Stuck In The Closet

Kimberly Kane stretched through the last of her workout, sweat gleaming across her collarbones. When her friend finally admitted she was trapped, naked and embarrassed behind those louvered doors, something electric clicked. They had crossed wires—she thought they were talking about wardrobe dilemmas, not sexuality—but neither seemed eager to correct the misunderstanding. The door opened. Fabric pooled on the floor. Kimberly dropped to her knees without ceremony, tongue already searching. She circled the swollen clit twice, then flattened and pressed hard, making the other woman jerk and curse. Long, unhurried licks followed, then quick flicks that tightened thighs around her ears. She slipped two fingers in deep, curling them on each pull, finding that velvety patch inside that made slick rush down her wrist. The sounds were filthy: wet suction, breath catching, the wooden door rattling every time hips bucked forward. Kimberly kept her pace steady, chin dripping, shoulders rolling, and did not stop until the trembling turned into full-body release and fingers clawed helplessly at her damp hair.