Lust or Bust

Louisa Bacio

Some things, some desires, a man simply can’t fulfil. The craving for soft, rounded curves, a pouty mouth to suck on, and a wicked rack. Which doesn’t explain why I’m more attracted to the bad girls: leggy, great ass and tatted up. Give me ink, black eyeliner and a streak of red lipstick, and I grow wet thinking about stripping down and dirtying the sheets.

Makena embodies the opposite of me. She’s mouthy where I’m mousy. Tall compared to my petite frame. While she’s tough on the outside, inside hides a pushover. On the other hand, people tend to underestimate me. Small, but tough. But does the same fiery red hair colouring get her off? When we lie in bed together, catching up, crazy hair streaming across white pillowcases, it’s hard to differentiate between where hers ends and mine begins.

Those who see us together think we’re sisters. If only they could see her thigh pressed against mine under the table. The heat from her body mingling with mine. My stomach twirling with nerves. Although I’m pretty sure she’s right there with me, rolling the dice and moving along the board game, what if I’m wrong? What if I’m mistaking friendship for something more?

We’d been planning this weekend away for a few months - roommates at a conference. As an only child, I’m not used to sharing my space. I like my alone time, especially when I’m getting a break from the responsibilities of daily life. Although Makena and I flew in from opposite coasts - her from the east, and me in the west, we arranged flights to land in New Orleans about the same time. Once off the airplane, I catch a glimpse of her signature crimson locks, and even brighter smile.

“Hey baby,” she says, enveloping me in a hug scented with cloves and cinnamon, and an undertone of her vanilla vapour. Her breasts press against me, and we embrace a few beats longer than customary. Being in her arms feels a bit like a homecoming. She kisses my cheek. “Let’s go get our bags.”

Breaking apart creates a physical longing, and I hurry to keep up with the pace of her long legs. Her jeans hug her ass in all the right places, and when she reaches the escalator, she glances back, smiling. “You keeping up?”

“I can take whatever you dish out.”

She raises an eyebrow, seemingly on the same page. Now, if we could only get to the climax of this story.

As we unpack in the hotel room, I claim the bed closest to the balcony.

From her suitcase, she pulls out an abundance of flirty dresses in a rainbow of colours. Such a contrast from my mostly black wardrobe.

“Jenna, what do you think of this?”

She holds up a cream-coloured nightie that consists of more lace than any other fabric. My pulse cranks up. “Sexy. Am I going to get to see you in that?”

With deliberate motions, she blinks her eyes - bright blue shadow winking when they’re shut - and she opens them. “Anytime you like. I brought it for you.”

The supercharged exchange hangs in the air between us. I swallow. This, us together, is actually happening.

“Wait until you see what I brought for you,” I tease back. Just because I’m quiet doesn’t mean I didn’t come with some of my own plans of seduction.

The rumbling starts low in my belly, and grows in intensity before my stomach growls. Embarrassed, I place my hand over the offensive body part, and she laughs.

“Someone’s hungry. Let’s finish this up, and grab a bite.”

Out on Canal Street, we weave our way toward the more populated Bourbon. As the crowds grow thicker, Makena slips her hand into mine, our fingers intertwining. It feels natural. The summer air clings, cloying and thick, and my skirt sticks to my legs as I walk. The bodies of revellers push in on all sides, and Makena and I move closer together.

At the other end of the drag, we settle on a restaurant/bar with live music streaming onto the streets. Miraculously, there’s a table, kitty-corner to the stage. She orders a hurricane, raising her glass filled with a toxic bright-orange concoction and clinks it with my lemon drop.

“To new adventures,” she says.

“And old friendships made new,” I add, before taking a sip. I lick at the sweet sugar coating the rim.

The waitress brings the small plates, and we share red beans and rice, and Cajun fries.

Makena curls her tongue around a super-long fry, sucking off the spices. A glimmer of salt adorns her bottom lip. I can’t avert my focus. As she talks, I watch the crystal shift. She peeks the tip of her tongue out - and I hold my breath - only for her to miss the speck.

