French Kiss, Pt. 01

"Hmm, Mademoiselle Mathis?"

Brown eyes suddenly wide, Sophie jolted upright in her rigid plastic chair. She flushed crimson, her classmates' titters pushing the warmth from her pale cheeks all the way to the tips of her ears. "Oui... Oui, Madame Draaken!" she stuttered nervously at the professor's retreating back.

Madame Draaken turned and smiled when she reached the whiteboard, continuing in French, "Wonderful. I'll see you at office hours then." She turned to the rest of the room. "Class dismissed."

Sophie stayed in her seat for a moment as the rest of the students filed out, her brain working feverishly to remember why she was now expected at office hours the next day. Glancing to the front of the room revealed no clues. Mme. Draaken leaned over her low desk to jot down notes, a curtain of brown hair obscuring her face. With a sigh, Sophie levered her exhausted frame from the hideous orange desk. Angling one last questioning glance at the professor, she grabbed her copy of Madame Bovary from the tiny attached desk and trailed after the rest of the class. As she exited the old, marble-faced foreign languages building, Sophie sighted someone who could tell her what she'd signed up for.

"Hey, Mark!" she called, waving to capture his attention. Mark turned and smiled, his teeth flashing white against dark skin. Dark brown eyes squinted against bright sunlight. Sophie jogged across the pedestrium to catch up, her white sneakers clapping loudly against the stone path.

"Feeling rested?" he asked, chuckling. Sophie tugged her green tank into place and rubbed slightly moist palms down her pleated white skirt.

"Ugh. No. Mortified. Exhausted." Her hands briefly covered her face, pulling down in a gesture of exaggerated frustration. "My CS capstone work is killing me this semester."

Mark nodded sympathetically. "I know. Graduation can't come soon enough."

Sophie shuffled her feet awkwardly, "Soo, what should I expect at Professor Draaken's office hours?"

Mark's laughter bubbled up again and he leaned forward a bit, pulling on his backpack straps with both hands. "Oh man. You slept through almost the entire class. Mme. Draaken ignored you until the very end when it looked like you were going to fall over."

"Ya, ya. Jokes, jokes. And then?" Sophie glared up at him from her dainty five-foot-nothing, but both students knew there was no venom in it. They fell into step, walking together in the direction of the campus life center.

"Then she gave out copies of Madame Bovary for our final paper and that was that. I'm not really sure why she asked if you were coming to her office hours. Maybe to yell at you for sleeping in class?" Mark shrugged.

"I guess I'll find out tomorrow."

Sophie paused outside of Professor Draaken's office, shifting from foot to foot before knocking lightly. Maybe she won't be there, she hoped, only to be disappointed a moment later at the sound of Mme. Draaken's voice: "Oui? Entrez!"

"Bonjour, Madame Draaken," Sophie greeted the professor, who peered at the threshold from behind a raised desk. Professor Draaken rose and rounded the platform with a kind smile, gesturing towards three armchairs and a small table between them. A wrap dress in red draped her generous curves. Madame's reply came in French, as usual, "Please, sit down; you can close the door. Would you like a coffee?"

The smell of old books permeated the air; dry, a little musty. Over that, the rich, heavy scent of espresso flirted with her nose. Tempting. Sophie shook her head, "No, thank you." Perhaps it would be better not to linger, she thought.

Serious green eyes followed Sophie, who shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. She tugged at her tight jean shorts as she settled into one of the overstuffed chairs opposite the professor. "I want to speak with you about your performance in my class." Sophie's stomach sank. Her body flashed hot, then cold. She froze, hands going limp in her lap, the ragged hem of her shorts forgotten. "Over the course of the semester, you've participated less and less, while sleeping more and more." Professor Draaken paused as though expecting a reaction, but, receiving none, continued, "Your performance on my exams has been satisfactory, but I find the inattention in class unacceptable. Is there anything you would like to share with me?" The sober gaze had turned stern.

