Girl Fever (11 page)

We climbed. I felt the bump of the coaster's motion through my body, deeper than I'd ever felt it before, reaching somewhere into my soul. My clit burned and ached, and all I wanted to do was come, hard and long. My eyes stayed on Sylvia. I didn't even notice when we reached the crest and were set free….

The stranger to my right was screaming in my ears, but I didn't care. All I wanted to hear were Sylvia's little sighs and breaths, her quiet “umms” as the wind rushed past and my stomach twirled and twisted. Up we went, and down, and even around, the sounds deafening as time passed, leaving my tunnel vision focused on Sylvia's face and lips. I felt her slide against me as we moved; her hand locked over mine, tight, on the bar, nails digging into the skin, and I clenched my thighs together and hissed my own pleasure.

Sylvia's giggle reached me even over the screams and the wind and the clack of the coaster's wheels on the track.

It ended too soon, in a rush that went too fast and left me panting and staring. We glided to a halt then stopped suddenly, the motion throwing us into the bar we both still clutched, hands twined together.

The bar loosened finally and we stepped free. I don't think she really knew where we were any more than I did. As we climbed free I slammed my lips on Sylvia's. She met me easily, her tongue tangling with mine,
and then she was pulling me down a handful of stairs and sideways, into the shadowed alcove behind a maintenance building, out of sight. That was all I managed to process before she was hard against me, hand rubbing me through my jeans, sending sparks up and down my spine.

I didn't have much time before I came, and I knew it, so I was more ruthless than I might have been otherwise, thrusting my hand into the waistband of her pants, forcing her to pause, panting, to pull the button free so I had room. But I wanted—needed—her to come before I did.

I slid my fingers into her underwear, against the slickness of her labia and clit and then into the scorching heat of her cunt. She cried out, a mewling moan more than a scream, and shivered and came with two rubs, and the sight of her, the sound of her, sent me off too. I bit my lip and rode the surge of pleasure, burying my face in Sylvia's shoulder and leaning against her. She put her arms around me and we shivered together until she pulled back, tucking flyaway strands of hair into the remains of her bun, and buttoned up her shorts.

“Roller coasters get you hot, huh?” I asked, narrowing my eyes as I wondered aloud, “Are you ready to go again?”

 

 

 

 

 

W
e've been teasing and taunting each other on the phone for two weeks. Sex is everywhere. We turn the mildest of topics into full-blown innuendo with the slightest change of voice. When you finally walk in the door and we are together, neither of us can wait.

You push me against the wall, reach under my skirt and pull my panties down just far enough so that you can plunge your hand deep into my wet, waiting and wanting cunt. Two fingers, two strokes, only just enough to know I am open and hot for you. I beg you—“Fill me with your hand. Now. All the way.” I can take it. I want it.

Your thumb is on my clit, pressing hard. Nothing is gentle about this. We are both too overwhelmed with desire to be slow right now. Deeper. More. I spread my legs farther, tilt my hips toward you and beg with
my voice as well as my body. “Please, take me.” Every thrust of your hand rushes me toward that peak I need so much. I grip both hands around your strong, powerful arm, feeling the muscles flex and contract.

I shudder once, twice with orgasms so encompassing that I can't even give voice to them, the sound of desire frozen in my throat. My clit is on fire with the rough handing, but even so I feel a third hot hard peak of coming crest, flooding my cunt and womb and hips and body.

I think I'm done and I start to relax, but no, you won't let me. Your hand, deep inside me, is still moving. I can't imagine how I can take it, but I also can't dream of you pulling out, leaving me empty and gaping without you. Thrusting, pumping, you demand more of me. In a voice of pure desire, you tell me I have to come again. You need me to come again. Just one more. And somehow, because you ask for it, because you need it, another orgasm roars to the surface, peaks—I can feel it throughout my entire body, every fiber of my being caught up in this overwhelming, crashing sensation of pleasure. My hands convulse and lock around your arm. You thrust into me once more, twice more, saying, “Yes, yes, baby, that's it. Come for me.” Unbelievable that I have endured it this long; the peak finally crests and I collapse. There is no strength left in my body. I start to crumple and you catch me in your arms. We sink to the floor together, desperately clutching, unable to comprehend any reality but the touch of each other.

