Nella Lesbian Sex
Lesbian Sex Story:
The hosts were on the roof when Lisa walked through the door with her partner. Someone else might have scanned the kitchen for a familiar face, but Lisa leaned on a chair and fixed her smile on the person directly in front of her expectantly. Between the smile and the ruffled red skirt she was wearing, she seemed to take up more space then the whole horde of twenty-somethings in front of her.
Foremost in the mass of jean-wearing people clutching beers, and the target of Lisa's attention, was Meghan. "They're on the roof," she gestured with her bottle. "But there's beer, uh, soda, gin, bourbon..."
"Aren't you sweet, and you don't even live here! They have vodka?"
Meghan was pushing aside frozen peas before it struck her as slightly peculiar that she was making this stranger a drink. She was handing Lisa a vodka cranberry before she noticed the tall guy with the grey hair who was apparently attached to the smiling vodka-drinker. Meghan felt a strange impulse to take the woman's purse. Instead, she heard "food in the back" come out of her mouth, and Lisa brushed past, tapping her glass against Meghan's shoulder in a toast and then drinking deeply. Grey-hair followed her and Meghan stood there, having been left behind by whatever conversation she'd been having, feeling the condensation from the glass drying on her shirt and an electric tingle on her shins where the woman's skirt had swept across them.
Behind a curtained door in back of the food nook, Lisa was lounging on a futon while Frank rolled a joint, perched with his knees practically around his ears on an oversized cushion across from her. It wasn't clear whether the room was meant to be open to the party, and they had it to themselves.
"Girl was a doll," she remarked.
"Hm," said Frank. He looked up long enough to furrow his eyebrows at her amusedly.
"...all fresh-faced and helpful. I thought she might manage to trip over herself standing still."
"That girl was an infant. You got a lighter?" Lisa handed it over from her purse, and he lit the joint and passed it over the coffee table. "Her body was... cute enough, but how much you wanna bet she just rounded legal drinking age?"
"Oh please," Lisa protested, "older than that, not that that's here or there, and all pert and tall and lanky. You know how I like that."
And then Meghan herself was warily pulling the curtain half back and sniffing at the smoke. "Hello again," she said. She addressed herself entirely to Lisa, without thinking about it. "I hope it's not horribly uncouth of me to ask if I could hit that?"
Lisa let the question hang in the air for a moment. What luck not to have to go find the girl later. Then she blinked and said, "Yes, of course, sit down here." She motioned to her left on the futon. "How old are you?"
"Oh, my friend here thinks you look younger."
"Well," Meghan replied.
Lisa drew her fingers across the back of Meghan's hand as she handed her the joint. Meghan seemed to forget what to do with it for a moment, before she shook her head and inhaled in one sharp, fluid movement.
"Frank's just wrong this time, isn't he?"
"Wouldn't be the first," Frank said gruffly.
"Oh, so you're Frank, then?" Meghan asked. "Meghan." She attempted to make eye contact, but Frank's eyes were buried in the carpet. She turned to Lisa, whose eyes, by contrast, were startling open and focused directly on her. "Pleasure, Meghan. I'm Lisa."
By the time they'd finished smoking, Lisa's legs were lying across Meghan's lap. Lisa did most of the talking, occasionally using Frank as her straight man or asking Meghan a getting-to-know-you question and then bouncing off into her own observations and opinions. All three of them were laughing: Lisa wide-mouthed and exuberant, Meghan with a chuckle that drove her to coughing, and Frank had a grinning sort of snort.
"So," Meghan's hand rested on Lisa's bare calf, then began to slip to its underside and down to the ankle, "why were you wondering about my age?" She was holding Lisa's foot now. She squeezed it gently and began to rub.
Lisa gasped softly. "Oh, you know how it is..." The room seemed so warm. Lisa pulled her hand up under her chin. "Meet a pretty girl. Speculation ensues. That feels amazing."