With a sigh, Sophie replied, her own dark eyes earnest, "I'm very sorry, Madame." She gnawed her generous lower lip anxiously. Her fingers gripped the edges of the iPad that rested on her knees. Professor Draaken arched one dark eyebrow and tilted her head, waiting. "It's not that I don't like French Lit or appreciate your teaching. It's just... It's not one of my major classes and I have so much capstone work. I still have a week to drop your class. If you think I should." She hung her head, subdued.

Sophie had always been a great student; this was the first time a professor had ever scolded her performance. And the end of her very last semester. At the sound of a matter-of-fact tsk-tsk from Madame, Sophie looked up. "No, I do not think you should drop my class, as it would prevent you from completing your minor." Professor Draaken leaned back, elbows spread between the arms of her chair, fingers steepled in front of her face as she mulled what Sophie had confessed. Madame's bold red dress highlighted warm copper notes in her hair and the dark outer ring of her irises. Châtains, Sophie's mind offered helpfully. Not the time, she scolded herself. This is serious.

Sophie, for her part, began to wonder if maybe she should drop French Literature. She tugged nervously at the blue bow fastened to her long, dark braid and dragged her brown eyes down despondently to stare down at Madame's sandal-wrapped feet. Bright red polish tipped straight, hairless toes. Seeing them curl a bit, Sophie looked up to find the professor perched at the edge of her chair again.

"Here is what I offer. Switch to my graduate-level directed reading. One seminar class a week, no final paper. Though we would need to meet during office hours after spring break to catch you up. I think four times would be sufficient, given your fluency." Sophie's brow wrinkled, an unspoken question. "I can offer more flexibility if you need it due to your capstone coursework. I would even consider allowing you to take an incomplete, if you participate diligently but need extra time at the semester close."

Hands clasped in front of her oversized blue and white striped button-up, Sophie beamed, her full, wide lips parting over bright, white teeth. A great weight lifted. "Thank you so much, Madame! I promise I'll do better for you. Err, your class! This helps so much. Thank you, thank you!"

Madame Draaken stood with a chuckle, mauve-tinted lips turned up in amusement, "Thank me after you've seen the reading list. I'll send it to you by the end of the day." She held out a hand to Sophie, who had come to her feet as well. Sophie grasped the professor's proffered palm, which she found pleasantly dry and cool, her handshake firm and brief. Turning back towards her desk, Professor Draaken said, "I will see you Thursday, Sophie."

Sophie lingered outside of the closed office door for a moment, realizing that she had been quite elegantly, expeditiously, dismissed.

Two days later, Sophie stood in front of the same closed door, listening for a moment to discern if someone lay within. Shrugging, she shifted her shoulder bag higher and raised her right fist to knock. Rather than a call to enter, the door opened, revealing Professor Draaken, a little out of breath. Her generous chest heaved slightly under a crisp white button-up blouse.

"Ah! Sophie. Good. You are here." She waved towards the chairs, "Come in."

"Sorry I'm early. I came here right from my last class." Sophie wondered what had taken Madame's breath away. She glanced around. Nothing seemed out of place. Madame Draaken's lips twisted a bit and her brow furrowed. Sophie continued, "If that's not ok..."

"Don't apologize, Sophie," Madame advised, her breathing evening. She settled into the same faded blue chair she had claimed when last they met, her petite frame folding into place with practiced ease. Her grey pencil skirt rode higher up her thigh as she shifted to get comfortable. "Unless you have actually something wrong, you're only apologizing for existing." The moue smoothed from Madame's expressive face and she smiled, settling black-rimmed glasses on her freckled nose. With her posture so relaxed, Sophie realized Madame had to be younger than she had previously thought; she couldn't have been more than forty years old, tops.

"I'm-" Sophie caught herself, realizing she was about to apologize for apologizing. She shook her head with a chuckle and plopped down in her own chair. Stretchy black leggings under her running top rendered modesty unnecessary. The chair swallowed up her tiny frame and she scooted close to the side to support her iPad. "I guess I hadn't thought of it that way."

"If you listen, I think you'll find we women apologize for nothing all the time. Now, tell me..." Professor Draaken tapped her notepad with a pen and propped her left elbow on the armchair, "Tell me about Emma Bovary."