 

 

 

 

 

I
have a hypersensitive clit. Touch it with a calloused finger or the scrape of a nail, and I come out of my skin.

Men don't get it. I can demonstrate how I like it touched, but most think arousal dulls the nerves, because the more aroused
they
get, the harder they rub and press—like my clit's a damn ignition switch and all they have to do is push it more insistently to get me revved.

I explained my problem to my best friend, Morgan, one night over drinks. She studied me with her smoky gray eyes. “Do you mind my asking why the hell you go for dick?”

The question shocked me. The answer was on the tip of my tongue, but I held it there.
Why indeed?
It isn't as
though I truly craved a man.

Her lips curved—just the corners. “I bet if you showed me, I'd get it right.”

The suggestion tantalized. I raised my bellini and took a quick sip, stalling before I replied. Morgan was attractive. I liked her full curves. I'd had the usual feminine curiosity about what she looked like nude, but never allowed myself to go
there
.

I swallowed, bubbles tickling the back of my throat, then forced a smile. “Are you teasing me?” I asked, surprised by the huskiness of my voice.

Her eyes narrowed, and she sat back in her chair. The glide of a toe up the inside of one calf made my breath catch. “Does it feel like I'm teasing?”

The underside of the table was in shadow. No one could see what she did. I didn't want to deflect that wicked toe. Arching a brow, I eased open my knees.

She glided along my thigh, dipping beneath the hem of my short skirt until she found my silky panties. “You're wet.” She pressed into the fabric to trace my slit. Her toe wiggled, burrowing.

Moisture seeped. Not something I could hide. Her teeth flashed and she continued to prod. I ground against the toe digging into the silk.

She stiffened her toe for me to ride. “Let me come home with you. Show me.”

I wanted to.
Badly.
But would sex change things? “I don't want this to become awkward, Morgan. I like you.”

She grinned. “My toe's up your cunt. I like you too.” She pulled away, tracing a slick trail down the inside of my thigh. She reached to swipe her handbag from the floor. “Come on. It'll be fun.”

 

I opened my apartment door and strode inside. Morgan followed, dropping her purse and jacket on the couch. Then she turned, crooked a finger and walked backward toward my bedroom door, her hands already busy unbuttoning her blouse.

I followed, dragging my feet, but feasting on the sight of her tawny skin, revealed one item of discarded clothing at a time. When she reached the doorway, she stood in her bra and panties. Her hands disappeared behind her back. Her bra loosened, and she shimmied it down her arms.

I couldn't help but stare. Her breasts were large and heavy, the skin a pretty honey color. The brown tips were hard and distended. Morgan cupped them both and gave a throaty laugh. “I'll let you play. No need to drool.”

“I'm not drooling. Just curious. I'm a little shortchanged in that department.”

“You worried I'll be disappointed?”

I opened my mouth to deny it, but caught myself and shrugged. “Maybe.”

Her thumbs hooked in the bands on each side of her hips and she stripped off her panties. “Your turn.”

When I hesitated, she came after me. Inside a minute,
my blouse and skirt were consigned to the floor. Her palms kneaded my breasts through my padded bra then peeled down the cups. She opened the fastening between my breasts and drew off my bra, standing so close her breasts rubbed mine.

My nipples puckered and tightened. Arousal shot straight to my pussy. I gasped, but didn't step back. Instead, while she looked at me from between her slitted eyelids, I cupped my breasts, nipples exposed to scrape the tips over hers.

“Not so hard, is it? Doing what feels right?”

I met her gaze, straight on. “So, are you going to watch me?”

“I learn best by doing.”

“Of course you do,” I murmured.

We lay down side by side on the bed.

“Don't do anything,” she said. “Don't touch me unless it's to move me where you need me.” She gave me a push.

