?

She sat on the armchair just metres away, knees drawn up, two fingers idly teasing her slick, throbbing clit. She hadn’t even meant to start touching herself. Not really. But she couldn’t help it. Her hand just moved.

Beside her, Tasha had joined her. Her robe had slipped off entirely, her fingers pumping in and out of her glistening cunt, her other hand groping her own breast as she watched the men with a look that was half-devotion, half-animal lust.

Leilani couldn’t stop watching the way Marcus was fucking Makoa, his hand gripping her husband’s cock, jerking it in time with each thrust, while Makoa’s hips twitched and bucked like he couldn’t decide if it was too much or not enough.

The room was humid with sweat and sex, the smell of lube and cum thick in the air.

Next to her Tasha was panting, her hand moving faster, biting her lip so hard it had turned white.

Leilani turned to her, eyes wide, chest tight, arousal bubbling just beneath the surface of every nerve ending.

She whispered, “Should we, help each other?”

Tasha blinked. Her fingers stilled. She turned, and for a moment, Leilani thought maybe she’d said something wrong.

Then Tasha smiled. “Oh, baby,” she purred, sitting up slightly, her fingers still glistening. “I thought you’d never ask.” She leaned in to kiss her.

Their mouths met with a desperation that made Leilani’s breath catch. Tasha tasted like wine and sweat, her lips soft but urgent, her tongue pressing past Leilani’s with greedy ease.

Leilani moaned into her, her body already trembling as Tasha pulled her closer, fingers gripping Leilani’s hips, bodies pressed tight. Breasts squashed together, thighs sliding against one another, heat blooming between them.

Neither of them had done this before. But they were just doing what felt right.

Leilani’s hand slid up Tasha’s side, fingers curling around her breast. The weight of it was perfect, the nipple already hard, and Tasha groaned when Leilani’s thumb flicked across it.

“Oh fuck, yes,” Tasha breathed, breaking the kiss just long enough to gasp. “Keep touching me. Don’t be shy.”

Leilani wasn’t. Her other hand slid down Tasha’s belly, grazing the soft curve of her stomach, finding the top of her mound. The heat radiating from between her thighs was intense, almost startling.

She dipped lower. She slipped her fingers down and between Tasha’s folds.

Her fingertips came away slick, her touch met with a needy moan from Tasha as she began to stroke slowly, gently. The folds were soft, the texture familiar from her explorations of herself, the way her fingers moved over them making both of them shiver.

Tasha’s legs parted wider.

“Faster,” she whispered. “Don’t be afraid of making a mess.”

At the same time, Tasha’s own hand slid between Leilani’s legs. No hesitation at all. Two fingers pushed straight into her already-wet cunt. They both gasped in sync.

Their foreheads pressed together, mouths open, panting against each other’s lips as they fingered each other, slow and deep.

“Oh my God,” Leilani moaned.

“Right?” Tasha chuckled, kissing her again. “I didn’t think we would go this far when I lured you into swinging with us.”

Their hands moved faster, hips rolling against each other’s palms. Leilani thrust her fingers in deep, curling instinctively, and Tasha whined, her own pace faltering as she was overcome with pleasure.

Leilani broke the kiss with a gasp. “I want more.”

Tasha smirked, her voice thick. “You want to be filled, don’t you?”

Leilani nodded, breathless. “Yes.”

Tasha reached over without a word and held up a massive black dildo. She must have brought it down with the lube earlier.

She held it up between them, cocked her head slightly, and grinned. “You ready to feel what made me scream so loud earlier? And what made you’re husband so keen to try that?” She nodded over to Marcus pounding away and Makoa’s ass. Both men were engrossed in their fun.

Leilani stared at it, wide-eyed, panting. Her cunt clenched at just the sight. “Do it,” she whispered. “I want it.”

Tasha leaned in for one more kiss, slow, deep, lingering, then pulled back and positioned the dildo between Leilani’s thighs.

“Spread wide for me, baby,” she murmured. “I’m going to stretch you wide open.”

Leilani cried out, a sharp gasp that turned into a moan as the thick toy parted her folds and slid in, inch by delicious inch.

“Ohh fuck! Tasha! Tasha!”

Leilani was writhing now, hips lifting to meet each slow thrust as Tasha eased the toy in and out of her drenched cunt. Her fingers moved to her own nipples, tugging and twisting them while her other hand slipped down to stroke her clit, moaning with every slow pump of the dildo.

Tasha fucked her steadily, one hand guiding the toy, the other gripping Leilani’s thigh, keeping her open and taken. Their mouths broke and rejoined in gasps and groans, moaning into each other’s mouths as their bodies rocked together.

“Oh god, yes,” Leilani whimpered between kisses. “It’s so big!”

A loud grunt from the other side of the room: Marcus, pounding Makoa, hard. Makoa’s voice followed, wrecked and breathless: “Yes, fuck, Marcus, don’t stop!”

Tasha smirked, eyes locked on Leilani. “You and your husband are both getting some big black cock right now.”

Leilani moaned, high, shameless, cunt clenching hard around the dildo.

Tasha leaned down, kissing her hard again, hips grinding as she fucked the toy deeper, faster, her hand now slapping against slick skin.

“I want to taste you,” Tasha breathed, sliding down to her knees in front of the armchair. “I’ve never done it before but, Jesus, I need it.”

Leilani couldn’t speak. Could only spread her legs wider.

Tasha pulled the huge dildo out of Tasha, leaving her cunt gaping open for a moment, before slowly tightening again. Then she leaned in and licked, one slow, flat stroke up Leilani’s slit, stopping to suck gently on her clit.

Leilani screamed. “Oh my God, Tasha!” Tasha moaned into her cunt like she was devouring a feast, licking and sucking, tongue pressing deep as her fingers returned, thrusting, curling, stroking her insides with great dexterity. 

Leilani’s thighs shook. She fisted Tasha’s tight curly black hair and rode her mouth shamelessly, hips grinding as her orgasm crested fast, too fast. “I’m gonna, fuck, I’m gonna cum!”

Tasha didn’t stop. Didn’t slow down. Just groaned in approval, sucking her clit harder, driving her fingers faster.

Leilani shattered.

Her body locked. Her mouth dropped open in a silent scream. Her cunt spasmed around Tasha’s fingers as wave after wave of pleasure crashed through her.

When it finally broke, she collapsed back into the chair, trembling, soaked, and utterly ruined.

Tasha sat back on her heels, lips shiny with slick, panting.

“Well,” she said, licking her fingers. “That’s something I’ll try again.”

Oh, hi there. Lovely to meet you.

I see you’ve found your way to my own little tale. The origin of how I came to be at Stateside Denims and how I came to be the guardian of a denim-clad harem of lovely ladies.

I was in two minds about whether or not to commit this memoir to paper. But when I found Jean Therapy, I figured, why the hell not? If Linda can do it, so can I.

I have to say, I was a little shocked when I stumbled across Linda’s delicious little story. But, that being said, she told it well. But let me tell you, her description of Nat doesn’t even begin to do that girl justice. Picture her the way Lin described her. Gorgeous, isn’t she? Well, multiply gorgeous by ten, and you’ve got Natalie.

I knew they were up to something that day Linda first came in shopping, and now I really wish I’d opened the dressing room door and slipped inside with them. Those naughty girls, they’re always at it like bunnies now.

Anyway, as you know, my name’s Roz. Short for Rosalie, thanks to a Bob Seger-loving father. I actually get a lot from him. My sassy attitude, quick temper and love of music, to name but a few things. I’m forty-two, so yes, she was right that I’m a little younger. And the shop has been a part of my life for the last seven years.

Lin wouldn’t have known when she took the job, but I’m more than just the manager of Stateside. I’m actually a part owner. I hold twenty-five per cent, while my business partner (and long-term girlfriend), Maggie, holds the other seventy-five.

She also didn’t quite quote me correctly. While I do indulge my bi side with the girls here (including the odd customer), and I do get to have a great deal of fun, I can assure you that I am very happily married. I and my hubby used to have a very active sex life. But, due to an accident around ten years ago, sadly, he just lost his mojo.

I won’t drag him into this any further; that’s really all you need to know. But we do have an agreement. Unlike Linda, I don’t have to sneak around and tell fibs. He fully allows and supports my various trysts and liaisons. He understands that a girl has…needs.

Anyway, let me get on with the real meat and potatoes of this story. What is it you’d really like to know, I wonder?

I could tell you about Kelly and Jo, the two ‘cheerleader’ types that Lin mentioned. I’m sure you’d love to know about the many, many fun times I’ve had with them. Both together and singly. Occasionally, even Maggie’s been in that sweaty mix, and that can get pretty fucking wild, let me tell you.

I could tell you about Jo’s porno-perfect body. Her pussy that’s still tighter than a mouse’s ear even at 29. Oh, and perhaps I could tease you even more by saying that her old school uniform still fits. Or I could tell you about Kelly’s expertise at wielding just about any sex toy you can imagine. (She’s particularly fond of a little Bluetooth-controlled number that I have tucked away in my knickers some days).

Those girls could flirt for a living. I swear they double their income in commission purely selling to guys.

Or, ooh, or I could tell you about the day Natalie’s cousin Mandy came looking for her and wound up spending the rest of the day with me instead. But I think, now I’m finding my groove with this writing lark, that little episode would make a pretty good follow-up short story.

No, I think you really need to know how me and Maggie met. Because without Maggie, the shop, my current life and this story and even Linda and Nat’s story wouldn’t even exist.

