Wrap Party

New exclusive for paying supporters <3 Thank you all so much for being here, and for bearing with me while I've been reworking stuff here!

This one's a gentle f/f romance with some loving orgasm denial and lots of oral, hands, and grinding. Enjoy!

*** 

I spent eight months lusting after Andrea like it was my job, because it was.

We met on the set of Jersey Hell, which also happened to be my first ever studio movie as an honest-to-god leading lady.

The movie itself wasn’t anything special. It was a B-grade creature feature with a budget just a couple notches above shoestring, and a by-the-numbers script that mostly had us running through pine forests, away from green tennis balls on sticks, which would no doubt be replaced with some truly mediocre CGI Jersey Devils in post.

The only thing about it that stood out in any way was the fact that the obligatory romantic subplot was between two women, for a change.

That’s how Andrea and I came to be costars.

There wasn’t a whole lot of nuance or delicacy to it, a fact which gave Andrea material for no end of captivating backstage rants. She had that educated English way of expressing things that made her every complaint come across like something between a formal treaty negotiation and a disarmingly earnest standup piece.

The director, Deborah Vimes, was by all accounts straight and much more of a businesswoman than a crusader. I’m pretty sure she just gender-flipped one of our roles at the last minute, after the rest of the writing was done, in the hopes of garnering a little extra attention for the release. Grateful attention, horny attention, angry attention, it made no difference. They were all free publicity.

Honestly, as much as I respected Andrea’s insight and fervor on this subject, the cynicism of the project didn’t bother me nearly as much. Sure, I had dreams of starring in deep, important art someday too, but I felt there was something rebellious — however accidentally — about getting to play a queer lead in a movie this bad.

After all, why shouldn’t queer people like me get to be part of our fair share of lazy, cheeseball schlock too?

Vimes was actually really great to work with too, if you didn’t expect a lot of creative guidance. Her lack of any substantial artistic vision of her own gave the rest of us a ton of freedom to improvise and bring in our own ideas for the characters. She said yes more often than no, always brought the best snacks, and somehow managed to keep us on schedule, turning what could easily have become a mess of friends goofing off into an actual product.

Lest anyone doubt Andrea’s right to complain, though, one of our big scenes together showed up in the original script like this:

EXT. PINE BARRENS – CAMPSITE – NIGHT

JACKIE is alone by the fire, poking at it with a stick. MELANIE charges out of the woods and into the light, hysterical and a mess.

JACKIE

Melanie! What’s wrong?

MELANIE

I saw it!

JACKIE

Saw what?

MELANIE

(Struggling for words)

It! I saw it, Jackie! I saw the Jersey Devil.

JACKIE

(Rolling her eyes)

Oh, come on.

MELANIE

It was ten feet tall on its hind legs, with a long tail like an arrowhead, and-

JACKIE

It was just a campfire story, Mel.

MELANIE

We have to get out of here!

JACKIE

Nice try, but if you want to scare someone, maybe come up with your own material next time.

MELANIE groans, grabs her duffle bag, and begins gathering her things from around the campsite. JACKIE gets up and grabs the bag to stop her.

JACKIE

(Noticing the sincerity of MELANIE’s distress.)

Wait, are you being serious right now?

MELANIE

You’re welcome to stay out here asking yourself that all night, but I’m going home!

JACKIE

Woah, hey, that is not a good idea. It’s pitch black. The cars are half a mile away. You could step in a ditch and break your ankle.

MELANIE

Or I could stay here and get eaten by a fucking kangaroo dragon!

JACKIE

Okay, let’s say there is something dangerous out there. How do humans stay safe from predators? We stay together. We stay near fire. We’ve got lots of wood, and the others will be back any minute. No matter what you saw, this is the safest place we can be until morning.

MELANIE reluctantly lets go of the bag.

JACKIE

(Hugging her)

That’s it. There we go. Everything’s going to be all right.

MELANIE

Will you stay up with me? All night?

JACKIE

(With a smile)

Any night.

