Girl Crush Page 6

  She tossed her hat on the bank then slid into the water, following Maxine, light with freedom from class work and expectations, floating on the knowledge that she was one step closer to her goals. She swam with long strokes to Maxine’s side, then stood on the silted bottom and looked at her roommate, arms easily sculling the water, limbs like mystical, half-hidden wings.

  They swam together with lazy strokes until the water concealed them from their ribs down, the bank of the quarry twenty feet away. No other swimmers splashed nearby. The dull weight between Regina’s thighs began a slow pulse as she reached up and stroked Maxine’s smooth cheek.

  Her bare breast touched Maxine’s and Maxine closed her eyes and drew a whispered breath. The wet silk of Maxine’s calf and foot trailed down Regina’s leg to her ankle. Regina loved Maxine’s legs, she always had: those long muscled tapers that joined at a rounded ass and a tempting, trimmed wedge of ebony curls.

  She trailed her fingers down Maxine’s sides, resting them on her hips, one finger easing under the band of her bikini. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath until her chest burned, and then she exhaled in a fast gasp. Was she still above water?

  She squeezed her eyes shut and her voice barely rose above the breeze. “Max, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

  Max’s wet hand lifted Regina’s chin, her thumb caressing along her jaw until Regina opened her eyes. “Honey, this isn’t a test.” Maxine’s soft smile almost trembled but her eyes shone with empathy. “You have a beautiful body, Gina, full and curved, so classic. Your face is like an angel, truly, and your eyes watch me and you give me the thrill of being desired.”

  Gina scoffed. “Max, you must be used to it. Les can’t keep his hands off you.”

  “He’s a man, Gina. It’s different. His touch is thrilling. He’s funny, smart and strong and he understands me. I know I love him, and I’m pretty sure he loves me. Sometimes I wonder how much biology draws me to men, or if it’s just culture that tells me I should be with a man. I don’t like it when I feel that way.”

  “And Les?”

  Maxine’s smile twitched. “Les isn’t like the others. He’s the man of my dreams, but I don’t just dream about men. He knows that about me.” She leaned in and touched her lips to Gina’s, soft, full and silky, the caress a breath of paradise that blew away confusion.

  With a wet finger, she traced the outline of Regina’s left nipple, as stiff and sensitive as it had ever been. “The hard part is, with most women all I have are looks and longings and dreams.” She leaned in again, kissing the top of Regina’s shoulder, her satin lips sliding feather light to the pulse of her throat.

  The pent breath exited Gina’s body in a moan. She slid her hands down Maxine’s back, loving the creaminess of her wet skin. “I’ve dreamed too,” she whispered before her head fell back exposing her neck to Maxine’s warm kisses.

  Maxine’s full lips brushed along her jaw and cheek, light and tender, then hovered over Regina’s mouth for only a moment before she closed. Regina’s lips parted tentatively as she met the kiss, then fully as Maxine’s tongue coaxed her own to twine and twist.

  Maxine’s fingers cupped Regina’s breast, her hands teasing the nipple, and then Gina’s hand cradled Maxine’s right breast, thrilling at the fullness, at the pebbled texture of her areola. Desire boiled in her and she didn’t hesitate when Maxine’s hand tightened on Regina’s hip in response to the caress. Regina lowered her head, smoothed her lips along her wet breast until they met the nipple. Light, careful, she parted her lips around the tip, caressing it with her tongue, tasting, and thrilling at Maxine’s soft groan. “Gina,” she whispered, caressing her back with needy fingers.

  Maxine shifted and slid her leg along the inside of Regina’s, ending the stroke by pressing her thigh and moving her hips in a slow gyration that massaged Regina’s pussy. The pulse between her legs resonated and demanded. She suckled at Maxine’s breast as her hand slid beneath the thin string of Maxine’s bikini bottom. She cupped the round ass she’d dreamed of for so long, loving how it flexed as Maxine moved against her.

  Sensations overwhelmed Regina—the sweet ache in her breasts sending pulses of pleasure to her core, her clit throbbing with the steady pressure of Maxine’s thigh. Maxine slid Gina’s suit bottom off, and then she moved her leg and let her fingers slip into Regina’s pussy, slowly circling her clit.