Maggie is forty-nine now. She’s around five feet eight and willow-slim. A proper clothes horse. She’s not a redhead and not a brunette like me, but sits somewhere in between. I actually think her long hair, when it catches the light, is her most striking feature. Add impossibly long legs, emerald green eyes and a pair of tits that would shame an old Page Three girl, and that’s my Maggie.

We’d actually known each other for a few years, due to intersecting social circles. We shared a lot of mutual friends but didn’t know each other personally all that well. Usually, it was a quick “Hi, how are you doing?” as we stood outside wherever we were, having a cigarette. (An awful habit we’ve both now kicked, I’m glad to say.) Perfectly sociable, but just not close friends. Yet.

Things changed, though, about a year before Stateside opened. One of our mutual friends, Jenny, was getting married. She didn’t want a rowdy hen do; instead, she wanted a week away with the girls on holiday. The chosen destination? The Greek island of Kos.

And so, disgustingly early one July morning, twelve women of varying ages departed Gatwick Airport. All in high spirits, all looking forward to a girls’ week. No husbands, no boyfriends, no hassles.

Maggie and I were seated together, giving us the better part of four hours to finally get to know one another.

We talked about work. I explained that I was an assistant manager in a chain store. But that my true passion was jeans and American clothing. The kind of clothes that can make you feel like a cowboy or a rock star.

If you’ve ever seen episode one of The Bear where Carmy has vintage Levi’s stashed everywhere… that’s our spare bedroom. I’ve trawled vintage stores and thrift shops up and down the UK and amassed quite the collection. Some to keep, some to resell.

I told her that I’d had my eye on an empty space in the mall for months, wanting to open my own store.

“So why don’t you?” She asked me, leaning closer.

“Well, me and the old man got quite the settlement for his accident. But it’s not enough to go all in, plus it has to supplement our income. And the banks won’t give me a business loan without a backer.”

“What do you actually do for a living, Mags?”

I had to ask, because whatever she did, it suited her. Her whole look screamed “independently wealthy”, from her simple but elegant dress down to the gladiator sandals she wore.

She wasn’t gaudy or ostentatious in any way, either. Her jewellery, although beautifully handmade, was leather and silver adorned with a few semi-precious stones.

Putting it bluntly, she looked filthy rich and hot as fuck.

“I’m an art dealer and broker,” she replied. “I move various pieces from gallery to gallery. Source some less-than-legit stuff for private collectors. And I hold a few choice pieces of my own.”

“Wow, finally someone with an interesting career,” I chuckled.

I ordered coffee as the concession cart came by, eyeing the pretty ginger air hostess in her uniform, a pair of very shapely legs adding to her allure. Maggie ordered one too, her arm brushing over my covered breasts as she leaned over to take it.

I suppressed a moan.

“I play the stock market too.” She continued. Art is my passion, but it’s far too hit and miss. So I make a little extra as an investor to squirrel away.

I had to admit, I was getting to like her. And the split in her dress that showed about fifteen miles of smooth, tanned leg wasn’t half bad to look at either.

“So, Roz, what would you call it? Your boutique? If you had the chance?”

“Either Union City Blues or something more ‘Western old frontier’, like Stateside – Denims and Outfitters.”

“Staff?” She enquired, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow.

“All girls, all pretty girls. It makes female customers feel at home and brings in the guys like bees to honey.”

“Hmmmm, sounds like you’ve got it all worked out.”

And so for the next hour or so, I regaled her (or bored her stupid) with my vision. The aesthetic, the soundtrack… the lot.

And all the while she listened and made the odd comment, and without even noticing it, we were sitting shoulder to shoulder like old friends, her shin brushing up and down mine.

I had no idea at the time that I was actually giving her a pitch.

When I came back from the awful, cramped little toilet with about an hour of the flight to go, I found a plastic cup filled with ice and a little whisky bottle on my chair tray. Maggie was already sipping, despite it only being around 10.00am UK time.

“Isn’t it a bit early for that?” I asked with a grin.

“Oh, c’mon, Roz, we’re girls on holiday, on the loose. Live a little.”

I squeezed back into my seat, not altogether sure if I’d just felt her hand on my arse or not.

She leaned so close, her hair brushing my face.

“So, Roz, let’s really get to know each other,” she whispered. “A talkative little bird tells me that you’re bi. Is that true?”

Her calf brushed deliciously up my leg again.

Fuck me, who the hell had told her that? While I’ve never hidden my liking for the fairer sex, I don’t exactly broadcast it either.

I upended the little bottle into the cup and swallowed half the contents.

“Yeah, it’s true,” I whispered. “I’m partial to a little girl-on-girl fun, and totally with hubby’s approval.”

“And I also hear that you have a penchant for very dirty talk… is that right?”

Fuck me sideways, I knew who’d blabbed. Anna had told her. That gobby bitch never could keep her mouth shut. She was the only one in our friend group that I’d been to bed with. I wondered if Maggie had played with her, too.

I downed my drink, and Maggie conjured up two more little bottles.

“Yep, that’s true. Why do you ask?”

“Because I’ve spent the whole flight wanting to unbutton those sexy cutoffs and slip my hand in them. I want to know if your pussy is as hot as the rest of you. I just hope I get the chance while we’re away. I’ve wanted to fuck you into a wet mess for ages, Roz.”

I choked on my drink in pure surprise, as well as feeling my pussy wake from her slumber with an excited start.

After I caught my breath, I slid my hand up her thigh and breathed in her ear. “I’m… err, fuck, sure we could… sneak off for a bit. Just let me suck your fingers clean after. I fucking love the taste of my own cunt on someone else.”

She purred in approval and discreetly rolled her tongue around in my ear.

This little break away from home was really starting to get interesting.

When the plane touched down, we began the agonising process of deplaning. That slow crawl the length of the plane, inch by inch, one toe length at a time, all the while being jostled by our fellow travellers.

As the obnoxious dickhead behind me shoved me into Maggie’s back, I kicked things up a notch. Without warning, I grabbed her sexy backside in both hands, caressed her and then finished strong with a good squeeze.

‘Ohhhh,” I whispered into her ear, feigning disappointment. “You’ve got knickers on under there.”

She tipped her head back and chuckled, “Patience, babes, you’ll have them off me soon enough. Trust me.”

That first blast of Greek heat hit as soon as we stepped off the plane, as we trooped into the arrivals terminal. Customs and baggage claim completed, we twelve British girls abroad headed out to find our transfer coach.

Ninety minutes later, we arrived at our home for the next week. The Golden Beach Resort and Spa. It couldn’t have been more perfect. The pool was massive, with plenty of sunbeds and a few poolside bars. Just what we needed.

With rooms assigned, I was a little bummed that Maggie and I wouldn’t be sharing, but the bride-to-be wasn’t giving us any time to settle in or argue the rooming situation. We still had a bit of afternoon left to grab drinks by the pool before heading out for dinner.

After travelling and a first busy day, I have to say I was almost relieved to be sharing a room with one of the more reserved girls. I slept like a baby that night after a meal of lamb kleftiko, too much wine and a large nightcap.

xoxoxoxoxo

The following day was a pool day. And Maggie and I instantly gravitated to one another. Selecting a pair of loungers under a huge bamboo parasol, a way away from the rest of our party.

She was wearing a sexy as hell plain black bikini with a floral sarong wrapped around her waist. I couldn’t help but gawp at her body. Her, quite frankly, amazing tits, her enticing tummy and those long, long legs. She reclined languidly. All that was missing was the slave with a giant fan to complete the look.

We talked nonstop. Work, family, what we like and don’t like. All the stuff that friends talk about. All the while I could feel the tension and anticipation building between us. Seductive smiles, soft teasing touches, and lip bites. Just about every possible way of telling each other, without actually speaking, that we were going to demolish each other in bed. And sooner, rather than later.

We’d shared a light lunch and were back in our spot, soaking up the sun. It was approaching the hottest part of the day when Maggie sat up. Her legs dropping either side of the lounger.

She reached for my hand, stroking her fingers over my palm. “I’m going for a siesta,” she announced, emphasising the word. “And I think you need to come and join me.”

The rest of the girls had gone into town for the afternoon, so we both knew that our rooms were totally unoccupied for a good few hours. Finally, it was game on.

We grabbed our bags and both quickly rinsed off under the poolside shower, and I willingly let her lead me by the hand into the cool, air-conditioned shade of the hotel lobby. My nipples instantly stiffening thanks to the cool air and my wet bikini. Fuck, she looked hot. Her wet hair clinging to her shoulders, her skin glistening from the shower. I reached out and cupped her practically bare bum cheek. I was rewarded with a low purr of approval.

The lift doors slid closed, and without warning, Maggie had me against the wall. She pressed her lips to mine, pushing her tongue into my mouth. Entwining hers with mine as she pushed her knee against my barely covered mons.

I could only moan in pure fucking bliss as we made out and I cupped and squeezed one of her tits as our bodies moved together.

As we reached our floor, I pulled out my keycard; my room was closest, and we practically ran down the hall. I felt like a teenager. That feeling of Mum and Dad being gone and knowing that you’re about to do something so deliciously naughty.

We stumbled into my room, gasping, groping, pawing at each other. I kicked off my wet flip-flops as Maggie pushed me to the wall. I hadn’t even noticed her untying the sides of my bikini, and it fell away as my leg kicked out.

“Mmmm fuck, I was right,” she growled in my ear. “Just as hot as the rest of you.”