JACKIE kisses MELANIE for the first time. It quickly becomes passionate. They both understand that they’ll need to get out of their clothes soon.

Jackie was my character. Yeah, I’m a hundred percent sure I’m the one who was gender flipped.

My real name is Sierra.

Anyway, when we got to the filming of that scene, here’s how it actually went:

Andrea came barreling out of the woods as she was supposed to, made up with sticks and leaves in her red hair and strategic slashes in her costume.

With an expression much more determined than “hysterical,” and without forcing her way through a single syllable of Melanie’s lines, she grabbed me by the front of my jacket, pulled me up from my stump by the fire, and jumped straight into the kiss.

I rolled with it. I tossed my fire-poking stick aside, put my hands at the small of her back and the nape of her neck, and followed the spirit of the kiss’s stage direction.

It was never difficult to summon believable passion with Andrea, or the urge to get both of us out of our clothes.

Her post-devil-attack costume was a thin silk blouse that stretched tight over her soft breasts, and a pleated skirt that didn’t make much sense for anyone to wear while camping, but damn did they look dramatic once they started getting dirtied up.

As decisively as she’d started the kiss, she broke away.

“I’m extremely attracted to you,” she said simply.

“I… yeah, ditto,” I said, suddenly deep in the scene, like it was a dream I didn’t want to wake up from.

“Good. Then listen. We need to get out of here, right now, or we’re not going to live to go our first date. And I would very, very much like to do that.”

“I… me too, but… what?”

“Have you ever known me to lie to you?” she asked, staring intently into my eyes. “Am I a prankster? Am I delusional? Am I untrustworthy in any way?”

“No,” I answered easily, about both Andrea and what little there was of Melanie to know.

“Then get your things, there’s something hunting us.”

“Okay.”

I said it without thinking about the consequences for the scene, or the rest of the movie that had to follow it. “Okay” was just the only natural way to respond to her perfectly rational insistence.

“Okay?” said Andrea.

“Okay,” I doubled down.

She nodded and grabbed the bag. “I’ll keep trying to message Lisa. If I don’t hear back by the time we get to town, we’ll send search and rescue.” She turned back to look at me. “Thanks for not being an arsehole about this.”

I let out a breath through my nose, unable to contain the private joke completely. “Why would I be?”

Andrea smiled. “Should we put out the fire?”

That was when a stage hand had the good sense to step on a twig, and wave a tennis ball on a stick at us from behind the camera.

“Oh hell,” Andrea said, stepping away from the sound with utterly convincing fear and frustration.

“Yeah,” I said. “Yeah, no, I think the fire stays on.”

“It’s circling,” said Andrea, turning a tight circle on her feet, horrified eyes raking the darkness.

“Maybe that means it’s scared to come closer,” I said.

Andrea dropped the duffle bag, looking more heart-wrenchingly defeated than in any of the rehearsals where I’d yanked it out of her hands.

“Hey, hey, that’s a good thing,” I said, hurrying over to her and brushing her leaf-filled hair behind her ears.

Jackie’s attempts at comforting gestures felt much more natural and less condescending in my hands now.

“There’s plenty of wood. And for all we know, Lisa’s the one sending search and rescue after us.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

Andrea and I sank down together onto one of the logs arranged around the fire.

We alternated tensely, at first, between watching the flames and looking around at imagined noises of movement in the woods.

Then, slowly, we slumped together, with her head on my shoulder, holding each other up as if we had been trapped and waiting here for hours.

It wouldn’t be too hard to add a cut or a fake extended time lapse to the footage, to make it seem like it had been longer than it had.

As if reading my mind, the camera man moved in closer to our faces, cutting out the fickle continuity of the fire itself.

“So, about that kiss,” I said, as if I’d just given up on holding this question for a more appropriate time.

“It… was a kiss,” said Andrea.

“Right.” I nodded. “Just a kiss.”

“What do you mean just?” Andrea turned her head to look up at me, eyebrow raised.

