Read Online A Girl's Adventure - full length erotic novel by Chloe Thurlow - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Chloe Thurlow
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finger in her bum nursed the pattern of spiralling pleats and creases, all so neat and pretty like a snowflake. Her arms moved robotically and, as her legs arched, she pictured herself in a hazy black-and-white photograph depicting a disobedient maid bound to a whipping stool. She could still feel the sting of the whiplash across her backside, her insides were churning and as she reached her climax she levitated clean off the bed.
She collapsed down on the sheets and the shampoo bottle slid like a boat leaving shore from her well-oiled pussy. She sniffed the bottle and couldn’t quite work out the smell, and she licked at her own creamy juices and was unable to pinpoint the taste. She laid back, legs straight, and as she stroked her nut brown bush she imagined having sex on the tube train with hundreds of people moving like formation dancers to the beat of her urgent thrusts.
The door slammed at the end of the hall and she carried on stroking her sticky pubes even when Tara put her head around the door.
‘Greta...’ Tara’s mouth fell open.
‘Can I borrow your pink suit tomorrow?’ she asked in response.
Their eyes met. ‘Don’t you have anything to wear?’ Tara asked.
‘Not a thing.’
Tara giggled. ‘You are becoming such a pervert, Greta. What happened with that man on the train?’
She had to think for a minute. ‘Everything,’ she answered.
Her eyelids flickered and closed. She was still on a high from getting herself off and just as if she were scratching an itch on the end of her nose, a fingertip slid unconsciously to sooth the bud of her burning clitoris.
Greta was so ashamed with Tara watching but it was so much nicer than doing it on your own. Her legs lifted like two halves of a swing bridge, her hips rose from the bed and the little animal noises escaping from her were stilled unexpectedly by Tara’s pink lips.
Greta opened her eyes and smiled.
Tara’s head was the other way round, upside down, and it was awkward as her tongue slid into Greta’s mouth. They kissed. They kissed again. They kissed some more, so soft and sensual it was like being back at boarding school, the first tentative touch of her best friend’s lips, the first clumsy hand down her big cotton pants, her swelling breasts inflamed with new sensations. They changed positions and it was so much better than kissing boys with their sharp teeth and whiskers. Tara’s lips were full yet firm, soft and sweet, like a mango, or a juicy peach. Or a strawberry picked in the fields, smelling of sunshine. Greta licked her cheeks and kissed her eyes and fluttered her fingers in the air with loss and abandon as Tara rolled from the bed and landed on the floor. She tried to reach for her but Tara stood back.
‘Wait,’ she said, and pulled her T-shirt over her head. She unzipped her jeans and looked like an Indian dancer as she wriggled to get out of them. She unhooked her bra and ran her pants down her legs. Tara’s pussy was shaved clean and looked like a toy fresh from its box, a mysterious sea creature Greta wanted to savour and taste. An aphrodisiac. She was spellbound. Tara moved close to the bed and Greta ran the tip of her finger gently through the pale pink gash. It opened like a waking eye and leaked minute bubbles of oily liquid like tears, so soft and sensuous Greta was impatient to tend those tears with her tongue.
She slid her hand around the curve of her hips and drew Tara towards her. In one nimble movement she dropped back on the pillow with Tara’s vulva glued to her face, spread over her hungry mouth. She had tasted sperm a few times, not many, but enough to know that it has the slightly sweet-and-sour tang of lychees, but Tara was syrupy like sticky treacle pudding, so sweet and seductive you feel impelled to lick the plate clean. She cupped the globes of Tara’s bottom as Tara gyrated above her, then she stiffened and the spurts of Tara juice on her tongue were like little sneezes or kisses, precious as
She collapsed down on the sheets and the shampoo bottle slid like a boat leaving shore from her well-oiled pussy. She sniffed the bottle and couldn’t quite work out the smell, and she licked at her own creamy juices and was unable to pinpoint the taste. She laid back, legs straight, and as she stroked her nut brown bush she imagined having sex on the tube train with hundreds of people moving like formation dancers to the beat of her urgent thrusts.
The door slammed at the end of the hall and she carried on stroking her sticky pubes even when Tara put her head around the door.
‘Greta...’ Tara’s mouth fell open.
‘Can I borrow your pink suit tomorrow?’ she asked in response.
Their eyes met. ‘Don’t you have anything to wear?’ Tara asked.
‘Not a thing.’
Tara giggled. ‘You are becoming such a pervert, Greta. What happened with that man on the train?’
She had to think for a minute. ‘Everything,’ she answered.
Her eyelids flickered and closed. She was still on a high from getting herself off and just as if she were scratching an itch on the end of her nose, a fingertip slid unconsciously to sooth the bud of her burning clitoris.
Greta was so ashamed with Tara watching but it was so much nicer than doing it on your own. Her legs lifted like two halves of a swing bridge, her hips rose from the bed and the little animal noises escaping from her were stilled unexpectedly by Tara’s pink lips.
Greta opened her eyes and smiled.
Tara’s head was the other way round, upside down, and it was awkward as her tongue slid into Greta’s mouth. They kissed. They kissed again. They kissed some more, so soft and sensual it was like being back at boarding school, the first tentative touch of her best friend’s lips, the first clumsy hand down her big cotton pants, her swelling breasts inflamed with new sensations. They changed positions and it was so much better than kissing boys with their sharp teeth and whiskers. Tara’s lips were full yet firm, soft and sweet, like a mango, or a juicy peach. Or a strawberry picked in the fields, smelling of sunshine. Greta licked her cheeks and kissed her eyes and fluttered her fingers in the air with loss and abandon as Tara rolled from the bed and landed on the floor. She tried to reach for her but Tara stood back.
‘Wait,’ she said, and pulled her T-shirt over her head. She unzipped her jeans and looked like an Indian dancer as she wriggled to get out of them. She unhooked her bra and ran her pants down her legs. Tara’s pussy was shaved clean and looked like a toy fresh from its box, a mysterious sea creature Greta wanted to savour and taste. An aphrodisiac. She was spellbound. Tara moved close to the bed and Greta ran the tip of her finger gently through the pale pink gash. It opened like a waking eye and leaked minute bubbles of oily liquid like tears, so soft and sensuous Greta was impatient to tend those tears with her tongue.
She slid her hand around the curve of her hips and drew Tara towards her. In one nimble movement she dropped back on the pillow with Tara’s vulva glued to her face, spread over her hungry mouth. She had tasted sperm a few times, not many, but enough to know that it has the slightly sweet-and-sour tang of lychees, but Tara was syrupy like sticky treacle pudding, so sweet and seductive you feel impelled to lick the plate clean. She cupped the globes of Tara’s bottom as Tara gyrated above her, then she stiffened and the spurts of Tara juice on her tongue were like little sneezes or kisses, precious as
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