1. Every Sign I Read is Wrong, Baby


    Date: 9/17/2015, Categories: Lesbian, Author: puddleduck, Rating: 3, Source: LushStories

    sign, Taylor! And suddenly I didn’t feel rational. I felt elatedly horny. I wanted you to come to my room so I could tug your clothes off before you’d taken a step inside. I wanted to kiss you hard and lick your lips with my tongue. And I wanted to feel your own tongue fighting back and to find balance just outside your mouth. The excitement inside me needed urgent resolution. I scuttled over to lock the door. On my way back over to the bed, I used one foot to lever off a boot and I kicked off the second. I didn’t bother to take off my black top, but as I moved my hand reached behind to unbutton and unzip my skirt. It fell to the floor, and in one stroke I pulled down my woolly black leggings and knickers and kicked them off too. Naked from the waist down, I jumped on the bed and turned to lie on my back on top of my duvet, stretching my legs wide, bent at the knees, with one touching the cold painted brickwork of the outside wall. My right hand snaked its way down the inside of my thigh – even there my skin so embarrassingly wet – and slid inwards, skirting over my lips, making me shudder. And then drawing wide, then slowly decreasing circles around my clit. I was thinking of us together, of my tongue floating down your neck, leaving a trail of saliva marking the path of your collar bone. And then my licks continuing down to your proud little boobs in one widening stroke, with you pushing your nipple – bullet hard – into my mouth, giving it to me. And I covered it with my ...
    mouth, my tongue flicking on its underside. And while I was thinking this, I was masturbating harder, flicking my hand from side to side, striking my lips with the pads of my fingers. Honestly it must have looked like I was strumming a ukulele. Every so often I’d pause and curl two forefingers just inside my cunt as I imagined they were your fingers fucking me. I was pent up and it only took two or three minutes before I could feel the warmth building. I flicked my fingers faster and then a glorious wave hit me. I pulled my legs up for what seemed like a minute as it pulsed through me, and relaxed them only as it subsided. I lay there half-dressed, relaxed, spent, legs splayed. It was then realism crept back again. What if you just want to make up as friends? What if there was nothing more to it than a desire to return to where we were? And lying there I thought I’m ok with that. I still want to be friends and I want my boyfriend. So if that’s all there is to it, that’s fine. But when eventually I crept off my bed to rescue my leggings and pull them back on – I didn’t bother with knickers or skirt – I knew I wanted more as long as you did. But how would I know that you wanted it too? What sign would there be? And then I remembered what you’d said in the cafe about mating calls and Pinot Grigio and what you wanted to do when you drank it. If you came round and wanted to give me a final signal, surely that’s how you’d do it. Darlene Love was still playing through the speakers, ...
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