“Well, I mean, you were under stress,” I said. “You needed to get my attention and make a point in a hurry. And I haven’t exactly been the most level-headed expedition leader.”

She snorted.

More jokes at the expense of my character’s uneven writing.

I went on.

“I’m saying there was a lot going on that could have led you to kiss me without meaning anything by it.”

“It could have,” said Andrea. “But it didn’t.”

She took her head from my shoulder, eyes locked to mine. We approached each other, one slow inclination of the neck at a time, until our lips were on each other again.

We started slow, surface level, and then deepened the contact, until our tongues were dancing circles around each other.

It quickly becomes passionate.

The kiss went on and on, each movement leading to the next, stoking the hot buzzing sensation that saturated my body. I could happily have done this for the rest of the day, just to see how heavy that buzz would get, but I soon became aware that the people watching, both in the eventual audience and on set today, would soon expect us to progress the scene.

They both understand that they’ll need to get out of their clothes soon.

I brought my hands to the top buttons of Andrea’s blouse, the way we’d agreed in our intimacy-planning sidebars, and undid them.

“You know, they tell people not to do this kind of thing in the woods,” Andrea said, breathy and rueful, pressing her forehead to mine. “It attracts predators.”

“More than fire repels them?” I asked.

“Do you really want to find out?”

“No. No, of course not.”

I sat up straight on the log and moved my hands to the knees of my own jeans.

We sat that way for a beat or two, looking away, drumming our fingers on anything but each other.

Then we looked at each other, and fell into the kiss again, like magnets hitting the edge of each other’s range of influence.

She pulled her blouse and bra down over her shoulders, freeing her breasts for me to hold and rub while the kiss continued.

I ran my hand up her thigh, pushing back the skirt, and that was when Vimes said, “Cut! Great work, ladies. Moving on.”

Andrea and I sprang apart, catching our breath, adjusting our clothes, laughing to each other in that way we all did after an intense take — any kind of intense — just to prove that we were out of it and everything was fine and normal.

It wasn’t easy to laugh about the return to normal, but I did it anyway.

The entire shoot felt just like that scene, dialed to different levels of intensity, but never all the way down.

Every day, I saw Andrea. Most days, I talked with her, I worked and brainstormed and problem-solved with her, and I touched her in the casually heated way of new partners in public. Some days I got to kiss her, or even undress her.

But we never crossed beyond the bounds of what you could show in an R-rated movie, and when the cameras were off, we were coworkers. Close coworkers, the kind who lunched together by choice and went for drinks and felt free to share the occasional dirty joke, but no more.

I never approached the subject of taking it further, because I was a fucking professional. I’d decided that about myself long before I met her. No matter how bad the script was, I would never have it said of me that I brought drama to the set.

Once the job was done, though…

#

The wrap party for Jersey Hell was at the house of some producer who wasn’t there, and who had never been on set either, as far as I remembered.

If I’d had the kind of sprawling, labyrinthine ranch house where you could comfortably throw a party for over a hundred people, I’d have been there all the time, but I wasn’t complaining.

There was a pool, a photo booth, a dance floor on the patio, an endless flow of champagne, and five different fast food catering packages, all courtesy of Vimes.

And I was there with all the people I most cared about saying goodbye to, or, preferably, not saying goodbye to.

A couple flutes of bubbly courage in, I asked Andrea to dance.

“I’d love to,” she answered, which seemed like a good start, but my hands were shaking a little with uncertainty, even as she placed one of them on her waist and the other on her shoulder.

I couldn’t say I liked the hangups so many men had about never touching or complimenting anyone they wouldn’t sleep with, but it did take some of the guesswork out of things.

It was so much harder to be sure of how a woman meant her affection toward another woman… at least until you screwed up the guts to ask.

I pressed my cheek to hers, lips near her ear.

“All you have to say is ‘ew,’ and I’ll never mention it again,” I said. “But I’m going to miss making out with you.”

She swayed in my arms, stiff and off the beat, for a few terrifying, silent seconds.

