Desire (6 page)

Our next course was a steak dinner, washed down with velvety red wine and followed by gorgeous sugar-sweet strawberries and freshly whipped cream, which Sammy and I fed to each other with our fingers. Stuffed and happy, we retired to the bed, where we sat cross-legged, drinking a little more wine, reminiscing about the past, and talking about the future.

At around midnight, I felt my eyelids begin to get heavy. “I think that just about does it for me tonight. I’m tired,” I said. “Mind if we go to sleep? If ever there was a night I needed my beauty sleep, it’s tonight.”

We both brushed our teeth and changed into our night things. Sammy wore a tank-and-shorts set that showed off her slender, boyish figure to perfection. I debuted the negligee I had been saving for my wedding night but was so beautiful I couldn’t resist wearing it. It was made of white silk with a lace trim that scooped up my breasts and pushed them together, giving me full, round cleavage. If you looked closely (which I hoped Steve would), you could see the outline of my pink nipples through the sheer fabric.

Sammy gave me a wolf whistle when she saw me. “Here comes the bride!” she said from her side of the four-poster bed. “That’s beautiful. Steve won’t be able to resist you.”

I turned out the light, but neither of us could sleep; we were too excited about the day that lay ahead of us. So we talked some more. Gradually the conversation turned to sex, like it always does when two female friends chat for long enough.

“I think it’s so beautiful what you’re doing,” Sammy said wistfully. “I don’t know if I could make that kind of commitment.”

“But you and Jez are rock solid,” I said.

“Oh, I know that,” she replied. “There’s just so much I want to do, I’m not sure if you can do it with just one person.”

“Like what?” I said, curious.

“I don’t know. Just stuff. I haven’t experimented that much, and maybe I should. Like, I’ve never been with a woman, I’ve never had a threesome, I’ve never let anyone fuck me in the ass. . . .” I started giggling, suddenly aware of Sammy’s warm presence in the bed beside me. I became uncomfortable and excited as vivid visions of my best friend doing all these things ran through my mind before I could stop them.

“Have you ever?” she said in a too-loud voice that was probably meant to sound casual. In fact, it sounded anything but. “Been with a woman, I mean?”

“You know I haven’t!” I laughed. “I’d have told you if I had!”

“But have you thought about it?” said Sammy. She wasn’t going to let this topic go. “Have you fantasized about it? I have. I have the most explicit dreams about fucking women. Ones I know. Sometimes my dreams are so sexy that I wake up and I’m actually coming. Don’t you have dreams like that?”

“Well . . . yes . . .” I replied, wondering exactly which women Sammy had fantasized about being with. “Thinking about it, or watching it, or reading about it can be sexy. But there’s a difference between thinking something and actually doing it. Some fantasies are better left as just that. What if the real thing isn’t as hot as you’d like it to be?”

“Oh, I think it would be,” said Sammy. “In fact, I think it’d be pretty fucking amazing. Even talking about it with you is getting me turned on right now.”

An abrupt, awkward silence ensued as I digested Sammy’s words. I could tell by her absolute stillness and her controlled breathing that she wasn’t asleep, and as I looked at the clock, which said one a.m., I had never felt more awake in my entire life. I was thinking about how her peachy ass had looked when I was massaging her this evening and how smooth, soft, and lightly tanned her skin was. I thought of how her slender body had felt between my thighs when she had been massaging me. But more than this, the picture that replayed itself in my head again and again, like a broken DVD continually tracking back over the same scene, was the moment when she’d rolled over and exposed that flash of breast. I’d seen Sammy’s tits a hundred times over the years—we’d shared changing rooms and of course beds before now—but that glimpse, that stolen glance at her flesh, had been different. Private. Arousing. And now she’d confessed that she was up for a girl-on-girl experience and that she was horny, actively horny, this minute. And she was so close that I could feel the tiny hairs on her arms brush against my skin. Arms that I suddenly realized I wanted to reach out and pull me close, and hands that I wanted to explore my thighs, my belly, my breasts, my pussy. I let out a gasp of astonishment and desire.

Sammy rolled over to face me. The only light in the room was the moonlight coming through the curtains, but I could see her slim hips and the curve of her shoulder outlined underneath the thin sheets.

“Polly,” she said in a low, cracked whisper. “Are you awake?”

I said yes. The noise came out like a kind of strangled moan, the unmistakable sound of someone madly turned on and struggling to control it.

“Can’t you sleep, either?” she said, shifting a little bit closer to me. As I felt her soft breath caress my bare arms and neck, I realized I was in trouble. Mild curiosity had turned into desire that was snowballing out of control. My own breath came in short, sharp rasps as I felt my breasts rising and falling rapidly, the lace bodice scratching my soft skin, making my nipples swell and harden.

“Poll,” said Sammy, in that same husky whisper. “Can I touch you?”

Without waiting for an answer, she extended a slim, white hand and placed it on my breast, thumb and forefinger gripping my nipple through the lace. Her soft pinch caused my pussy to squeeze and flutter, and I knew that soon I would be wet. I lay frozen still for a couple of seconds, knowing that if I wanted to stop this, I had to do so now. But my body betrayed me, and I let out an involuntary moan that told Sammy just how good her hands felt. She slid her hand under the lace, cupping my breast with her warm fingers, then kneading it, while her other hand pulled down the lace straps of my negligee so that both my tits were exposed. In the half-light I saw her rise up. Then she placed her knees on either side of my body, pinning me to the bed. She went to work on my tits, touching and massaging them with the same tenderness she’d applied to my back and shoulders a few hours earlier, but this time she wasn’t getting rid of tension—she was building it up. My body began to coil like a tight spring.

As she bent down to kiss me, I lifted my head up to meet hers. There in the dark, we found each other’s lips, her soft velvet mouth brushing my own gently at first before she slid her tongue between my teeth while I kissed back with ever-increasing passion.