Meghan pressed hard enough on the instep that Lisa kicked with her free foot, and Meghan moved back up to her calf, massaging the back of it.
"Actually, that's why we're here."
"Oh?" Meghan was drawing her fingers along Lisa's knee now.
"Housewarming aside, some nights were just meant for getting lucky."
"And that's not what you have Frank for?" Meghan didn't look at him as she asked.
Lisa shrugged. "Variety is good."
Meghan's fingers softly travelled to the back of Lisa's knee, and Lisa squirmed, locked her leg down, rocked her hips back and forth in refusal. "That tickles!" Lisa protested. Meghan's nipples hardened to nubs poking through the thin cotton of her t-shirt. Lisa sat upright and straddled her with conviction.
"Someone's sensitive," she teased, running her hands along Meghan's collarbones.
Meghan felt like the entire buzz of her high had relocated her breasts. Even the heels of Lisa's hands felt like they were burning the place where her chest started to swell out, almost unbearably. And somewhere in her mind she got enough perspective to see herself with this woman who smelled tropical in her lap, mocking her, and she realized that they'd be having sex that night.
"It's been a while," Meghan admitted.
"We should get this off," Lisa was saying. Without waiting for a response, she reached under Meghan's collar and pushed her bra straps over her shoulders. She reached back and unhooked the strap without even lifting the shirt. Even as Meghan leaned forward to help her, she asked, "What, here?" in a near-squeal.
And then Lisa was reaching slowly up her shirt, across her trembling stomach, and hooked her hands on the tops of each cup. "Oh, honey," Lisa smiled. "One less piece of clothing between me and those tits can only be a good thing." She flexed her hands invitingly. "Okay?" she asked.
Meghan hated the word "tits." She heard voices outside by the chips and blushed fiercely. "Yeah," she said. "Yeah, it's fine."
"Excellent," Lisa purred. Her thumbs circled the inside of Meghan's breasts rhythmically. "Arms through," she directed. Meghan pulled the straps around her arms, each with the opposite hand, constricted by her shirt and the woman on her lap. Lisa pulled the bra away, folded it in half, and lifted her hips slightly. She hooked her fingers in Meghan's belt loop and pulled her along, then stuffed the bra in Meghan's jean pocket.
"There!" she said.
"You seem very proud of yourself," Meghan noted.
Lisa drew a polished nail across Meghan's left nipple, casually, and Meghan gasped.
"Couldn't do this before," Lisa said. She mirrored the action with her other hand, and Meghan put her hands on Lisa's back, drew her down, and kissed Lisa's neck to bury her moan. God, she sounded so needy. Lisa continued to run her fingers around Meghan's aureole, movements that in any other context would seem aimless, but Meghan felt were designed to drive her out of her mind. When Lisa actually pinched her, almost as disinterestedly as if she were flicking on a light, Meghan bit down on the crook of Lisa's neck and shoulder. She found the hem of Lisa's flaming puddle of a skirt with some difficulty, put her hands underneath and onto Lisa's ass, and squeezed, her fingers kneading Lisa's cheeks apart slightly. Lisa looked down at her with a little bit of surprise and considerable warmth. She brought her lips down towards Meghan's and hovered just an inch away, each woman's breath hot on the other's mouth. And then Meghan dove in, sucked gently on Lisa's lower lip. Tongues flitted between teeth, Lisa's swept across the roof of Meghan's mouth, tickling pleasantly. Lisa's lipstick tasted like floral wax. Meghan's mouth was sour with beer. Meghan's hands began to clench more aggressively as her mouth was invaded, head pushed back to the wall with a knock just short of violent. She shifted her hands slightly forward and pressed up, curious to find out if Lisa was as wet as she was. Not enough to soak through her underwear, apparently.
Lisa pulled away called over her shoulder, "Frank? You got a good view back there?"
This was intolerable. Meghan stood and put Lisa on her feet with only a slight stumble. Her hands were caught in Lisa's skirt. "He can go now," she said. It came out more strident than she intended.