“Not if we keep doing it, you won’t,” she answered.

I laughed with a dizzying rush of joy and dipped her. “You scared the shit out of me just now.”

“It took a second to get the words right. Don’t tell me it wasn’t worth the wait.”

She took her balance back and dipped me in return.

“How many bedrooms do you think this place has?” she asked.

“No idea.” I grinned. “Want to go count them?”

#

The house almost certainly had more than one bedroom, but of course that was as far as our count got. The first door we opened with an empty bed behind it, we locked behind us.

Andrea grabbed me by the front of my jacket, just the way she had in our improvised scene, and pushed me down onto the neatly made queen bed of this stark, hotel-like guest room. The moment I had a lap to sit on, she climbed onto it and kissed me.

Her lipstick today was different from the one the makeup department used on her, sweeter and less dry.

My pulse accelerated, ran into itself, until I could swear it had taken on a third syllable.

This is real, this is real, this is real.

It was so far from our first kiss, and yet it was also the first, the first without cameras or fake names or even a suggestion of a script.

I ran my fingers up her thighs, under her lacy, layered minidress, and no one shouted “cut,” no matter how high I got, not even when I was tracing the edges of her panties.

Andrea reached between us, petting her way down my stomach to my jeans. (My nicest, cleanest, hole-free, special occasion jeans, I swear.) She fiddled with the fabric for just a moment, making sure it was lying flat to my body rather than empty space, and then swiped her hand firmly over my pussy, down and then up, hitting every nerve.

I gasped out loud.

“I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” Andrea said, kissing the side of my jaw.

“Me too,” I said, and rubbed my hand a little more gently over the thinner barrier of her panties, in the same motion.

“Oh, but God forbid a movie shows something that feels good, right?” Andrea moaned, grinding the silky, warm fabric against my palm. “Showing my tits out in the cold, that’s mandatory. Grabbing a guy's balls in a fight, sure, that's funny. But one soft, sweet little touch right here, under and through all the clothes in the world,” she stroked me firmly again, “that's obscene.”

“Well… fuck ‘em,” I said.

“Fuck ‘em,” Andrea agreed, the words both stiff and vicious in her accent. “They’re not here now.”

She unbuttoned my jeans, and then got up to pull them off of me. Once we got started on the clothes, we kept going, getting that one last agonizing interruption out of the way all at once.

I helped her with the tiny, fiddly zipper of her dress, and hopelessly knotted the laces of my designated “nice” shoes, rushing myself out of them.

Fully naked, we fell back into each other’s magnetic fields, kissing and stroking whatever we could reach.

She worked her way down my body, leaving lipstick streaks I could not have minded less, kissing my breasts, my thighs, gently but confidently beginning to eat me out.

It felt incredible, but I was already dizzy on my feet, and all I wanted was a continuous reminder of what my heart was still muttering to me in its panicked, disbelieving staccato.

This is real, this is real, this is real.

The truth was, I’d mentally interposed this very fantasy over my clit-sucking toy so many times that I half expected to find myself alone in my room the moment I came.

I put my hands on her shoulders and tugged her back up to where I could kiss her again.

“Too hard?” she asked. “Too soon?”

I shook my head, bringing my lips to hers at every possible moment between motions. “Too far away from me,” I answered.

She put her arms around me and squeezed. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

We lay back on the bed together again, side by side to begin with. We shuffled through face-to-face positions, silently negotiating over who would grind on what. It quickly became clear than we both liked our contact direct, our legs apart.

I ended up on top, but with Andrea’s legs draped up over my elbows, my own legs spread wide around her hips and thighs, bringing two splayed pussies as close together as possible. Hers was just a little bit forward of mine, and each grinding thrust of my hips touched our clits together with a satisfying bump.

“Harder,” she said. “I won’t break.”

I braced my toes on the comforter and threw more of my weight into the motion, stretching her hips farther, rubbing us closer, longer.

“Can you reach me here too?”