  She gripped Maxine and pressed, moving against her hand, needing more. She stroked Maxine’s ass. Somewhere in her mind she wanted to do more, wanted to give more, but only the growing pulse in her pussy and blood existed.

  Maxine’s fingers played with the folds of Regina’s sex, slipped through the gate to test her, then began the slow, deep stroking, in and out, steady and sure, as her thumb coaxed the clit. All Regina managed was to cling to Maxine as her hips matched the rhythm. The gyre of pleasure grew, the thrum in her body deafened, and as her nipple was pulled and sucked, and long slender fingers filled her again and again, Regina knew only the strokes and the sweet reaching oblivion that seemed so imminent, but maddeningly far away.

  The building wall of pleasure towered over her, paralyzing her, then crashed down in one long, rolling orgasm that flooded her soul with an explosion of color, launching her senses on an ocean of divine ecstasy.

  Their lips met in a kiss so tender Regina’s throat tightened.

  Her breath returned as she realized what had just happened. She scanned the banks of the quarry. A few people watched them, but they hardly seemed shocked. It was almost summer. They were in college. The possibilities were endless.

  She rested against Maxine for several moments before Maxine kissed her again then grinned like a canary-filled cat. Hand in hand, they made their way back to shore, naked as nymphs, renewed by the water and what they shared.

  Breathing softly, quiet as the water itself, they lay nude, side by side on the shore, Gina’s thigh resting against Maxine’s. Nothing might ever happen between them again, Regina knew, or perhaps everything might. For now, for this moment, the world turned in perfect balance and Regina felt whole.

  THE THINGS I CAN DO FOR HER

  David Erlewine

  After weeks of writing messages never sent, I finally email Lauren Reynolds at 1:15 a.m. and ask her to lunch later in the week, “schedule permitting.” She’s a senior associate at my law firm, rumored to be up for partner later this year, her sixth. Lauren is only five seven in heels but seems taller than me. She has high cheekbones, brown eyes, long black hair and olive skin. Her nickname around the office is Ten because she has it all. Her breasts are firm but round, a little more than a handful. Her ass is full and always jiggles just the right way when she walks on by. Whenever she leaves a room, she leaves a heavy cloud of perfume in her wake and many panting tongues. Her beauty is only one of many things that make Lauren Reynolds seem larger than life.

  A few minutes later, while I’m debating whether to retract the message, she replies, Friday at noon, Center Club. Come by my office at 11:50. I write back, Wonderful! and click SEND, immediately regretting the exclamation point. When I click on properties I see she’s already opened my message. I’m such a loser. I stand and make sure my office door is locked, even though I know it is. Other than Lauren (way down the hall), none of the other associates are even here, let alone partners. I dig into my gym bag and toss my towel onto the chair. Then I sit down and spread my legs slightly. I get up and check the door again. Getting caught doing what I’m about to do would likely make me the first associate to be fired this year and getting fired means I wouldn’t be able to see Lauren every day.

  I close my eyes and picture Lauren’s thick calves, big ass and high cheekbones as I stroke myself lazily. I think about burying my face between her perfect breasts, suckling her hard gumdrop nipples into my mouth, tasting and teasing them with my tongue. I hate Lauren Reynolds but I want her. I want her bad and I don’t know why. I stroke my clit faster, slide lower in my seat and wish I had something hard I could sli
de into my throbbing pussy. Last week, she called me into her office for missing a court deadline. She closed her office door and called me an idiot who deserved to be fired. I was all but crying, nodding and saying how sorry I was for not getting the brief in on time.

  Now, as I’m on the verge of coming, instead of her telling me to get out of her office, I picture her throwing me to the floor and making me lick her left nipple while she sticks her fingers into my ass and then stuffs them in my mouth. The whole time that fat pink tongue of hers, so pretty and wet, is licking my ear between insults. She is holding me down on the floor and telling me I’m going to love eating pussy. I tell her no but she is sliding up on me, over my shoulders, trapping my head between her thighs. She is smiling down at me. That’s how I come in a big wet mess, imagining her slowly crawling up my body until her clit is directly over my eyes, and I’m breathing her in.