I mewled…no, I whimpered, in a combination of lust and need as this beautiful woman deftly, expertly caressed my pussy. Our tongues knotted, unravelled and re-tied themselves. I could’ve kissed her forever and screw the consequences. Fuck, she was hot, and I was hot for her.

She smelt of Ambre Solaire; she tasted of the two Mythos beers she’d downed like a sailor at lunch. And to ice the cake, she teased, caressed and tortured my aching, now sopping wet little clam like no girl ever had before.

I eased the top of her bikini down, dipping my head to claim a beautiful, pencil eraser-sized nipple in my lips as I pushed my shoulders back to the door and slung my left leg up over her hip.

I felt her fingers slide into me, instantly finding my sponge, her palm roughly massaging my clit.

“Fuck me, Mags. Take it. Take my little pussy and fuck me, please.”

“Mmmm, such a horny dirty girl; I knew I’d love getting it on with you. Your cunt is fucking dripping. Did I cause that, did I?”

“You fucking know you did, you sexy fucking tease,” I moaned, my breath ragged.

She pulled her fingers out with a satisfying ‘schlurrrp’ and boldly slipped them in my mouth.

Good to my word, I eagerly sucked my juices off of her glistening fingers. And with a feline grace, she slunk to her knees.

She gave my thigh an affectionate squeeze as I draped my left leg over her shoulder. Pulling her toward my sodden, needy pussy.

“Fuck ye, ye, Yessss,” I hissed as she captured my clit in her lips, coaxing her out, as she mercilessly drove her fingers back into me.

God, it was the best finger fuck I’d ever experienced. I teetered on one foot. Bobbing, desperately fucking her mouth and fingers, as I mewled, moaned… and eventually let out a banshee wail as she brought me to a crashing tidal wave of a climax.

I could feel a hot sweat break out all over me, and that wonderful, warm orgasmic flush spread from my tits to my hips. She was good, and I wanted more. Much, much more.

I gazed at her hungrily, discarding my bikini top, and finally getting naked.

It didn’t even occur to me that we were about to screw on my roommate’s bed. That was an inconsequential formality. God, she looked so sexy, climbing onto the foot of the bed on all fours, dropping her bikini top casually to the floor.

“C’mon then, here, girl,” she beckoned. Grinning over her shoulder and playfully slapping her own arse. “Here, kitty, kitty; it’s my turn. Come and fuck me, you gorgeous slut. Come and show me why Anna thinks you’re a world-class shag. Her exact words.”

“Oh, so we’re playing this game, are we?” I thought to myself. I climbed onto the bed, stroking her thighs and arse as I leant forward to kiss her.

Her bikini bottom was delightfully skimpy, and before she had a chance to react, I grasped a hold of the thin gusset and tugged out and upward. The flimsy material bunched, and I dragged it through her lust-swollen lips, sawing it across her clit.

“Oh fufufufuuuckohgodohgod, fuuhhucking Bitch, she whimpered”.

I spanked her thigh. “C’mon, arse up, sexy,” I commanded her.

“Good girl,” I praised her as she obligingly lifted her hips and splayed her thighs.

My puss gave an excited twitch as I watched a thick, gooey string of ‘pure woman’ drip from between her thighs to the sheets below. Fuck, she was a hot one.

She squirmed, swaying her bum as I dragged her bikini bottom over the engorged, heated flesh of her pussy. Her sexy little pucker clearly in view. I leaned forward and dribbled on her tight little rosebud before sliding my tongue in. French kissing her most intimate hole.

“Fuuuuck Rozzzzmfuuuckk,” she mumbled.

“Am I going to have to keep you quiet?

“Make me!” she challenged.

Challenge accepted.

“On your fucking back, Missy.” I flipped her and dragged off her bikini bottoms.

Her pussy was a sight to behold. Beautifully lippy with the most prominent clit I’d ever seen. Little man in the boat? This little guy looked like he was about to abandon ship.

I gazed at us for a moment. Relishing the pornographic view in the huge wall-mounted mirror at the end of the bed.

I squealed in pleasure, taking her clit in my lips as I swung my leg over her head. Before I knew it, she’d happily buried her face in me again, lifting her beautiful, lithe legs and wrapping them over my hips. Pulling me to her. Holding me in place.

I rocked on her mouth like a happy kid on one of those supermarket rides as I licked, lapped and sucked on her pussy. Well aware of the noise we were making and pretty sure the whole hotel could hear us.

I could feel her building up to a big finish, so I leant back, pressing my cunt firmly to her lips. Taking my hand, I drove two fingers into her ‘spiderman style’ and lifted her backside clear of the bed as I worried at her G-spot.

I played the ‘Adriana Chechik’ card to win our sexual duel (thank god for Pornhub’s instructional videos), swiping frantically at her clit with my free hand. I could feel her pussy tighten and recoil. Here we go. Like old Ahab, I should’ve yelled, “Thar she blows.”

“Nononogodddfuckfuckfuckk YEEEEAAAHSS,” she screamed as I happily orgasmed on her face again. What she did next will stay etched in my mind forever, though. She squirted. Like a fucking whale surfacing to breathe and expel. Myth? No. No fucking way. It’s all true. She exploded. Some of it splattering the full-length mirror three feet from the end of the bed. The rest of it soaking me….and my roommate’s sheets.

To misquote Julius Caesar, “I came, she squirted, I fucking conquered.”

World-class shag status intact, we weren’t aware that most of the girls had returned to our floor. And a small audience had gathered outside the door, attracted by our libidinous ruckus.

As I rolled off of a delightfully spent and utterly beautiful-looking Maggie, we were given a cheer and a round of applause from outside. worthy of a cup-winning goal at Wembley Stadium.

Needless to say, after our sexy siesta, rooms were rearranged, and Maggie and I spent the rest of our week in the Dodecanese practically joined at the hip.

We said tearful goodbyes at the long-stay car park in Gatwick when we arrived back in Blighty, promising that this wasn’t just a ‘fun in the sun’ holiday fling.

And as you know already, it wasn’t. Far from it. We’ve been inseparable ever since.

xoxoxoxoxo

It was about six or seven months later. I was walking through the mall on my way to work when I noticed a sign on My Shop.

It had been vacant all this time, and all of a sudden, there was an ‘Under Offer’ sign hanging from its frontage. I was heartbroken. Not that I could ever afford it, but a girl can dream. Can’t she?

Later that morning, Maggie came in to see if she could take me to lunch. Nothing unusual there. I eagerly said yes, desperate to be cheered up.

As we left the shop, she stopped me.

“Hang on, sweet cheeks; you’ll need this,” she said, fastening a blindfold over my eyes.

“What the fuck, Mags?”

“Trust me, Love, trust me.”

She led me god knows where, till she stopped for a second. I heard keys jangle, and I was gently manhandled through a doorway.

“My gift to you… partner,” she whispered, untying the blindfold. “Taa-daaa, how does a seventy-five to twenty-five per cent split sound? Welcome to Stateside Denims and Outfitters.”

We were standing in the little shop I’d so desperately yearned for.

She popped a cute straw cowboy hat on my head, kissed me and said, “Please say yes. You deserve your own shop, Roz.”

I won’t bore you with all the legalese and hassles with contractors and suppliers. But, four months later, we opened the doors to our first customers.

Mags and I are a solid thing to this day, and the rest, as they say, is history.

Oh, and if you ever find yourself browsing in our little shop, just say “Jean Therapy” to me or any of the girls, and we’ll give you the star treatment and our thirty per cent discount.

See you soon, I hope. And if you want to hear more, don’t be shy. You all just holler out now.

Shelly stands at the mirror, tiredly adjusting her hair while remnants of her past—makeup and neglected beauty products—lie scattered on the counter. She selects a short red skirt and a low-cut lace top from her closet, symbols of her former, freer self. Preparing to confront Mark for her freedom, she wonders how much of her old identity remains.

Digging through the clutter, she uncaps a buried lipstick. The red, almost foreign, on her lips defies the monotony of motherhood, and both excites and worries her. Ignoring practicality, she chooses the scandalously short skirt and a sheer white lace blouse with undone buttons, determined to reclaim her confidence.

As she rehearses her words and plans her plea, she envisions Mark’s tired face and battles with how to express her heart without testing his patience. The mirror reflects both the vibrant Shelly of the past and the fragile, weary new Shelly. Despite lingering doubts, she steels herself, knowing she has too much to lose. Straightening her skirt and shoulders, she steps forward, her heart racing with both hope and fear.

Mark enters with guilt written on his face and a loosened tie, avoiding her expectant gaze and muttering rehearsed excuses about overtime and deadlines. Unable to hide his neglect, he starts, “I’m sorry, Shel. There’s this project—”

Shelly cuts him off sharply, “Another project? Another deadline? What about us, Mark? What about me?” Her voice, wavering between plea and scream, fills the room with unspoken accusations.

He flinches as his defenses crumble. “I’m doing this for us. It’s important.”

“What’s important is that you’re never here!” The accusation cut through his weak excuses.

Their argument spirals like a storm, each word a gust of fury. She accuses him of missed dinners and forgotten anniversaries, the erosion of their life together. Mark defends himself with a dedication to work, valuing love in paychecks and stability.

“I can’t just walk away from my responsibilities, Shelly. You knew this when we got married.”

“I didn’t know I’d become a single mother with a ghost for a husband!” Her words are wild, flailing, seeking purchase in the chasm that’s grown between them.

His silence is the most damning response, the absence of empathy a cavern she cannot cross. Mark looks away, and the motion severs a connection already frayed and worn. The room is a crucible of failed dreams, heated by their rising voices and cooling just as quickly with his indifference.