She cupped her breasts from the outside edges, standing them up a little taller toward me.

I grabbed her shoulder and brushed my nipples against hers on my next stroke, and the one after that, and the one after that.

“Oh, god, that’s the best,” Andrea sighed.

It was the best. Once I was sure her contorted position wasn’t detracting from the experience for her, I started to lose myself to my side of it. It was so much better for the knowledge that everything I made myself feel, I was making her feel more or less the same.

Right around the same time I felt the buildup of my own orgasm coming on, Andrea’s breath quickened.

“I… don’t… want… to stop,” she said.

“I don’t want to stop either,” I said.

“We don’t have to stop,” she said delightedly, as if she were only just remembering it again.

“We don’t have to stop!” I confirmed.

“We don’t have to stop!”

Those words pushed me over the edge, as much as the wonderful, smooth friction between all the most sensitive peaks of our bodies.

The pleasure waves reverberated outward from those points of contact, as powerful as if none of the fantasy sessions I’d conducted for myself had counted at all.

Somehow, I managed to keep my grip on Andrea’s shoulder and maintain the rhythm, through the contraction waves, and through the few extra seconds it took for her to cry out from a matching set of her own.

“Fucking finally,” she sighed.

#

I wish I could say otherwise, but that night ended up being my sexual high-water mark for several months afterwards.

It wasn’t a one-night stand. Andrea and I were officially dating from that moment onward, and if you’d asked me, I would have said it was amazing. But a lot of it wasn’t much different from being close coworkers.

We ate together, drank together, and worked together, although that last part now took the form of showing up to “cattle calls” for crowd extras while we waited to snag our next real roles.

When we went back to one of our apartments to cuddle in front of the TV, Andrea usually tried to initiate something amorous, and I had no trouble going along with it. If she wanted to get off, I was happy to help, and I wasn’t going to throw her sweet, reciprocal gifts of attention back in her face.

But truthfully, I would have been equally happy to stick with just the cuddling part. The ravenous physical desire I’d felt at the wrap party, and for all of the shoot leading up to it, had not returned since then.

And apparently, it showed.

After some routine fooling around one evening, Andrea got really quiet.

When I asked if she was okay, she took my hand and pressed a heavy weight of significance into it.

“I need you to be honest with me.” She looked into my eyes, visibly bracing herself for the results of this request. “Are you in love with me?”

“Yes,” I answered immediately, squeezing her hand back. “I love you. Do I not tell you that enough?”

We’d already been using the L-word pretty freely, I thought, by this point.

“I know you love me,” said Andrea. “At least as a friend.”

“I’m in love with you,” I corrected myself emphatically.

“Are you sure?” she asked. “Because if it was just, I don’t know, some sort of forbidden fruit thing, if this was only alluring to you when there was a reason not to do it, I want to know now, rather than after I’ve spent any more time….”

“I’m in love with you,” I repeated. “You’re beautiful, and kind, and so smart…” there was so much more to say about her, but I wasn’t as quick on the spot with my words as she was. “And… and… and you’re brave enough to poke at messed-up things, instead of leaving them be, even if that might make a bigger mess. I want to be so much more than your friend, and getting to be in your life this much has been the happiest part of mine.”

Andrea smiled guardedly, through the beginnings of tears. “Then why does it feel like you’ve lost interest?”

“Because…” I sighed. “Because you’re not wrong. I did… I do get off on the forbidden thing. But that doesn’t mean you’re not everything I ever wanted, or that I can’t see that anymore. It just means that I’m… I don’t know, a freak, I guess?”

I shrugged.

“I never called you a freak,” said Andrea, rubbing my shoulder.

“No,” I said. “I did.”

She went on staring at me, with those teary, questioning eyes, probably trying to figure out what this meant for us. Or maybe that’s just what I was doing.

“It’s me,” I said. “I’m the messed-up thing you’re poking at right now. And you’re right to. You deserve to feel wanted by the person you’re with. I don’t mean to not give you that.”

