Wetter Days Ahead:A Lesbian Smut Story

Best Friends? More Like Les Friends Part 2

*******************************************
Heather closes the door firmly behind us, turns the deadbolt and pulls the chain across. It's dark - only a touch of light reaches us from a single lamp that I had left on in the bedroom down the hall. The quiet in the apartment is almost shocking after the noise outside; the cars passing by, the clomping of our feet against the sidewalk, had all seemed so quiet, but now, behind the closed door, no longer moving, all I can hear is our hurried breath against the silence.

I lean back into the wall, looking down at my feet, hands behind me, feeling shyer than I can ever recall being before. It seems like an eternity before Heather finally turns to me, slowly, moving into place in front of me.

She ducks her head down a little to catch my eye, and puts her hand on my chin, tilting my face up towards her.

"Still sure, Syd?"

I can't make my mouth work, so I just nod. Over and over again, like a bobble head toy on the dash of a car.

Finally, I whisper, "Yes, I'm sure. For sure."

She smiles a little, and looks into my eyes, like she's double-checking to be certain one more time. The fact that she's taking her time with me, making sure that I am definite about wanting this, has me twice as aroused as I was before. She keeps just looking at me - her eyes roam over my face, down to my neck, and suddenly, I feel so impatient. I want to beg her to do something - anything - to me.

What comes out is a croaky whispered "Please."

She leans in, and kisses my forehead. The tip of my nose. Briefest kiss on my lips. One side of my jaw. Near my ear. To my neck. Down to my clavicle. Peppering kisses across my chest.

I moan, and feel my body push into her.

"Please," I manage again.

Her hand comes up slowly, cups one breast, the faintest hint of a squeeze, like she's testing the weight and feel of it in her hands. I feel her exhale, hot and damp, against my skin, and it makes me shiver.

"Jesus, Syd, you feel so good," she says. "I want you so badly. I want... Fuck... I want this to be so good for you."

"It already is," I say, and arch my back. Pushing my breast deeper into her hand, a small moan escapes my mouth.

And that's the thing that snaps Heather's restraint at last: my approval. My body pushing into her, my moan of pleasure – a Molotov cocktail catching fire, fuelled by her years of imagining this moment.

She lifts her mouth to mine and kisses me deep, hard, and her hands come up on either side of my face as her tongue slips into mine.

I feel new and foolish, like a teenager at my first dance unsure of what to do. But it only takes a few seconds to catch the rhythm of her kiss, to match her tempo, to surrender my mouth to her tongue's dance. I feel her breathe against my lips, panting now, desperate.

Intuitively, my hips push forward towards her and wordlessly, without breaking the kiss at all, she pushes her knee forward and up, sliding it between my thighs, pushing the skirt of my dress up with it until the top of her knee is against the juncture of my thighs. Her knee is bare thanks to the shorts she's wearing, and when the warmth of her skin pushes against my pants, my body jolts.

"Oh god," I moan out, breaking the kiss. "Oh god, Heather... Oh god."

"Fuck, you're so wet already. I can feel how wet you are," she replies. She keeps pushing her knee up against me, and I let my weight shift to gain more pressure and traction against her leg.

She pulls open the buttons on the front of my dress, revealing my simple bra underneath. Her hand slips inside the dress, squeezing my breast again.