My First Girl-Girl Experience

I’m nervous, thrilled, still tasting the word first on my tongue. Miss Demeanor stands there, all cool command, blonde hair falling past the swell of her tits—full, high, marked by silver hoops that catch the light. She tilts my chin up, tells me to hush. Her other hand slides her panties down, lace warm from her skin, and she presses the damp fabric right to my face. Breathe, she murmurs. Scent first. Fingers later. I close my eyes, inhale the sweet-salt heat of her, my own heartbeat loud in my ears. Only when she’s sure I’ve learned the lesson does she ease the cloth away, leaving the faint taste of her on my lips and the slow promise of everything she still plans to teach me.