Andrea withdrew her hand and pulled her knees up in front of her, to stare at them instead of me.

“Does it make you want to cheat on me?” she asked. “That would count as ‘forbidden.’”

“No,” I answered. “Because I am in love with you. I wouldn’t want to do anything to hurt you, or lose you. It’s just that I…. Okay, to be honest, I thought this was normal until five minutes ago, and now I’m trying to put it into words like it’s something unique. Getting with someone is always going to be more exciting than just being with them, right? That’s why couples in stories are always falling in love. That’s the adventure part. And then comes the relationship, which is less exciting, but that’s okay when there’s no camera, because who wants to be on an adventure all the time? Excitement isn’t everything. God, that sounds so depressing out loud.”

“Yes, it does,” Andrea said bluntly.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

We sat in silence for a long time, side by side on my bed, for what I was beginning to think might be the last time.

Andrea ran her fingertip around the sheet like she was doing math on it.

“So, to get excited about being with me,” she summed up, “there has to be a risk of not getting to be with me?”

“I guess?” I answered. “But I don’t want to live like that, either. If we’re going to be together, I want us to be able to count on each other.”

“So do I!” she snapped. “I want that, and I want that part of you I lost when we became a sure thing! I want them both, so badly.”

The silence returned.

“What if…” I started tossing out the suggestion before it was fully formed. “What if you banned me from sex for a while, until some of that ‘forbidden fruit’ excitement builds up? Just sex, all the rest of the couple stuff stays the same, normal, loving, reliable, all that.”

Andrea shook her head. “I already tried that. I told myself I wasn’t going to touch you again in any sexual way, until you missed it enough to make the first move. I gave up after three days, and when I did make a move, you responded the same as always. As if the time didn’t matter at all. I’d go stir-crazy waiting for you to get excited.”

“Yeah, I see that,” I said. “But, I mean, I can’t exactly get excited about something being ‘forbidden’ if I don’t know about it, you know? How about we both agree that you get off whenever you want, however you want, but I don’t, not until I’m horny enough to make you feel as wanted as you want to feel?”

Andrea started to shake her head again, but stopped before she’d quite started. She thought for a moment.

I thought about it too, and just thinking about it was giving me a flicker of the same feeling I’d had at the wrap party, and never since then.

“Would that work?” she asked.

#

Twenty minutes later, I had Andrea’s panties back off and my face between her legs.

“Holy hell,” she murmured. “I’m sorry… I’m sorry it’s taking so long.”

“Don’t be,” I said, barely lifting my head to speak. “It’s your second of the night, it’s not supposed to be quick.”

“Oh, right, I forgot.”

I’d almost forgotten too. This felt nothing like the sex we’d had before the conversation had gotten heavy. It seemed impossible that both rounds were happening on the same planet, let alone the same day.

I had cum less than an hour ago, same as Andrea, and yet, just knowing that there was no guaranteed reciprocation waiting for me after this, made me want it more than if I’d been neglecting myself for weeks while single.

My tongue was sore, but it didn’t matter, I’d keep it moving in exactly the same way all night if that was what she wanted. I had to stop myself over and over again from grinding myself too effectively against her shin.

Apart from her self-consciousness about the pace, Andrea seemed to be having the best time I’d managed to give her since the party as well. Her moans had become unrestrained little whimpers, the sounds of almost unbearable yet entirely welcome intensity. Every so often, she would look down at my face and smile to herself at what she saw.

“Here goes,” she said. “Soon… stay gentle… please stay… ah!”

I did as she said. I kept licking the same gentle circles and nothing more, even as her body seized, her nails scraped my scalp, and her hips bucked upward to my mouth. That gentleness was all it took to keep her at the apex of those pleasure-whimpers and muscle tremors for a good twenty seconds, at least.

When it was over, I crawled up to lie next to her, kissing bare skin as I went, admiring both her disheveled beauty and my own job well done.

Before I had even properly arranged myself on the pillows, she had her hand between my legs.