“Do you even care anymore, Mark?” Her voice trembles with hurt, a fragile thing she hopes will pierce through his armor of practicality.

“Of course, I care! I’m doing this all for you and the girls!” He says it with the fervor of a man who believes his own propaganda, but the words clang hollow, an empty vessel that can’t hold her pain.

Shelly sees Mark reach for his phone, a betrayal that breaks her patience. “Forget it. You’ve already checked out. Why do I bother?” she says, desperation creeping in.

Mark glances up, shifting from guilt to annoyance. “You’re overreacting. We can do this next weekend.”

“Next weekend? How often have I heard that?” Her voice quivers, her façade collapsing.

Their argument ignites, fueled by Shelly’s pent-up emotions from a silent, lonely marriage. Mark’s soothing words only increase her anger.

“You wanted to be alone with your work? Fine.” Her words slam the door, a defiance against a man she can’t reach.

Mark watches helplessly as Shelly unravels, her anger unable to mask her pain. “We can talk about this,” he pleads, his voice weak. She laughs bitterly, clutching her purse strap.

Shelly moves frantically, like someone barely holding herself together. She paces, the twins’ cries growing louder with each step. Their wails pull at her, but she resists, desperate for air, freedom, and escape from his neglect.

“You can’t just leave, Shelly.” Panic laces his voice as the enormity of her intent crashes over him.

“Watch me.” The words are a dare, a defiance, a final confession of her despair.

Her rapid footsteps sync with her frantic heartbeat as she pauses at the twins’ room—a final moment of hesitation. The cries rise, and for an instant, Mark hopes her maternal instincts will hold her back.

But she squares her shoulders and declares, “You wanted to focus on your work? Fine. The kids are yours tonight.” Her words seal the end of what they once had.

Mark watches as she leaps into the car, their distance thick with betrayal and unmet expectations. The engine roars to life as she speeds away, taillights flickering like rebellious signals. Her mind echoes with the twins’ cries and Mark’s stunned face—reminders of what she’s fleeing.

Though she’d left him before, never had she been so decisive. The unknown road ahead promises escape. Freedom tastes sharp and metallic as she accelerates into the night, leaving Mark and the twins with a deafening silence.

Gripping the steering wheel, she tries to squeeze out the anger. The endless road tempts her to outrun the past, her raw scream turning to bile. She longs to hit him, to unleash her unspoken words as he quietly stands by. Tears tarnish her vision beneath streetlights.

Her body remains tense, teetering on the edge of an explosion. He never fought for her. Though she blinks furiously to hold back tears, they fall, soaking her shirt as she gasps for air.

Gradually, exhaustion softens her fury into a state of emptiness. She had screamed that nothing was enough while he stared past her, oblivious. Now, with her body trembling under the weight of memory and his absence, she eases off the gas and drives into the dark.

The car slows, and so does she. Her grip loosens, her shoulders drop, and the heat turns cold. Sadness creeps in like fog, pressing on her lungs. She cries, not in anger, but with nothing left to burn. She bites her lip until she tastes copper and salt.

She thinks about the twins, Mark, and the family she has, but isn’t sure what she wants. Do they miss her, or haven’t they noticed her absence? Guilt suffocates her, making her feel selfish and ungrateful, but she can’t return. Not yet.

The theater’s flashing lights beckon Shelly into the parking lot, daring her to make a decision. She watches the marquee, the couples, the friends—everything she lacks. Her face is streaked, her breath shuddering. Tapping the steering wheel, a small decision takes root in her chest. She might go in.

The marquee offers her a brief escape from toddler chaos and domestic monotony, tempting her with unknown films and a chance to rediscover herself.

Her hands tremble as she wipes her red, swollen face in the mirror. She can’t face the world like this, caught between going in or going home. The more she lingers, the more her longing grows, pushing at her restraint.

It’s just a movie, a brief, rebellious escape. Yet, it’s everything she’s been missing and needs. Her heart pounds wildly, drowning out doubt and guilt. She is doing this. She is.

She opens the car door, and the night air cools on her skin and soul, filling her with unexpected hope and freedom. Her feet touch the ground, unsteady yet firm. The decision feels reckless yet right, like a secret she’s finally sharing.

It’s a small act, a fleeting rebellion, but it’s hers. As she leaves the car and her old life, Shelly feels the shackles of her reality fall away. She feels free for the first time in a long while. Shelly goes in.

Shelly leans against the wall in the crowded movie theater, defying the solitude she feels. Her mind replays an argument with her husband, echoing amid the lobby’s noise. She hugs herself, feeling isolated among the couples and friends around her. Her eyes drift over the movie listings until she notices a young woman with striking green eyes and auburn hair. Their eyes meet, and a smile from the stranger leaves Shelly breathless.

The movie listings become obscure, and she forces herself to choose something, repeating to herself that she deserves this moment. Blocking out the surrounding noise, Shelly’s attention returns to the stranger’s vibrant presence in the grey lobby. Their eyes meet again, the connection undeniable.

The auburn-haired woman smiles easily, and Shelly feels a surprising flush. She tries to hide it, but her eyes betray her, settling on the stranger. The young woman carries herself with an untethered grace as she leans casually against the wall, alone yet not. Shelly’s chest tightens, and she grips herself harder.

A hissing inner voice asks, “Who are you here with?”—an echo of a fight she wants to avoid. Shelly’s lips press tight as she bites her cheek; her arms ache from her own restraint. The list of movies becomes clouded as she struggles to focus, desperate to find something light to distract her.

Under the woman’s gaze, Shelly’s resolve wavers. One ticket, one woman. Feigning indifference, she scans the movies again, hiding her inner turmoil.

Shelly approaches the ticket counter, feeling the weight of the bustling lobby’s buttery smells and neon lights. Her voice falters as she buys her ticket, the cashier’s knowing look leaving her feeling exposed.

Shelly clutches the ticket like a lifeline, her steps unsteady but determined. At the concession stand, the smell of popcorn and neon lights overwhelms her. She fumbles with her wallet, the lobby noise drowning her thoughts. Ordering a Diet Coke and popcorn, she feels every eye is on her. Her hand shakes as she pays. Grabbing her snacks, her movements are jerky as everything feels magnified—the buttery smell, soda fizz, and sticky floor. Shelly struggles to hold everything, including herself, together.

The moment stretches with nerves and anticipation. Her head spins from internal chaos and external noise. She moves away from the stand, juggling her ticket, snacks, and emotions. Alone. The word blazes in her mind, both accusation and truth.

The movie title softens on the ticket as Shelly hesitates at the theater entrance. Each step forward feels like a thrilling yet terrifying leap into the unknown, making her question her sanity, intentions, and identity. The clash of past and present leaves her gasping, bound by the word “alone” that anchors her fears and choices.

Shelly sits by herself in the back row of the theater, clutching her popcorn and Diet Coke, surrounded by whispering couples at a romantic comedy. The dim light highlights her solitude, and as the theater darkens, her unease grows. The empty seats around her seem to mock her loneliness, and she shifts uncomfortably, regretting her decision to come unattended.

Despite trying to focus on the movie, Shelly’s attention drifts to the couples around her. She imagines their thoughts about her, sitting alone, her face flushed with embarrassment. She tells herself she deserves a night to herself, but the words feel hollow.

Then she notices the same young woman with long auburn hair she saw in the lobby moving toward her. Shelly assumes she’s headed elsewhere, but the woman’s confident approach is unmistakable. Shelly holds her breath, unsure why she feels a jolt of anticipation.

“Mind if I join you?” the woman asks, her eyes bright and unyielding. Shelly’s heart races at the unexpected question. “I’m April, by the way,” the woman adds. Shelly nods, flustered, and quietly replies, “No, I don’t mind,” as she introduces herself.

As April slides into the seat beside her, Shelly is acutely aware of the charged shift in the air, the transformation from a solitary, uncomfortable evening to something unexpectedly thrilling. Her initial embarrassment is overshadowed by a mix of emotions she hasn’t felt in years: curiosity, excitement, even a slight fear of where this night might lead. She watches April’s movements, the way she settles in, as if she owns the space around her. Shelly’s popcorn sits untouched in her lap, her thoughts spinning away from the movie entirely. The screen darkens into background noise, a dim glow that only highlights the real story unfolding right beside her.

Shelly sits with tension, acutely aware of April sitting next to her. Their elbows are nearly touching, and she can feel the warmth emanating from April’s body. As the movie begins, Shelly’s attention is drawn more to the gentle contact of April’s leg against hers, sending a small thrill through her. She steals glances at April’s enchanting face and smile. When April notices her gaze, she softly asks, “Why are you here alone?” Shelly quickly averts her eyes, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment and an unfamiliar longing, clutching the armrest to steady herself before quietly explaining about her earlier interaction with her husband.

“Oh, you poor thing,” April replies sympathetically, her voice soft and soothing. She reaches out and gently pats the back of Shelly’s hand with a comforting touch. Her hand lingers, warmth radiating through the brief connection, before her fingertips lightly whisk across Shelly’s skin, a feather-like caress that conveys understanding and care. Gradually, her touch begins to slide away, leaving behind an echo of solace and empathy while sending shivers of arousal and anxiety through Shelly’s body.

Every slight movement from April overwhelms Shelly’s senses. Their legs nearly touch, sparking a surge of sensations. April’s floral and vanilla perfume is both overwhelming and alluring. Shelly longs to inhale it deeply, but is too nervous, her focus drifting as possibilities and fears stretch endlessly.

