Tis The Season

Kate stands alone by the window, the lights of the tree behind her doing nothing for the weight in her chest. Her secret sits heavy, already starting to show beneath her dress. She never meant for anyone to notice, least of all Fabula. But the older woman pulls her away from the noise, into a quiet room where the music fades and the door clicks shut. The fear in Kate's eyes is plain, and Fabula reads it at once. She moves in close, voice low, and lets her hands rest at Kate’s waist first, then lower, until the girl stops shaking. Fabula’s fingers trace the curve of her belly, then slip beneath the hem of her dress. She takes her time, mouth brushing Kate’s neck as she eases the fabric up and over, revealing the soft swell of her tits and the ink that marks her skin. Fabula’s tongue follows the line of that ink, slow and deliberate, until Kate’s breath turns ragged. The older woman drops to her knees, spreads Kate open with steady hands, and presses her mouth where the girl is already wet. She works her with long, patient strokes of her tongue, never rushing, drawing out every sound until Kate’s legs give and her moans fill the room. Fabula doesn’t stop until the tension leaves Kate’s body and her hips roll forward, hungry for more. When she finally rises, she kisses Kate deep, lets her taste herself, and keeps her there, naked and flushed, until the fear is gone and only heat remains.