The Ballerina: A Lesbian Romance

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The Ballerina: A Lesbian Romance Page 10

by Nicolette Dane


  Harriet was foremost on my mind as I masturbated, and I dreamt up all the scenarios I could to make me feel closer to her. I imagined being in class, having her talk about my story, a story that — in my dream — she had already read and edited, remarking to the class how thoughtful and true it was, how refreshing and exciting. We would then wait for the rest of the students to leave once class ended, we’d poke at each other lovingly, we’d kiss and giggle, and then we’d slip out of the classroom hand-in-hand to run off to have fun, just the two of us.

  My fingers, glistening with my own wetness, continued to push through my lips, parting them, moving back and forth. Every so often I would slip my fingers inside of myself, giving myself a few firm thrusts, a couple solid tugs outward to apply pressure, before removing them with that gentle, subtle sound of wet flesh and suction, and returning them to my clit to redouble my stimulation.

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  THE SEXY LIBRARIAN: A NOVELLA

  WITH ME sitting on the foot of her bed, Esme stood in front of me and without a word she took hold of the bottom of my sweater and pulled it upwards. I raised my arms to allow her to pull it off and over my head, leaving me in just my grey camisole with the built-in bra, shaking my head back and forth a couple of times to straighten out my messed up hair. Esme then took her own tank top up over her head and let it fall to the ground next to my sweater. Standing there in her purple bra and brown herringbone tights, she grinned and threaded her fingers into the waistband of her leggings.

  “Wanna help?” she seductively cooed.

  “Okay,” I mused, hypnotized by her magnetism. Esme reached out and took my hands, bringing them up to her waistband and nodding her head softly. I pushed my fingers into the elastic, taking hold of the fabric, and carefully sliding it down off of her ass and hips. The fabric clung to her legs as I peeled it off her thighs, pushed it down over her knees and then let it fall to her ankles. Underneath she wore a matching pair of panties, light purple and frilly and ornate. In the low light of her bedroom I could see a small wet spot where the fabric covered her mound. I cautiously moved my eyes upward from her panties, over her slim stomach, up to her voluminous chest, and then to her smiling face framed by that stunning fiery hair. Esme made a kissy face down at me.

  “I showed you mine,” she said. “Why don’t you show me yours?”

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