Sunday, November 16, 2014

Sunday Snog #149: A F/F Kiss from Exposure

I've been working all day on my lesbian witch story - it started as a short but it's up to nearly 10K words and I still have at least two more scenes to write. I don't know where this is coming from, but it's fun.

Anyway, since my mind has been dwelling on the charms of the female sex, I thought I'd share another F/F kiss from Exposure.

After you've finished her, click back to Sunday Snog Central for lots more delicious kisses.

I’m prepared this time, when her mouth meets mine. Somehow, I expected this, from the moment I heard her voice on the phone. She probes almost tentatively at the joining of my still-closed lips. I open and suck her tongue into my mouth, tasting lemon and butter this time, I will not be taken. I will not be passive and vulnerable.

I grab her shoulders and pull her against me. My mouth is rough on hers, mashing her lips against her teeth. My tongue probes rudely.

She likes my forcefulness. I can feel her melt beneath me as I push her back against the cushions. She sighs when I pull my mouth from hers and nip at the flawless skin of her neck. I let my hands wander shamelessly over her body, its curves and hollows hardly hidden by the light crepe of her clothing.

isn’t wearing a bra. Her breasts are compact against my palms, the nipples poking smartly through the cloth. I give them symmetrical squeezes and she moans, squirming and rubbing herself against me. Guess I’m her type, too.

like that. I don’t trust Francesca but her lustful behavior is so at odds with her proper exterior, I can’t help feel some affection. Not to mention answering lust. My silk panties grow wetter every time she whimpers at my touch. She is slumped against the wrought iron back of the bench, her thighs splayed open in a most unladylike way, her ankle-length black skirt bunched up to her knees.

Bending closer to her, I take one of those pert nipples in my teeth and at the same time slide one finger through the cleft between those thighs, under the skirt. I find no panties, only bare, shaved skin, slick and soaked. My cunt swells and seeps with matching desire. Her pelvis jerks forward at my first touch. I stroke her, lightly, but she grabs my hand and tries to push it into her. Liquid gushes around my fingers. A musky perfume rises from her, mingling with the floral scents around us.

It all floods back, what I learned from Layla during our brief, incandescent affair. My fingers know exactly what to do. Francesca is desperate, twisting and writhing, reaching for release. I rake the tip of a fingernail across the rigidness of her clit and her back arches in response. 

Almost, almost there. “Stella...” she moans. “Please, Stella.”

She seems to have no connection to the prim, well-coifed widow who wrung that orgasm from me two days ago. As for me, I’m enjoying having power over her. At this point, I bet she’d do anything I asked, sexually. I could make her kneel in front of me and I could force my hairy pussy into her face, and she’d lick me till I told her to stop. The image creates delicious spasms in my cunt, but I don’t follow through with the notion. I don’t want to give myself up to her, not again, not this time.

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