Every glance at April is a secret rebellion against the life Shelly thought she knew. April’s sharp features and genuine smile captivate her, leaving Shelly puzzled by such ease and presence. Her own tension feels childish, yet she can’t stop looking, drawn to understand this mysterious stranger and her profound impact on her.

April appears absorbed and relaxed, enjoying the movie’s jokes, while Shelly feels like a bundle of exposed wires. Her laughter seems forced, masking her inner turmoil. Every moment April engages with the film magnifies the gap between them: April is carefree and vibrant, while Shelly is cautious and full of unvoiced questions. Shelly wonders if April senses her confusion and is drawn to her awkwardness like a moth to a flame.

Shelly is captivated by April’s effortless grace, contrasting with her own hesitance and self-imposed limits. She envies April’s freedom from expectations and wonders why April chose to sit next to her, curious about what drove her to do that.

Dim lighting washes over the theater as the sounds of the movie mix with whispers from the audience. Shelly tries to concentrate on the screen, but all she feels is April’s body close to hers. Her touch is light and deliberate, an arm brushing against her own. Shelly’s heart races, and she tenses, overwhelmed by the familiarity and the wrongness of it all. When April places her hand on Shelly’s thigh, the warmth seeps through, and Shelly’s breathing quickens. She’s frozen, her eyes wide, shock mingling with something else—something dangerously like desire.

In the intimate darkness, Shelly was acutely aware of April’s scent and presence, something she never anticipated. Squirming, she tries to focus on the screen, where a couple holds hands and makes plans—so innocent compared to this. The actress seems familiar, someone Shelly liked before her daughters were born, before she lost track of movies and herself.

April is too close, her laughter soft, mingling with the sound of the audience, conspiratorial. It makes Shelly’s insides coil. April’s touch is casual, and Shelly should be able to brush it off and laugh about it later. But she’s not laughing now, not when she’s acutely aware of how it felt. Deliberate. Intense. Something Mark never does anymore, touch her with such easy familiarity. She’s still in shock, at the theater, at herself.

The warmth of April’s hand seeps through her skin, melting the tension Shelly didn’t know she carried. She feels herself blush, her breathing quick and shallow. Shelly can’t make sense of her body’s reaction, so she clings to her confusion, letting it mask her thrill. How is she supposed to respond? She should say something, set boundaries, and think of Mark. But all she can do is sit, stunned, in the intimate darkness, unable to tear herself away.

Shelly tenses at the contact, shocked by her own visceral reaction. She tries to keep her attention on the screen, but April’s proximity is overwhelming. Her heart races, her senses heightened by April’s nearness. Shelly feels conflicted, guilt mingling with an unfamiliar thrill. She’s aware of the risk and inappropriateness, but can’t help feeling drawn to April’s confidence. Shelly’s mind flashes to Mark, deepening her turmoil.

Her grip on the armrest tightens. She needs to focus, needs to concentrate on the movie, but the film becomes cloudy, and all she can focus on is April, how little effort it takes her, how daring she is. It’s a choice for April. But for Shelly, is it? She wishes she were different, a better mother, a better wife, more satisfied, not even here, at the theater, with someone like April, a girl who clearly wants more than a movie date. Shelly knows what it must mean to April, but she pretends she doesn’t, or at least tries not to for as long as possible.

April’s touch leaves Shelly overwhelmed with panic and excitement. She struggles within, realizing she’s a married straight woman, not one who should be getting seduced by another woman. But reluctantly, she likes it. Her mind is a blur of noise and images, her heart pounding. She attempts to speak but is silenced by April’s smile, which draws her back to the screen and reminds her of desire and losing herself.

Shelly can’t deny the pleasure of April’s hand on her thigh, despite feeling it’s a betrayal. Her breath quickens, and she fails to push April away, her heart racing. Shelly struggles with her composure, the theater’s laughter masking her turmoil. April’s touch ignites a mix of fear and desire, and though Shelly considers ending it, she doesn’t. Her body responds in thrilling, terrifying ways she thought she’d outgrown. Overwhelmed by unfamiliar emotions and April’s boldness, Shelly’s senses are consumed, and her internal conflict intensifies. The experience is unlike anything she has ever felt, even with Mark.

Shock and desire leave Shelly breathless as she wrestles with her longing and loyalty to Mark. She’s captivated by the intensity and rawness of her emotions, discovering a side of herself she hadn’t known. In the theater with April, Mark, and the years of absence fade away. She feels weak, alive, ashamed, ecstatic—she feels all of these things. Shelly catches her loud breath, closes her eyes, and lets April’s touch melt her defenses, awakening buried desires. Shelly learns, re-learns herself, and embraces the unexpected pleasure, letting her internal resistance crumble.

Shelly’s breath catches as April’s hand slowly moves up her thigh, each touch deliberate and electrifying. She’s overwhelmed by pleasure, her fingers gripping the armrest as she struggles for composure. April’s breath is hot on her ear, and it shatters her defenses when she seductively whispers, “Stop fighting it, Shelly. I can tell you want this to happen. You’ve never experienced anything like this before, have you? Let me be the first to show you how incredible it can be. Just say yes, and I’ll make you feel things you never thought possible.”

Shelly’s world narrows to April’s touch, her body betraying her with longing. Her pulse races, her skin hot, unsure where she ends, and the touch begins. It’s an intoxicating blur; she fights for calm, but everything is overwhelming. Her heart pounds, breaths ragged, light-headed from the thrill of the moment. Shelly’s desire is electric, consuming her, and leaving her exposed and vulnerable. April leans in, her voice a low, enticing murmur, “You don’t have to hide from me, Shelly. I know you feel it. The spark, the connection. Let go of everything else and let your body experience this.”

Shelly grips the armrest tightly, a mix of trepidation and yearning battling within her as April’s hand ventures further up her skirt. Each moment chips away at her resolve, her composure slipping as April’s whispers ignite a fire she struggles to contain. She leans into the forbidden sensation, torn between the pull of desire and the weight of guilt as April’s hand rests on Shelly’s skirt, her fingers grazing her upper thighs, teasing and lingering just shy of her most intimate spot.

April leans in, her voice a soft, insistent purr, “You’re gorgeous when you’re torn apart, Shelly. Let me take your pain away. Let me make you feel more alive than ever before.”

Lost in the overwhelming sensation, Shelly feels herself succumbing to the undeniable truth of her body’s reaction. April’s sweet, persistent whispers dismantle her defenses, each word a seductive promise urging her to surrender. Unprepared for the raw intensity, she feels an all-consuming need and wants, a craving she can’t deny. April’s fingers press insistently against Shelly’s mound, the thin fabric of her clothing merely a token barrier that does nothing to stifle the electric sensation.

April’s voice is a low, sultry whisper, “Let me show you how good it can be, Shelly. Give in and let yourself feel absolutely everything.”

Shelly’s breath catches in her throat, a gasp escaping as waves of pleasure ripple through her. Her lips part involuntarily, and she bites down to suppress any incriminating sounds. The pleasure is unlike anything she has experienced, even with Mark, and it terrifies her, the illicit thrill heightening her internal conflict as she teeters on the edge of this forbidden indulgence.

The overwhelming sensation grips Shelly, igniting her with a scorching intensity under April’s touch, unraveling her defenses. She wasn’t supposed to feel this desire, to crave it, but it engulfed her completely. Her fingers dig harder into the armrest, a futile attempt to retain composure, conscious of the public setting—they’re in a crowded theater, after all—but she can’t bring herself to care. The movie and the audience dim into oblivion as she succumbs to the raw, dizzying want ignited by April’s caress.

As Shelly’s resolve crumbles, April senses her hesitance but grows more assured. Shelly’s breath comes in ragged gasps; her skin is flushed, and each nerve is pulsating with sensation. Overwhelmed by the desire she never intended to acknowledge, she feels both lost and found, unveiling an aspect of herself she never knew existed. Shelly’s yearning becomes inescapable, and April’s murmured words only amplify it, pushing her further into the abyss of longing.

Shelly is consumed and reshaped by the pleasure, encountering a forceful hunger she believed was long buried. She fights against it, yet the battle is short-lived; she surrenders, embracing the desire that both liberates and traps her. Shelly’s internal struggle gives way, and she submits to the craving she has denied, feeling both free and conflicted by the boundary she’s now irrevocably crossed.

With eyes closed, Shelly releases her grip on control, letting the moment redefine her. Her former life shatters, giving way to a new existence. Reckless, untamed, and complete, her uneven breaths echo the symphony of her awakening—a melody she once knew intimately, now sung anew with reluctant passion.

The movie theater feels like a confessional box, with Shelly in the booth and April, her impish priest. Shelly focuses on the screen, terrified of letting herself do anything else, and that’s when she feels it—the sharp, electric rush of April’s hand slipping under her skirt until she’s pushing aside the fabric of her panties and finding her clit with a sinful sense of direction.

Shelly’s breath catches. She grips the armrests so hard her knuckles go white. She’s either going to moan out loud or leap out of her seat, but neither happens because April leans over with her hot, minty breath on Shelly’s neck. “You like that, don’t you?” April whispers; her voice is silky and amused. On-screen, the couple is just getting to their first kiss.

Shelly almost forgets where she is, not just the movie theater, but this entire new world where she’s allowed herself to be seduced by another woman. What would Mark say? Her friends? The other moms in the playgroup? It’s dark enough that no one can see how red her cheeks have become. Or how far her blouse is unbuttoned—or April’s hand in her panties.