I grabbed her wrist. “Did you forget already?”

“No,” she purred in my ear, slowing her strokes but not pulling away. “We said you had to wait until you made me feel how I want to feel. And you did. You were into it. That’s all I wanted. It was perfect.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” I said, trying to think straight.

Part of me was taken off guard, even faintly disappointed, that the denial I’d been anticipating hadn’t arrived. Another part was thoroughly eager to take advantage. Her touch felt undeniably good now.

For several seconds, I was stuck between clashing impulses.

I must have been sending her horribly mixed signals, holding her at bay by the wrist, while rubbing myself compulsively against her hand the way I had against her leg a moment ago.

“Do you really not want it?” she asked, with a hint of hurt that I tried to kiss away.

“I want it,” I admitted.

“Good,” she said, working her fingers a little quicker. “Me too. I want to make you feel so good. I want to hear you screaming because of me.”

“More than you want to stop me from turning back into the person who let you down?” I forced myself to ask, hand still on her wrist. “Because that will happen when you let me cum. Like, immediately.”

Andrea bit her lip, annoyed by the existence of the question.

“But… but I can turn you right back on whenever I want, just by threatening not to touch you, right?”

“…Maybe?” I answered. “But not if I stop believing you.”

She pulled her hand away, turned her gaze to the ceiling.

“I’m just trying to be upfront here,” I said. “You know, workshop solutions?”

“I know,” she said tightly. “I just really like giving. I mean, when it’s appreciated.”

I turned onto my side, stroking her neck and the space between her breasts.

“You want to be able to see how powerful an effect you have on me?” I tried to boil things down to basics.

“Yeah, I do!” said Andrea. “Maybe that’s selfish, but I really do!”

I touched her cheek, turned her to look at me.

“Repeat after me,” I said. “Not today, maybe tomorrow.”

Andrea shrugged, and tried. “Not today, maybe tomorrow.”

Even her mechanical recitation sent an extra pulse of physical excitement through me.

I put her hand on my breast. “Say it again.”

“Not today, maybe tomorrow,” she repeated a little more forcefully, and then smiled in spite of herself at the way my nipple hardened against her palm.

I kissed her with effortless passion, and even two orgasms in, she responded to it, pulling me closer, rubbing against me, her nipples hardening as well.

Being lusted for was her button, as surely as unavailability was mine.

Honestly, I could imagine much less complementary pairings. I hoped Andrea agreed.

She brought her hand back between my legs, gave me one more quick rub, and then stopped.

“Not today, maybe tomorrow,” she said, finding the playfulness in it. “And maybe not even then.”

I felt like I might lick all the skin from her body, if she let me.

#

The next evening, I drove to pick Andrea up from an extra job she’d been chosen for that I hadn’t. The moment she was in the car, my hands were on her thighs, my lips on her neck.

After several seconds of heavy making out, she pushed me away, laughing, and put my hands on the steering wheel.

“Okay, all right, let’s go, I’m starving.”

“Me too.” I smirked. “For food too, I guess.”

Andrea poked me between the ribs. “Come on.”

I started the car back up, and pulled out into traffic.

“I thought we could try a new restaurant,” said Andrea. “Somewhere nice.”

“I’m not going to say no,” I said.

As usual, hiding my preferences from Andrea, while otherwise being myself, was infinitely more difficult than stepping into another character entirely.

“But you’d rather not,” she diagnosed me.

“I’d rather do whatever gets me alone with you the fastest,” I answered honestly.

Andrea sighed, shook her head, and smiled. “This is exactly what I asked for, isn’t it?”

“Exactly what you asked for,” I confirmed, keeping one wandering hand on her knee as I drove.

#

We got the quickest drive-through we could find and went back to Andrea’s place, where I immediately pulled her into a kiss that didn’t end until she ended it. She had to shove me into the dining room chair to get me to actually eat the contents of the paper bag in my hands.

