Lesbian Legal #04

Darryl Hannah shows up at Avy Scott’s office around dusk. She closes the door behind her with a decisive click. The lawyer rises from behind her desk. They don’t say much. Avy comes around the furniture, keeps the table between their bodies for three slow heartbeats, then steps into Darryl. Her palm finds the curve of Darryl’s hip, thumb pressing the seam of her pencil skirt. Darryl exhales, tilts her face up. Their mouths meet once, twice—hungry but controlled. Avy’s fingers move lower, cupping the swell of Darryl’s ass, pulling her forward until silk presses against silk. Darryl’s knees hit the cool surface of the desk. She spreads them, invites Avy between. Skirts ride up. Panties are tugged aside. Avy’s hand slips under the damp lace, two fingers glide through slick heat, then sink deep. Darryl gasps and bites her own wrist. She rocks into the rhythm, the lawyer’s wrist flexing each time she thrusts, knuckle-deep and steady. The blunt edge of the desk bites into Darryl’s thighs and that pinch of pain sharpens the pleasure. Avy leans in, whispers against the shell of Darryl’s ear—brief praise, crude words—while her thumb circles the tight knot of nerves. Darryl’s legs tremble. She comes with a muffled, shivering moan, pussy pulsing around Avy’s fingers. When Avy pulls free she licks them clean in one slow drag. Darryl stays splayed, skirt bunched around her waist, face flushed. She reaches down, finds the front of Avy’s slacks, undoes the belt. She sinks to her knees on the thick carpet and takes the silk-clad strap-on between her lips—slow, deliberate, wet mouth warming the latex. Avy’s hand curves around the back of Darryl’s head, guiding but never forcing. After several slow strokes, Darryl stands again. She turns, plants her palms on the desk, and presents. Avy nudges forward, slides the strap-on through wetness first, then presses inside in one unhurried thrust. Darryl’s back arches. Avy begins to move—long, deep strokes that land with a quiet slap. Each push shifts papers; a stapler clatters to the floor. Darryl reaches between her own legs, rubs in time with the fuck. When she comes again it’s loud, unrestrained. Avy grunts, hips stuttering, finishing deep. They stay joined, panting. Darryl turns her head, catches Avy’s mouth for a lazy kiss. The phone on the desk starts to ring. Neither of them answers.