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Authors: Alessia Brio
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tease until she eased two fingers into the deep, narrow channel of Paulette's sex. Her fingers made a slurping sound that satisfied both women.
With tidal slowness, Margaret pushed in and withdrew, in and out as though she couldn't imagine a reason to speed up. Paulette squeezed, pumped, and wrapped her legs around Margaret's waist.
Margaret disentangled herself, casually stood up, and reached for her purse. She returned to bend over Paulette with something in her hands.
Before Paulette knew what to expect, a small vibrator was pressing against her clit, sending its hum all through her liquid insides. Margaret reinserted her fingers, anchoring Paulette in place to accept the sweet torture.
"Oh!" Paulette immediately clamped her upper lips together to hold in all the wild sounds she wanted to make. She clung to the bed frame like a shipwrecked survivor clinging to a life raft. Her hips jerked as her sex spasmed. "You said no toys!" She was desperately trying to keep her voice low.
"None except this one. It's a conventional household item, don't you think?"
An image of Margaret in a courtroom, functioning as Crown Prosecutor, flashed into Paulette's mind. Margaret had been good at leading the jury down one path, then veering onto another, keeping the defense off-guard. She was a wily strategist on her own turf, and Paulette had learned to love her ways of stalking and capturing an elusive victory.
Paulette dropped her aching arms to wrap them around her spouse, who didn't object. Margaret lowered herself onto Paulette, using her elbows. Then she placed her warm mouth onto Paulette's, resting her lips there for a moment before sliding her tongue into Paulette's mouth.
Margaret pulled back to admire Paulette's flushed face. "You're so beautiful when you come."
"You're so good, honey. Ma'am. Your Eminence."
Margaret laughed and wedged a knee between her wife's thighs as a reminder of what she could do.
They lay together, listening to each other breathe. Reluctantly, they both became aware of other sounds beyond the door of their guest bedroom.
"Marg? Do you need something?"
"No." Margaret cupped one of Paulette's breasts as though to comfort her. "Just this."
"Don't you need my mouth? I want to taste you."
Margaret slid up Paulette's body until she was straddling her neck. Paulette slid down until she was directly beneath Margaret's fragrant cleft. She gently opened it with both hands and aimed her tongue into its wetness.
Margaret was so aroused that her slick folds reacted like a sensitive clam. When Paulette sucked a swollen button of flesh into her mouth, she seemed to set off an undersea earthquake. Margaret's release was intense, but the only sound she made was a series of loudly exhaled breaths.
Paulette liked having a wet face that smelled of the woman she still thought of as her girlfriend. She pressed herself against Margaret, who rolled and shifted and pulled with both arms until Paulette settled her head between Margaret's shoulder and chin.
She has too much pride, thought Paulette . She wasn't going to tell me she needed to come, too. That's logical after what she's gone through today. But according to the ancient Greeks, hubris in a mortal leader brings down the wrath of the gods. The ones no one believes in any more .
Paulette lay still, listening to the sounds of two bodies pressed together and the slight friction of the bedding beneath them. At length, Margaret's breathing grew deeper and more regular.
Paulette couldn't sleep. Robin Digwell's unbound manuscript called to her from an adjoining room, like a magic bottle labeled "Drink Me."
The illustrations were a poignant set of images: a photo of the plain, thin-featured Emily Davison as an undergraduate at Oxford, which did not grant degrees to women. Emily as a governess with her pupils. Emily as a full-time suffragette, carrying the flag of the Women's Social and Political Union in a march, circa 1910. A photo showing the elegant profile of
With tidal slowness, Margaret pushed in and withdrew, in and out as though she couldn't imagine a reason to speed up. Paulette squeezed, pumped, and wrapped her legs around Margaret's waist.
Margaret disentangled herself, casually stood up, and reached for her purse. She returned to bend over Paulette with something in her hands.
Before Paulette knew what to expect, a small vibrator was pressing against her clit, sending its hum all through her liquid insides. Margaret reinserted her fingers, anchoring Paulette in place to accept the sweet torture.
"Oh!" Paulette immediately clamped her upper lips together to hold in all the wild sounds she wanted to make. She clung to the bed frame like a shipwrecked survivor clinging to a life raft. Her hips jerked as her sex spasmed. "You said no toys!" She was desperately trying to keep her voice low.
"None except this one. It's a conventional household item, don't you think?"
An image of Margaret in a courtroom, functioning as Crown Prosecutor, flashed into Paulette's mind. Margaret had been good at leading the jury down one path, then veering onto another, keeping the defense off-guard. She was a wily strategist on her own turf, and Paulette had learned to love her ways of stalking and capturing an elusive victory.
Paulette dropped her aching arms to wrap them around her spouse, who didn't object. Margaret lowered herself onto Paulette, using her elbows. Then she placed her warm mouth onto Paulette's, resting her lips there for a moment before sliding her tongue into Paulette's mouth.
Margaret pulled back to admire Paulette's flushed face. "You're so beautiful when you come."
"You're so good, honey. Ma'am. Your Eminence."
Margaret laughed and wedged a knee between her wife's thighs as a reminder of what she could do.
They lay together, listening to each other breathe. Reluctantly, they both became aware of other sounds beyond the door of their guest bedroom.
"Marg? Do you need something?"
"No." Margaret cupped one of Paulette's breasts as though to comfort her. "Just this."
"Don't you need my mouth? I want to taste you."
Margaret slid up Paulette's body until she was straddling her neck. Paulette slid down until she was directly beneath Margaret's fragrant cleft. She gently opened it with both hands and aimed her tongue into its wetness.
Margaret was so aroused that her slick folds reacted like a sensitive clam. When Paulette sucked a swollen button of flesh into her mouth, she seemed to set off an undersea earthquake. Margaret's release was intense, but the only sound she made was a series of loudly exhaled breaths.
Paulette liked having a wet face that smelled of the woman she still thought of as her girlfriend. She pressed herself against Margaret, who rolled and shifted and pulled with both arms until Paulette settled her head between Margaret's shoulder and chin.
She has too much pride, thought Paulette . She wasn't going to tell me she needed to come, too. That's logical after what she's gone through today. But according to the ancient Greeks, hubris in a mortal leader brings down the wrath of the gods. The ones no one believes in any more .
Paulette lay still, listening to the sounds of two bodies pressed together and the slight friction of the bedding beneath them. At length, Margaret's breathing grew deeper and more regular.
Paulette couldn't sleep. Robin Digwell's unbound manuscript called to her from an adjoining room, like a magic bottle labeled "Drink Me."
The illustrations were a poignant set of images: a photo of the plain, thin-featured Emily Davison as an undergraduate at Oxford, which did not grant degrees to women. Emily as a governess with her pupils. Emily as a full-time suffragette, carrying the flag of the Women's Social and Political Union in a march, circa 1910. A photo showing the elegant profile of
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