Yesterday's directed reading with Madame Draaken had been the most enjoyable French class of the semester, if not ever. The professor had allowed Sophie her head to analyze the French classic, Madame Bovary, reining her in only occasionally with guided questions. Sophie had described her struggle with the selfish protagonist; she felt disgusted by the character at the same time that the musical prose and evocative descriptions drew her in again and again.

She is just so brilliant. Such a good professor. Sophie felt guilt rise for having so neglected Madame's class this semester. She deserved better.

At the end of their hour - well, more than that, but neither Sophie nor Madame Draaken had been in a hurry - the discussion circled back to why the novel holds such a special place in French literature.

"What makes this novel beautiful?" Madame asked, her questions gaining speed, as though to force Sophie to articulate the first answer that came to her. "The prose, the descriptive specificity, Emma," she quickly replied.

Madame Draaken sat up, a smile teasing the edges of her lips, her spine drawing tall, "What makes it terrible?" The way the words rolled off Madame's tongue made Sophie shiver. Terrible. She paused only a moment, "The story, the raw ugliness laid bare, and, well, the protagonist." She also sat up straight.

"What makes it exceptional?" Madame she leaned forward, green eyes alight. Sophie tilted forward, subconsciously mirroring the posture, moved by the professor's passion. Madame's personal energy rubbed against hers, though she sat some three feet away. Sophie's eyes darted left, then right, mind scrambling for the answer. Her words came in a breathy rush, "It all comes down to Emma, yes? She's beautiful and terrible. Imperfect. But the reader sees her." She paused, her thoughts coalescing. "She has needs and ambitions, a complex figure in a limited, err, circumscribed world."

Madame nodded enthusiastically. "Well done!" She smiled. Sophie flushed with pleasure at her praise. "I would not wish to be Emma -," Again that suppressed almost Mona Lisa smile, "You are right, she is terrible and selfish and her end tragic. However, I, for one, would rather be terrible, imperfect, and seen than good and perfect and... apologetic."

Sophie's thoughts turned inward, remembering her earlier apology. Madame Draaken stood, stretching with a low grunt. Sophie's eyes came into focus again at the sound, watching the hem of Madame's skirt settle just above her knee. Her blouse lifted slightly from the tailored waistband.

Sophie looked away, sensing that this moment - the usually perfectly poised professor just a little undone - was private, not meant for her eyes. It must have been a long week.

Madame Draaken had already moved to her desk, eyes tracking something on her laptop.

"Thank you, Madame," Sophie said quietly, letting the door close behind her.

"Sophie! Sophie! Sophiiieeee!" Knuckles hammered the door in time with the sing-song call. Sophie twisted the shower knob, halting the water flowing over her petite form. She yelled over the clamor at her door, "Give me a minute, Justine!" Snatching her towel from a hook, Sophie roughly dried her body before wrapping and tucking the end to secure the towel. The knocking had not stopped.

"WHAT?!" she cried as she opened the door. Justine leaned against the door frame; tight, dark curls framed her beaming face. No contrition whatsoever - quelle surprise!

"What, what? You know why I'm here." Sophie turned with a small, good-natured huff. "Spring break started...," with a glance at her watch, she straightened and followed Sophie into her suite. "Two hours ago. Since you weren't answering texts, I figured I'd cross the vast distance of our living room to see what you're getting into tonight. So, what are you getting into?" Justine smiled even more broadly, batting her eyes a bit. Her brown skin glowed under the harsh fluorescent light. Sophie's eyes narrowed. Glitter. So it begins.

Sophie couldn't help but grin, even as she waved unenthusiastically at her waiting pile of books. Justine had a way of doing that. Boundless energy rolled off her; she plowed through life with optimism and bravado.

"Trying to get ahead on French so I can work on my capstone this week. I'm meeting with Madame Draaken next Sunday. Then I can sit in with her other students for the rest of the semester." She peered around her closet to level a look at Justine, knowing what would soon follow that admission.

"Sunday nine days from now?" Justine returned Sophie's determined look with nonchalance. She flopped down into Sophie's desk chair and started looking at the books, one-by-one. For reasons unknown to Sophie, her best friend separated the books into two piles. "Sheesh. This is a lot, actually. Is this the new French professor? The hot one?"