  After I clean myself up, my body is still tingling and I decide to go home because I have a bad case of Lauren Reynolds I can’t seem to shake. I finish logging in the day’s billable hours, read Lauren’s message one more time, spray my office with perfume, and drive home. To stay awake, I slap myself every few minutes, imagining Lauren’s perfectly manicured hand doing it. A few blocks from my apartment, I’m no longer tired, but I slap myself again. This time, Lauren holds me by the neck giving me one of her looks while her hand has her way with my face.

  When I get home, my fiancé, Carl, doesn’t come downstairs. When I look in on him, he’s fast asleep, snoring softly. I lock myself in the bathroom and sit on the toilet, my feet against the wall across from me, furiously rubbing my clit as I think about Lauren Reynolds, her wicked body, her wicked ways. I come again, quickly.

  Carl doesn’t grunt, let alone stir, as I slide into bed.

  My hands keep shaking at lunch. Lauren says nothing to me. Instead, she checks her BlackBerry and makes a couple of calls to the office. I catch her staring at my trembling hands more than once. I catch her smiling. She enjoys the effect she has on me. When the waiter comes, Lauren says, “We’ll have two Cobb salads.”

  I look at her then mumble, “Dressing on the side.”

  “I’ll have mine on the salad,” Lauren says, handing the menu to the waiter.

  Before he’s even taken two steps from us, Lauren shakes her finger at me. “Don’t ever speak for me.”

  My face burns and I stammer out an apology.

  Lauren takes a sip of her iced tea. “Yes, you are sorry.”

  As we wait for the salads, she grills me about my fiancé, asks if he’s as bald as he looks in pictures, says how shitty his law firm is and demands to know how I ended up with him.

  When the salads arrive, I push the little bowl of blue cheese dressing away from my salad and begin eating.

  “You really hate blue cheese,” she says. It’s not a question. If we were in court, I might object.

  I nod and smile.

  “Enough to get fired?” Lauren carefully sets her fork down and dips her pinky finger into the little bowl of blue cheese. Then she holds it up in the air.

  I look at her finger for a few seconds and then take a sip of my iced tea.

  “Are you slow?” she asks quietly, her irritation shaping each word, confirming my worst fears about myself. “Lean over.”

  I realize what she wants. I lean toward her and open my mouth. She jams her wet, rank pinky between my lips, rubbing it up and down my tongue.

  She leaves it there until I swallow.

  This isn’t how I envisioned my first time eating pussy. I’m on my knees and my nemesis’s hands are gripping my head so tightly, I can’t move my neck. Lauren says things like “Slower” and “Bigger licks.” I hold my tongue out and follow her instructions to move it counterclockwise and then clockwise. As directed, I lick her clit quickly every now and then. My jaw aches, but I obey. Soon, Lauren is hissing at me to keep still while she grinds on my face. I taste her juices on my lips. As her breathing slows, she leans down and traces the edges of my lips with her tongue. “You might keep your job after all.”

  When I smile, blushing, Lauren laughs, gripping my ears, which are a bit larger than I’d like. “Come on, Dumbo, round two.” I flinch at hearing my childhood nickname but give in to the feeling. As I try to ease the tension in my jaw, slowly massaging my face with my fingers, I wonder how many other associates she has used like this. I worry about what she’ll do when she makes partner. Lauren releases her grip on one ear and smacks my ass so hard I bite the skin under my lip.

  “Get working,” she says, turning around and jiggling her ass in my face. It’s the kind of ass I’ve seen in face-sitting videos, crushing men’s and women’s faces alike. She bounces it off my face and then pushes me to the floor. She sticks two fingers inside me. Then she sticks her glistening, perfectly manicured fingers in my mouth and then back inside my pussy again. Soon, I’m a quivering mess. She has me exactly where she wants me.

  “You young associates are so fucking eager,” she says, fluttering her tongue in my ear. “Stick your tongue out so I can fuck it.”

  Once again, I do as I’m told, thinking back to how this all began with inviting her to lunch. I don’t know how I feel about that. She drags me by the hair to her couch, laying me out so the back of my head is pressed awkwardly against the couch’s edge. She squats over me and for a brief moment, I admire the perfect tautness of her toned thighs.

  “I hope you’ve been doing neck exercises. Oh, and if you ever screw up a court filing again, I’ll have you hooking on the street,” she says, coldly.

