Teaching Ennie

Paula had been running a finger over the edge of a champagne glass, watching it catch the light. The motion felt idle, but there was nothing casual in her intent. She wanted to slip her hand back inside something tight and willing again, to practice that slow, measured stretch until knuckles gave way and the body yielded to the wrist. Ennie kept looking at her from across the low table. The look said the same thing it had said the night before—yes, and now. Ennie’s thighs pressed together each time Paula’s fingertips traced another slow circle on the stemware. That was the quiet agreement. Paula would take her time opening her friend, savouring the heat and the tremor that ran up the belly as her fist filled. Ennie would get the two shattering orgasms she had spent the last week fantasising about. When Paula finally rose and held out her palm, Ennie stood, breath catching, and followed her into the bedroom. The door clicked shut, and the night had already begun to pulse.