Sophie rolled her eyes and ducked back into the closet, dropping her towel to slide black lace bikini panties up her smooth legs. The purple embroidery complimented pale-olive skin. A matching bra soon supported her small, tight breasts. Sophie's damp skin rose in gooseflesh under the cool air blowing from her vent. The lace did little to suppress the stiff nipples pressing against textured fabric.

"She's new-ish. Started teaching here two years ago, I think. Sophomore year? This is my first class with her." Her long dark hair continued to drip water, rivulets snaking over her shoulders before splattering on the hardwood floor; Sophie wrapped the wet mop in her towel as she again emerged. "And yes, I think being the only French professor under 95 does make Madame Draaken 'the hot one.'"

Her thoughts skittered: Madame's sober green eyes when she chastised Sophie; her heaving chest when she answered the door yesterday; the skirt hem that flirted with impropriety. Maybe. Sure. She's pretty. Sophie blinked, shaking her head, and returned her gaze to her roommate.

Justine looked suspiciously sincere where she perched on the edge of the desk chair, one knee to her chest, brown eyes wide. "First, Sophie, you've obviously been lifting. Your ass is looking tops." Sophie curtsied in response, she straightened, hip cocked, muttering under her breath about flattery. Justine rose, gesturing at the taller of the two book stacks. "Second, I've read all of these. How about you do a light-read and then we can prep for your directed readings by having our own mini-discussion?"

Sophie raised an eyebrow. "Why?" Justine's irrepressible mirth bubbled forth as her serious visage cracked. "Beeecause..." she started sashaying her jean-clad hips in time with an unheard tune. "Because we are going out toniiiight." She shushed Sophie, continuing, "Listen! Listen! Hear me out. We are going to Styx. To dance." She shimmied faster, bangles on her thin wrist chiming. "And you can do your work tomorrow; hopefully after you kick some sweet piece out of bed. You've been too busy; celibacy isn't good for you." Her hip thrusts became obscene for a moment, then she dropped back into the chair, chortling, laughing at her own joke. "Trust me, I'm a professional."

Rolling her eyes, Sophie scoffed, "Working at the women's health center does not make you 'a professional.'" Silently, she calculated how many hours of work she had left in her for the evening. Not enough to make a difference.

"Tomato, to-mah-to," Justine shrugged, shoulders bare in the glittery black halter top she wore. Her eyes lit up when she noticed that Sophie had pulled tight black shorts and a transparent jade tank over her lacy black bra and panties. Sophie's fingers worked to fasten oversized pearl studs to her earlobes. "You're coming out!"

Sophie spread her arms in defeat, laughing. "I'm going out." Justine jumped up and grabbed her roommate, twirling Sophie into a 1-2 step.

"I'll get the first round! Go!" Justine yelled over the pumping bass. At Sophie's head tilt she made exaggerated motions towards the adjacent room with her arms, backing towards the bar. With a smile, Sophie headed to the back of the club, pelvis already swaying. It was early yet, but she didn't mind. She took her place under the strobing lights lasering across a nearly empty dance floor. Closing her eyes, she let the beat shiver through her, swaying slightly and then undulating faster once she found her center. A smile bloomed on her lips, the stress of recent weeks melting away.

Too soon, Justine's voice shouted, a bit too close to her ear, "Hey! I need you to see this!" Sophie's eyes opened fully and she turned with raised brows to find Justine, sans drinks, plucking at her arm. "What?" Justine motioned impatiently at the booming speakers and back out to the bar, pulling on her roommate's upper arm to communicate her urgency. Sophie followed without resistance. She must have forgotten her credit card, she thought, and reached into her bra for her own when they arrived at the bar.

"No, I'm good!" Justine half-yelled. Sophie looked around to figure out what she wanted her so desperately to witness. Several couples and groups littered the space, chatting in twos and threes. Her eyes snagged and then slid past two women making out at the far end of the bar, some twenty feet away. Rude to stare. Another couple, two men, swayed together near the back exit. Cute. Really, nothing exceptional as far as Sophie could tell. She turned to Justine, who had sidled up to the bar, but kept glancing expectantly back at Sophie.

