by Olivia Myers
“It’s fresh, I just made it,” Wendy offered, flipping through a newspaper while clad in a plush robe that was way too large for her—one Jackie let her borrow. Katie grunted in response, pouring herself a mug and taking a long sip. Perhaps she was biased, but she felt as if the coffee tasted a bit sweeter than usual. She took a seat at the table with Wendy, quirking a brow as the other woman slid the newspaper she’d been flipping through towards her.
Wendy had circled several apartment listings in the newspaper, and Katie obligingly flipped through them, though there was some arguing about whether or not they’d have more luck finding an apartment if they searched online.
“It’d be so much easier to search for an apartment online while I’m bumming off of Jackie’s internet service.” Katie pointed out, taking another long sip of coffee and thoughtfully considering one of the apartment listings.
“You never know what kind of creeps you’ll meet on the internet,” Wendy fussed, meeting Katie’s gaze and erupting into laughter at the deadpan look she was receiving in reply. “Well, it’s not like my father is going to be setting me up with men anymore. Might as well cover my creep-avoidance bases.”
“You mean daddy’s little girl is gonna find her own man?” Katie retorted, sipping her coffee and dismissing another circled ad. Wendy chuckled, edging around the table and wrapping her arms around Katie from the side, nuzzling into her neck. Katie stiffened, eyes widening in confusion at the sudden show of affection. It was normal, she tried to rationalize, for friends to hug. It was normal for friends to be cuddly.
“No, no man,” Wendy whispered against the shell of her ear, before giving a playful little nip. Katie groaned, turning to face Wendy head on. Before she could get a word out, Wendy’s lips found hers, and the blonde business woman settled in Katie’s lap, deepening the kiss. Katie’s gloved hand tangled in Wendy’s hair, and the blonde woman rolled her hips against hers before pulling away. “Keep looking for an apartment. I having a feeling my payroll is gonna be cut once daddy finds out I’m not available for dates with his client’s sons anymore,” Wendy murmured, sliding out of Katie’s lap. Katie stared at her, mouth hanging agape for several long moments before she snapped it shut, pretending to have a vested interest in the newspaper once more.
“What makes you say that?” Katie inquired softly, touching her fingertips to her own lips. It was hard to rationalize that, but perhaps Wendy was still nursing some obligation to shower Katie with affection. Not that she was complaining.
“The fact that he screamed at me for a solid 40 minutes when I told him I had a girlfriend. Then proceeded to announce that he ‘had no daughter’, before I hung up on him,” Wendy said casually, looking up as Katie began to choke out a laugh. “What’s so funny?” She demanded, biting back a laugh of her own as she watched Katie’s rapidly reddening cheeks.
“You kinda missed the part where you ask me to be your girlfriend.” She feigned calmness as she folded up the newspaper. Wendy was the one to look faintly taken aback this time, opening and closing her mouth. “It’s okay, I haven’t mastered the whole love thing yet, either,” Katie offered, removing one of her gloves and reaching out to touch Wendy’s cheek. Wendy grabbed her by the wrist, eyes narrowed and lips quirked in a grin.
“Who’s being presumptuous now? And no cheating. If you want to find out my darkest fantasies, you’ll just have to live them out,” Wendy purred, shrugging off her robe to reveal nothing underneath. Katie stared at her for a long moment, trying to process the information she had just been fed. Wendy knew about her powers. She likely had Jackie to thank for that. Wendy sauntered through the apartment, heading towards the living area. Katie’s mouth hung agape, and she licked her lips before quickly moving to trail after the other woman. By the time she caught up with Wendy, the blonde businesswoman was spread out on the couch Katie so hated. Katie whined, and Wendy quirked her lips in a smile, running a hand down her nude body. “First things first, you’re gonna fuck me on this sofa,” she said with a mischievous smile. Katie’s loins twitched in response to the outright lewd language her newly appointed girlfriend was using. She took in the scene presented before her, all but salivating at the sight. The only thing that would make it better was if that grotesque sofa was out of the picture. Katie groaned in a mix of irrational frustration and arousal.