I rolled to my back, one knee folded inward to conceal my sex.

Morgan leaned over me. Her mouth glided over my cheek to my lips. Mine parted, inviting her inside. The tip of her tongue touched mine. Air whisked from my lungs. Blood rushed south to plump my pussy.

She bit my lip, then snuggled into the corner of my neck. “I love the scent you're wearing. I wanna spray it on my panties and wear you there all day.” She nipped my collarbone and scooted lower, a knee pushing mine
aside. Her lips drew on each nipple until my heart fluttered and my flesh prickled with goose bumps. Then she was moving again, her tongue tracing a straight line toward my mound.

Hot palms widened my thighs. She rested on her elbows as she bent and licked my folds. More moisture seeped from inside me. My clit hardened, painfully engorged. When her tongue stroked over the hood, I hissed air between my teeth.

“Too much?”

“I didn't expect it to feel that good. I usually tense up when anyone gets close. I wasn't ready.”

She laughed. “Don't forget to breathe.” Two fingers forked at the top of my folds and pulled up, exposing my clit without touching it. Morgan blew a stream of warm air over the hard knot.

When she bent again, I watched, enraptured, as she slicked the flat of her tongue over my clit, coating it with moisture. One finger pushed inside her mouth, pulling free with a wet strand attached that broke when she touched me again. “Tell me if it's too much.”

It was. But I didn't want her to stop. It was like having my own finger work my clit, but not. The strokes were light, but she surprised me, toggling and rubbing, then leaning down to lick me again. The sensations she built, layer by layer, were sublime.

My heartbeats pounded in my temples. My thighs and abdomen quivered. Moans crept up the back of my throat and leaked between my lips as she continued to
minister to my swollen clit.

Her lips enclosed it, and my back arched. The first gentle tug sent me screaming through the stratosphere.

When I fell back, her mouth still suctioned. I thrust my hands into her hair and pulled.

She released my clit and kissed my inner thighs before glancing up. Hunger smoldered in her glance, as well as more than a little pride. She crawled up my body and slanted a thigh over mine before snuggling into my side. “I get it right?”

I grunted softly and pulled her close. “Morgan, you tripped my switch.”

 

 

 

 

 

I
'm a real fashionista. I
love
clothes—shopping for clothes, buying clothes, wearing clothes. I even have my own blog, Fashungirl, where I model my latest purchases.

That's how I met Katie. She emailed me after I posted a video of myself parading around and discussing my latest outfit—a hot-pink minidress with a ruffled skirt and a pair of white vinyl go-go boots. She loved the outfit, said I looked “cute” in it and asked if she could come over sometime and show me some of her clothes. Since she lived in the same city, I said, “Sure!”

We shook hands, giggling, kind of nervous. Then she kissed me on both cheeks, and I told Mom we were going upstairs to my bedroom. Mom was sooo relieved that Katie wasn't actually some dirty old man.

Fact was, Katie was eighteen years old, like me, and looked a lot like me—blonde hair, blue eyes, girly body and bubbly personality. We could've been twins.

“Here's my latest fab find!” the girl gushed, pulling a dress out of the bangled leather bag she'd brought along.

I plucked the silky red slip-dress out of her hands and pasted it to my body, rubbing the super-slick fabric. “Awesome!” I yelped.

“Go ahead and try it on. We're about the same size.”

I instantly stripped off my sparkly purple tee and white skinny jeans, dropped the slinky dress over my head and let it slide down my bare body. Katie zipped me up at the back, as we stared at my reflection in the full-length mirror in my bedroom.

“You look way sexy!” she breathed in my ear.

I grinned, tingling all over. The dress fit me like a glove, and really showed off my smooth, tanned arms and legs, my feminine curves. Katie reached around to adjust the plunging neckline, and her fingers brushed over my nipples.

I jumped, zapped with sensation. All the excitement of meeting a fellow fashungirl, trying on her stuff, had really gotten to me. My nipples were super-hard, brimming with feeling, poking the dress out on my quivering body so that Katie couldn't help but notice.