"Whaaat?!" Sophie laughed, feigning frustration, but honestly confused. Her friend shook her head and moved in close, her lips right next to Sophie's ear, "The couple at the end of the bar. Watch. Enjoy! I'm going to get drinks!" Sophie shrugged and took a step back for a better look. She felt a little awkward staring, but the women seemed quite happy to be seen and, ahem, quite distracted as well.

In for a penny... Sophie started her examination with the woman perched precariously on a bar stool, eyes moving slowly. Mystery woman's low heels hooked into the bottom rung of her seat, pale, sandal-clad feet and dark-tipped toenails pointed sharply to the left and right. Tight jeans sheathed legs forced wide by the position of her feet. Dirty, Sophie thought, but nothing so scandalous as to write home about. She glanced quizzically at Justine, who had gotten caught up in flirting with one of the regulars and was paying her no mind. Sophie shrugged and returned to her task.

Mystery woman's legs went on forever - she had to be almost six feet tall, lithe, and flexible, apparently. Long wheat-colored hair brushed the top of her bum, swaying with her lover's movements. Sophie's gaze lingered momentarily on mystery woman's nipples, obviously unfettered and stiff beneath her thin, slinky shift. From here she couldn't tell if the outline of the nipple was visible because it was swollen, or because the white material left the woman that exposed. OK, hot, she admitted, shifting a bit on her feet at the soft pulse of warmth that surged through her pussy. She started to feel a bit uncomfortable, getting wet watching this torrid embrace. Maybe Justine is right. It's been too long.

Finally, Sophie's stare alighted on the captivated woman's face. Her head leaned slightly back, eyes closed, lush, parted lips angled up for more attention; a thing of beauty. Sophie thought about kissing those lips, feeling them soft and pliant. Her tongue darted to moisten her own.

The woman who had so enraptured the blonde leaned in. The blonde gasped, nodded, then shuddered, head falling forward. Sophie's cunt warmed again. The standing woman's darker locks contrasted sharply with mystery woman's fair complexion, the tousled brown curls now shielding her passion from view. She had to be almost as small as Sophie, the top of her head reaching only a few inches taller than the willowy woman seated on the bar stool.

Tiny and fierce, like me, Sophie mused. Watching the brunette's hand slip confidently up mystery woman's side, she thought, Well, maybe a little more fierce. Her top left little to the imagination, fabric held together with a thin jeweled tie in the middle of her back. The swishing strands mesmerized Sophie for a second, watching them glide against the swathe of bare, shimmering skin that extended neck to waist but for that thin tether. A thumb massaged toward the blonde's erect nipple. Small, measured circles as though it already lay under the woman's grip.

The entranced coed had dropped any pretense that she wasn't staring. Sophie wouldn't usually consider herself a voyeur, but this was a very good show. That sure grip snagged the blonde's halter and Sophie caught her breath, watching the hem inch up that long torso. The fabric dropped back into place an instant later, just shy of revealing a rosy nipple. Her mind flashed again to Madame's skirt slipping down her tight thigh. Sophie shook her head. Shut up, brain. The blonde's body had gone rigid under the seeking digits. She sagged with relief when the fabric fell back into place, but then lifted her ass almost imperceptibly, humping in the brunette's direction.

Sophie released her held breath and felt a jolt of pleasure in her clit, in sync with mystery woman's motions. She was afraid... but also wanted to be exposed. Barely had she completed her thought when the aggressive woman's right hand found its target. With a quick jerk and then a tug, she had the blonde's hair twisted around her fist. Mystery woman's back bowed and her eyes, closed until this moment, flew open. The brunette gripped the back of the stool and with a sharp motion she pumped her leather-clad hips into the apex of the thighs splayed open before her. One, two, three. Wow. Sophie felt mystery woman's moan shudder through her own body, though she could not hear it from across the room. Pulses of pleasure flowed through her: one, two, three.