“Fine,” she retorted, dragging the word out as she shrugged off her own robe. “But wouldn’t it be much sexier for me to fuck you on a piece of furniture that doesn’t look older than both of us combined?” she suggested, sauntering towards the sofa. Wendy stared at her for a moment, drawing her lip between her teeth and pressing her thighs together. Katie briefly wondered if she had pushed too hard, but Wendy parted her thighs once more, licking her lips and offering Katie a sultry little smile.
“Nope. This sofa. Right here,” Wendy ordered. Katie felt the blood rush to her loins almost immediately at the authoritative tone Wendy was using on her. Here she was, learning about new kinks of her own. She edged towards the sofa carefully, draping herself on top of the other woman. As Wendy’s breathing quickened, and she seemed to grow flustered at the closeness, Katie gently nudged a knee between her thighs. As much as she enjoyed the feeling of their bodies fully touching, she lifted herself slightly, supporting herself with one arm. With her free hand, she cupped Wendy’s cheek, noting the woman’s suddenly shy expression. “I’ve never been with—“ She started, and Katie cut her short, leaning in to kiss her tenderly. The kiss seemed to last an eternity, yet simultaneously, not long enough. Katie smirked down at her newfound lover as they parted, looking smug.
“I know, I’m the first woman you’ve ever been with. Don’t worry, I have enough experience for the both of us.” Katie smiled. Wendy’s eyes widened and she bit back a laugh, unable to stop the small giggles that spilled past her lips as she slowly shook her head.
“I was going to say, I’ve never been with someone I love, before.” She smiled, and Katie mused that she would never tire of having that rare, genuine smile focused on her. She ducked her head, pressing tender little kisses along Wendy’s neck. Wendy tangled a hand in her hair, tilting her head to give the other woman better access.
“Me either, for the record,” Katie whispered against her skin, receiving a happy sigh in reply. They stayed like this for some time, simply reveling in the closeness and each other’s company. Katie nuzzled against Wendy’s neck, almost purring with pleasure. Wendy began to shift beneath her, whining softly as her face grew flushed.
“M-more…?” Wendy implored, embarrassment reddening her cheeks even further.
“I think that can be arranged,” Katie murmured, pressing her knee more insistently between Wendy’s thighs. Wendy gasped at the contact, and Katie smirked, giving the newly Sapphic beauty a moment to adjust to the feeling. Then, she place a hand on her hips, guiding them in a steady rolling motion. Slick coated her leg from the knee up and Wendy squeezed her eyes shut, the feeling of gloved fingers tweaking her already hard nipples bringing her an almost agonizing pleasure.
“M-more!” she pleaded, more insistently this time, and Katie rumbled with desire. She shifted slightly, rubbing her own dripping heat against Wendy’s thigh. The two women rocked against each other simultaneously, a long, drawn out moan slipping past Wendy’s lips. “I…I…” Wendy choked out, grinding desperately against Katie’s thigh. Katie leaned in, pressing her lips to Wendy’s pulse point before giving the area a soft bite. Wendy shuddered beneath her, and Katie followed the unspoken order that her lover’s body was giving her. She continued to bite along Wendy’s body, occasionally dragging her tongue across the sensitive skin of fresh scars. Wendy arched her back and with a soft gasp, her fluids spilled over Katie’s groin in a gush. Katie groaned at the sight, gathering the liquid on her fingers and rubbing it against her throbbing clit, smearing their juices together.
“I didn’t know you were a squirter,” she grunted out, steadily rubbing her aching nub. Wendy pulled her hand away, kno
wing she couldn’t be getting that much pleasure from her own gloved hand. Following the motions she had watched Katie pleasure herself with, she began to slowly circle a finger around Katie’s clit. Katie arched her back in pleasure, thrusting her breasts forward in a way that Wendy found all too appetizing.