Lisa laughed and hooked her hands over Meghan's waistband, jeans and underwear both, fingers just reaching pubic hair. "Darling," she began.
"No, no," Meghan felt like an idiot, nipples firing, a bra strap hanging out of her pocket, her voice beginning to rise in a way that was clearly against her own interests. She could smell her own arousal. But she didn't do third parties, not even voyeurs, and she didn't do men, at least not straight ones. Could Frank be queer? It was not the time to ask. "He's your darling. I'm not your darling."
"Don't you want to fuck me?" Lisa asked. She pulled Meghan back between her legs, leaned back against the closet door. She gave a last yank on Meghan's jeans that put them crotch to crotch, grabbed Meghan's back belt loops, and adjusted her hips that little bit that put her clit over Meghan's thigh. "Don't you?" she asked, quieter. She rocked her hips up and down and grunted with the friction. She bit her lip.
"Frank just wants to watch, you know." Meghan began to wondered if Lisa could have some sort of hypnosis working for her. Lisa brought her head down and sucked Meghan's nipple through her shirt, flicked her tongue across it. She increased the pressure until Meghan brought her hips forward, an involuntary and completely undignified jerk of tension, and then Lisa disengaged, leaving a wet spot. The spit made the light grey t-shirt practically transparent; the ridge separating browned pink nipple from pale cream flesh was obscenely visible.
"Whatever, it's fine for as long as I have clothes on," Meghan mumbled. She was shaking, and didn't actually think she could have any more fun with her clothes on. It'd been too long since she'd been laid to need much foreplay. She wistfully wondered whether she might convince Lisa to ditch this guy, or whether she'd be rubbing one (or two) out in the bathroom later. But there was no way she could let this woman leave before she made her scream.
Meghan got on her knees and threw Lisa's skirt over her shoulders with a briskness that made Frank chuckle soundlessly. Lisa's underwear ("panties," Meghan thought, she probably calls them "panties") were circling one of her ankles and her other leg was thrown over Meghan's shoulder in short order. When Meghan nudged Lisa's clit experimentally with the tip of her nose, it became obvious the older woman was, at least, not completely unaffected by their making out so far. Meghan licked through Lisa's wetness and hooked her tongue into the hood of the clit, then pulled back across it with the rough underside of her tongue. Lisa whimpered. (Sensitive! Meghan smugged to herself.) Lisa's pussy was very pretty, from what Meghan could see in the red glow: bald and freckled, labia engorged and not quite perfectly symmetrical. Meghan nibbled them, ran her tongue up and down, kissed and sucked them. She lapped lightly at Lisa's opening and then drove her tongue slowly up the front wall. When Lisa groaned, she fucked her tongue in and out at an excruciatingly even pace. Finally, Meghan returned her attention to Lisa's clit. She circled it, spiraling in and away, she sucked gently—here Lisa breathed, "Too. Much."—and then she licked it lightly and quickly, over and over, until Lisa was grinding on her face. Meghan kept it up, increasingly wildly as Lisa spread over her mouth. "Oh girl. Oh girl. Oh girl," Lisa said with each exhalation. And then Lisa pulled up, pulled her skirt over the crouching girl in front of her, and cupped her crotch as if fervently trying to calm it down. She shoved Meghan forcefully in the shoulder and she fell on her ass, face wet from chin to nose.
"Oh-kay!" Lisa said, breathing out with gusto.
Meghan wiped her mouth with her hand and looked up in utter confusion. "Okay, what? You... You didn't come?"
"No, lovely," Lisa said. "But you, I have to get out of your clothes." She opened the closet door. "Grab my purse, will you, dear?" She winked at Frank, turned the light on, and started throwing the shoes from the floor onto the shelves in the back.
Meghan picked the purse up off the sofa, followed Lisa through the door, and closed it behind her.
Left alone on his cushion, Frank popped the top button on his fly, and set about picturing what happened after Meghan saw what Lisa had in her purse.