Authors: Gianna Day
A momentary wall of fear erects itself between us, as if we’re back at the beginning, unsure of how to start. I place one hand at the base of her neck and let it rest for just a second, just long enough to bring the wall to rubble at our feet. It’s gone and we are able to touch again without apprehension. I unbutton her jeans and push
them down, but
she
doesn’t step out of them. They are a denim puddle at her feet. I glance down to see pink lace panties and smooth, tan thighs, but then bring my eyes back to hers. We’re standing and I move in to erase the space between us. Our lips part and our tongues meet, circling in a sweet, soft and wet hello. I slip my hand ins
ide the front of her panties. The warmth is shocking, but also intriguing. I
work two fingers inside
of her
. I break our kiss for a moment and tell her, “I’m going to make you come.”
She
whimpers slightly and then
brings her mouth back to mine in response, deeper this time and with urgency. Our chests press together and I wish we’d take
n
the time to remove shirts and bras, but we’re beyond that now. She stands on her tiptoes in an attempt to rise up and then press down harder
on my invading hand. I respond b
y moving in deeper. She’s essentially riding my right hand while my left hand is on the back of her neck, pressing her into me, my tongue exploring the need for more of her mouth.
She pulls back
and quietly says, “Fuck.”
“Yes,” I answer.
“Get on the table.”
She gives me a brief questioning look before we break apart completely so that she can
step fully out of her
panties and
jeans and
hop
up on
to the table. I want to taste her as she’s tasted me. I’m eager and have to slow myself for a moment. Though I want
her, this is my first intimacy with a woman and I want to pay her the same attention sh
e paid me. I want to enjoy her for myself, just as much as the need to fuck her for her own pleasure. Rubbing my face against her inner thigh gives me a cha
nce to study her before I taste
her. I’d mistakenly thought another woman’s pussy would look like my own, but she’s more petite than me, small and tight with
a
delicate little triangle of brown curls. I breathe on her cunt, just as she had on mine. She moans and I use my thumb to rub up and down her clit for a moment, before moving my fingers back inside of her and then licking her for the first time. I start my tongue at the top of her vagina, where my fingers move in solid, slow circles inside. My tongue travels up, equally slow, to find her clit and then circle it. The taste of her is both strong and beautiful, instilling in me a new kind of hunger.
My right hand is still working in her and I use my left to cup her ass and press her to me.
I stop the tiny circles of her clit and instead run my tongue up and down
it
, still marveling at the taste of
what I’ve never tasted before, but knowing what to do, all the same.
“Fuck me,” she whispers. I press my fingers harder against the walls of h
er cunt and lap a
t her clit with my tongue. “Fuck,” she says again
. The idea that I’m fucking Melanie into orgasm and the exhilaration of possibly getting caught
only
make
me want her more. I suck her clit with a slight graze of teeth and change from fucking her with three fingers to four. I steal a glance up to see her kneading her breasts and mouthing the words “fuck me.” I oblige with determination. I want nothing more than for her to come, but I equally want for this moment not to end. She begins a low hum and I feel a hand on the back of my head, pressing my mouth in tight against her. I lap at her clit
furiously and fuck her with my fingers, soaking in every sense of her smell and taste
and
sound as she
comes in three waves. The first is violent and her legs shake against me. The second brings a wetness and she contra
cts around my fingers. With the final stage of climax I
feel the last pulses of her pussy against my face. I breathe against her until she returns to calm, rubbing my cheek against her thigh until I feel her body relax fully.
I
stand and press my right hand simply to her crotch,
just as she does in the course of her work, offering solid pressure as reassurance. She sits up from the table, exhales deeply for a moment before standing. We are an inch apart. W
e kiss again, our tongues slick and sliding in and out of mouths. I still have the lightness in my chest from
my own
orgasm.
It’s heightened by our twirling tongues, tasting one another, tasting mouth and pussy all at once.
We step apart and look to each other with mirrored expressions. No shame or shock, but understanding and a slight smile. She pulls her panties
up, sliding them smoothly over her perfect ass. J
eans
slide
up
her
legs and I notice, not for the first time, how startlingly pretty she is
. I dress, too
.
T
his ordinary
act of dressing in front of one another erases any lingering doubt of the encounter
.
We are the same, and one, and share touch and comfort. There’s no need to define any of it further.
We’re silent until I’ve gathered all of my belongings. I’m ready to leave the wax room, my hand on the doorknob.
“Okay, then,” I say, not sure of how to leave.
On impulse I bring my hand to my face, to smell her again.
“Remember,” she says, “it’s only sex.”
I’m not sure why, but this simple phrase is reassuring to me and makes
our encounter perfect, beautiful. I smile at her but leave without a word and head out to the reception desk to schedule my next appointment.
