Perfect Women, Perfect Lies

Two sets of feet tangled after midnight, weaving through the dark brambles of a Cape town  summer cottage. Legs backed into the corners of side tables, heels tripped up by rugs; and frantic hands groped for the solidity of warm flesh on this equally warm summer’s eve, knocking knicknacks to the floor in their pursuit.

Backed against a wall, Serena gasped when hands found the soft skin of her hips, short summer dress shoved to her waist. Fingers kneaded her firmly, desire known in the very essence of the touch as practiced fingers climbed up her torso to the swell of her breasts. She had never had a taunt nipple taken with such softness, the change like night and day, as it was brushed by the smooth thumb of Margo.

She had known Margo since childhood, growing up vacationing next door to the woman, only one grade her senior. Margo had been the pampered only child who thrived tormenting Serena. From an early age, storming past her and knocking elbows into her side hoping she’d fall. Tossing every foul name her way and spreading even worse rumors.

There had been a timel Serena swore peace had been reached. She’d been more duckling than swan until mid-high school, only then did she get invited to her first ever pool party at the cape. She not only felt confident in her vibrant two-piece, but welcomed. Margo offered to rub sunscreen into her back, only to have used regular lotion. Serena had to leave the party before the fireworks and before spin the bottle when she became burnt and blistered. Beyond the tender red Serena remembered how tender Margo’s touch had been.

It had been a perfect lie.

The torment Serena had suffered at the hands of this woman was no match for the torture she suffered now. The build up had been slow, aging with them. Between her legs was slick with the intensity of every light touch, including the one where Margo had traced her lips only moments ago under the dim light of her front porch as they said goodnight.

Beyond that, desire was packed into every cooed exchange spoken when neither of their husbands were listening – even if they were in the same room. If only Margo had not admitted she liked a challenge, lips against Serena’s ear the night before as she poured her wine at the dinner table.

If only Serena had not listened, had not sent her husband ahead of her back to the city.

If only Serena had not risen to the demand of such a tender touch and nipped Margo’s thumb before she whispered goodnight. What she had meant was *come in*.

Then she wouldn’t be pressed into the wall of the pantry just beyond the den, her lips parted in agonizing delight. Margo’s mouth seemed most interested in feasting on the offering of her neck and shoulders, sliding spaghetti straps down to remove all obstructions as her lips made wet smacking sounds around her collar.

“Hold me, not the wall,” Margo commanded against her skin.

Her words were enough for Serena to peel her frantic hands from the wall, pressing them into her back with the intensity she had once taken her husband. She felt for the curve of Margo’s spine and the motion of muscles as one hand continued to tease her pale pink nipple. It drew the kind of gasps that that were nearly soundless.

Margo’s behind, the same round ass that had haunted Serena every trip to the beach – begging her to ask why she couldn’t look like that – was supple under her palms. It also made her aware of who was in her arms.

“I’ve never done this,” Serena rasped.

“Never made love?”

“Not to a woman. And I don’t love you.”

“But you will,” she said with the confidence only Margo could manage. The fingers of her other hand wiggled against her abdomen, sliding against damp panties. She meant the lust kind of love. “Touch me how you would want to be touched.”

Again, Serena rose to her demand, kissing her how she’d want to be, hand swept into her cascade of hair. Margo’s tongue was eager against hers, quiet then when she so often wasn’t.

Compelled further, Serena mirrored her ardent grasp, sliding fingers under the hem of her silken blouse, touching even softer skin. Margo felt expensive, decadent. How would she taste?

Serena’s mouth dropped at the same time her hand did. First exploring the length of her neck as her hand undid the tassel-tipped ties of Margo’s shirt, peeling clothing back like the wrapper of a sweet. Her petite breast was swollen with wanting, her stiff nipple dark and beckoning. Serena wasted no time with hands, instead wrapped her mouth around the treat she had always wanted.

“Good little Serena,” Margo purred.

“Don’t antagonize,” she replied, giving the nipple a graze with her teeth.

Margo’s voice caught in her throat. Serena felt victory.

She was done being pressed against the wall by this woman. How long had she suffered in her shadow? How long had she been a pawn in a game of teasing? Thrusting with a hand on her shoulder, Serena sent Margo back into the opposite wall. They disturbed a collection of brooms, but there was no one in the cottage to hear them.