“You’ve got something, here.” I brush my thumb along her lip, and her pupils darken. Before I can move it away, she’s sucking on my thumb, twirling her tongue around the sensitive flesh, and I’m leaning forward. Closer, until I can smell her perfume over all the conflicting scents.

Although I don’t want to break this connection, I need to feel her for myself. We hover, inches from touching. Her blue eyes lock onto my brown ones, and we come to a silent, mutual understanding. We both want this.

Her eyelids flutter shut, lashes gracefully falling against her pale skin. That’s another thing we don’t have in common. Although we’re both Italian, I have darker, more olive tone skin, and she’s a white girl. Very fair, especially in contrast to the brilliant red hair.

I like it. I wrap my fingers through the silky strands, thinking about how much I get off on my own hair being yanked.

She hooks one hand onto my waist, her fingers sliding through the belt loop. Her chair screeches as she scoots it across the floor, physically moving closer.

Soft, sweet breath brushes against my mouth. The moment we touch, there’s no turning back. I nip at her lower lip, grating my teeth on the plumpness. She pulls at my waist, guiding me off the chair and onto her lap. Hiking up my skirt, I straddle her, wrapping my legs around the back, so my crotch rubs against the seam of her jeans.

Oh, baby.

Nails scratch at my lower back, at the glimmer of exposed skin, causing me to arch into her. The lights dim around us and from the roar of the crowd and increase in music, the band cranks out the tunes. Everything else fades away, leaving me with the feeling of her against me.

“Looks like we have one hot show happening right up front,” a voice cuts through the sensations. It’s the lead singer on stage. We move apart, and heat flushes my face. I’m usually not into public displays of affection, but I crave every moment I can be with her. Fuck whomever is around.

“You two hotties looking for a little Y chromosome to make a threesome?” he asks.

“Not tonight,” my date yells out.

The music plays hard and heavy, and Makena’s laughter vibrates against my mouth. She caresses the tip of her tongue over my front teeth, against sensitive gums, before we once more lock into a tangle of tongues. We’re kissing so much, and so long, I become lightheaded.

Breaking free, I lean backward, taking in her beauty through heavy-lidded eyes.

She cups my breasts over my bra, her thumbs expertly curving over my nipples. Rubbing them, flicking them, causing them to rise up hard, straining against the fabric.

“I want to see them,” she says, her voice deep with lust. “Are you ready to head back to the hotel?”

Suddenly, the last few bites of food don’t matter. I flag down the waitress and lay some cash over the bill, and we’re out of there. As the cool air outside hits us, the singer calls out, “Have a good time.”

“Oh, we will,” I say, under my breath.

In the hotel elevator, Makena leans against one wall, her ankles crossed. She stares at me like I’m prey, and a chill runs down my back. Mirrors line the walls, and I flash to an image of us nude and visible from all sides. Now that would be hot.

As soon as the door to our room clicks closed, she’s on me, pushing me up against the wall, kissing my neck.

“Are you sure you want this?” she asks, not bothering to wait for an answer before snaking her hand under the back of my shirt and popping the clasp on my bra.

“Hell yes. Do you know how long I’ve been thinking about this?”

“Probably as long as I have. Since we met three years ago.”

Warmth pools between my legs. Knowing she’s wanted me for as long as I’ve wanted her turns me on even more.

“You’re good with this?” she asks between love bites on my collarbone. “No one special back home?”

Recently divorced, she knows the repercussions of jealousy within a relationship. In the past, we’d talked about both being bisexual, and feeling the need to feed that craving after being married for so long.

“Free and clear,” I reassure her. “Or else I wouldn’t be here with you.”

It must be enough because she returns to kissing me. She grabs at the hem of my shirt and tugs upward. I lift my arms, letting her undress me. My black and white polka dotted push-up bra elicits an approving growl. She reaches toward the straps on my shoulders and slides them off.

“Glad you liked my birthday present,” she says, recognising the gift she’d mailed me. “I might tie you up with it later.”

