Sorority Scandal

Chanell sat cross-legged on the living room rug, textbooks scattered like loose change. Whitney shoved her notebook closed and stretched, joints cracking. “Half the girls are taking a break at the diner. You coming?” Chanell bit the cap of her highlighter. “I’ll stay. Finals first.” Whitney’s eyebrow lifted. “You sure?” The story spilled out after another nudge: last week another sister overheard Chanell masturbating, then raised hell at chapter. Never mind that same sister fucks her boyfriend loud enough to rattle the corridor light fixtures. Whitney snorted. “Hypocrite.” Still, the diner call pulled, so Whitney grabbed her bag and left. Silence settled like warm skin. Chanell peeled off her sweatshirt, then her bra. Her nipples tightened in the cool air. She shoved denim and cotton panties to her ankles and dropped onto the couch. One hand cupped a breast, rolling the stiff peak between finger and thumb. The other slid lower, parting slick folds. Slow circles over her clit melted into deeper strokes, two fingers easing inside, palm rocking on every thrust. Tension drained through her thighs, out her toes. A key rattled. Door swung. Whitney stood framed in the opening, keys dangling from one finger, purse forgotten on her shoulder. Her mouth twitched. Surprise melted into a grin. “Screw the syllabus.” She dropped everything, crossed the room already working her own zipper. Clothes hit the floor. She knelt between Chanell’s knees, pushing her hand away, replacing it with her mouth—hot, eager, tasting every needy inch. Chanell gasped, fingers threading through Whitney’s hair, the forgotten highlighter clicking to the carpet as two pairs of lungs forgot finals, chapter meetings, every rule in the house.