Heat surged between her legs so intensely that Sophie peeled her eyes from the scene, overwhelmed and embarrassed. She quickly assessed the room to see if anyone had noticed her rapt attention. With a sigh of relief, she turned to find Justine already weaving back through the crowd, carrying two drinks.

"Thank you!" Sophie shouted and quickly grabbed her drink, shrinking back and making a face when the words boomed a bit too loud.

Justine nodded and motioned surreptitiously to the end of the bar. "See?! I told you you had to see." Sophie shook her head, studiously avoiding looking back at the couple. Who knows what they'll do next, she mused, her thoughts a mixture of disgust, desire, and... fear? "See what?" she countered. Justine's eyes bulged and she quickly gulped down the liquid in her mouth. "You didn't see??? Turn around. TURN AROUND." She moved to spin the flustered coed back to the couple. Sophie clenched her pussy, steeling herself in an effort to hide her arousal from Justine.

Sophie's eyes darted around the women, trying not to get drawn into their spectacle again. The blonde's palms rested on her knees in an exaggerated position, legs wide. I bet she made her do it. The thought got away from Sophie before she could stifle it. The loud sound of someone dropping a bottle just a few paces away made her flinch as she ground out, a little harshly, "I don't understand what you-" Several people had turned to look at the sound of the clattering. Including mystery woman and her aggressive lover.

The words stuck in her suddenly dry throat. Her jaw gaped. She stared. Sophie drew deeply on her beverage. Oh wow. Justine cackled at her reaction, clearly pleased with herself. "I know! I told you she was the hot one! Man! I wish I had signed up for French lit."

Eliza jerked her body sideways, shielding Elle with a jerk. Seeing that the loud sound was only the clang of a metal beer bottle hitting the concrete floor, she relaxed, then furrowed her brow at the sight of Sophie Mathis across the room. The tiny young woman and her friend were clearly out for a night on the town, drinking and giggling over some shared amusement. For a brief instant, Eliza and Sophie's eyes met across the room. With a shocked look and what might have been a yelp, Sophie spun away from her professor's gaze. Eliza smiled slightly, pivoting into Elle.

Elle's arms slid languidly around her torso, gently pulling her lover back into orbit. Her soft, mellifluous voice murmured against Elle's temple, "Just a bottle..." Her tongue darted out to lick at Eliza's ear, then retreat. She sounded drunk, though Eliza knew it was passion, not alcohol. Her confidence swelled, seeing so visibly the effect she had on this beautiful, brilliant creature.

Two hands slid up Elle's front, glanced over her tight nipples, and around the back of her neck to bring their lips together. Eliza itched to push the shimmery white fabric up and over Elle's head, leaving her naked, vulnerable. For a moment she saw it in her mind's eye. Elle's intense green eyes going wide, her arms moving to shield her small breasts from view, her voice pleading, "Eliza..." A shiver of delight slipped down the brunette's spine. She shifted a bit to rub her swollen cunt against the seam of her leather pants, her teeth dragged on Elle's lower lip.

"Lover, let's head out to the back porch for a bit. One of my students is here." Elle stiffened.

"We can leave-" Eliza stopped her words with another kiss, smoothing back Elle's hair, tangled from their embrace.

"It's fine - she looks to be here for drinking and dancing. And I'm not finished with you yet." Eliza pulled the blonde after her towards the rear exit. She could sense Elle's agitation.

"I couldn't stay if one of my student's was here. I mean it's fine, we're adults, but it would make me so self-conscious..." Eliza's teeth flashed, oddly blue-white under the black lights. Seeing her amusement, Elle lifted her shoulders in an exaggerated shrug and followed Eliza's lead.

The bass faded behind them the further they withdrew from the dance floor, replaced by the chatter of people talking in small groups of three to five. A cloud of cigarette smoke flowed into the back bar when the door swung open before them. Eliza slipped between leather-clad men crowding the porch. All the way to the back corner, where she used Elle's momentum to swing her around against one of the thick wooden supports. Her left hand protected the back of Elle's head from the impact.