Her body advanced swiftly, a hand on her tit as the other shoved at the hem of Margo’s drawstring trousers, feeling the delightful curve of her hips. How could she still look so good after all this time, after two children? Serena sent her hand down Margo’s thigh firmly, but she returned upwards with a light trace of her knuckles. She felt a phantom of her actions against her own, tingles blooming in her sex.

All this from only touching her?

Serena pressed a thumb intensely to her lover’s hip bone, pinning her flushed against the wallpaper covered walls of this antique home. Such old memories stored her.

This was so new. So very new between them, yet somehow a tale having been told all along.

Margo whimpered.

“Good little Margo,” Serna returned. “Always perfect little Margo. Always wonderful and sweet little Margo. You aren’t sweet. You aren’t kind. I know you tease me infront of my husband trying to get us caught.”

“So you admit there is an us.”

Serena’s hand cupped her exposed sex. Of course the woman hadn’t worn panties. Heat dripped into her palm, or perhaps it was the wetness of Margo’s eagerly shaven pussy. Serena knew the feeling of a fresh shave and Margo’s intentions became clear. She had devised this night.

A finger coaxed Margo’s body to attempt to arch off the wall, stroking up and down the folds of her flushed lips. It was only a whisper of a touch, the kind that would make – and had made – her bait her breath.

Up, circle the nub. Down, spread the lips just a hint. Then up and repeat until Margo’s fingers curled around her, begging her for more.

“I’m going to make you scream loud enough your husband will hear next door,” Serena threatened.

The years of cumulative build up to this moment gave Serena entitlement to be so brash and forward. She wanted to make this woman’s knees quiver, only after would she take the pleasure the throb between her legs demanded.

She attended to Margo’s first, two fingers parting her moist lips and sinking into their full depth. Margo bit her lips so hard to keep from crying out that indents were left where her teeth had pressed. Serena kissed them away.

She touched her how she wanted to be touched, fingers working in and curling, palm pressed flat to her clit. She held her the way she wanted to be held, close, with a leg between Margo’s, their foreheads touching so she could examine every flash of emotion in those sterling eyes.

As she was taken. As she lost her power.

The more Margo’s juices flowed the more heightened the feeling of two fingers buried in her must have become, her labored breaths now mewling moans. It took Serena pressing her to the wall with her torso, soft breasts molded to Margo to keep her from leaping forward. The tremor in her thighs only built.

“I know you’re louder than that.” Removing her palm she found Margo’s engorged clit with her thumb. Her voice was more demanding. “Come on, Margo.”

At her words, Serena felt the tensing of muscles grasp her fingers, Margo’s inflamed walls at the peak of pleasure. She kept them pressed deep, using the power of her arm to thrust compellingly, trying to persuade Margo to let go. She wanted this woman to find release but lose herself. Even her thumb was putting immense pressure on Margo’s swollen clit.

It didn’t take long, the words torn from Margo’s mouth, her fingernails savage against the shoulders leaving marks Serena would have to explain to her husband, “I am cumming….I am…cumming!”

At each word her pitch grew. A steady flow released from her sex and showered Serena’s hand and the floor below as Margo convulsed, knees finally giving out. Serena didn’t catch her, merely falling with her. Spilled out on the floor, a hand still buried between her legs, breasts peeking beyond her shirt, flawless Margo wasn’t the well-kept princess of the Cape.

She was….

*Screw her*, she was still perfection.

Serena took her hand from Margo’s defeated sex, bringing them at first to her mouth as if to taste. Living in the moment, she still had the upper hand. Serena’s fingers outstretched and traced along Margo’s lips, the perfect cupid’s bow.

Margo tilted her chin, brazen eyes glowing with the aftermath of orgasm and nibbled on her finger and said, “I like how you say goodnight. Let me show you how I say it properly.”

“No.” Serena stood. She already felt between the two of them they had too much to explain. To themselves. To their husbands. She straightened her summer dress, fabric falling to her knees, for once more put together than Margo. This moment had been *perfection* but it was done. “No more. Pull up your pants, go home. I have to go back to mine and it’s a long drive back to the city.”

Serena didn’t watch Margo right herself, eyes on the dim outline of the still open door waiting for the woman to leave. She was just as responsible for making this happen as Margo was for orchestrating their inevitable collision.

Margo didn’t turn either as she strutted past, voice a siren’s call. “I guess no goodbye means I’ll see you in the city.”

Then she left.

The words lingered. Serena was truly haunted by her, heartbeat thudding in her chest, and felt most potently between her legs.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/8tvdoo/perfect_women_perfect_lies