The glimmer in her eye says she’s telling the truth, and I grow even wetter.

Free, my breasts turn up toward her, nipples alert and begging for attention. She’s more than happy to oblige. With broad, smooth strokes, she licks the outer rim of the areola, twirling her tongue in smaller circles until she teases the tip. Already erect, they stretch out even more, showing how much I’m into her.

“Doesn’t seem fair you’re still dressed,” I say.

“Do something about it.”

Since she works an office job, she’s wearing a white, button-up blouse. I fumble with the pearl buttons, pushing out each one until the fabric falls open, exposing her simple off-white bra. She’s several sizes bigger than me. Ample, overflowing from her underwire. She unhooks the front clasp, letting herself explode from the tight confinement.

“Such gorgeous skin. You’re beautiful,” I say, my hand hovering over her body, and then slowing to trace the tattoo of a fiery redhead carved on her ribcage. The artwork looks like Makena, or me. The skin feels smoother, a different texture.

“This spot must have hurt like hell over the bone,” I say.

“Only for a little while.”

She leans forward, introducing her tits to mine. We move side to side, brushing nipples against each other. Her breasts feel harder than my own. I remember how a few years back she choose augmentation to make what she was born with even more dynamic. It’s been years since I’ve been with another woman - since college and those experimentation years. So it’s a wondrous experience. I take her nipple in my mouth. The soft tip pebbles against my tongue.

Makena weaves her fingers into my hair, holding me tight against her, and she moans. Her hips angle toward me, searching to make contact.

“Look who’s being naughty now,” I say, moving to the other side. With one hand, I twist the nipple no longer in my mouth, and turn the oral attention to the other one.

I slide downward, over her rib cage to her taut waist and then lower. An hourglass of epic proportions. Her hips flare out.

‘Child-bearing hips,’ I hear in my head.

Fuck the stereotypes. She’s perfect. A brilliant flash of blue on her ass catches my attention, and I turn her to explore the next body adornment. It’s a guitar with the neck running up along her spine. While she’s dressed, I’ve caught a glimpse of something peeking out of the back of her jeans, but I had no idea the entirety was this expansive.

With a soft touch, I strum across the tattooed strings on her back, and she sways and twists toward each stroke. Upward, I fan my fingers and follow the natural curves from the rounded slope of her ass and on. From behind, I part her legs, sliding my fingers between them, feeling her excitement. With my middle finger I enter her, slipping into the velvety encasement. She moans, rocking backward and I use the momentum to add a second and then a third on a backward rock.

“Stop teasing me,” she says. “I want you.”

Leaning over, I nip her ass, and she cries out in surprise. “Stop being so impatient. I want to cherish every moment with you.”

“Fuck, you’re so hot.”

We head to the nearest bed and drop onto the mattress. I manoeuvre her onto her back, taking in the illustration on her inner thigh. The inked skin feels silky against my tongue. I twirl around the elaborate Old English “O” and loop through the remaining “nce.”

Once upon a time ...

An ellipsis marks the end of the saying, and leads straight to her honeypot. What type of fairytale could two thirty-something-year-old women have together? Pink lips peek through her shaved pussy. With one hand, I hold open her sweet lips, taking in the creaminess. Puckering my lips, I hum over her clit, making her feel the vibrations deep through her core.

She bucks against my mouth, upping the desire to make her climax. One. Two. Three fingers plunge into her so easily, and I flick her clit with my tongue. Licking and nipping and sucking, while continuing to pump my fingers in and out of her tight channel. Is this how it would feel if someone were to touch me?

The more turned on she becomes, the more I become excited. Making her hot increases my own libido.

“Don’t stop. Don’t stop.” Her voice catches, and her inner walls spasm around my fingers.

I keep rubbing, curling upward and hitting that magic spot internally and in a moment she cries out, “Oh yes Jenna. Yes. Fuck me.”

The pleasure overtakes her, and she collapses back on the pillow - her hair a red halo around her head. She smiles, sweet and knowing, and pats the spot next to her.