“Me either.” Wendy murmured belatedly, swiping a finger against their combined juices and giving it a tentative taste. “Mm. Salty, yet sweet. Just like you,” she teased. Katie watched her with an expression of shock, the likely unintentionally sensual show sending tremors rocking through her body. “Come for me, baby,” Wendy cooed, and Katie found herself helpless to stop her oncoming orgasm. Her body quaked, and she hunched over Wendy, who watched her lover with silent adoration. As Katie came down from her high, she smiled goofily, leaning in to firmly kiss her lover. “You’re so cute,” Wendy murmured between kisses. Katie opened her mouth to argue, but all but fell off the sofa as the door to the apartment swung open. Wendy quickly grabbed Katie’s discarded robe, covering herself with it and essentially leaving Katie out in the cold.
“Wow,” Jackie said in a deadpan tone as she took in the scene before her. Her live-in boyfriend peered over her shoulder, eyes bugging out of his head.
“Oh my god,” Wendy groaned, obviously mortified.
“You’re not helping,” Katie hissed. She looked to Jackie through wide and imploring eyes, trying to sputter out an apology. Jackie was having none of it, leveling a serious stare in Katie’s direction and holding up a hand to keep her from speaking.
“Alright, Katie. You win. Throw the damn sofa away,” She drawled, turning her back to the scene and closing the apartment door. Wendy and Katie stared after her, eyes wide in disbelief.
“You know, I think this couch is growing on me. Let’s take it with us.”
The End
Bonus Book: Licked by a Vampire
If Imogen had her way, the girls of St. Nocturne’s would be more like her. Shy, modest, polite, gifted. After all, it was a college for the arts, where lovers of poetry and music and art could go to pursue their interests far away from the rude interruption of the world. This was at least the intention of its founders, who three hundred years ago had built the college, a small series of fairy-tale turrets and buildings, on a hilltop nestled in the wilderness. For a while it had been that kind of place. An isolated place, devoted to the pursuit of the good and the beautiful.
A crumpled wad of wet paper came whirling through the air, slapping the back of Imogen’s neck like a bee sting. Any other girl would have turned around to see who the attacker was, but not Imogen. She already knew. This was the bad part about St. Nocturne’s, and chief among the bad part was the group of girls sitting behind Imogen.
They called themselves the Golden Girls, and for Imogen they represented everything that was wrong with the college. There were four of them—prissy, self-entitled girls with too much money but not enough to buy even an ounce of manners or kindness. The Golden Girls didn’t think they needed manners. They were the hot shit. They were the foxy mamas of St. Nocturne’s: the girls strutting the hallways between lectures, linked arm-in-arm like a battering ram subduing lesser girls who wouldn’t get out of their way. The clacking of their heels on the parquet could be heard all the way from town. Their perfume—Chanel, Yves Sainte-Laurent, Gucci—could be smelled from the top of the mountain.
Supposedly, the Golden Girls were at St. Nocturne’s because they studied music. A few of them sang and played the guitar. One girl was rumored to play pretty decent piano.
But anyone who spent a long enough time at the university knew that their real art was in torturing the smarter, more intelligent girls. Imogen did not know why they even needed to study. They were already masters of their craft.
“Did I hear something?” Miss McReddy, the classics literature professor, adjusted her thick glasses and turned her questioning glance to her class. Her gaze rested on Imogen. The girl was a favorite of the professor and it was no wonder—Imogen lived for literature, for romance and for poetry. In this field, she was Miss McReddy’s chief ally. Now she knew that a response was expected from her.
“No, Professor,” Imogen said, still wincing from the pain of the spitball.
“Well, good.” The professor’s pumpkin face broke into a wide smile. “And now that I’ve found you, Imogen, perhaps you’d like to contribute something to the topic?”
Imogen cleared her throat, embarrassed. She’d been distracted by her tormentors and hadn’t heard what the discussion was covering. “Err, professor?”
Helpless giggles broke out behind her. Imogen felt her cheeks turning red.
“Our topic, Imogen,” the professor said. “We were discussing Catherine’s visit to the Tilneys’s estate. What do you think Austen is doing in this chapter?”
“Austen?” said Imogen, still trying furiously to focus herself and forget about the laughter increasing behind her.
“Jane Austen,” the professor said, annoyed. “The book is Northanger Abbey, Imogen. Did you do your reading?”