Once against the post, Eliza used Elle's waist band to jerk their hips together and push Elle onto the stool there. She knew that the motion had forced Elle's (perpetually) wet cunt against the thicker fabric of the jeans seam. Loved the thrill that shivered through her at eliciting that shocked, self-conscious gasp. Not allowing Elle a chance to catch her breath, Eliza palmed the damp crotch of her tight jeans. The soaked seam pressed hard against her palm as Elle shifted in small, desperate motions to relieve the ache. The rhythm jerky, lacking fluidity, meant to disguise her wantonness without denying her need. Her arms moved quickly to pull Eliza close; she buried her face in the clean scent of her lover's tousled mane.

A low laugh at Elle's expense rumbled through Eliza's chest. She brushed back the long blond hair from Elle's right ear, right hand never leaving the apex of her quivering thighs. Elle whimpered, low and desperate. "Shhh... they're going to hear you, pretty lady. You don't want them to hear you, do you?" The hips jerked in a sudden spasm.

"Eliza!" Elle hiss-moaned her name. Pleading for Eliza to stop. Begging her to never let go.

"Shh..." The massaging became more purposeful, direct. Her voice whispered again in Elle's ear, soft puffs of breath moving the hair, as on the wind. "You're going to come on my hand." Elle jerked away. Tried to. The post behind her left nowhere to go. Her whimper sounded pained. Conflicted. A little scared. "You're going to like it." Eliza undulated between Elle's knees, imitating the motion she would use to fuck her, but not bumping the hot, wet center of Elle's desire. At the lack of response, Eliza drew back, searching Elle's eyes. "You can tell me no, my sweet. Do you want to tell me no?"

Eliza's never let up pressure, continued in those firm, maddening circles. Elle followed her, again grasping her shoulders and pulling Eliza closer, so no one would see her humping against that hand. Right here on the porch. Where anyone could see. She buried her face in the crook of Eliza's neck, breath hot and fast, eyes a bit moist at the emotions roiling through her. She shook her head vigorously. "Don't stop. Please don't stop." And her hips, her traitorous hips, started humping back. She tried to gain better purchase for her clit. The firm methodic strokes from Eliza served to bring her to the edge of orgasm, but could not quite push her over.

Elle whimpered, a sharp inhale seizing her throat lost in Eliza's hand on the back of her neck, arching back to gain a better angle. Not hiding her wanton behavior. Eyes squeezed shut in embarrassment, so she couldn't see people watching her, she fucked against Eliza's palm. She felt the warmth of Eliza's body lean over her arched across the railing. Her face protected now, but her hungry cunt exposed, she opened eyes half-mad with desire. She begged, "Eliza, please... Please more-" Eliza cut off the words with a bruising kiss. Her massaging movements changing from holding Elle's mound to fingertips massaging her clit, pressing in tight, firm circles. Pressure, not friction. It didn't take long. Eyes wild, Elle silently entreated her not to make her do it.

Her even voice contrasted sharply with Eliza's wild hair and hot eyes, "Elle, you don't have to yell, but I want to hear you say it. Say it." Elle's eyes squeezed shut again and her voice came out a stilted whisper, "Elizaaaa." Quieter, almost inaudible, "I'm coming. I'm-" The humping became short jerks, the last word a squeak, "-coming!"

Eliza's body quaked in response to the uncontrolled, wanton shuddering of Elle's body in the throes of orgasm. Yes. Pleasure knifed low and deep, a white-hot contraction that stole her breath. The taste of an orgasm distilled in an instant across her swollen g-spot. No release. Just a flash so intense it was almost pain and then gone. A single jolt that left her both a bit shaken and ravenous. Eliza crushed her lips against Elle's, muffling her own gasping groan. She continued to massage Elle's clit until the shivering slowed, moving to palm that wanton cunt, then sliding both arms around her neck when she'd fully stilled.

"Eliza?" the question held a thread of worry. Eliza drew back and kissed her lover on the forehead, nose, lips. "I'm ok, ma belle. You're beautiful. Wonderful. I just-" Her thoughts went to Sophie Mathis, who might at any time might decide she wanted a cigarette. "I just really need to get the fuck out of here. Let's head back to my house. I'm far from finished with you."