Stretching out, I become self-conscious and she turns her attention to my body. She slips a hand between my legs, right away going toward my clit and creating friction. Good lord it feels so good to be touched, to be loved in such an intimate way. The last guy I dated had calloused fingers from working too much with his hands and his refusal to use lotion. Her soft caress evokes a different sensation.

“I thought you said something about bringing toys.” She crosses the room, opening a window and letting in the sounds of a jazz band sharing its music. She picks up my small pink duffle bag and brings it back to the bed. My pussy throbs at the thought of what it contains.

“I know how much you like cock.” She takes out a huge extended dildo. Thick veins run along the side, and the bulbous head threatens to stretch me wide. How can it fit?

Makena gathers some pillows, making a wedge, before instructing me to lie on top of them, lifting my hips off the bed, sloped, at an obscure angle. It feels like I’m propped up on display for all to view. Then she rubs her fingers on me, creating a brilliant friction and I’m so hot it’s almost more than I can handle not to come on the spot.

She straddles me, her ass facing my head, granting her easy access to all my wares. A soft breeze flows over my clit, and then the wetness of her tongue. Not seeing what she’s doing, only feeling her actions, drives me even more crazy. The sound of lube being squeezed out puts me on edge, and the wetness seeps between my legs and down the crack of my ass. Then a thickness pushes into me, and I hold my breath before realising I need to not flex my muscles and breathe to let it in.

The head invades me, and she pushes, filling me, stretching me to my limits. All the while she sucks at my clit. She makes smooth, long strokes and the pleasure builds low in my womb. It’s like a tight ball, slowly unfurling until it bursts with sensation that shoots through all my limbs. The movement slows, soft and gentle, eking out the last of my orgasm and cementing my lust for Makena. After a few moments, she removes the false dick, and kisses along my stomach as she turns to lie next to me.

Jazz music infuses the room, mixes with the sound of our breathing. Her chest rises and falls, a red tint adorning her skin. She entwines her hand with my hair, and gazes into my eyes.

“I don’t know why we waited so long to be together,” she says, lazily drawing circles on my inner thigh with her other hand.

“You’re magnificent, you know that?” The light from the lamp casts a warm glow over her skin, making her seem to vibrate with energy.

“Right back at you,” she says.

We settle into a comfortable silence, embracing, until I feel the need to get up and centre myself before I fall in too deep.

After slipping on my comfortable zebra-striped nightie, I pad into the bathroom to brush my teeth and wash my face. The cold water revitalises me. What will happen once we go home? The reality of what that means sinks in. We have two nights together, and the first is almost over.

On the counter sparkles a purple crystal heart. I lift it, and the weight rests in my hand, like a memory I want to make sure to keep. Her perfume - Loverdose. I bring the bottle to my nose, taking in a whiff of vanilla and jasmine. After spraying a bit on the inside of my wrists, I rub them together. When I glance in the mirror, I notice she’s behind me, watching.

She takes the last few steps into the bathroom, wraps her arms around me, right under my breasts, and leans her head on my shoulder. Our reflection shows two attractive women, cheeks flushed from lovemaking. Her brilliant hair cascades into mine.

“I’m going to miss you,” she says, “but I promise to visit soon.”

Fighting the urge to cry, I worry my lower lip between my teeth, before sighing. “Thanks. It’s not the same, though. I barely have time to get through day-to-day life as it is. I’m afraid we’re going to feel rushed or awkward or...”

“Shh.” She smoothes back my hair, before layering a few light kisses along my neck. Shivers dance across my back, and I turn in her embrace. Her eyes glisten.

Ah, some tough woman.

“Are you going to the ‘50 Shades of Romance’ conference in Seattle next February?” I ask, trying not to sound too hopeful.

It’s more than six months away, but I need to have a goal of when we’ll be alone again.

“I’ve been considering it.” She smiles at me. “I’ll need a roommate. Now hurry, and finish up and get back to bed.”