  I look up and try to smile, hoping these types of jokes will eventually stop as I advance in the firm, as she makes partner, as she grows to appreciate the things I can do for her. She grinds the back of my head into the hard couch. All I can see, all I can smell is Lauren Reynolds. She gyrates over my face, every few seconds moving inches up so I can swallow some fresh air. Sharp bursts of pain radiate down my neck. Finally, she comes. She’s louder and more extravagant this time. Her juices dry in a thin hard shell on my face. With one last rocking of her hips, she steps away from me, leans down and whispers, “Get out.”

  Three days later, Lauren emails me. “Your memo was due hours ago. Get down here.”

  My stomach drops and I scroll through my emails, the whole time telling myself I’m either losing my mind or she’s just messing with me. When I get to her office, she locks the door behind me. “You ran track in college. That was on your resume, wasn’t it?”

  I nod.

  She looks me up and down, judging me. “You look like a runner, flat as a board and no ass. You actually look like a guy.” She laughs. “I can’t be the first person to tell you that. Do you ever think that maybe your bald fiancé is secretly gay, being with you?”

  She puts her hands on my shoulders and pushes me to my knees. She reaches over to her desk and then squirts something onto my forehead. It drips into my eyes. It takes a second for me to realize it’s blue cheese dressing. As I’m processing that, I realize her skirt is on the floor and her round ass is inches away from my mouth. She squirts dressing in the cleft between those two perfect cheeks, backhands my face, then points. Moments later, I’m licking pussy. I can’t smell anything other than blue cheese, and I can’t tell if Lauren is as wet as she seems or I’m just not appreciating how much comes out of those little dressing packets. She puts me in a scissors lock, cutting off the air passage in my neck. I can’t believe how excited I get. I want to rub my clit but my hands instinctively clutch her thighs to reduce the mounting pressure around my neck. She spins me over so that my head and shoulders are flat against the carpet. She kneels between my thighs and out of nowhere conjures a large black dildo, veined like a real cock. She waves it at me, tells me she’s going teach me a lesson. Lauren slides the dildo along my pussy lips: up, then down. I raise my hips, urging her to penetrate me with her toy. She laughs, flicks a finger against the hard nub of my clit, sending a sharp wave of desire through me.

  �
��Keep your eyes open and watch,” she says.

  I do as I’m told. I’m getting good at that. Without ceremony, she fills my cunt with the dildo. I’m wet, so it slides in easily. Lauren braces herself with one hand against my thigh, her nails digging into my skin. Later, there will be red indentations and I’ll have to come up with some excuse for Carl. Right now, I hiss, “Harder,” and for once, Lauren Reynolds does what she’s told.

  I forget about the pain in my neck when I come.

  The next Saturday, I’m at the office late but getting ready to head home for dinner. Carl and I are supposed to go out with another lawyer couple he likes. I shoot Lauren an email to say I’m taking off. My phone rings almost immediately.

  “I come and you can go,” she says.

  I hang up and check my appearance in my compact. I can feel myself getting wet, wet, wetter. I hate myself for it. I hurry down to Lauren’s office, locking the door behind me. She closes the curtains. When she turns around, she’s wearing a bald cap and glasses. The resemblance to Carl is slight but jarring. She laughs. I never was very good at masking my emotions.

  “Spread your legs,” she says in a deep voice. I do, and she spins me around, kicking my ankles, and plants my hands on her desk, pulling my fingers apart. She shows me the biggest dildo I’ve ever seen, bigger than the one she tormented me with the last time we had one of these little associate meetings. “Get yourself ready,” she says. I take a deep breath.

  Before I’m quite ready, I fall forward as she enters me. I yell into her hand covering my mouth. After a few minutes of steady stroking, the dildo stretching me wider and wider, Lauren pulls out and pushes me to my knees. I feel empty. I want more. She flops the dildo in my face. “Open your mouth,” she orders. I obey. When it comes to Lauren Reynolds, all I know how to do is obey. She clasps one hand around the back of my neck, tapping the fat, bulbous head of the dildo on my lower lip, then slowly sliding it in and out, my jaw aching terribly as I open my mouth wider and wider to accommodate the girth of this foreign object. “Hold still and keep your tongue down,” she says, going deeper with the dildo than Carl’s dick has ever dared.