[FF] Where did she tell you she was last night? [lesbian][short story][maybe a series][if you like it][cuckoldy?]

I’ve seen her in here before. Nearly all the bartenders know her. She comes every now and then, grabs a couple of drinks and scrolls through her phone. Sometimes she’ll watch the live music artist for a while, and nearly every night she fights off one or two guys. She’ll pay her tab, tip well, and hop into a cab.

But not last night.

Last night she came in looking for something. The way she sat at the bar was different, the way she dressed was different. Not to mention she ordered two shots of tequila before even mentioning a cocktail. She’d done a little more eye makeup than I’d usually seen her do, a darker shade of lipstick. There was a thirst in her eyes that wasn’t going to be quenched by Cuervo or Smirnoff. That animalistic need that we all feel from time to time, the itch that’s so elusively hard to scratch. And that’s when I saw her look across the mahogany at me.

“Hi I’m Kate,” she smiled, flashing a set of pearly white teeth. “You know, I’ve seen you in here before but I don’t think we’ve actually met.”

“Hi Kate,” I grinned back, extending my soft, slender hand out to hers to grasp it firmly. “I’m Khloe. I think I saw you here last week; vodka martini right?”

I watched her smile and nod, a slight pause before answering.

“Haha, great memory. Hey Khloe, can I buy you a drink? Tonight’s not a night where I’m looking to drink alone.”

I laughed softly, grabbing a bottle of rye from under the bar and setting it in front of us.

“Honey I drink for free here,” I quipped back, popping the stopper and pouring myself a glass, grabbing another before sashaying to the bar stool next to her. “Let’s find something else to waste your money on.”

——————————

We must have talked for two hours, the contents of the bottle between us lubricating the conversation. I’d had a drink with patrons before, shared a laugh, told a few jokes. And that’s what I thought this was, two beautiful women having a drink and sharing tales about their seemingly unremarkable lives. Until she put her hand on my thigh.

Then it became something much more. Suddenly there was a desire in both of us to leave. A hunger to touch and taste and feel something outside the normal confines of dialogue.

And before either of us could blink we were back at my place.

I can remember slamming her into the wall, her hands in my hair as I tugged violently at the straps of her dress, drinking in the honey-vanilla moisturizer she put on before she left the house. Her soft breasts felt like velvet in my hands, the tiny pebbles of her painfully stiff nipples brushing against my palms. I nearly ripped her black thong off of her, exposing that shaped, toned ass that she keeps tight, presumably for you. I can still hear her whispering in my ear as we moved to the bed, the way she begged for me to touch her, to tease her. She was insatiable.

She was hot and ripe on my tongue, her whimpers and moans spurring me on, exacerbating my own lust. My tongue lapped at her folds for what seemed like hours as her pleasure dripped down my chin. Her little clit was swollen and stiff as it passed through my lips, causing her to squeal as I sucked and licked at it. She pleaded with me to tease her puckered little asshole, a request I was happy to fill with one of my slender digits.

Her hands found my hair as she climaxed, a carnal cacophony echoing off my bedroom walls as she wet my sheets with appreciation. I felt her perfect flower spasm around my fingers as she screamed, calling out for me again and again until she twitched and sighed and collapsed into the silk. She was panting and sweating as she pulled my face to hers, kissing me deeply as she whimpered softly, drifting off in my arms until morning.

—————————————

I mean, look. It could have been a lot worse. She could’ve left with the blues pianist, and been wrapped up in his tattooed arms for the night. Or she could’ve hooked up with the manager Julia and been tied up and blindfolded for the evening. Or she could’ve gone home with the horsecocked bouncer and wound up gaped and pregnant. But she didn’t. She went home with a woman who she knew would care for and appreciate her.

And it’s obvious she loves you, I mean, all that she said about you and how you’re constantly working and providing for the two of you. Far be it from me to try and ruin years of a relationship for one night.

I’m just wondering where she told you she was last night..

________________________________________________

Hi lovelies!

This idea hit me at 3AM this morning and I just couldn’t get it out of my head. I thought about using it as a writing prompt, but I’m not sure it belongs there. I was thinking about doing a full-fledged story, or maybe a series, but I wanted to write a teaser to see if the community was interested in something like this. If not, I can write something else, but I wanted all of you talented, beautiful people to weigh in!

Help me! Any ideas or collaborations are welcome!

Thanks for reading everyone!

-Khloe ❤️?

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/dbjujq/ff_where_did_she_tell_you_she_was_last_night