Once I’d scarfed down my burger, I crawled under the table and lifted up Andrea’s skirt, breathing on her thighs, nipping at the seams of her panties, until she finally pushed the remains of her own dinner away and spread her legs with an exasperated laugh.

I pushed her panties aside and started licking like my life depended on it, dipping my fingers in for leverage against my tongue.

She leaned the chair recklessly backward when she came, and I clung to the front legs to keep her from falling, until she rocked forward again with a satisfied sigh.

“Better than the other kind of eating out?” I asked.

Andrea laughed and rested her arms and forehead on the edge of the table, so that we could see each other.

“How long can this go on?” she asked. “I mean, I’d love to have you like this all the time, but sooner or later, you’re going to go mad if you don’t finish, aren’t you? Or is that not how it works for you?”

“Oh, it is, for sure,” I said.

Andrea nodded and sat up.

I climbed up onto the chair next to her.

“All right,” she said. “So, this has to end at some point, and I’ll have to remember not to take your disinterest personally for however long you need to recover, before we start it up again. Do we need a schedule?”

“You can make one if you want,” I said, grinding for comfort against the cushioned seat below me. “But I think it’ll work better if I don’t know what it is.”

“Well, parts of it will be pretty easy to guess,” said Andrea. “Obviously, I’m not going to want you apathetic for special days like anniversaries or birthdays. So, we’ll have to get those lulls out of the way at strategic points.”

“Yeah.” I thought for a bit about how to keep that apathetic, cuddle-contented version of me away from her as much as possible.

The needy thumping coming from my pussy may have had some influence on my next suggestion.

“Have you ever been so horny that one orgasm just wasn’t enough?” I asked, letting myself grind a little more vigorously. “Like, you were still almost as horny afterward as you were before?”

“I suppose so,” said Andrea. “Once or twice.”

“I have,” I said. “If we can take me to the point where I’d need two or three to settle down, and then give me one, maybe we can keep this up forever.”

“Sounds good to me,” said Andrea. “Only, how do I tell the difference between when you’re one-orgasm-horny and three-orgasm-horny?”

I shrugged. “Trial and error?”

“Ah, so we have some experimentation ahead of us, then?”

“So much experimentation.”

Andrea broke into the slowest, broadest grin. “What a nuisance.”

She unbuttoned my jeans and reached under them, under my panties, and stroked the bare outer lips of my pussy ever so softly.

“There are so many factors to consider,” Andrea mused. “Is it just a matter of how long you’ve waited? Or is it important what’s happened in the meantime?”

She kept on stroking, just as softly. It was nothing like what it would normally take to get me off, but I was already so on edge, it didn’t feel totally implausible.

“Does it build up more if think you might be about to cum?” she whispered, and then pulled her hand out of my jeans, pulling the flaps back together. “Or is it the same if you know you won’t?”

I moaned out loud with combined excitement and frustration. I couldn’t have shut up if my life depended on it.

“And,” said Andrea, reaching her hand back in. “Does it matter how you cum?”

She slipped her finger deeper between my labia, and touched my clit directly.

“Does oral make you more apathetic? Hands? Clit-on-clit? Vibration? Penetration?”

That finger glided inside me, while her thumb took its place on my clit.

I found I was making a whimpering noise not unlike the one I’d drawn from her with that second orgasm yesterday. Andrea looked enraptured by how hot she was making me, which made it even hotter.

I could barely breathe enough to speak. “One… way… to find out!”

“Yes,” she said. “There is.”

She worked her thumb and penetrating finger against each other, until I detonated in her hand.

I screamed, without even thinking about how she’d said she wanted that. It was just the only way to process the fact that I was suddenly in another dimension of pure, all-consuming pleasure.

“Everything you were hoping for?” Andrea asked, when I finally came back to earth, shaking and gasping and ready to sleep for a week.

“Fuck yes,” I said.

“Then I suppose we didn’t get it quite right this time.”

My clit pulsed just once with anticipation, as I joined Andrea in her smile.

“We’ll double the wait time next,” she said. “To start with.”