Oh God, her hand is still in my panties! Shelly tries to pull herself together, inhaling a shaky breath that tastes like popcorn and sin. The lights of the theater flash over their faces, illuminating April’s cocky grin, her lips dangerously close to Shelly’s ear.

“You’re all tense,” April teases. Shelly’s shoulders are near her ears, a bundle of nerves about to snap. She can’t believe she’s letting April do this to her.

April turns and watches her, waiting for Shelly to meet her gaze. “Want me to stop?” she asks, knowing full well the answer is in the way Shelly presses her legs together, in the sharp inhale, and the way her lips part but say nothing. The silence feels like a betrayal of everything Shelly thought she knew about herself. It’s loud enough for the whole theater to hear. April leans in and whispers, “You don’t, do you, Shelly? You want to feel what it’s like to have another woman touch you like this.”

“Yes,” Shelly finally breathes out, her voice cracking like the dam inside her. She leans back, trying to lose herself in the dark, wishing the plush seat would swallow her whole. It’s happening. She’s letting it happen, and she can’t stop it. April’s fingers move with precision and intention, probing Shelly’s pussy while circling her clit. April whispers, “That’s it, Shelly. Just feel. Feel how good this is. Feel how much your body is enjoying this.”

Shelly’s gasp echoes in her head, and she almost chokes on it, trying to stifle the sound before it gets out. Her pulse is a roaring waterfall, crashing through her so violently that she barely registers April’s voice, whispering soft and low, guiding her deeper into this new territory. April murmurs, “You’re so wet, Shelly. You’re so ready for this. Let go and just feel the pleasure.” Shelly wants to close her legs, but her thighs tremble, welcoming April in spite of herself. April’s voice is a low, sensual purr, “That’s my girl. Just let yourself go and feel every sensation. This is all for you, Shelly. I’m going to make you come so hard.”

On-screen, the couple spins into their first dance, violins loud and cinematic. Shelly’s face flushes with fear and primal excitement as April’s fingers maintain their relentless rhythm. She’s on fire, electric, losing control, and she doesn’t want it to end.

Shelly’s hips betray her, lifting to meet April’s hand in small, involuntary thrusts. Her blouse is open, hanging off her shoulders, and she’s stunned by the realization that she’s glad it is. She’s glad for the air on her skin, glad for April’s touch, glad for the guilty thrill that keeps building and building, obliterating the part of her that thinks this is all so very wrong.

A diamond ring appears on-screen as an orchestra swells. Shelly’s world narrows to the secret space between them, April’s fingers expertly playing her.

Fighting back the urge to moan, she wonders if this is free fall—dizzy, weightless, rushing toward something both terrifying and inevitable.

April pulls back, smiling as if she has Shelly all figured out, as if she knows exactly where this is going. And she does. “I want you to enjoy this,” April whispers, like a blessing and a command all at once. The words tip Shelly further over the edge, and she feels herself slipping—slipping from the seat and from the last of her defenses, falling entirely into April’s hands.

Shelly’s breast is surrendered, her body betraying her defenses. April claims it with her mouth, her tongue moving in sync with her fingers on Shelly’s clit. She bites her lip, tasting blood, trying to stay silent in the dark theater, not wanting anyone to know she’s succumbing. April’s fiery hair contrasts starkly against Shelly’s skin, but instead of panic, Shelly feels a deep, insistent ache. The world fades away, leaving her both terrified and completely aroused.

Shelly shudders with each pass of April’s tongue, overwhelmed and yearning for more. Her mind, usually anxious, is calmed by April’s touch, yet part of her still wants to pull away, fearing they’ll be caught. Her pulse thunders, impossible to halt now. Terrified of being seen, she’s even more afraid of losing the heat filling her.

The theater is filled with unsuspecting couples, popcorn lovers, oblivious to Shelly’s desires. Shelly grips the armrests, grounding herself as April’s warm breath and teasing teeth make her gasp. Her involuntary moan goes unnoticed amidst the audience engrossed in on-screen romance, while Shelly’s unfolds quietly in the shadows.

Shelly bites her lip, trying to stifle her sounds. Overwhelmed and overstimulated, she abandons excuses not to feel this way. April’s steady fingers and mouth pull her deeper into pleasure, drowning out all but the heat and slickness. Her mind spins, but her body instinctively knows what to do.

She can’t remember ever being this turned on. Ever needing it so badly. It takes over her, the desire so thick and primal it leaves no room for fear. The rational part of her surrenders, unbuttons itself, and falls away like the blouse slipping from her shoulders. She hears herself whimper, soft and low, an unfamiliar sound. She’s not the kind of woman who does this. But right now, in this moment, she is. April makes her that way, dragging her over the edge, turning panic into passion and the rest of the world into white noise.

Shelly wants to come. She wants it like she never knew she could. She doesn’t care if she’s coming apart or together or entirely undone, only that April keeps her fingers moving, keeps her mouth on her breast, keeps her at this sharp, dizzy point of ecstasy.

Shelly’s gasps are shorter now, her control slipping away with each breath. Her lip is bruised and swollen, and she gives up trying to silence herself. She doesn’t care if the whole damn theater knows.

It’s a three-act play on screen, with April keeping Shelly breathless and on edge. Her shirt slips, but she’s too far gone to care, consumed by desire. April expertly balances, pushing and holding back, aware of Shelly’s intense need. Shelly feels she might go insane if she doesn’t find release soon.

“Please,” Shelly hears herself say, the word strangled and desperate. April takes her time, letting the moment stretch until it’s so taut that Shelly thinks it might break. Shelly feels like she might break. She’s held together by nothing but April’s mouth and hands, by the wet pull of her lips and the slick, urgent strokes that take Shelly right to the brink. Shelly doesn’t know she’s been holding her breath until it rushes out, ragged and rough, as she falls against the seat. Her world is narrowing to a pinprick of light.

The sound fades, and the screen goes black. Shelly closes her eyes, giving in to the wave. She can’t fight it anymore. April releases her nipple, causing Shelly’s hips to jerk in protest. Her mouth feels empty, her body unbearably full. Her movements are frantic, insides twisting tighter with each thrust of April’s hand.

Shelly gasps, sharp and sweet, and she’s on the edge, so close to falling into the kind of reckless bliss she never imagined she’d find here, with a woman, in the back row of this dark and careless theater. “Let go,” April whispers, her voice coaxing and hot against Shelly’s breast. “I want to feel you come for me.” The words hit Shelly like a spark, igniting everything they touch. She arches off the seat, her last, futile attempt at resistance giving way to total, mindless surrender.

Shelly’s world explodes, sound and light splintering into a million pieces as she comes. The rush hits her all at once, crashing through her and scattering her into nothing. April’s lips close over her open mouth, catching Shelly’s helpless, shuddering cries and silencing them with a kiss that tastes forbidden, like wild, like freedom. Shelly’s heart pounds, and her body bucks against April’s hand, fingers slick and moving inside her, keeping her right at the peak where she dissolves and re-forms, bursts apart, and comes back together.

It is white hot and all-consuming, her first orgasm with a woman, and it is tearing her apart. April’s kiss swallows every noise Shelly makes, every ragged breath and dizzy moan, until it feels like she’s breathing through April, letting April be her air and her anchor and the only thing tethering her to this earth. She shakes against the seat, losing track of where she ends and April begins. Nothing matters but this feeling, this reckless, lawless bliss that doesn’t care about the world beyond their tangled bodies.

Shelly is outside herself, a glar of heat and color, a woman she doesn’t recognize and never wants to forget. Her shock fades, leaving nothing but pleasure in its wake. Her hips lift to meet April’s hand, to chase that sharp, desperate edge that keeps crashing over her, spilling her into weightless waves. She can’t think, can’t stop, can’t do anything but take what April gives her. And April gives her everything, fingers plunging deep, deeper, making Shelly squirm and gasp and ride out her climax like it’s the first and last she’ll ever have.

The world fades away as Shelly feels an intense sensation building inside her, each wave stronger than the last. She feels like she might burst, but she stays intact as April’s touch pushes her beyond her limits.

The kiss ends, and Shelly gasps, feeling raw, real, and awake like never before. Her eyes meet April’s, filled with a fierce, undeniable energy that makes her feel destined for this moment, as if she’s only just begun.

Shelly trembles at April’s touch, dazed by how good it feels to let go. Her mind is a mix of wonder and disbelief.

April leans back with a victorious gleam, her lips stained with Shelly’s lipstick and triumph, adding to Shelly’s breathless excitement and making her pulse race.

The movie drones on in the background, its clichéd romance a sharp counterpoint to the heated reality unfolding in the dim theater. Shelly can barely suppress a laugh at the absurdity, but she’s too overwhelmed, her heart thundering in her chest. April, persistent and tender, extends Shelly’s ecstasy until she’s panting and quivering with desire.

“That’s just the beginning,” April whispers, confident and correct. Her words ignite a promise in Shelly’s heart, making her smile and lean in for more.

Shelly’s resistance fades, and she eagerly embraces everything April offers —things she never dared to dream of. She never imagined wanting this, falling this hard and fast, not with Mark, not with anyone. Yet, here she is, transforming in April’s arms, her body defying its past. There’s no guilt or conflict—only pure sensation.

Shelly surrenders to the sweet, pulsing ache, her curiosity growing with each ripple of pleasure that spreads through her. April’s hand stays between her legs, fingers barely moving but enough to keep her on edge, enough to keep her wondering how she ever lived without this, without April, without knowing this side of herself.