I stretched my hands up to her breasts, feeling her soft, bulbous nipples through the thin jersey of her tank top. I placed one hand on each of her small breasts, enjoying the way the firm flesh yielded to my fingers. Sammy let out a tiny whimper, which made me want to do more than just touch her tits. I wriggled out from under Sammy’s legs and hoisted myself up so that we were kneeling face-to-face on the bed.

“This is making me so horny,” said Sammy, as we knelt there with our arms around each other, kissing passionately. She stroked my hair, then tentatively reached down for the hem of my negligee. Eagerly I raised my arms in the air as she slid the flimsy dress off my body as gently as though it were a feather. I was naked now, my hair tickling my shoulders, my tits level with Sammy’s. I needed to feel our nipples rubbing together, and so I hurriedly tore off her tank, whipped it over her head, and threw it across the room. Pulling her toward me again by the waistband of her shorts, I kissed her. Our tits were finally touching, her puffy little nipples teasing and tickling my own, which tingled and expanded in response.

I bent my head and pressed my lips to her perfect, perky breasts, so different from my full, round globes. I kissed a dark rosy nipple and gently sucked it for a few seconds, enjoying the way her flesh was trapped between my lips. Then, with her whole breast in my mouth, I began to lick the underside and suck the nipple. While my lips and tongue treated Sammy’s right breast to soft, tender caresses, my hand was greedily grabbing and kneading her left. This contrast of hard and soft was driving her wild—I could tell by the way she trembled and moaned.

We pulled apart, both of us breathing heavily. Sammy placed my hand on her hips. I read her unspoken command and began to tug at her shorts, pulling them down to her knees. Then she sat on the edge of the bed and lifted her feet slightly. I reached out, pulled the shorts off over her ankles, and flung them across the room. She rose to face me again, her bush and mine level. I could feel a swelling and a dampness between my legs and a sweet, sexy smell that wasn’t my own filling my nostrils—Sammy’s body was responding just the way mine was. Our tits and pussies and lips crashed into each other.

Instinctively, I put my knee between Sammy’s legs, forcing her thighs to part a little. We both kneeled down with our legs apart. When she reached her hand between my legs and tentatively touched my clitoris, I felt a fresh wave of white-hot pleasure sweep over me. With two fingers, she stroked it delicately. I returned the compliment, sliding my fingers between her dewy thighs. First I felt her pussy lips, damp, swollen, and slippery. There was no mistaking her clitoris, a hot little bud of flesh protruding from between her legs. Softly, so gently, I brushed it with the back of my knuckle and felt Sammy’s legs begin to tremble. Working in rhythm with each other, we began to rub each other’s clits, slowly at first, then with increasing pressure and tempo as we became more and more excited. Sammy rocked backward and forward on her knees, chanting my name in my ear again and again in a guttural whisper that hardly sounded like her at all.

“Oh, Polly,” she rasped. “Oh, fuck, baby! Oh, Polly, that’s so good.” Her hand was deep inside me now, her fingers curved, beckoning to a secret, delicious area deep inside my cunt, and the inside of her wrist bashing crudely against my twitching clitoris.

The more she spoke, the faster I rubbed her until my hand was dripping with her sweet juices. Her pussy contracted once, then twice, then went into spasms, a quick succession of blissful little squeezes as she succumbed to her orgasm.

“Oh, Poll. Oh, dear God, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come. Oh, you dirty little,
aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah
.” I clamped my lips down on Sammy’s nipple as she came, licking the beads of sweat off her chest, feeling the searing heat of her orgasm as it ripped through her body.

Sammy didn’t take any recovery time, and she didn’t stop working my pussy. Her hand continued to twist inside me, her penetrating fingers more sensitive, nimble, and deft than any man’s dick could ever be. When I finally came, I felt my pussy hug Sammy’s hand and a gush of sweet liquid that trickled down the inside of her arm. She held still until the final, gentle aftershocks of my climax had subsided, then withdrew her hand and held it to my nose. I did likewise. We stayed like that for a while, each smelling the musk of her own pussy on the other’s hand. Finally, exhausted and satisfied, we slept, both of us naked, not bothering to pull the covers over our bodies, clinging to each other for warmth.

 

 

 

We woke up at eight a.m.
to the sound of my mother knocking on the door. The room, so dark and sexy the night before, was now flooded with sunlight. Sammy and I looked at each other and stifled giggles as we dashed around the room, trying to locate the night-clothes we’d peeled off each other just seven hours ago. By the time I opened the door to my mother, the room was tidy, and we were both respectably dressed in hotel bathrobes.

My mother entered the room and studied our faces.

“Well,” she said. “I had worried that you two would be up all night, but you both look very fresh. You obviously got an early night and plenty of beauty sleep.”

At this, Sammy and I collapsed into giggles. My mother still doesn’t know why we found this so funny, and Steve still doesn’t know the secret of my glowing complexion on the big day.

And Sammy was the only person who spotted, months later, when we were looking over the wedding photographs, a tiny round love bite over my left breast, just visible in my low-cut wedding dress. No one else has noticed, and no one else needs to know.

C
leaning isn’t everyone’s idea of a dream job, but I love it. I’m my own boss, the money is surprisingly good, and I get real satisfaction from turning messy homes and offices into gleaming perfection. And I like chatting with my clients. I get to meet the ones who arrive at work early in the morning or stay very late at night. These lonely workaholics are always glad to have someone to talk to and are often surprised that their cleaner is not only pretty but also clever. They’re only too grateful for someone to disrupt the boredom and isolation of working on their own in faceless, sterile offices. It does me good to make conversation, too. All those gray workplaces, with their plastic plants and photocopier-ink fumes, look the same after a while.