Lesbian Psychodramas #06

On March 4th, 2011, Maya released his fingers first. The drawer slid soundlessly. Silk straps tumbled over the back of his hand like warm cream. He caught them, looped them once around his palm, and let his cock twitch hard against the plush carpet. He breathed in deep—amber, rose, his own heat. A half-dozen gowns lay folded inside the drawer, every one a shade darker than sleep. He picked the deepest: deep plum satin that slipped through his fingers like melted butter. Maya slipped the dressing gown up over the bedpost. It glided down the opposite way and settled across Valerie’s sleeping belly. The fabric spread, cool against her skin. Her nipples rose dark and stiff through the weave. He climbed in beside her. His knees pressed the mattress; the ropes of his thighs met her leg. She stirred once, sighed, drifted back into sleep. He guided her wrist—still slack—above her head and clipped it there with a tiny silver clasp. The satin whispered. Then he did the other. Valerie’s lips parted, but her eyes stayed closed. Maya knelt between her thighs. The satin curtained them. He pressed his thumb to the damp center of her, tracing slow circles. Her folds parted slick and hot around the pad. A soft sound left her throat. When she arched, he pulled the gown tighter across her belly, so the satiny sheen rode up her ribs and caught on the peaks of her breasts again and again. He leaned low, slid two fingers inside her. She took him fast, every ridge of her clutching around him. Maya’s breath hitched; his thumb circled harder. Her thighs shook on either side of him. He curled his fingers, stroked once, twice. Valerie came with a muffled moan, hips lifting, silver bracelets chiming against the bed frame. Maya pulled his hand free, licked his thumb, tasted salt and rose perfume. Then he unhooked the clasps, lay beside her, and listened to her slow return to sleep. Outside the window, a car turned at the corner—its lights scissoring the dark, then gone.