By
Gianna
Day
I am
not happy with my
landscaper. For three years I’ve
been leaving a check under the front door mat every Wedn
esday, and for three years she’s
retrieve
d
the check
to
keep my yard looking beautiful. Until about three mont
hs prior. For some reason, she
s
tarted slacking. She still picks up her check, but appears
to do a quick and sloppy mow job with a little weed-whacking here and th
ere. The weeding and pruning have
ceased, leaving my yard looking like it would if I’d been doing the job myself, which is exactly why I choose to pay a professional. I
’ve decided it’
s time we have a conversation
about the situation, and I kno
w in the back of my mind that it might end with her gett
ing fired.
After shuttli
ng my kids to school, I return
home to find her truck in the driveway, where my husband’s car had been parked before he left for work. I hear the mower chatter
ing away in the backyard. I walk to the front door and peek under the mat. She’s
a
lready grabbed her check. I go
inside, upstairs, and ou
t onto the back deck where I have
a full view of the yard. Kara i
s there, pushing a stubborn mower and sweating visibly in a white ta
nk top and denim shorts. She has
broad shoulders, a sturdy b
uild and muscled arms, and I fi
nd her a bit intimidating.
She isn’t tall, but I always think of her as
forceful
,
and the type of person you don’t want to cross. I am
not looking forward to the impending confrontation.
I watch
her for a few minu
tes mowing back and forth. It’
s rhythmic, hypnot
ic. Her brown hair is
pulled back into a sloppy pony
tail. Whenever she turns, the sun catches
hints of red hiding in her hair. There’s something pleasing about the way the sun lights her up, softening her whole demeanor into something less severe than the Kara I know. Then she finishes and turns
the mower off. T
he silence in its place startles
me
, along with
a
rush of clouds into the sky above us, stealing the comfort of sunshine from a moment before
. Kara l
ooks up
and sees me. I feel
like a voyeur.
“Hi,” she says
. “Have you been there long?”
“No,” I lie
. “No, I just got here.”
“D
o you need something?” she asks
.
“Actually, yes, Kara.
I was hop
ing to speak with you.” I walk
down the wooden steps to meet her on the grass below.
“Is something wrong?”
“Well, not necessarily, I just wanted to talk about some of the stuff you do around here.”
“Okay, like what?” Sweat ru
n
s
down her forehead and the sides of her cheeks, tiny rivers making their way to he
r collarbone and cleavage. She’s
obviou
sly been working hard and I feel
a pang of guilt.
“Well, I guess I wanted to talk more about what you haven’t been doing.”
“What’s
that su
pposed to mean?” S
he stan
d
s a little straighter, bracing
against wha
t I might say.
Her eyes narrow and a flush of red sweeps across her chest
in contrast to the white of her tank top.
“I’ve noticed that you used to keep up with the weeding and pruning all of the bushes. And it seems like none of those things get done anymore.”
“You don’t pay
me for those things,” she states
.
“
Those are extra.”
“What?” I take
a step back, surprised by this.
“You pay me to mow your yard. If you want me to do those other things, it costs more.”
“But y
ou used to do them,” I protest
.
“Yes, as a favor. Or out of the kindness of my heart. Or maybe because I had a little time to spare, but those are extras. You hired me to mow your yard and that’s it.”
“That wasn’t my understanding of our arrangement at all.”
“T
hen you misunderstood,” she says. She squares
her shoulders to
my own and I silently chastise
myself for feeling meek, willing mysel
f not to cower. The sky darkens further
as
more clouds move
in to block out the
last few rays of
sun.
“Kara, I’m not sure this re
lationship can continue,” I say
.
“You’re firing me?” she asks
.
“Because you got spoiled with a bunch of freebies?
Because I went the extra mile without any pay, you’re
firing
me?”
“I didn’t say that,” I raise
my volume to match hers. “I guess I was just a little confused about what it is I’ve been paying you for.”
“You h
ave got to be kidding,” she says and rolls
her eyes in annoyance.
I’m
definitely firing her, I think. The skies open and rain fa
ll
s on us in fat drops. We move
under the
protection of the deck and stan
d
next to the neglected hot tub.
“What do you want me
to
say, Kara?”
Even under the deck, r
ain finds its way to us. My sun
dress clings to chilled skin underneath.
“I don’t know,” she snaps
back. “But I work too damn hard to be treated like this.”
“How else do you expect to be treated when you walk arou
nd with this attitude?” I yell. It’
s unlike me to react in such
a way and I instantly regret it. Her eyes flare
for a moment and something in them
changes. I think she’s
goi
ng to slap me. “Look,” I amend
. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to fight.”
“Me, neither,” she whispers
.
The fire in her eyes retreats as quickly as it appeared. She’s subdued now, not with the soft look she had in the sunshine, but sodden in the damp of rain and sweat.
The same chill that covers my skin moves a shiver through her body.
I offer a sigh of regret and apology as I climb the two small stairs to sit on the closed lid of the hot tub. Kara replies with a similar sigh and then joins me.