She’s not just curious about what comes next. She’s desperate for it. Her heart is a wild drumbeat, her body a live flame, her mind a wide-open sky. She lets herself sink into the moment, allowing herself to believe that anything is possible, that this is only the beginning, and she can’t wait to find out what happens next.

Shelly trembles with aftershocks, every inch of her alive and buzzing and gloriously untethered. She doesn’t know where she’s going, only that she never wants to stop. Her entire world is a bright, breathless blur —a new story just beginning —and she’s finally the woman who’s ready to live it.

Shelly is breathless and shaky from her first orgasm, the taste of April lingering on her lips. Unprepared for April’s boldness, she watches in stunned silence as April kneels on the theater floor.

“April,” Shelly whispers, a mix of warning and plea. The theater’s brightness contrasts with the scene, her focus solely on April’s mischievous smile as she grips Shelly’s waistband. Shelly’s legs tremble, unsure if she wants to stop April.

Deliberately slow, April pulls down Shelly’s damp panties, each nerve alive with aftershocks and anticipation. Shelly watches, breathless, as her panties slide away, the moment stretching into eternity. She then feels April spread her legs and lower her mouth between her legs.

Shelly’s mind is in chaos, a frantic mix of disbelief and excitement, shock and desire. The intensity of the orgasm still pulses through her, and she didn’t think she could want more so soon; she didn’t think her body could handle it. But the heat of April’s breath against her inner thigh tells her how wrong she is, how much more she needs. She is exposed, wide open, every part of her screaming for the next touch, and April is right there, ready to give it.

“April, please,” Shelly tries again, her voice catching, a tremor of panic and need. April just looks up, her green eyes bright and daring, and Shelly’s heart stutters, then races. She has never felt like this, has never done anything like this, and the very thought that she’s about to has her dizzy and desperate. She wants to close her legs, wants to stay hidden and safe, but even more, she wants this. Wants April.

Her whole body tenses as April leans in, closer, closer, until Shelly is sure she will explode. She is all raw nerves and ragged breaths, her head spinning, her world narrowing to this moment, and the stroke of April’s tongue as it finally, mercifully, finds her. The shock of it is electric, a bolt of pure sensation that rips through her, and Shelly is gone.

She didn’t realize she could be this sensitive again so soon. Her hands pressed against her mouth to stifle moans, needing to stay quiet. But with April’s relentless touch, Shelly struggled to hold back, her mind blank except for the consuming fire and the realization that she was going to come again, hard.

The theater spins as she grips the armrests, her muscles tense. She’s losing herself and doesn’t want to stop. The world fades; there’s only April, the feel of her tongue, the heat of her mouth, and Shelly’s ragged, desperate breath. So fast.

How is she so good at this? The question flashes through Shelly’s mind, and then April flicks her tongue just right, and the world shatters. It’s too much. It’s everything. Shelly’s hips buck, and she’s helpless against the onslaught, lost in a sea of sensation as the pleasure builds impossibly higher.

Her first orgasm was intense, like nothing she had ever experienced, but this-this is different. It’s sharper, brighter, more dangerous, like standing on the edge of a cliff and knowing there’s no way to stop the fall.

April knows what she’s doing, and knows exactly how to drive Shelly over that edge. She can feel Shelly’s body tense, feel the way her thighs begin to tremble, and she doesn’t let up. She pushes harder and faster, as if she wants to see Shelly break apart, to see just how far she can go. And Shelly is going; she is gone, her mind and body unraveling as the orgasm crashes over her, more powerful than the first, more consuming than she ever thought possible.

Her legs clamp around April’s head, every muscle contracting as she comes harder, faster, so much harder than before. She can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t keep quiet. It’s ripping through her, tearing her apart, and she doesn’t care if the whole world hears, if the entire world knows. She’s dizzy with it, frantic, right on the verge of screaming out loud, and it’s April who finally sends her over the edge.

April, whose mouth is unrelenting, who seems to know precisely when Shelly will lose control. And she does. She is losing it. She is lost, her back arching off the seat, her hips rising to meet April’s mouth, everything inside her going white hot and wild. It is more than she can stand. It is too much. She has to bite down on her fist, hard, to stop from crying out as her entire body convulses with release, as the climax overwhelms her and leaves her breathless, helpless, completely undone.

The force of it leaves her gasping, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut as the waves of pleasure roll through her. She’s coming, she’s still coming, and it’s like nothing she’s ever felt, nothing she ever knew she could experience. It seems to last forever, as if it might never end, and Shelly is shaking with the aftershocks, stunned, breathless, and raw, as April finally pulls back and lets her catch her breath.

The room comes back into focus slowly, the movie a distant hum, the theater a blemish of light and color. Her heart pounds, her body is weak and trembling, and she doesn’t know how she will ever recover from this.

Shelly’s world is a blur of sensation and disbelief as April rises from between her legs. Her mouth glistens with Shelly’s wetness, and Shelly can’t tear her eyes away. Everything feels unreal, like she’s watching from outside herself.

Her panties are still around her ankles; her breath is still ragged and fast, and her body is still trembling from the aftershocks. Shelly is in shock, in awe, her mind struggling to catch up with her body.

But then April is there, leaning in, kissing her hard on the mouth, and the taste of herself is like a jolt of lightning. It pulls her back, grounds her, and makes her realize exactly where she is and what she’s done. Guilt and exhilaration twist inside her as April kisses her again, like a claim, like a promise.

Shelly feels detached, her mind lagging behind as she processes April’s actions. Watching from a distance, the reality of April’s mouth glistening with her wetness hits her. Breath ragged from her second orgasm, her panties hang at her ankles, a reminder of her vulnerability and how far things have gone. She feels unreal, untethered, in a version of herself she never knew.

Everything is foggy and indistinct—the movie a jumble, the theater too bright and public. Shelly’s heart pounds loudly, but no one else seems to notice. She’s overwhelmed by the implications, fear, and thrill of what just happened. Then, April leans in, solid and unyielding, kissing her hard and deep.

The taste of herself on April’s lips jolts Shelly into reality, grounding her with the soft pressure of April’s mouth and the heat of her tongue. Everything becomes sharply clear, leaving Shelly breathless, unsure whether to push April away or pull her closer. The intensity of the moment surprises Shelly; April is skilled, fearless, and confident, effortlessly bringing Shelly to the brink and beyond. Her body vibrates with raw pleasure, leaving her in awe and shock at the unexpected intensity.

Guilt mixes with exhilaration, a dizzying blend of fear, desire, shame, and hunger. Shelly knows she should feel bad, and she does, but she can’t stop thinking about how good it felt, how much she wanted it, and still wants it. Though Mark’s face lingers in her mind, it’s April’s mouth she can’t forget or stop craving.

April pulls back slightly, catching Shelly’s gaze and a hint of triumph in her eyes that leaves Shelly raw, vulnerable, and unmistakably seen. That look cuts through every rational thought, pushing her further into this forbidden act. April kisses her again—longer and harder—like laying claim, like making a promise, and Shelly’s body responds, wild and eager, despite knowing it should be wrong.

Her breath comes in shallow gasps as April’s relentless kiss mirrors every secret moment of tonight, leaving her dizzy and exposed, questioning how she ever thought she could resist. With her panties still around her ankles and her hair in disarray, she’s lost in this reckless need, unaware if she can—or even wants to—stop.

As April’s lips finally break away, his eyes hold hers, filled with a searching certainty. Shelly feels as if she’s been dropped into another reality, one where nothing is off-limits, and the thrill of uncertainty pulses between them. Yet, she also knows she has crossed an irrevocable line. April watches silently, waiting for her to confront the truth: she now holds the forbidden, the intoxicating, the impossible, leaving her raw, aching, and more alive than ever.

Shelly gasps as the credits roll, the theater lights revealing April wiping her mouth. Blushing, Shelly adjusts her clothes as the crowd stirs around her.

Embarrassment and exhilaration mix within her as April whispers, “Want to continue this somewhere more private?”

Shelly freezes, thoughts of Mark and the twins at home weighing her down, her wedding ring heavy. Yet, her body tingles with the pleasure April gave her. Torn between guilt and desire, she hesitates before meeting April’s eyes and giving a slight nod.

She sits in a haze, overwhelmed by guilt and desire. The memory of April’s touch, her body’s response, and her surrender replay vividly in her mind. She feels torn between staying and leaving, her mind swirling with thoughts of Mark and the kids at home. The idea of Mark discovering her betrayal twists her stomach, yet the pull of April’s promise remains irresistible.

Despite the conflict, the longing for vitality overpowers her fear of loss. She closes her eyes, takes a shaky breath, and acknowledges her desire for April, trembling with the realization. Her heart races, but the need to feel alive outweighs the risk of what she might lose.

April’s sharp green eyes fix on Shelly, seeing through her guilt and fear, making Shelly shiver. April’s steady confidence is unshaken by the possibility of Shelly backing out. A hand on Shelly’s knee sends a jolt through her.

“Hey,” April whispers, leaning closer, “we don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.” Though reassuring, April’s words carry a challenge, suggesting Shelly is more ready than she admits. Shelly struggles to speak, frozen by indecision. April stands, extending her hand. Shelly meets her gaze, feeling the warmth and promise as she takes it. Standing on shaky legs, she follows, leaving the theater and her guilt behind, both terrified and exhilarated by her choice.

As they walk up the aisle, Shelly is hyper-aware of everything around her, fearing someone might notice her secret. Her face burns with anxiety, but no one pays attention. April walks beside her, calm and smiling, like they’re just friends leaving a movie. Shelly feels a mix of relief and anticipation, her heart racing as she moves forward with April toward the unknown. The lobby’s brightness jars her after the theater’s dimness, but it also lifts a weight from her. Holding April’s hand, she clings to the promise of more, hoping she’s not making a huge mistake.

