Keeping Their Pact

Brenda stretched across Sue's couch, nursing her wine. Their dates had been disasters, one after the other. Sue agreed, sliding her phone across the coffee table with the latest sad screenshot of dick pics they'd both received. Brenda took another sip. She'd heard about some women swearing off men entirely, focusing on themselves for a while. Three months, she suggested. No guys. Sue raised her glass. The deal was struck. The first month felt good at first. Facials. Waxing. Expensive lingerie worn just because. They bought plants. They slept in. Brenda posted black-out squares on her feed and called it detox. Then came the second month, and with it a silence neither of them had factored in. They sat in Brenda's kitchen, legs bare on the cool stools, admitting what the detox had done: they missed being fucked. Missed weight, thrust, and the satisfying stretch of something thick inside them. Sue stared at the empty wine bottle between them and grinned. "What if we don't break the pact," she said. "What if we fuck each other?" Brenda laughed, but she didn't say no. Two days later Sue returned with a harness and the thickest silicone cock she'd found online, still in its discreet black box. Brenda watched Sue adjust the straps across her hips, pulling them tight so the dildo's base pressed hard against her clit. The silicone gleamed from the lube Brenda spread over it, and then Sue had her bent forward across the kitchen island, one hand gripping Brenda's waist, the other guiding the head in. Brenda gasped at the first slow push, then the second, deeper, Sue's hips snapping forward until the harness smacked Brenda's ass. Each thrust jolted her forward, nipples brushing cool marble, cunt slick and gripping every inch. Sue's breathing grew ragged behind her, hips working in a rhythm neither of them had planned. When Brenda came she clenched so hard around the length that Sue's fingers dug bruises into her skin. Later, they switched. Brenda buckled the harness around her own waist while Sue lay back on the sofa, thighs parted. She slid the head up and down Sue's slit first, coating it, then pushed in slow, watching her friend's mouth fall open. Sue reached down, rubbing her clit as Brenda fucked her, each stroke hitting deeper, until Sue's back arched and her heels dug into the cushions. They stayed like that through the second month and into the third: taking turns, thighs slick, harness tight, the air thick with the sound of skin against skin. And the pact, technically, remained unbroken.