“Yes—I mean, well—yes,” Imogen fought out. Had she done the reading? The book sitting open on her desk stared up at her awkwardly, like a stranger she’d accidently made eye contact with. She picked it up like she didn’t know what it was, scratching pages aside furiously, trying to find her place.
The professor leaned her elbow against the wall and waited. “Well?”
“The visit to the Tilneys,” Imogen repeated. At last she found her place. “Yes—okay. Well, it’s the place in the book where Austen makes the most obvious distinction between reality and romance.”
“Reality and romance,” it was the professor’s turn to repeat. “How do you mean?”
“Just that up until this point, we’ve seen everything through Catherine’s eyes and she’s been treating her whole life like a gothic romance. And everything prior to this moment at the Tilneys’s has sort of been the kind of thing that she’s read about. When she gets to the estate, she expects that it will all come together and she’ll become like one of the heroines she’s been reading about.”
“And what does she find?” the professor asked. Her annoyance was gone.
“That it’s not the case,” Imogen said. “All of her romance is pushed aside by reality. I mean, that there aren’t really any dead bodies to be discovered or horrible family secrets. It’s as though Austen is offering a critique of the genre by anticipating the reader’s expectations and then saying that reality is more powerful. And if we ignore the reality, we sort of just wind up looking like idiots.”
Miss McReddy’s pumpkin face was smiling again. She closed her book. “Very good,” she said. “Spoken like a scholar.”
The giggling behind Imogen had subsided, although she was still flushed. She was already regretting having said as much as she did. The Golden Girls wouldn’t like it. She knew she’d be hearing from them after class. Silently, she prayed that the professor would continue the lecture so that she could avoid the confrontation. Oh please let it go on.
But the girls were gathering their packs, even as Miss McReddy attempted to make a last announcement. “Class! Class! Don’t forget—art and literature competition in just two weeks! Enter any piece you want, be it essay or song or dance, and you’ll have the opportunity to perform it for the entire school!”
But whether anyone was paying attention to the announcement was difficult to say. Imogen heard it but she was packing her own things and trying to hurry out of the class as fast as possible. She kept her head bowed to avoid eye contact with anyone, as though she were fleeing a room on fire.
She made it as far as the stairwell before a voice stopped her. “Where do you think you’re going?”
That voice. Imogen knew it well. But unlike other girls, when she heard it her heart didn’t stop in terror. Instead, it beat at double the rate, as if it were trying to sever its connection to her body. Imogen went hot. Her fingertips turned wet. She was filled with terror but her terror h
eld a stronger, more passionate emotion. Desire.
Before Imogen could turn around, the backpack was yanked painfully off her shoulders and thrown aside. “Are you even gonna answer?”
It was now or never. She turned slowly and confronted the chief of the Golden Girls herself: Cassandra. Golden-haired Cassandra with the soft blue eyes and the delicately rounded face that old artists would have killed to paint. Cassandra of the pillow-soft lips. Cassandra and her chameleon mouth which could twist effortlessly to form such favorites as the Fuck-Off Smile, the Twisted Grin, the Smoldering Curl, and countless others. The other Golden Girls followed her in suit but it was Cassandra and no one but Cassandra that Imogen saw.
“Well?”
“Well what?” Imogen said quietly.
“What was all that shit about in class?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“The shit about Jane Austen. Do you think you’re smart or something?”
Imogen bowed her head. She didn’t want Cassandra to see how much the anger excited her, how much she desired to be abused like this.
“No,” she whispered.
“No what?”
“No, I don’t think I’m smart.”
Cassandra had scored a minor victory but she wouldn’t stop until she had more.
“Well then, what are you?”
“Nothing,” said Imogen. The Golden Girls bubbled again into giggles.
“Nothing?” Cassandra smirked, before shoving Imogen in the shoulder. Imogen weathered the blow like a tree but the human contact made her skin tingle. Oh God, please let her go away soon.
“Nothing?” Cassandra repeated. “You don’t feel like nothing. You’ve got a bony shoulder. And you don’t look like nothing. You’ve got that short, inky rat-hair.”
More giggles. The noise seemed to fuel Cassandra. “Hey, I think we’ve found a name for you. Our little rat. Our little rat-a-tat.”