Fashion and Sex

Willa and Nastie sat close on the couch, knees touching, pages of the magazine crackling under their fingers. Nastie tapped a photo of a linen shift. "That would look obscene on you. In the best way." Willa leaned in to inspect the neckline. The warm air between them thickened. "My turn to measure," Willa said, rising and stepping behind her. Fingers skimmed the tape around Nastie’s bust, then lower, until her knuckles brushed bare skin. Nastie’s breath caught. "Too tight?" Willa asked, voice low. A pause. Then the tape dropped. Willa’s tongue traced the place where fabric met spine. Nastie arched. Hands slid forward, found soft weight, squeezed. Their breaths mixed as they turned toward each other. The magazine slid, unnoticed, to the floor. Willa sank to her knees on the cushions and parted Nastie’s thighs with both thumbs. A slow, wet lick followed—lazy, experimental—until Nastie’s fingers tangled in Willa’s hair and pulled her closer. Lips sealed, tongues flicking in greedy rhythm. Fingers replaced lips and slipped inside, curling upward, finding a place that made Nastie’s hips jerk. Willa smiled against warm skin, teeth grazing. Nastie reached down, guiding Willa’s other hand between her own legs. Two bodies, open and glistening, moved in sync. No sundresses today.