The theater lobby’s harsh fluorescent lights mirror Shelly’s internal turmoil as she keeps her gaze low, fearful of being recognized. April walks confidently by her side, occasionally brushing her hand against Shelly’s, fueling both her apprehension and excitement. At the glass doors, April firmly takes her hand, sending a jolt through her. The cool night contrasts with her heated skin as she fumbles with her keys, torn between guilt and desire. Pointing to the parked sedan with a small voice, Shelly finds herself drawn inexorably toward April, who squeezes her hand until, at the car, she is pressed against the door and kissed hard, sealing her fate.

Inside the car, as the weight of her actions and the looming thought of Mark and her life crash down on her, Shelly’s mind races—a chaotic tangle of fear and unquenchable desire. The memory of their passionate encounter in the theater blends with the vulnerability of being exposed under streetlamps, making guilt ebb away with every soft, insistent touch from April. Even as her heart battles with reason, she surrenders to the overwhelming pull of a tidal wave of desire.

With trembling hands and a racing heart, Shelly fumbles with her car keys and grips the steering wheel like a lifeline. For a moment, she considers stopping, the reality of her double life threatening to overtake her, but a glance at April, calm and magnetic in the passenger seat, pulls her back. April’s knowing eyes and a gentle touch on Shelly’s thigh dissolve her last bit of resolve, forcing her to decide as they sit amid a heavy, charged silence.

Shelly, desperate to escape the emptiness of her former life, turns to April with determined intensity and presses a frantic, heated kiss, releasing months of repression. Her body responds before her mind can protest, and amidst a haze of passion that obliterates all doubts, she gasps out, “The hotel.” April’s triumphant smile in reply confirms their path.

Starting the car with a mix of shaky resolve and determined purpose, Shelly speeds into a night lit by shifting neon and shadows. Thoughts of Mark are pushed aside as every touch from April confirms her decision, driving her toward a life-changing future.

The motel’s flickering neon sign looms. Shelly, heart pounding with both excitement and guilt, parks in a dim spot. April steps out confidently, flashing a playful smile. “Wait here,” she instructs, leaving Shelly to watch as April charms the night clerk. With every moment, Shelly’s mind races with worry—what if someone recognizes her, or Mark finds out? A message pops up on her phone: a photo of the twins in pajamas with the caption, “Goodnight, Mommy!” Before she can dwell on it, April reappears, twirling a room key.

Back in the car, April’s scent and confidence overwhelm Shelly. “Room 114,” April says, full of promise. A touch on her arm sends a jolt through Shelly as she turns away from her familiar world and drives to the far end of the building. Her excitement battles her fear—April’s secretive glance is irresistible, and her hand on Shelly’s knee melts any remaining doubts.

Arriving at the motel, April hops out eagerly while Shelly lingers by the door, overcome by a mix of hesitation and desire. April’s inviting smile and teasing “You coming?” propel Shelly forward. Inside, as the night clerk directs April, Shelly’s nerves shift to bubbling excitement. The car door slams as April returns, tossing the key on the dash—a signal that they’re stepping into unknown territory.

In the charged silence of the car, April leans in and teases, “Ready?” Shelly nods silently, lost between anticipation and desire. As they drive toward room 114, scandalous images mix with the thrill of new possibilities. Outside the room, Shelly cuts the engine, heart pounding with anticipation. April’s calm inquiry, “You’re sure about this?” meets Shelly’s shaky but firm “Yes.” With that, they exit the car, and Shelly’s steps grow surer as she follows April into the night.

April confidently guides them to the door, captivating Shelly, who is entirely focused on this moment. As April turns the key, the world fades away. Inside the sparse motel room, the floral bedspread adds the only color, creating a secret world for them. With a click, April locks the door, heightening Shelly’s anticipation. Though her courage wavers, April’s confidence pulls her in. April kisses Shelly intensely, and she responds instinctively, pressing against April. Shelly falls onto the bed, breathless, reveling in the freedom of surrendering to April’s plan.

April’s fingers move quickly and expertly, unclasping Shelly’s blouse and bra. Each touch leaves Shelly breathless, her skin tingling with vulnerability and thrill.

“Just relax,” April whispers, igniting a mix of nerves and desire in Shelly. She craves this, wanting to feel everything. As Shelly’s skirt slides off, her last barrier gone, she’s trembling with excitement and nervousness. Her world narrows to where April’s skin meets hers. Lying back, thoughts race through her mind, but the main one is that she’s here, truly experiencing this. April briefly pulls away, deepening Shelly’s longing, but returns swiftly, revealing her athletic form with smooth efficiency.

Shelly’s eyes widen with a mix of awe and desire as she encounters a woman unlike any she’s ever imagined. Her hesitation melts away under April’s confident guidance, each touch sending her heart racing.

“Just let me show you,” April says, and Shelly, speechless, craves the chance to surrender control. The power dynamic is clear—April leads while Shelly lets go, feeling the thrill of each new, exhilarating sensation. Even the scratchy floral bedspread grounding her to reality fades into insignificance as April’s skin consumes her thoughts.

April straddles Shelly, her thighs firm and powerful as they pin Shelly’s hips to the bed. She leans down, capturing Shelly’s mouth in a deep, passionate kiss, her tongue exploring every inch. Shelly moans into the kiss, her hands tentatively exploring April’s back, feeling the smooth, taut muscles beneath her fingers. April’s hands roam Shelly’s body, cupping her breasts, teasing her nipples until they harden into tight buds. She trails kisses down Shelly’s neck, her collarbone, and her breasts, taking her time to explore every inch of Shelly’s skin.

Shelly arches her back, pushing her breasts further into April’s eager mouth. April takes one nipple between her teeth, gently biting and soothing it with her tongue, sending jolts of pleasure straight to Shelly’s core. She gasps, her fingers tangling in April’s hair, holding her in place. April smiles against her skin, her hands moving lower, tracing the curve of Shelly’s waist, and her hips, before finally cupping her sex. Shelly bucks her hips, desperate for more contact, more pressure. April chuckles, a low, throaty sound that vibrates against Shelly’s skin.

“Eager, aren’t you?” she murmurs, her fingers finally pressing against Shelly’s clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles that have Shelly seeing stars.

Despite her initial awkwardness, Shelly quickly learns to embrace the rush of new discovery. April, unjudging and assured, continues to guide her over boundaries she never thought she’d cross. With every kiss and touch, Shelly surrenders more, free-falling into an experience that feels both inevitable and utterly liberating. She reaches out, tentatively touching April’s breasts, feeling their weight in her hands, their softness contrasting with the hardness of her nipples—April moans, arching into her touch, encouraging her to explore further. Shelly and April melt into one, their bodies and sensations indistinguishable and overwhelmingly intense. Panting and gasping for air, Shelly loses herself as April’s kisses and taste drive her to the edge, culminating in a powerful release. In the aftermath, April’s gentle whisper brings her back, guiding her not only to receive but also to give. With each tentative touch encouraged by April’s soft instructions, Shelly discovers a daring, forbidden side of herself. Her hesitancy gives way to confident exploration, each sigh and shiver fueling a sense of newfound power and wonder.

April rolls onto her back, pulling Shelly on top of her. “My turn,” she says, a smug smile playing on her lips.

Shelly straddles her, feeling the wetness between her own thighs as she grinds against April’s leg. She leans down, kissing April deeply, her hands exploring her body with newfound confidence. April’s hands grip her ass, pulling her closer, encouraging her to ride her thigh, to use her for pleasure. Shelly obliges, moving her hips in a slow, sensual rhythm, her clit rubbing against April’s leg, sending waves of pleasure through her body.

April’s hands roam Shelly’s body, squeezing her breasts, pinching her nipples, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. She sits up, taking one of Shelly’s nipples in her mouth, sucking and biting gently, her hands gripping Shelly’s ass, pulling her closer, and grinding against her. Shelly throws her head back, moaning loudly, her hands tangling in April’s hair, holding her in place as she rides her leg, chasing her orgasm. April’s hands move to Shelly’s hips, guiding her and helping her find the right rhythm and pressure.

“That’s it, Shelly,” April murmurs against her skin. “Use me. Take what you need.” Shelly’s body tenses, her muscles coiling tight as she chases her release, her breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. April’s hands grip her hips tighter, her fingers digging into Shelly’s flesh, urging her on, encouraging her to let go. With a final, desperate cry, Shelly comes undone, her body shaking, her vision blurring as waves of pleasure crash over her. She collapses onto April, her body spent, her mind blissfully empty. April holds her, stroking her hair, her back, her ass, soothing her, grounding her as she comes down from her high.

“You were amazing,” April whispers, kissing the top of her head. “Absolutely fucking amazing.”

Shelly smiles, a content, sated smile, her body still tingling with the aftermath of her orgasm. She snuggles closer to April, her eyes fluttering closed as she drifts off to sleep, safe and secure in April’s arms.

In that transformative night, all else fades away as Shelly embraces the pure joy of igniting pleasure in another. Freed from old inhibitions and guilt, she surrenders to the moment, uncovering deep desires she had never imagined. By the end, intertwined and radiant, she feels reborn—untethered and fully alive—eagerly anticipating the limitless possibilities of what she has discovered. Tomorrow, she’ll worry about the consequences. Right now, she basks in the thrill of her newfound freedom.